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O-^-ijCj^ 
 
 -^ ^«^' kA^^^^^ ^^'^9 
 
 THE 
 
 HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 WM. D. S. ALEXANDER. 
 
 REPRINTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION 
 
 V 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, LONGMANS, A ROBERTS. 
 
 1859. 
 


\ 
 
 IM 
 


« « 
 
 s 
 
 THE 
 
 
 THE P'S^I 
 
 &c 
 



 ^^^-^^^ Crr>^^^-->-C^ SS^ot^ 
 
 ^^^9 
 
 THOMAS M'OILL, PRINTER, VTASHINGTON, D. C. 
 


THE 
 
 HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES 
 
 AND OTHKR 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 % 
 
 \VM. D. S. ALEXxlNDER. 
 
 HEPRINTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 LONGMAX, BROWN, GREEN. LONGMANS, & ROBERTS. 
 
 1859. 
 



 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the yJaKlSSQ, 
 
 By C. L. Alexander, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Columbia. 
 


T(.> 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. ESQ.. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POFMS 
 
 ABE 
 
 WITH HIS K I X 1) P K K M 1 JS S 1 N 
 
 BT 
 
 THE ATTHOR. 
 
 1* 
 





CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Heemit of the Pyrenees ...... i 
 
 Part I. The Hermit, and his Cell in the Tallej' of Luz - 9 
 
 '* 11. The Ilermit and the Man - - - - 19 
 
 " III. Story of the Bear-Hunter - - - - 35 
 
 " IV. The Val d'Osseau 57 
 
 •' V. Story of Marie d'Aoste 67 
 
 '• YI. The Peak of Bagnieres - - - - - 91 
 
 MijCELiAXEOUs Poems and Sonnets ..... 109 
 


1 
 
 1 
 


TO 
 
 Will thine eye look upon this mystic page ? 
 
 And wilt thou know from whom these visions come ? 
 
 Or art thou so much changed since last we met 
 
 That at this hour thou canst no longer tell 
 
 What hand thus writes — what burdened heart pours out 
 
 The current of its woe ? 
 
 Not as in former days 
 Can I now murmur forth a dulcet lay, 
 Or charm thine ear with glad enlivening song — 
 The storm, the blight have entered here within, 
 
 And all is bitterness 
 
 Where once was life and joy. 
 


X 
 
 Yes, I have suffered heavily and long, 
 
 And still appears no end, no cheering goal, 
 
 No welcome haven shining from afar, 
 
 Reward for present trial. All is dark. 
 
 And through the deepening shades I wander on ! 
 
 Yet in my spirit burns 
 
 A fierce consuming fire 
 That will not rest, but ever and anon 
 Shoots meteor-like into the spangled heaven, 
 Then sinks again. The other stars are bright — 
 
 No sympathy is there ! 
 
 It ended all with thee. 
 
 -My path lies through the wilderness of life, 
 Or mid its rocky mountains, cold and drear, 
 Thine, in the cultured gardens of the earth, 
 Where perfumed flowers and shady groves appear, 
 And palaces disclose their marble fronts. 
 
 The edifice /raised 
 
 Once on a time for thee 
 Hath fall'n to ruin, and ivy hath o'errun 
 The spots where roses bloomed. l
chance thoullt say 
 It matters not how soon all trace is gout- ; 
 
 But I can linger still 
 
 About it with regret. 
 


XI 
 
 Art thou quite happy in thy present state ? 
 Surrounded by the riches of the world — 
 Doth not one thought of former days return, 
 And hang upon the bright horizon, like 
 A summer cloud to veil the blazing sun ? 
 
 True, I have heard thee say 
 
 Thou wouldst look on the Past 
 As on a di'eam, all bodiless and light ! 
 Not from thy spirit came those thoughtless words : 
 With all thy might thou canst not conquer Thought ! 
 
 And Thought will wander back 
 
 To scenes of former days. 
 
 Yet why to thee do I address these lines ? 
 On which, perchance, thine eyes will never rest — 
 And if they should, what follows? O'er the grave 
 Which will be opened in the past again 
 Wilt thou let fall one warm regretful tear? — 
 I'll fain believe as much. 
 And treasure up the flower 
 That on the spot will raise its gentle head — 
 One rose amid this wilderness to bloom 
 And waft its perfume through the chilling air! . . 
 peace ! The thread I weave 
 Breaks in my hand — Farewell I 
 





THE 
 
 )^4r 
 
 ^ ILt^tn'is o£ fiit fountains. 
 


NOTE. 
 
 At the south-eastern extremity of the beautiful valley of 
 Luz, in the Pyrenees, upon an eminence, rises an old and 
 half-ruined Tower, which, it is said, was for a number of 
 years tenanted by a lonely Recluse. 
 


INTRODUCTION. 
 
 -»•►- 
 
 Still, mighty mountains ! still my fancy flies 
 Back to the clime where you sublimely rise, 
 Robed in dark cloudy mantles and ice-crowned — 
 Befitting sovereigns of the plains around ! 
 From east to west your serried ranks extend, 
 And with the skies above their glories blend ; 
 Now lovely in rich verdant slopes and woods 
 Where beauty wanders and where silence broods, 
 Now gently sinking into valleys, meet, 
 To be for Love or Age the calm retreat : 
 Now terrible in dismal waste or steep 
 Down which the angry torrents madly sweep. 
 Burst from the towering cliff in foaming surge 
 Or thunder through the dark and hollow gorge ; — 
 Where Desolation, nature's anarchy. 
 Revels and mocks at Order's monarchy. 
 
 Such wondrous scenes, with ever-varied hue, 
 Rise like enchantment to the stranger's view ; 
 


4 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 And, if his soul at grandeur in him glows, 
 
 Around his glances with delight he throws ! 
 
 Imagination, freed from meaner things. 
 
 Soars proudly upward on its eagle wings — 
 
 Surveys the cataract, the verdant vale 
 
 Whose balmy odours rise upon the gale. 
 
 Or broods majestic o'er some precipice 
 
 Belted with clouds and capped with glittering 
 
 ice, 
 Where angel ministers alone have trod 
 In blest communion with great Nature's God. 
 What voice of earth could raise its feeble key 
 To the full compass of a melody 
 That in its golden and inspired flow 
 Might all the overwhelming wonders show 
 Which, ever-loved and glorious mountains ! you 
 Within your granite bosoms hide from view ? 
 Not mine the power to raise this mighty song, 
 And o'er our land its thrilling notes prolong : 
 Not mine to sing the splendours of a clime 
 Where beauty sits upon a throne sublime — 
 Beneath a sun, displays her radiant smiles, 
 Unfelt, unknown in our cold northern isles. 
 
 Wake ! ye that slumber on from hour to hour 
 And know not beauty in its pride and power ! ■ 
 Awake, and worship at those cloud-capped shrine.s 
 Whereon a never-dying grandeur shines ; 
 


THE PYRENEES. 5 
 
 Where I have worshipped and inhaled a joy 
 Whose memory no time can e'er destroy — 
 Sweet as rich nectar in the brimming bowl 
 W^as that blest draught to my enraptured soul ! 
 Rise from your too voluptuous revels, ye 
 Pale children of that false fiend Luxury, 
 Whose hours are barren as a waste of sand 
 When the tide-wafted waters leave the strand — 
 Whose days too oft are nights — whose nights are 
 
 days 
 Consumed amid the empty dazzling rays 
 Of gilded lamps that shed their light on courts. 
 Or baser temples where foul Crime resorts. 
 Awake ! ye in speculation bold, 
 Whose thoughts are wealth, whose only God is Gold ! 
 Wake to the true One ! who deigns not to dwell 
 Where men their souls and bodies buy and sell ; 
 Nor glitters in the myriad shining gems 
 That deck profusely Pleasure's diadems — 
 Awake, I say, worldly ones awake ! 
 And pilgrimage to Nature's altars make. 
 There worship Him at whose pervading voice 
 The hills and valleys tremble or rejoice ! 
 
 Majestic mountains ! I have known you long 
 And cling yet to you with affection strong : 
 My fate hath snatched me from your rugged breasts 
 Yet with you ever my crushed spirit rests — 
 
 2* 
 


6 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 In daylight roaming 'mid your solitudes 
 
 Near roarinoj torrents or in trackless woods : 
 
 At evening, like a spectre pale and dim, 
 
 Stealing among the shadows dark and grim 
 
 Of some exalted peak, or erring now 
 
 Through the cold moonlight on the glacier's In ow. 
 
 Nature ! — mother Nature ! — 'tis to be 
 More than thrice blessed thus to worship thee ! 
 Could I into thy lap pour all my years ! 
 That certainty would soothe all future fears ! 
 Ope then thine arms ! let me not call in vain, 
 And take me faithful to thy heart again. 
 Receive me with thine aspect grand yet calm ; 
 Much need have I of thy restoring balm 
 To my world-blighted powers, or how essay 
 To weave the thread of this fantastic lay — 
 This mystic floweret culled upon the height 
 From whence the eagle spreads his wings for flight. 
 Combine, Nature, with true Poesy, 
 That not in vain my arduous task may be — 
 That to my listeners I may show how Faith 
 And holy Love can conquer even Death. 
 


Ill; 
 
 HIS CELL IX. THE VALLEY OF LUZ. 
 





9 
 
 I. 
 
 None knew the dwellfer on that rugged ^tee]). 
 Yet all regarded hmi with fear. 
 
 Hi^ dark expressive eyes 
 Shone w^ith a melancholy light, 
 Like those fair golden stars, 
 Distant and wonderful, 
 VVhich rouse our speculation as Ave gaze — 
 . They were like those bright worlds 
 Men seek in vain to fethom, 
 And yet their lustre pleased, 
 For, though their rays w^ere mystery, 
 Tliere was a meaning in them felt by all. 
 
 Arching those soul-lit orbs 
 Arose his pale and intellectual brow. 
 Wide, high, majestical, and ploughed 
 
 With lines of ponderous thought, 
 
 Or deep and untold grief. 
 
 So looks the mighty portal 
 
 Of some time-hoary edifice, 
 More deeply beautiful by ruin made. 
 
 Upon whose massive moss-grown front 
 We seek the history of bygone days. 
 
 P 
 


10 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Each feature of his face 
 Most eloquently spake 
 To all who know to read the human heart ; 
 But unto those dull souls 
 Who look not farther than the surface, 
 
 Nor care to sound the depths, — 
 To them the Hermit stood alone, 
 Mysteriously apart 
 From every other of his mortal race. 
 
 His dark beard low depended, like his locks, 
 With here and there a thread of silvery white 
 To prove that time had joined hands Avith sorrow — 
 
 This only, and no more. 
 Tall was his stature as erect he stood 
 At morn upon some lofty pinnacle 
 
 Hard by his lonely cell. 
 And seemed a spirit for a better world 
 Invoking pardon on this harmful one. 
 Neglect is but a sloven, not a man, 
 
 And in him showed not ever. 
 
 His garb was neat but plain, 
 In colour stern, close fitting to each limb ; 
 
 Coarse sandals clothed his feet. 
 Simple his habits as his neighbours poor, 
 
 Who gazed with reverence on him 
 
 From the fair vale beneath. 
 
 Hast thou e'er wandered on the sea-washed shore, 
 


THE PYRENEES. 11 
 
 Mid broken rocks and caves, 
 In classic Italy? 
 (While listening to the music of the waters, 
 And meditating 'mid the ruins 
 Strewn everywhere around) 
 Perchance thine eye hath lighted on a column. 
 Standing alone; no object of its kind 
 
 * Afar or near. 
 How fair it looks, so desolately left 
 Upon the shore ! 
 Unscathed its marble pride. 
 Save in its whiteness which the sun 
 And time have softened to a rosy hue. 
 On high it rears its sculptured, lordly head. 
 A perishable thing although it be, 
 Around it clings the glory of its race 
 To make men marvel thai it should be there. 
 
 So stood the Hermit of the vale of Luz, 
 
 At morning seen upon the mountain height. 
 
 Struck by the majesty of form and look, 
 
 The traveller paused, and, wondering, gazed upon 
 
 him; 
 But to the questions " Who and what he was ?" 
 " Why lived he life of barren solitude ?" 
 
 Answer could none. 
 They loved their Hermit, said the simple swains. 
 Supplied with care his humble wants. 
 
 But knew no more. 
 


12 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 They dared not question him themselves ; 
 Enoiigli indeed that lie had deigned to choose 
 Their valley for his home 
 And shroud them with his blessing. 
 He was a mystic spirit 
 That sometimes came and sometimes went, 
 Whither, they could not say. 
 For days and weeks together 
 They missed his godlike figure from the hill 
 And prayed for his return. 
 When he once more appeared 
 Their hearts felt gladness at the sight, 
 And shone the sun yet warmer on their valley. 
 
 Strange are the tales they of the Hermit tell 
 
 To the rapt, listening stranger. 
 At evening seated by the peasant's hearth 
 
 On the dark mountain side. 
 
 God shield him in his need! 
 He was a holy, self-denying man. 
 
 His way of life well proved ; 
 
 But what he once had been 
 
 None dare to risk surmise : 
 Had he been guilty of the deepest crimes 
 
 The world's black records own 
 All must be pardon' d, thought they, long ago. 
 Years had he lived within yon ancient tower 
 That crowns the lofty eminence 
 


THE PYRENEES. 13 
 
 At the east end of Luz's smiling vale ; 
 
 And when ho first appeared 
 
 They could but ill remember — 
 
 Could fix no certain date — 
 He always had been there, they thought, — 
 At least as far adown the slopes of Time 
 
 As their own days extended. 
 
 All was deep mystery concerning him ! 
 If of another world, as some believed, 
 He was no evil genius, sure they felt. 
 
 For since he hither came 
 
 They had no cause to grieve ; 
 
 All prospered wondrously ! 
 Their harvests were abundant, pastures fine, 
 
 And flocks and herds increasing. 
 Year after year in greater number strangers 
 
 Poured their vast riches in, 
 
 And generous Plenty came 
 To drive lean Poverty in shame away 
 
 Unto less favoured scenes. 
 
 Yes, they all loved their father Hermit well, 
 
 And he for them felt love, 
 Or wherefore choose their valley and abide 
 
 In the grey, ancient tower? 
 He ne'er would leave them till the mystic hour 
 That saw his mission to the earth fulfilled, 
 
 3 
 


14 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 And then perchance to then- upturned eyes 
 His spirit-form would reassume its shape, 
 And wing its flight upon the rushing wind 
 To paradise and God ! 
 
 Spirit or man, his nature was most strange. 
 The food up carried to his lonely cell 
 Accepted was, or with a gracious smile, 
 
 Or a few gentle words 
 That fell harmonious on the bearer's ear, 
 Sometimes did he refuse and close his door, 
 
 Announcing near departure; 
 
 But there 'twas ever left 
 Till eagles, or the prowling hungry wolf 
 
 Consumed the proff'ered fare. 
 Hunters adventurous on the Izard's track, 
 That climb the icy peak at early dawn, 
 Or brave the dangers of the glacier's snows, 
 With fear declare to have encountered him 
 Gliding majestic o'er the frozen mass. 
 Unshaken by the terrors of the way. 
 
 Would they to speak to him have dared ? 
 
 Not even for their lives ! 
 
 Once on a time, they say, 
 
 A bold man raised his voice 
 
 To question rudely why 
 He wandered thus upon the virgin snow? 
 The Hermit's eye upon him glared 
 


THE PYRENEES. 15 
 
 So piercing and so stern 
 
 That the rash hunter quailed 
 
 Beneath its awful fire. 
 
 He turned away and fled; 
 And, struck with terror, heeding not his steps, 
 Fell down a yawning gulf to rise no more ! 
 
 In pleastng contrast, others will relate 
 How, when black night descended o'er the world 
 Robed in the vapoury mantle of the storm, 
 And summoned forth the winds that eager watch, 
 Like mischief-laden fiends, to spread alarm 
 And dire confusion far and wide — 
 When the big echoing thunder sent 
 Its mighty notes abroad, and lightnings curled 
 Like fiery serpents down the mountain flanks 
 
 With awful glare and crash — 
 As from the summit of the peak. 
 
 Beneath the self-same stroke 
 
 Rolled the tall hoary pine, 
 
 The riven granite rock 
 Plunging into the boiling torrent deep ! — 
 When the poor Traveller, stumbling on his way, 
 Faint with his efibrts, and with terror wild, 
 
 Sought the lost track in vain. 
 
 And, yielding to his fate. 
 
 Sank slowly down to die — 
 
 In that nigh fatal hour 
 


16 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 The Hermit suddenly beside him stood, 
 Spoke words of comfort sweet, 
 
 And lending to his aid a stalwart arm. 
 Raised the poor drooping wretch 
 
 To lead him from his flinty couch of death, 
 And its cold shroud of snow, 
 
 Back unto life, his children, and his home ! 
 
 Did they not bless him for such acts as these ? 
 Ay, fervently ! and when at evening shone 
 His lamp of watchfulness — perhaps of prayer- 
 
 From the grey time-worn tower, 
 
 Upward their eyes they turned 
 
 To the pale gleaming star. 
 And then, above it, to the ethereal vault, 
 As if to marvel which of those that burned 
 Amid the countless thousands bright and fair 
 
 Had thus so near them come ! 
 


M 
 
 3* 
 





19 
 
 II. 
 
 Sweet vale of Luz, 
 Fairesf among so many passing fair ! 
 When first I saw thee, by thy glowing charms 
 
 My heart was won ; 
 And now my memories wander back to thee, 
 Like care-worn pilgrims of the olden time 
 Laden with offerings to their favourite shrine. 
 I'll raise thy much loved picture from the dust 
 Long years have strewn upon it, and once more 
 Thy beauty show in its own wooing form. 
 
 Who can forget thee, 
 
 Fair smiling valley ? 
 Watched by thy mountain brothers, whose huge 
 
 arms 
 Close linked, protect thee with a jealous care : 
 So slept the virgin in the warrior camp 
 In the old time of strife and mail-clad men : 
 So 'mid the ocean's stormy billows hides 
 Some golden isle, a speck of paradise. 
 Luz ! thou art girt by giants : their proud crests, 
 Towering aloft, the stranger spies afar. 
 


20 THE HERMIT OP 
 
 And marvels that a thing so fair as thou 
 Could nestle in such bosoms. 
 
 Yet paint we beauty in the arms of Mars ; 
 
 And Vulcan's fingers toy with Venus' locks — 
 
 Yea, Ugliness itself will woo and win 
 If but the power of soul be there 
 To arm the tongue with eloquence. 
 
 Hail to thee, Luz ! As through the hollow gorge 
 Of Pierrejitte we approach, hoAV sink our hearts 
 
 Within us at the sight ! 
 On either side, a thousand dizzy feet, 
 Huge walls arise and form a mighty porch 
 To greater terrors as our steps advance. 
 So dark the chasm, so grim, so menacing — 
 Earthquake, who made it, must lie sleeping there ! 
 In such a doorway might Death's Angel stand 
 
 With outstretched dusky wings. 
 To sweep all bold adventuring mortals down ! 
 In such a doorway (did it lead to hell 
 And not the smiling heaven that lies beyond) 
 
 Might the grim beldam, Sin, 
 
 Sit with her bestial train 
 
 In conflict horrible. 
 
 But onward now we toil, 
 And turn and wind, 
 And wind and turn 
 


THE PYRENEES. 21 
 
 Upward and upward still. 
 Above our heads stupendous mountains meet 
 
 In tlie embrace of Titans, 
 
 Casting deep shadows down — 
 
 Now they retire a space 
 And through the momentary 'gap 
 A cheering beam from heaven descends. 
 - Thus to the mind of Man, 
 Through Error's clouds that gather round his steps. 
 
 Will Truth and Eaith appear, 
 And fill his being with a blessed light ! 
 Could he be satisfied to rest him there, 
 All would be well — but, no ! the tortuous path 
 
 Still tempts him, and the cloud 
 
 Again surrounds his way. 
 
 On ! on ! Where tread we now ? 
 
 Where once the Eagle scaled 
 With wide expanded wings the towering cliff, 
 And taught her eaglets from their eyrie first 
 To trust the void and gaze into the sun. 
 Man hath fought Nature in her wildest haunt 
 
 And conquered here ; 
 Not for one footing but for many feet 
 
 Support he finds ; 
 And where the vast abyss profoundest yawns 
 He spans it in mid air. 
 One light and graceful arch, 
 


22 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 And we look Danger in the face and smile, 
 
 As she, abashed, steals through the deep'ning gloom 
 
 In the fierce cataract that boils beneath. 
 
 E'en thus strong Will 
 Can force a passage through the rocks of flint 
 
 Adversity uprears. 
 Despair may like a frightful chasm gape, 
 But resolution throws the bridge across. 
 
 And now, sweet Luz, thy charms salute our gaze, 
 And the past terrors are forgotten, all. 
 lovely vale ! who would not brave e'en more 
 To be rewarded with a smile from thee. 
 
 And hang upon thy bosom fair ? 
 Fragrant and fresh, thy breath is e'er the same, 
 When first thou wakest up at dewy morn 
 To the warm kisses of the amorous sun. 
 Or veil'st thyself at eve to rest in peace. 
 Through thy pure veins abundantly 
 Rich streams of life and health 
 Pursue their playful course — 
 And the green flowery meads, 
 The waving sprightly trees, 
 Thy flocks, thy herds, thy people — 
 All, all alike rejoice 
 That thou art theirs, and they are thine ! 
 
 lovely, happy vale !• 
 And happy ye that call yourselves her sons ! 
 


THE PYRENEES. 23 
 
 'T is Summer, and the day 
 Is hastening to its close. 
 From the great western ridge 
 The shadows softly steal 
 Down to the cheerful vale, 
 Like the first shades of grief 
 On youthful Innocence. 
 - Unreached, the old grey Tower 
 Exalted on its rugged eminence. 
 
 Clothed in full radiance yet, 
 Looks boldly o'er the scene 
 In the calm pride of age. 
 
 He, too, is there — the Hermit, the lone man 
 Mysterious ! 
 See where he stands upon the threshold 
 
 Of the low gothic door, 
 Down gazing with those star-like eyes 
 
 Into the depth below ; 
 And now he raises them to heaven. 
 Now sadly turns them to his narrow cell. 
 While on his countenance the thoughts within 
 Work fitful change — 
 Now pale, now red. 
 And pale again. 
 See ! his lips move,, and thus the inward tumult 
 Finds vent in words : — 
 


24 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 " So dies another day 
 
 After short cheerful life ; 
 And in the aspect of yon western heaven 
 I read the coming glories of to-morrow. 
 How many times have I thus seen the light 
 Die and give promise of as fair a dawn ! 
 Nature can change her aspect with the seasons, 
 
 Now frown or gaily smile, 
 Feel warm as love, or cold as yon wild hills 
 That in the distance chill me with their ice. 
 But I who live and wear this human form 
 
 Must ever be the same. 
 Unchanged, unchanging till the hour of doom. 
 
 " How many, gazing on this scene 
 Of day's departing glory, in themselves 
 Would thus be tempted to exclaim : — 
 Far better to be blotted out for aye, 
 With every imperfection, than to bear 
 Within one's bosom the immortal, spark 
 Which never can expire ! 
 
 "A retrospect of days 
 Can make the strong man weak, 
 Or give the weak one strength : 
 Thrice happy he who wandering back, in thought, 
 Along the placid stream of well-spent hours 
 Sees heaven reflected there ! 
 


THE PYKENEES. 25 
 
 To him the Present, like yon western sky, 
 Glows with the radiant promise of the morrow ! 
 His thoughts, like mountain summits, far above 
 The storm-racked surface of the world, arise 
 To catch the gorgeous sunset's myriad hues. 
 
 Death, like calm night, comes down 
 Free from all terrors, cloudless and serene ; 
 Faith,-like the moon, a silver radiance throws 
 Upon his rest, and his good actions all 
 
 Shin« o'er him like the stars — 
 
 Thus blissfully he sleeps 
 To waken with the glorious morrow's dawn ! 
 
 " Our doubts and speculations are as chaff 
 Blown in the face of heaven. 
 To be returned upon ourselves ! — 
 Philosophy ! 
 Thy praises have been sounded forth to men, 
 
 By their own tongues, 
 In languages of iron and of gold ; 
 
 And, casting back our eyes 
 To where the mists of Time are thick'ning most, 
 Loom the pale phantoms of thy votaries, 
 Sages and rulers in long ages past, 
 Whose names shine out upon the night of Time 
 With lustre, though subdued, magnificent 
 As the great galaxy of heaven ! — 
 Philosophy ! 
 


i 
 
 26 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 It was thy precious lamp, tliey said. 
 That lit them hence. 
 Pale, feeble light to that which blazes now ! 
 Yet in these days — 
 These final days — 
 A little ere the last great change shall come — 
 
 Men fly from Faith to thee, 
 Or shelter error in wild theories, 
 
 False as themselves and barren ! 
 Philosophy was dead, or should have died. 
 With the old era in the new-made Man — 
 
 What need for her and Him ? 
 The moon for darkness and the sun for day 
 Shine both at once, the weaker light 
 Must pale into eclipse. 
 
 man ! vain man ! vain world ! vain empty 
 things 
 
 Born of her labouring womb, 
 Confusion is your name, and ye shall be 
 Confounded in the end, and scattered all ! 
 
 " Why did I leave thee, world, and hither come 
 
 An outcast and a wanderer ? 
 Because I loved thee and found no return ; 
 Because I trusted thee and found thee false ; 
 Because I dreamt of freedom and found chains 
 
 1 would not drag, and call their clanking music — 
 Because I saw, amid thy storms and wrecks, 
 
 


THE PYRENEES. 27 
 
 A mighty Trutli wliicli men essayed to teach, 
 But only darkened with their cavils, 
 Surmises, wild imaginings; 
 Heart-coldness all, and narrowness of mind. 
 I saw with mine own eyes, 
 Halo'd with light celestial. 
 That open way which others would allow 
 But took not, and I raised my voice 
 To speak what I believed. — 
 Then persecution came. 
 My crime, the crime of all 
 Who dare to utter what the heart can feel 
 
 'Mid the assenting crowd 
 That fear to own the truth lest lip of scorn 
 Against them curl, or the sharp stinging lash 
 
 Of ridicule assail their fame. 
 Thou tyrant. Fame ! that in the breast of man 
 Canst stifle Conscience and the voice of Truth — 
 Of Truth that cheers him through the light of 
 Faith !— 
 
 I would not bear this stain, and fled. . 
 
 " Ye mountains and ye valleys ! now for years 
 
 My refuge and my home, 
 That peace which dwells not in the world I 
 sought 
 
 And found in your wild bosoms — 
 Through the elastic air my spirit soars 
 


28 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 With a new life from ye to liail its God ! 
 blessed solitudes ! delightful haunts 
 
 For the heart- weary wanderer, 
 The worn and sick of soul ! 
 Do I regret thee now, thou outer world ? — 
 The prison-house wherein my spirit pined 
 Like the poor captive in his narrow cell — 
 
 Here I least am free — I breathe ! 
 
 " Yet was there one alone, e'en there, 
 With whom I dreamt of lil^rty. 
 And love, and happiness — 
 Vain dream ! 
 Her heart, that I had deemed so rich, contained 
 
 Mere dross ! 
 It would not stand the test true gold will bear, 
 But softened and grew cold 
 With but a show of trial. 
 Ida ! hadst thou listened to my voice 
 At the last moment, what might now have been 
 
 Thy portion ! In thine eyes 
 Seemed mirror' d heaven, yet they could not see 
 What mine perceived, and their dark lashes fell 
 
 To rise on me no more ! . . . 
 Pale Rose ! thou droop 'st upon the desert's edge, 
 Striving to bloom amid thy beauty's wreck ; — 
 Oh, when the flood from this wide mortal sea 
 Shall set in all ita force on that far shore. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 29 
 
 May I be there to gather up some leaves 
 
 Its waters shall have wafted ! . . . . 
 
 " Slow sinks the sun beneath the western range ! 
 Like to some mighty sovereign of the earth 
 Who feels his splendours hastening to their close, 
 Yet to the last would make his subjects feel 
 He wa§ their Emperor, and King, and Lord, — 
 Though fading fast still keeps his royal state. 
 And 'mid its lustre stalks away from sight, 
 The memory of his exit leaving long 
 Its hues upon admiring multitudes. 
 
 " I must begone this night ! 
 Farewell, thou peaceful vale ! thou happy cell ! 
 
 Farewell, perhaps for ever ! 
 If I return I'll love thee as of yore ; 
 If not, my memory and my spirit shall 
 Yet hang about thine ancient ruined walls. 
 And men shall point to thee, and call thee mine." 
 
 Night steals into the valley, and its shades 
 Ascend each mountain to the highest peak. 
 Then leap the void to summon forth the stars — 
 Obedient they appear ; and, last of all. 
 The silver-crowned queen withdraws her veil 
 To look with envy on the scene below, 
 So calm in its repose. 
 
 4* 
 


30 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Wakes there not one witliin yon lowly liuts 
 Whose thoughts display pale images of sin ? 
 No ; all are wrapped in sleep, the sleep of peace 
 And calm content that feareth not the dawn. 
 
 A beam falls on the Tower, 
 Streams through a loophole in its time-worn flank, 
 
 And shows a hard low couch, 
 
 A table and a stool ; 
 Upon the table rests an open book. 
 And blazon'd on the thickly worded page 
 
 Doth Revelation shine ! 
 But he who wanders through the long still night. 
 And reads those wondrous words — where is he 
 now? 
 
 His steps are in the valley. — No one hears, 
 For like a spirit from another world 
 He wanders through the silence of the night. 
 And now the entrance of the pass he gains, 
 But pauses ere he seeks its midnight depths, 
 To cast, perchance, a last regretful look 
 Up to his dwelling on the moonlit rock — 
 
 His home for many years. 
 While thus he stands and breathes a last farewell. 
 
 An echoing voice resounds 
 
 Through the still gorge beyond, 
 
 Chanting a cheerful lay, 
 
 And a tall figure soon 
 
 
 
 1 
 


THE PYRENEES. 31 
 
 Comes gaily up the path : 
 'Tis Pierre, the hunter. Not a better man 
 
 Draws breath in all Bigorre. 
 He sees the Hermit as he stands display 'd 
 In the cold moonlight, and at once his song 
 Ceases in mid career. — 
 He lowly bends and blessing asks 
 Of him -he meets, which freely is bestow M 
 In solemn silence, and they part 
 Each on his several way. 
 
 Few konw the Hermit of the vale of Luz, 
 But Pierre well knows him — hath conversed with 
 him 
 
 And seen him in his cell. 
 Why favoured thus and how that favour won 
 
 The following tale shall tell. 
 





THE STOKY 
 
 fSl »141=S3i3iril» 
 





35 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy valley, Campan, oft hath been the theme 
 Of thin§ own native Poets' glowing lays : 
 Romance in thee hath found a happy site 
 Whereon to build her structures light and fair ; 
 If I, too, place thy name upon my page, 
 'Tis to recall the many joyous hours 
 'T was once my lot to while away in thee. 
 
 Nor first nor last art thou 
 
 Amid thy sister vales 
 That cluster round thee in profusion rich — 
 Thy beauty hath a quiet tone, 
 
 And takes us not by storm 
 
 At the first careless glance, 
 But steals upon us as we follow up 
 
 Thy varied course and know thee more. 
 
 So in this changeful world, 
 Amid the loveliness that meets our gaze, 
 
 Some silent Beauty moves, 
 
 Scarce noticed at the first. 
 But, as we wander through the dazzling groups, 
 Her grace and gentleness attract our eye : 
 


36 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Then by degrees, as we peruse her face, 
 She gains upon us with her softer charms 
 And steals into our hearts. 
 
 Near where Sainte Marie from her ancient tower 
 Uprears the Cross which doth redeem mankind, 
 And hath assembled round her sacred fane 
 A few stanch children of the quiet vale — 
 Above the rest, upon a grassy slope, 
 
 Pierre's humble cottage stands. 
 A hundred years have passed and left unchangec 
 Its roof of slate, its walls of uncut stone, 
 Its lowly porch, and garden strip, and field 
 Where grows the red-eared corn, the peasant's prop 
 
 His fuel, bed, and food. 
 Lord of the small domain his grandsire tilled, 
 With honest pride he looks upon his own. 
 And feels that freedom independence gives. 
 
 Best boon from heaven to man ! 
 
 Liberty ! thy name 
 Is holy in the mouths of those 
 Who truly breathe thine air — who gaze around 
 And mark the dread oppressor's hated track 
 Amid the sighs and tears 
 Of nobler natures than his own. 
 How many boast of thee who know thee not ! 
 Rear altars to thee — heap upon thy name 
 
 1 
 


THE PYRENEES. 37 
 
 Their mockery of praise ; their savage deeds, 
 
 Which shock the world and heaven, 
 Daring to justify by thee ! 
 
 shameless falFn are they 
 
 That can pervert thee thus, 
 And dip thy white robe in a sea of blood ! 
 
 Degenerate France ! 
 This act was thine : and to the end of time 
 It shall cling round thee like the poisoned garment 
 That robbed great Hercules of strength and life ! 
 
 In contrast fair 
 Shine the long glories of the elder time 
 
 When heroes fought and died 
 
 For Liberty and Home. 
 And, later, when the lofty patriot, Tell, 
 
 With all his brethren brave, 
 Trampled proud Tyranny for ever down, 
 And taught the world what virtuous Freedom was. 
 
 Yes ; to the stalwart, noble mountaineer 
 
 Freedom is life ! He breathes it from his birth 
 In the fresh joyous air 
 That sweeps his native vales. 
 
 And to his manly limbs a vigour gives 
 So wondrous, so enduring. 
 
 Who dare oppress the haughty mountain child ? 
 
 Answer, proud Austria ! whose hands are stained 
 
 With Tyrolean gore, shed in defence 
 


THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Of home and kindred. And, imperious Czar, 
 Whose barbarous hordes, like hungry wolves, have 
 sought 
 
 The life-blood of Circassia — 
 Hast thou succeeded in thy dark designs. 
 And forced thy yoke upon her freeborn neck ? 
 Vain the attempt ! She mocks thee from her hills 
 And rolls her rocks upon the wretched slaves 
 
 Who do thy hateful bidding ! 
 
 ^ 
 
 A hardy son of mountain soil was Pierre ; 
 The hero of his vale for many acts 
 
 Of unrecorded might. 
 And daring, that would put to shame 
 Those feats which in the world obtain 
 
 Both fame and high reward. 
 Comely in feature, and in stature tall, 
 Active as Izard, strong as wolf or bear, 
 Few could compete with him, and none excel 
 In those time-honoured trials of manly strength 
 Which oft at eve upon the verdant sod 
 
 Assembled Youth and Age. 
 And when the Gfaloubee, with thrilling note. 
 And deep bass Ta7nbourin, aroused the vale 
 
 Upon some festive morn. 
 First in the field was Pierre, in gay attire. 
 To lead the dance, and win from her he loved. 
 Sweet Katinosse, the Belle of Campan fair, 
 
 A smile of fond return. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 39 
 
 Where heaven the precious gift of strength 
 
 bestows, 
 Its far-seeing wisdom adds thereto a soul 
 Of lofty, generous nature, that such gift 
 May nothing lose, but all its value prove. 
 
 So with our hero, Pierre. 
 Though envied all his agile, iron frame, 
 With pxide and joy they owned him for a friend. 
 And praised his daring and his matchless skill 
 In the chase perilous or festive sports. 
 More than himself they felt and owned his worth. 
 And yielded to his voice in all dispute 
 Without dissenting word. 
 Full oft would some aspiring youth 
 Up to Pierre's cottage take his way, 
 And learn a lesson from his exploits, told 
 
 With frank good-humoured warmth. 
 In many hearts his graphic words have lit 
 A fiery ardour for the dangerous life 
 'T was his delight to lead ; 
 And many a simple swain, 
 From his instruction and example. 
 Won for himself the hunter's dear-bought fame. 
 
 Thou monster of creation, grisly, huge, 
 That mankind flee with hatred and with fear — 
 Bear of the Pyrenees ! for cruelty 
 Surpassing all thy kind — 
 


40 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Wliat havoc made lie in tliy horrid ranks, 
 
 That, ere his time, spread death and terror round, 
 
 A thousand tongues can tell. 
 Oft from the lonely valley, far remote, 
 
 Uprose the cry of woe : 
 Sometimes for cattle, fall'n an easy prey. 
 Sometimes, alas, for human victims too. 
 ''The Bear! The Bear!" and Pierre is on the 
 
 track. 
 Perchance attended by a chosen few 
 Hardy and brave, but oftener still alone. 
 Nor gives he ground until the foe is slain. 
 
 What tales are told within his native vale 
 Of desperate daring, such as ears of men 
 
 Scarce heard before ! 
 How he would crouch inside the fatal cave. 
 Whose rocky floor was paved with mangled bones 
 
 That told a dismal tale. 
 And there with knife or gun (such weapons 
 
 frail !) 
 Await the night and grisly enemy. 
 
 He hears him come at length — 
 One shot, one deadly stab, and soon he falls. 
 Gasping his life away with savage growls. 
 And tearing at the ground with vengeful claws 
 In impotence of rage, whilst calmly stands 
 His conqueror. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 41 
 
 Hail ! beauteous efforts of creation's skill, 
 
 Izard and Bouquetin called, clean limbed and light ! 
 
 Harmless and gentle as the timid hind, 
 
 Ye fly the face of man 
 
 To climb the highest peak 
 
 Of Alp or Pyrenee. 
 
 How wondrous to behold 
 At early dawn — the season of alarm 
 
 To all your graceful kind, 
 For then the hunter notes the doubtful track 
 Of feet that scarce leave impress in the snow — 
 
 How wondrous to behold 
 
 Your headlong, bounding course. 
 
 Knowing not pause or stop. 
 
 O'er the blue chasmed ice, 
 
 Or broken, jagged rocks. 
 Or where the precipice, with sudden dip, 
 
 Looks down a thousand feet ! 
 Descent thus terrible affrights you not ; 
 Death is behind, life hangs upon your speed ! 
 Down, down ye plunge amid the rattling crags, 
 Where foot of man would vainly seek a hold. 
 
 Soon far beyond his reach I 
 
 At early morn, upon some peak remote, 
 Whose shield of ice reflects in roseate hues 
 
 The rising orb of day. 
 How fair to view those light and graceful forms 
 


42 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 In bold relief stand forth against the sky ! 
 With outstretched necks they snuff the passing 
 breeze, 
 To danger e'er awake ; 
 And should it lurk afar, and they detect 
 The well-known savour, vain the hunter's toil I 
 They vanish as a thought 
 Of beauty we neglect to seize. 
 Yet often have I seen, 
 Despite instinctive caution and quick fear. 
 The murderous rifle-ball o'ertake the herd 
 
 And lay its victim low. 
 Poor timid thing ! each deep convulsive throb 
 Seemed a reproach to Man that he must fain 
 Destroy a life so sinless and so free. 
 E'en here triumphant love asserts his sway ! 
 Lo ! while one victim bleeds the loving mate 
 Checks her wild flight, wherein her safety lay. 
 To mourn his loss, until another ball 
 
 Mingles her ebbing life with his. 
 Great lesson for humanity ! 
 If brutes can feel devotion such as this. 
 What should not Man ! whose Godlike form and ' 
 
 sense 
 Place him so far above them. Yet his hand 
 Too oft, alas ! divides the holy cord 
 Whereon are strung Affection's precious pearh 
 But to our hero, lion-hearted Pierre, 
 


THE PYRENEES. 4o 
 
 AVhose exploits are our theme — 
 Whose iron nerves, oft put to fearful proof, 
 Never such trial or such horror knew 
 
 As one too dreadful day — 
 A day deep graven on his memory 
 In ^characters as lasting as his life. 
 
 • Winter's stern chilling glance 
 
 Usurps sweet Summer's smile, 
 That like a timid laughing maid 
 
 Hath flown to hide her face 
 Until the beldam w4iom she fears 
 
 Shall pass upon her way. 
 
 In vain the wandering eye 
 Surveys the mountain and the misty vale 
 
 For one lone spot of green 
 
 Whereon to find relief 
 
 From the cold dazzling snow : 
 
 All sparkles bright around, 
 
 Dreary, profoundly deep. 
 
 Save where some pointed rock, 
 Or precipice stupendous, rears aloft 
 
 Its black and dismal wall, 
 Frowning like Crime on gentle Innocence, 
 That, robed in white, smiles calmly from beneath. 
 
 'Twas early morn when Pierre his cottage left 
 In Campan's snowclad vale. 
 


44 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 To track a foe whose claw-defended feet 
 Had left tlie impress of their power and size 
 
 Both far and near. 
 Untiring in exertion, afternoon 
 Found the bold hunter distant from his home. 
 But still no nearer to the prowling brute 
 
 Whose death he sought. 
 In vain with anxious eyes he looks aroun-d — 
 
 Ascends the cold grey rocks, 
 
 Or peers into the chasm — 
 
 Loses the track — recovers it, 
 
 And wanders here and there. 
 Impatience and vexation from his lips 
 
 At length find vent in words, 
 And, muttering curses on the shaggy game, 
 Reluctantly he yields the long pursuit 
 
 And homeward turns his steps. 
 
 T:he chase hath led him to the giant ridge 
 That hides sweet Luz, and near to Barege famed. 
 Whose roofs, scarce rising 'bove the drifted snow, 
 Beside the angry torrent might be seen 
 Down in the deep, dark, dismal vale beneath. 
 Both cold and bleak the dreary mountain waste 
 On every side extends, 
 And the sharp northern blast 
 Uplifts its distant voice 
 To howl hoarse warning in the traveller's ear. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 45 
 
 But imappalled is Pierre, 
 
 And onward wends his way, 
 Dreaming of home and Katinosse, his love, 
 Whom he ere long will lead, a happy wife, 
 
 To cheer his lone fireside. 
 Sudden he stops upon the yawning brink 
 Of a tall precipice, and gazes dow^n 
 Into a gprge two thousand feet below — 
 There, on the dazzling surface, closely grouped, 
 A troop of Izards seek their scanty food 
 ^ Beneath the freezing snow. 
 
 The hunter's bold heart leaps 
 
 Within him at the sight ! 
 And disappointment and his previous toil 
 
 Are soon forgotten, both. 
 His gun is primed, and down upon the ground 
 He drops, that thus he may observe unseen, 
 And measure with his eye the space that lies 
 
 Betwixt him and the game. 
 
 His brief inspection o'er, and settled how 
 
 The quarry he'll attain. 
 He seeks to rise ; but horror ! in his haste 
 He took no heed of where he laid him down — 
 Perceived not ice beneath the slender crust 
 Of fresh faU'n snow that on a slight incline 
 
 Attains the sudden brink 
 
 Of the huge precipice — 
 


46 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 And wlien he strives his feet once more to gain 
 Onward lie slowly slides ! 
 
 A dreadful truth hath flasht before his eyes- 
 He's lost I for ever lost ! 
 
 Wildly with starting eyes he glares around ! 
 The gun slips from his grasp, 
 Glides on a space — is gone ! 
 
 He spreads his arms— with eager nails essays 
 
 To dig into the surface — all in vain ! 
 
 They clutch but yielding snow ! 
 They glance from the ice ! 
 His feet fail to hold ! 
 Onward he swiftly glides ! 
 
 Then from his lips a ringing, maddening yell 
 
 Breaks the stern solitude. . . The brink is past 
 
 Into the dreadful yawning gulf 
 
 Headlong, alas ! he falls, 
 
 Over and over turns 
 Until both sense and breath have fled ! — 
 
 Oh wretched, hapless Pierre, 
 
 A fearful fate is thine ! 
 
 Lo ! half way down the rugged precipice 
 A stunted oaken bush. 
 With others, from a narrow ledge 
 Puts forth its strong and matted boughs : — 
 
 ! I 
 


THE PYRENEES. 47 
 
 0, wondrous to relate ! 
 
 The hunter's crimson sash 
 And vest entangle with the branches, and 
 His death-fall is arrested suddenly. 
 
 Poor Pierre ! what thoughts are thine 
 When breathing and perception both return 
 - Roused by the fearful shock ! 
 At first his awe-struck eyes 
 Can nothing see around — 
 Can nothing comprehend. 
 Pale horror with a vacant stare 
 Possesses them ; and then by slow degrees 
 The fact dawns on his mind 
 (A cheering blessed sun 
 Thawing the ice of fear) 
 That he yet lives, may yet be saved ! 
 But how ? kind Heaven ! how ? 
 For midway down he hangs — 
 Above him rises the appalling height ! 
 Deep, deep beneath him yawns the white 
 abyss ! 
 Around no hold for mortal foot ! 
 And one unguarded motion 
 Might break the frail support, 
 And Death in its cold shroud 
 ^ Receive his mangled limbs. 
 


48 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Oh hoiTible ! too horrible is this ! 
 
 And still more dreadful to his mind the thought 
 
 That thus he may hang on 
 
 For hours 'twixt life and death ! 
 Or die by inches, cold and hunger both 
 Assailing him. — Yes, better far is death 
 In one dread plunge than agony prolonged 
 
 To tortures such as these. 
 
 The criminal, condemned, 
 May for the final moment string his nerves 
 
 To meet his awful fate ; 
 
 But comes unsought reprieve. 
 Extending life, not saving it at last. 
 False hopes of manhood rob him, and he dies 
 Shrieking for mercy when the knell is rung. 
 
 Around the hunter throws 
 
 His anxious, starting eyes. 
 
 To learn the nature true 
 
 Of his position dire — 
 Too soon he sees ! too well he understands ! 
 The hope of life that blazed so lately o'er him, 
 
 Great as the sun itself, 
 
 Now dwindles to a star, 
 
 Feeble and waning dim. 
 
 A sob, a groan of woe 
 
 Bursts from his pale blue lips. 
 


THE PYRENEES. . 49 
 
 And from his brow the sweat by anguish drawn 
 Falls drop by drop into the cold white gulf 
 That mocks his torture with its aspect calm ! 
 
 He did not fear to die. — 
 How oft, how freely had he risked his life 
 
 In battle short and fierce, 
 - With the grim angry bear ! 
 
 Had heard his savage growls 
 
 Unmoved, when others quailed. 
 And fled the horrors of that dire embrace 
 
 From limbs of giant might ! 
 Such terrors filled his heart with eager joy. 
 And would again — Oh ! give him but the chance 
 Of such a glorious combat ! . . . But to hang 
 
 Thus helpless in his misery. 
 And gaze upon the spectre-form of Death 
 Waiting below, is horror such as thought 
 Can scarce conceive — imagination paint ! 
 
 He shouts, he shrieks aloud ! 
 
 The rocks return the cry, 
 
 The lonely snow-clad rocks, 
 In echoes long repeated, and again 
 
 That frightful silence reigns, 
 More terrible to bear than all the pangs 
 Of conscience to the stricken murderer. 
 
 \ 
 


50 THE HERMIT OF' 
 
 Again his voice resonnds and dies away 
 
 Unanswered, and unheard 
 By mortal ear upon that dreary waste 
 
 Of mountain, ice, and snow. 
 Grown hoarse and faint, he ceases soon to shout : 
 The cold benumbs his limbs and iron frame, 
 
 And seem to pierce his bones. 
 
 E'en as he looks below 
 Strange shapes arise out of the hollow gloom ; 
 Black shattered rocks, like legendary fiends. 
 In hideous forms seem crowding round their prey. 
 He notes them all — he counts them one by one ; — 
 How long have they been there ? And, if he fell, 
 
 Would that sharp point he sees 
 Run through him like a two-edged sword ? 
 Kill him outright ? 'T were merciful ! . . . 
 
 See ! now a fire is burning bright, 
 And cheering is the blaze 
 From crackling fir-tree logs. 
 
 Ah ! well he knows the humble dwelling — -' 
 His 0W71 in Campan's vale ! 
 And, seated by the hearth, his Katinosse 
 Is sweetly smiling, calling him her Pierre ! 
 Great God ! he hears her voice — 
 He speaks .... and in the act 
 
 The happy vision fades — Where ? where ? — 
 Can he not follow ? — No ! 
 
 II 
 


THE PYRENEES. 51 
 
 Once more he shrieks to find himself alone 
 Thus face to face with death ! 
 
 An hour hath passed. To him an age it seems 
 
 Full of dire agony. 
 
 If hell be like to this, 
 And spirits can experience pangs like these, 
 . Its torments are indeed 
 
 Most terrible to bear. 
 
 Lo ! now another fear, 
 
 Born of the hideous past. 
 
 Hangs o'er him like a pall. 
 In twice the time that he hath suffered thus 
 The night will close its shroud around the scene, 
 
 And, image of his fate. 
 
 Envelope him for ever ! 
 
 He prays that he may die ! 
 
 Speedily ! — speedily ! 
 
 Yea, ere the night can come I 
 
 O Desolation ! awful is thy form, 
 
 Whether in nature thou art found, 
 Or in the embittered loneliness of man ! 
 But when combined, as now, how doubly dire 
 
 Is to poor Pierre thy dreadful aspect ! 
 He feels thy presence at his very heart 
 As thou sitt'st brooding o'er that fatal gulf! 
 Thou, all unknown to him — so light, so gay, 
 


52 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 So full of life and hope 
 But one short hour ago — thy freezmg touch 
 
 Hath driven him raving mad ! 
 Upon him, all ye fierce and howling winSs ! 
 Rend him to pieces ! Let the hungry wolves 
 
 Feast on his scattered limbs ! 
 What careth he ! Despair is now a friend, 
 
 And stirs him into laughter 
 
 At the pale spectre, Death ! 
 
 His brain is burning. Yet another hour, 
 
 A weary hour he hangs — 
 
 Another age of pain 
 
 To his worn mind and frame. 
 
 Sudden above his head 
 A rushing sound, as if of wings, is heard. — 
 Is it an Angel sent from heaven down 
 
 To comfort and to aid ? 
 What means that murmur falling on his ear ? 
 
 And now a voice close at his side ! — 
 He turns his dizzy eyes, great Heaven ! they meet i 
 A human face ! — a form of living man " 
 
 Suspended in mid air ! 
 Sense fails him then ; he sees no more — 
 Feels not the rope, securely round him fixed, 
 Which drawls him swiftly from his threatened grave 
 
 To slow returning life. 
 
 >K * * * * * 
 


THE PYRENEES. 53 
 
 Long lay poor Pierre upon a feverish couch 
 
 Tossing 'twixt life and death ; 
 Grateful he learned how Heaven indeed had sent 
 Its angel to his aid in yon lone man, 
 The wandering Hermit of the vale of Luz, 
 
 Who, from a rock hard by, 
 Beheld him sink into the dark abyss — 
 Beheld the bush arrest him in his fall ; 
 With steps which Pity winged had sped to Luz 
 
 (By happy chance not far) 
 For aid substantial in the stalwart arms 
 
 Of ready, generous men. 
 Himself he led them to the fearful scene, 
 And taught them silently and surely then 
 To lower their ropes and save their fellow man. 
 
 Led by the Hermit's never-failing care. 
 In safety to his home they carried Pierre 
 
 Over the snow-clad pass, 
 Tourmallet stern, and through the vale of Grippe, 
 And laid him gently on his lonely couch 
 Beneath the roof where he was born and bred. 
 And when the fever raged, and all around 
 Made for then- brother lamentation, came 
 Ofttimes the Hermit, skilled to tend and soothe 
 His hours of pain, and waken cheering hope. 
 She, too, was there — his Katinosse, his own — 
 With all a woman's love to hasten back 
 
 6* 
 


54 
 
 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 Upon his cheek the ruddy glow of health : 
 And when it came her hand was clasped in his 
 Never to be withdrawn ! 
 
 Could he forget the Hermit ? 
 Could she forget the hand that saved her Pierre ? 
 
 All blessings rest with him ! 
 All they possess is his who gave to them 
 Life, and the life-long bliss of mutual love ! 
 
 li 
 


i331j 
 





57 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whither, Hermit ! must we seek thee now ? 
 Last seoji descending from thy lonely cell 
 
 In Luz's peaceful vale : 
 
 On mystic mission bent, 
 ' T is hard to follow where thy footsteps lead, 
 
 For scant repose is thine : 
 Yet would I wander with thee to the end 
 Of this, perchance, thy latest pilgrimage — 
 
 Hast thou not felt it such ? — 
 And, ere thy voice is hushed, revisit all 
 
 The scenes of bygone days ; 
 Feel o'er again w^hat I have felt before, 
 Through thee and in thee, thou my spirit's tongue 
 Speaking from Nature to Eternity, 
 Its element and life. Welcome ! bright dreams 
 That cheer us on the way. Though comet-like 
 
 Ye rise upon the atmosphere 
 [Of the cold world, to vanish soon from view. 
 Yet is there glory in your fiery train 
 That leaves its golden hue upon the mind, — 
 Portent or not to those who mark its flight. 
 


58 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 How wonderful art thou, 
 Subtlest of all tilings, Thought ! 
 Of what composed, what nature, who can say 't 
 Ethereal, infinite ! 
 Spanning both earth and heaven 
 With outstretched giant wings ! 
 Vv^hether thou brood'st upon the outer deep, 
 And mak'st it pregnant, or confin'st thee here 
 Within the compass of the world, thou art 
 In substance still the same— an unknown spark 
 A lidit, a shade, and unto feeble man 
 
 7' 
 
 Subservient yet superior. 
 He grasps thine airy form, and "bids it fly. 
 Or walk, or swim, or dive into the depths 
 Beneath the girdled earth ; or with its aid, 
 Seeks in the labyrinth of Science vast, 
 And deep Philosophy, when Faith falls short, 
 To solve the first great problem of the Soul. 
 Offspring of Mind, thy source is in the Hght 
 Immortal and eternal of that One 
 Whose throne above the universe is Heaven ! 
 Could we but keep thee pure as from that Spring 
 First issuing, obedient to the Word, 
 And not defile thee with our earthly lubts 
 And vain unworthy aims, how happy we ! 
 Too oft, alas ! perverted and debased, 
 The grandeur of thine origin is lost. 
 
 1 
 


THE PYRENEES. 59 
 
 riiy mission changed,* and where thou shouldst 
 
 support, 
 Raise, and adorn mankind, thou art to them 
 A minister of ill — an evil blight 
 Poisoning where thou shouldst nourish and restore. 
 Cursing where thou shouldst bless ! 
 
 Fair Poesy ! — to Thought the golden Spring, 
 Whose perfumed waters, if she seek their charm, 
 Can purify from every stain of earth — 
 
 Let thy sweet stream pour forth 
 The fulness of its beauty once again ! 
 Fair Poesy ! there are who dare 
 To reckon thee with things long past, 
 
 Unsuited to this Age. — 
 
 Maid of the radiant Morn ! 
 Thy fountain is not dry. I looked within 
 And saw the blue of heaven reflected still 
 Upon its sparkling face. They are but weeds 
 The careless time hath cast into the channel ; 
 They may obstruct, but cannot choke its way, 
 Soon, soon to vanish, as the gushing stream 
 
 Rolls its harmonious course. 
 
 V^ale of Osseau, thy smiles invite once more 
 ^y wandering footsteps, and I fly to thee 
 As to a well-loved friend. 
 


130 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Thou first of all clidst^reet my view 
 When from the tinted plains I came 
 To learn the marvels of the mountain world, 
 
 To me unknown before. 
 Upon thy verdant pastures first my soul 
 Felt the true joy that beauty can inspire ; 
 And now the tribute that my memory owes 
 I'd pay to thee in full. 
 
 I'll call thee fairest, 'mid so many fair, 
 Save one, my Hermit's home ; 
 That first, thou next in loveliness shalt hold 
 
 The place thy merits claim. 
 So fresh, so smiling through thy varied length, 
 Who enters thee indifferent to thy charms ? 
 From teeming plains we come, whose bosoms bare 
 Court the full ardour of that southern sun ; 
 
 And grateful are thy woods, 
 Their bright green arches high above our heads. 
 Extending long and wide, and all the air 
 Oppressed with savour from unnumbered shrubs, 
 Or modest flowers that fringe the tempting way. 
 
 Here all at once a vista opening shows 
 
 Some peaceful cot secluded in a dell 
 
 Where Daphne might have roamed and Phoebus 
 
 woo'd. 
 Or breathed soft music from his tuneful reed:. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 61 
 
 Where Innocence is born, and passes on 
 
 From youth to age in simple rustic bliss, 
 
 Contented with its quiet little world, 
 
 Knowing no other, seeking nought beyond. 
 
 A little further, and a limpid brook 
 
 Hums in the gladdened ear its welcome lay, 
 
 Now gaily laughs along, now hides away 
 
 In amorous sport beneath the pendent flowers ; 
 
 Or, bolder, leaping from the moss-clothed rock, 
 
 Bursts into glittering spray, and showers around 
 
 Its healthful, cooling dew. 
 Anon some lofty peak the prospect crowns, 
 Clothed with rich verdure to its highest point, 
 
 Or waving sprightly trees. 
 Naught terrible is there to blight the eye, 
 
 Or fill the soul with awe. 
 'Tis graceful beauty, all, and silently 
 
 Appealeth to our hearts. 
 
 And now the woods are passed, and other scenes 
 
 New loveliness disclose. 
 Here fields of yellow corn, here pastures rich 
 In herds and flocks, on either hand extend ; 
 Here the neat cottage or the modest farm. 
 High seated on the mountain's grassy side. 
 
 Or snugly in the vale ; 
 Here the proud chateau from its lofty site, 
 


1 
 
 Q2 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Full in the midst, looks down, 
 
 Upon whose ancient walls 
 Time hath writ legends of its younger days, 
 When court and hall resounded with the clang 
 Of arms and armour, and the Ladye fair 
 Smiled on her Knight from victory returned. 
 
 noble, joyous vale ! 
 Here roamed, great France, thy Henri of Navarre 
 Who drew from Nature, in her grandest form, 
 The wisdom that distinguished later years. 
 How cherished still by every peasant heart 
 Is the proud memory of that royal name — 
 His people's " conqueror and father !"* — Oft 
 They point to Pau, his birthplace, and Osseau 
 The nursery of his youth, and with a sigh 
 
 Think on the hero's fate ! 
 
 Vale of Osseau ! not only is thy name 
 For beauty known ; deep in thy verdant bosom 
 Hide those rich springs which yield, in generous flow, 
 Their charmed floods, to nourish and restore. 
 
 Eauxbonnes, Eauxchaudes, ye both are there, 
 Pale hollow-eyed Consumption knows you well, 
 
 And grinds her yellow teeth with rage, 
 To think how oft from her rapacious jaws 
 
 * « Et fut de ses sujets le vainqueur et le pere." 
 
 La Henkiade, chant i. 
 


THE PYREXEES. 63 
 
 Her countless victims have by you been torn ; — 
 Nor she alone, but all her sister plagues 
 In haste from thy too healthful air retire, 
 To glut their maws upon the swampy plain. 
 Or the devoted city, cramped and foul. 
 
 The sun hath set, hath risen and set ao:ain. 
 Since the lone Hermit looked upon the world 
 From his own threshold in the vale of Luz ; 
 And now at early morn his way he takes 
 
 O'er Osseau's verdant meads, 
 
 Bent on some holy mission. 
 He pauses not, but follows up the path, 
 Oft trod before, which to Aosta leads. — 
 Aosta, sftnple village far retired, 
 Where industry and rural worth abide ; 
 Hard by Eauxbonnes, down in the gorge below, 
 Its scattered cots and ancient church appear : — 
 And now he stops before the humble porch 
 Of one lone tenement, and knocks. 
 
 A venerable man 
 Over whose head some threescore years have passed. 
 And marked their passage by the silver threads 
 That thickly lace his locks of raven hue. 
 
 Soon at the threshold stands. 
 He sees the Hermit, and a flush of joy 
 
 Heightens his care-worn cheek. 
 As eagerly he welcomes him within : 
 


64 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 '* Oh, Father, we have prayed that thou mightst 
 
 come. 
 And lo ! our prayers are answered. She is there, 
 
 And longs once more to hear thy voice : 
 Come, speak to her, and soothe the few short hours 
 Of ebbing life — my Marie 1 — my lost child !" 
 
 " Ha ! say'st thou so ? I feared as much ; 
 But be thou calm, if heaven so decrees. 
 Her life hath been a stormy one. Bless God 
 That He now takes her to Himself in peace." 
 
 So saying they approach 
 The inner room where, stretched upon her bed. 
 
 Poor hapless Marie lies : 
 She sleeps awhile, and all her previous life 
 Passes before her in a feverish dream. 
 Sad is the tenour of the tale it tells, 
 And stern the lesson which its truth conveys. 
 


THE STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MMm, Wi 
 


1 
 
 ■ 
 


67 
 
 V. 
 
 Not in the gardens of the earth 
 Did Beauty first unfold 
 - The glories of its presence. 
 Its bright ethereal spirit 
 Blooms on the boundless plains of Heaven ! 
 E'en on the holy Mount, 
 The throne of light and life, 
 And majesty eternal, infinite — 
 Where angels hymn unceasing strains of praise 
 On sweet-toned golden harps— 
 E'en there it finds it home. 
 Thence streaming through the vast expanse of 
 
 Heaven 
 It shines upon the gathered hosts of saints, 
 
 Gilding their star-crowned brows, whereon 
 The seal of everlasting peace is fixed, 
 Faith's high reward; 
 Then issues from the sapphire gate 
 Through which those prayers ascend 
 
 That true hearts breathe. 
 And fills the universe around 
 
 With all those sparkling spheres 
 


(38 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 That shadow forth a future unto Man, 
 And raise his thoughts above the prostrate 
 v/orld. 
 
 Inanimate, yet portion of the same 
 
 Primeval loveliness, 
 
 In Nature next 'tis seen 
 
 Of every shape and hue : 
 Now it is gentle, wooing in its form ; 
 Now, sternly grand, it fills our hearts witli awe ;-^ 
 A graceful waving tree ; a modest flower ; 
 
 An image of repose 
 
 In some green quiet dell ; 
 
 A mighty towering rock — 
 A cataract that plunges o'er the neck 
 
 Of some huge precipice — 
 
 A mountain cleft in twain ! 
 Or in the glorious changing rainbow's arch 
 
 Uniting earth with heaven. 
 
 The bright connecting link 
 
 Made manifest between 
 Body and Spirit— World, Eternity ! 
 
 Lastly, in breathing, moving shape, 
 
 Man, it is thine own. 
 Beauty in thee is greatness of the soul, 
 
 And sovereignty of Reason ; 
 And, joined to these, the outward noble form 
 
 


THE PYRENEES. 69 
 
 Erect, and tall, the contour firm 
 Of muscle and of limb : 
 In likeness of Omnipotence itself, 
 Thou walk'st the earth, to conquer and adore. 
 
 In thee, Woman, more refined and pure, 
 It blushes like the rose upon thy cheek, 
 • And from thy dark sweet eye 
 
 Its lucid rays pour forth 
 
 In soft, voluptuous streams. 
 Appear in all thine innocence, 
 
 In all thy virgin truth. 
 
 And, could Perfection dwell 
 Upon the earth as in the realms above, 
 Thou to contain it wert the vessel meet ! 
 
 Thy form is living loveliness ! 
 
 And round thy polished limbs 
 A thousand bashful graces play. 
 
 Thy tresses are a veil 
 Beneath whose ample shade young Pleasure hides, 
 Joined with sweet Modesty, his fitting mate. 
 So looked the Mother of mankind, 
 
 Fresh from her Maker's hands ; 
 Her form was of the earth, but in her eyes 
 The glories of a brighter region shone ! 
 
 At meek Aosta, in the Yal d'Osseau, 
 
 From tenderest years the graceful Marie grew ; 
 


70 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 And, like some beauteous plant but scant'ly known, 
 Whose every slioot doth with its age disclose 
 Some beauty new, so to the watchful eyes 
 Of those around the gentle Maid revealed 
 
 New charms each fleeting year. 
 
 Scarce eighteen summers passed, 
 
 And all throughout the vale — 
 From high Eauxbonnes, perched in her eaglet's nest, 
 Down to its threshold on the G-ave of Pau — 
 
 Confess fair Marie queen 
 
 Unrivalled, unapproached. 
 
 Behold where now she stands 
 
 Beside yon crystal pool, 
 
 Whose tranquil purity. 
 Unruffled by the wild, ungentle wind. 
 Sleeps like true innocence — herself ! 
 
 Oh, what a native grace 
 
 Beams in that rounded form, 
 That perfect moulded nature, unadorned, 
 
 Uncramped by bastard Art ! 
 
 What power is in that eye. 
 
 Whose fires e'en thro' the fringe 
 Of silken lashes force their way I 
 
 Yet modesty is there. 
 
 For, lo ! how soon they droop 
 
 And all advance repel. 
 
 Dare you look into them. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 71 
 
 Her lips, like rosy fruit, bloom on their tree, 
 That Passion hungers for with flaming eyes, 
 But chaster Love claims as his rightful due — 
 Ah ! happy one whom destiny reserves 
 To banquet on their sweetness. 
 
 I see thee, Marie, even now, 
 Tlirough the thin film that envious Time, 
 Consumer of all beauty, draws 
 Before thy matchless form : 
 I see thee in the fullness of thy bloom. 
 The idol of the vale, 
 The wondrous rose among the rocks 
 Whose perfume fills the air. 
 I hear the stranger still pronounce thy name 
 With eulogy, and point 
 Unto the spot that gave thee birth. 
 I hear thy native brethren with delight 
 
 Count thy perfections o'er. 
 And marvel 'mong themselves which man of men 
 Shall win so sweet a prize. 
 
 Thy mother's breast o'erflows with joy and pride 
 To mark such homage as thy beauty wins. 
 
 Her only darling one, 
 Sha loves to see thee in thy best attire. 
 Simple and picturesque, on festive day. 
 
 Concentrate, like a sun. 
 


72 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 The beams from every eye around ; 
 And wlien to dance some swain allures 
 Thy ever willing feet, 
 How the applause thy graceful movements wake 
 Thrills through her gladdened heart — 
 The happiest woman in the valley she ! 
 
 With colder glance thy father looks 
 
 Upon the joyous scene. 
 
 He was a soldier stern, 
 
 Tried on the battle plain, 
 Ere back he turned him to his native hills, 
 
 With his young wife and child, 
 To till his little field and dwell in peace. 
 
 He knows too well the world. 
 
 Its perils and its snares ; 
 And Marie is the jewel of his heart, 
 The pride and joy of his declining years ! 
 He likes not all this homage, for he knows 
 
 How Flattery's subtle coil 
 
 Winds round a heart so young. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis not without good cause 
 This fear reigns in his breast. 
 And robs him of all peace. 
 
 Amongst the eager, swelling crowd «» 
 
 Of strangers and of swains 
 Who revel in the light 
 


THE PYRENEES. 73» 
 
 Of Marie's matchless cliarms, 
 
 His quick eye soon perceives 
 One of superior presence to the rest, 
 Whose manners speak refinement and high blood ; 
 
 From whose too fluent tongue 
 
 Seductive eloquence, 
 Clothed in the garb of flattery, 
 Pours an unceasing honied stream. 
 
 With a deep, inward pang 
 
 Poor Marie's father sees 
 Her eye flash with too bright a fire 
 
 As those soft dangerous words. 
 Like false fiends decked in golden liveries, 
 Steal through the unbarred portals of her ears 
 To desecrate the temple of her mind. 
 
 How earnestly he, in his Marie's cause, 
 Pleads to her mother, and with graphic tongue 
 Depicts the danger lurking for the child ! — 
 
 Shows how, tho' pure as light, 
 
 And beautiful as pure, 
 This adulation ofiered at the shrine 
 
 Of her surpassing charms — 
 
 This fast far-spreading fame — 
 May bring its curse upon their happy home. 
 
 Why teach her virgin heart 
 To prize the accents of beguiling praise. 
 And court temptation in her million forms ? 
 


• 74 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 The very angels fell, and so may she ! 
 
 Withdraw her then from idle gaping crowds 
 That gaze with lustful eyes — 
 From that too favored one ! — 
 
 Yea, save her e'er it be too late to save ! 
 
 Thus wisely flow his words ; 
 
 But in the breast where they should rouse alarm 
 
 Befitting to their import, they excite 
 
 High indignation and unruly pride. 
 
 Reproachful and unseemly from her lips 
 Her hasty language flows : 
 What need to school her thus ? 
 
 She knew her duty well as he knew his, 
 
 And, thank great Providence, could guard her child 
 From all these fancied ills 
 With or without his aid ! 
 
 Withdraw the girl, forsooth, from public gaze ? 
 She gloried in her charms, 
 And in their wide-spread fame — 
 Ay, felt a pride a parent feels 
 In such a boon from heaven 
 As Marie was to them ; — 
 
 She prays him lock his fears within his breast 
 
 And never fret her with such shadows more. 
 
 To this rough speech her prudent spouse forbears 
 Reply, revolving ever in his mind 
 


THE PYRENEES. 75 
 
 The only course Ms sense of right approves. 
 Meanwhile the fame of Marie's beauty spreads 
 Wider each day, and she with childish joy 
 
 Perceives the envied height 
 To which it hath upraised her, feeling not 
 
 The peril that attends it. 
 So waves the flower upon the glacier's edge 
 In fancied safety from impending ruin — 
 So thrives the tree upon the torrent's brink, 
 Proudly and cheerfully, until it falls 
 And finds its foe in what it deemed a friend. 
 
 How oft desire to work out some good end 
 Misguides our steps, and hurries on the evil 
 
 That we would most avoid ! 
 E'en as the mariner, whose watchful eye 
 Perceives some danger, straight consults his chart 
 Whereon the tracks are marked, but chooses one 
 Which seems to clear it by a shorter course — 
 Vain all his caution ; lo ! the rocks appear, 
 And wreck him when he deemed the peril past ! 
 Thus with poor Marie. In his eager haste 
 To save her, as he thinks, her father (deaf 
 To all entreaty) suddenly declares 
 
 That she must for a time 
 
 Bid an adieu to home. 
 At Pau his brother lives, to whose strict guard 
 He will commit his daughter. Against this 
 


76 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Her mother clamours loudly, but in vain, 
 And Marie drops a tear, but murmurs not. 
 
 The next day she is gone. 
 The Val d'Osseau hath lost its sweetest maid— 
 The fairest pearl that e'er the mountains 
 
 owned, 
 Torn from its setting, now adorns the plain. 
 
 Marie, had thy young heart found 
 Within thy native vale some worthy one 
 
 To bless with all its love. 
 Much after misery hadst thou been spared ! 
 But forth thou wentest in thy pride of beauty- 
 Too soon, alas ! that beauty proves thy bane, 
 And down thou fallest, never more to rise ! 
 
 Why here repeat the tale 
 So often told, so threadbare worn. 
 How the seducer, baffled for a time, 
 Discovered thee too soon, and won thine ear 
 With flattery's tinsel phrase and hollow vows, 
 Till all thy scruples, one by one, o'ercome. 
 He bears thee off in triumph from thy friends, 
 
 Grief-stricken and dismay' d ! — 
 Enough to tell the fatal truth 
 
 That thou, alas ! didst fall ! 
 Let Pity cast her veil upon thy guilt ; 
 But thy repentance, like the sunset ray. 
 Shall leave its tint upon thy fading hours. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 77 
 
 Two years pass heavily away — 
 No news of Marie to Aosta comes. 
 The strangers, knowing her in happier times, 
 Inquiry make when passing on their way 
 
 Through the bright Val d'Osseau, 
 And hear the burden of the saddening tale. 
 The peasant points to her once happy home, 
 ^ And tells how sorrow broke 
 Her mother's once proud heart, 
 Leaving her father desolate 
 To mourn the hour when, in his anxious haste, 
 He dared entrust her to another's care. 
 
 Two years pass heavily away. 
 Pale Winter's snows are melting fast from view 
 In the deep vale and on the mountains' sides. 
 
 Beneath the genial smile of Spring. 
 The Hermit issues from his peaceful cell 
 
 To wander forth, as is his wont. 
 Upon his unknown way. 
 Through Argel^s, a valley wide and fair, 
 Well known to fame, he shapes his silent coursse, 
 In meditation rapt ; 
 
 And soon he nears its northern bound, 
 Where gapes a pass, the solitary route 
 
 Far winding down to ancient Lourdes ; 
 When suddenly a woman from a cottage, 
 That in its little garden stands hard by. 
 


78 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Springs forth to meet him, and with humble prayer 
 Entreats to walk within and blessing give 
 To a poor stranger sickness hath o'erta'en 
 
 Beneath their modest roof. 
 He bows assent and follows where she leads. 
 Distress ne'er pleaded unto him in vain. 
 
 In a low chamber, on a pallet mean, 
 The suiferer lies, a tall and way-worn girl, 
 The perfect contour of whose prostrate form — 
 The classic head — the dark and flashing eyes — 
 The well cut mouth — proclaim, alas ! the trutli ; — 
 
 'Tis Marie, once the pride. 
 
 The idol of Osseau. 
 Still beautiful, but, oh ! how fallen now 
 From what she was but two short years before ! 
 Grief, like a blight, hath stricken the fair tree 
 And scathed it in its bloom — its better life — 
 
 Its dearest hopes — its all ! 
 Like the wan spectre of Despair itself 
 
 She hangs 'twixt life and death, 
 And loathes the past, but dreads what is t<» 
 come. 
 
 With tearful smile the mystic man she hails. 
 Whose gracious words fall gently in her ear. 
 And pour their balm upon her troubled spirit. 
 E'en as she listens, lo ! another day 
 


THE PYRENEES. 70 
 
 Appears to dawn upon the dreary night 
 Of her dejection. Blessed be his voice ! 
 All is not gone from her; some light remains 
 To cheer the darkened path beyond the -world. 
 
 To him with eager haste 
 She tells the story of her woful fall — 
 
 And how she early felt 
 
 The fulness of her loss — 
 How soon, when sated with his virgin prey. 
 The smooth deceiver in the villain merged ; 
 And, when she murmured, bade her hold her peace. 
 
 Or to another sell 
 
 The charms she so much prized ! — 
 Where were his vows of lasting, faithful love ? 
 Oh, when he spoke these words, how she abhorred 
 
 Her wretched self and him ! 
 
 Gay Paris was the scene 
 
 Of her brief reign of guilt. 
 Did she enjoy it whilst it lasted ? — No ! 
 
 The worm gnawed at her heart, 
 And she awoke, as from a dream, 
 To find herself the hateful thing she was. 
 Around her Pleasure, like the ocean, rolled 
 Through the vast channels of that gorgeous town. 
 And Wealth and Splendour on its surface shone — 
 
 It dashed its glittering spray 
 
 In jewels over her ! 
 


80 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 With horror she recoiled, 
 And shook them oiF at last, and fled ! 
 Whither she cared not, could she but escape 
 From him who had betrayed her — from the world, 
 From the dread frown of an offended God, 
 And (would that such could be !) 
 From her vile conscience-stricken self ! 
 
 Among the mountains once she had a home — 
 A tranquil, happy home. 
 Where her first childhood passed. 
 She had a father and a mother fond, 
 Who both then loved her, and with joyful pride 
 Beheld her beauty from the bud expand 
 Into the full-blown, perfect flower. 
 Sullied and faded, would they own her now ? 
 
 Would they e'en look upon her ? No ! 
 To them she never, never can return ! 
 But in some desert spot must lay her bones 
 Where the cold blast shall howl its dismal dirge 
 Over the lost one's grave ! 
 
 Thus the fierce tumult in her troubled soul 
 Once more aw^akes ; but soon the Hermit's voice. 
 With dulcet tone, to calmness soothes it down, 
 And then it sleeps, as doth the placid lake 
 Lulled by the soft breath of a summer's eve : 
 The stars that gem the glorious dome of heaven 
 


, THE PYRENEES. 81 
 
 Reflected shine within its bosom deep ; 
 E'en so her mind upon its tranquil face 
 Reflects the lustre of his heavenly thoughts. 
 This good work done, the gracious man departs, 
 And toward Osseau with swiftest pace he speeds ; 
 There seeks her father in his lonely cot, 
 And bids him come, and in God's holy name 
 Receive his erring but repentant child. 
 
 Not hard the task to lead him to her arms. 
 With unchecked joy he hears the welcome news 
 
 Of her unhoped return ; 
 And for her sin, the pains she hath endured 
 
 Are chastisement enough. 
 That ere she fell from her once happy state 
 Of innocence and beauty w^as, alas ! 
 (0 woe ! that such confession should be his I) 
 
 His error — his the blame — 
 
 Had he less hasty been, 
 But kept her like a jewel next his heart, 
 And not dismissed her to another's care, 
 
 He had not grown into 
 
 The grief-worn w"retch he was ! 
 
 But he was struck with fear 
 At the wide homage that her charms obtained, 
 And sought to save her from o'erweening pride 
 
 By one stern, timely blow. 
 
 Great Heaven pardon him. 
 


82 THE HERMIT OF ^ 
 
 If evil sprang from his intended good I-^- 
 He sought to rescue, not to lose his child. 
 
 Yet a short while, and Marie once again 
 Feels her fond father clasp her to his heart, 
 ' With words of comfort and forgiveness kind. 
 
 He bids her live to cheer 
 
 The remnant of his days, 
 
 And from her thoughts dismiss 
 The hateful memory of the bitter past. 
 
 Alas ! her mother's voice 
 Joins not with his to urge this gentle prayer. 
 Her voice hath long been hushed, too soon she learns ; 
 And for a time the thought that her misdeeds 
 Had cut the thread of that dear parent's life 
 
 O'erwhelms her ; but at length, 
 Her father's love regained, the Hermit's care, 
 
 Upraise her once again. 
 By slow degrees unto her weakened frame 
 Some strength returns that barely may suffice 
 To take her back into her native vale. 
 
 Scene of far happier days ! 
 
 Her childhood's home ! 
 Once more she stands within its humble w^alls ; 
 But what a change a few short months have 
 
 wrought — 
 Not in its aspect, that is still the same — 
 
 In her own self ! 
 


THE PYRENEES. 83 
 
 There is her room ; the bed whereon she lay 
 And slept the sleep of innocence and peace ; 
 There the small crucifix against the wall, 
 And, close beneath, the Blessed Virgin's smile. 
 There hangs the glass upon whose truthful face 
 Her own was mirrored in its. loveliness, 
 Its purity ! 
 
 Sh£ dare not look upon it now. 
 For it would show in characters too plain 
 
 The havoc sin hath made. 
 All is the same as in that happy time 
 Too swiftly fled, and every object round 
 Conveys reproach until her burdened heart 
 
 Pours forth its anguish at her eyes 
 In floods of burning tears. 
 
 Oh, that such tears could wash away 
 
 The past, and all its memories ! 
 The mountain stream sweeps o'er its pebbly bed. 
 Chafes at its bounds, and from their contact grows 
 Sullied awhile, but soon runs pure again ! 
 But if life's troubled stream contract a stain, 
 Unto the ocean of eternity 
 In all its foulness it is hurried on ! 
 Our conscience is a book 
 
 Wherein our faults are registered ; 
 And angels turn away, 
 And veil their faces, whilst the fiends rejoice — 
 


84 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 With greedy, jealous eyes they watch and wait 
 To add a new impeachment to the list. 
 
 Time passes swiftly on : 
 The sun shines brightly o'er the Yal d'Osseau; 
 
 Its children's hearts are glad, 
 For Plenty smiles upon them in their fields, 
 And Peace and Happiness are theirs within. 
 
 But in poor Marie's breast 
 
 Reigns bitter desolation. 
 No sun can warm her into joy again — 
 No smiles recall the blighted rose of health. 
 And playful youth, to those pale features more. 
 
 She flies the festive scenes, 
 
 Where she was once the queen, 
 And seeks the lonely wood, the quiet dell. 
 Or her still chamber : there she at least may give 
 
 Vent to the hidden agony 
 Which will gush forth, consuming as it comes ! 
 
 In vain her father and her pitying friends 
 
 Crowd anxious round her, seeking to dispel 
 
 The fatal cloud that on her spirit rests. 
 
 From the dread Past she cannot draw her eyes 
 
 To lose it in the Present — still 'tis there! 
 
 The woful thought that poisons her young life — 
 
 Yes, still His there! .... 
 Oh for a draught of Lethe's cooling wave 
 
 To her parched lips ! — 
 
 
 i 
 


THE PYRENEES. 85 
 
 Forgetfiilness ! then death, if it must be ; 
 
 But thought is torment, and she still must think I 
 
 A saddening sight it is 
 To watch decay creep o'er this mortal frame, 
 E'en when the measure of our years is full : 
 . But sadder still to mark 
 Its withering, fatal hand, 
 On youth and beauty in their pride of bloom. 
 The mighty maw of Death 
 Is full of this rich food, but still 
 Unsated, aye he craves 
 For more ; and more are his. 
 Poor, hapless Marie ! many years too soon 
 
 He bends his bow at thee. 
 And the dread arrow quivers in thy breast. 
 
 The blow is struck ! No healing for such wound ! 
 She sinks ! she sinks ! the wretched father sees 
 
 And cannot save his child ! 
 
 Oh, why restore her to him — 
 
 Why stir his heart with joy, 
 
 Only to break it thus ? 
 Alas ! the curse is still upon the hour 
 
 In which he sent her forth. 
 For now that he would keep her to himself 
 To cheer the twilight of his woful life, 
 
 Death snatches her away. 
 


86 THE HERMIT 0¥ 
 
 A short time back, and day appeared to dawn ; 
 But night is lowering thicker than before, 
 And he must wander in the dark alone ! 
 
 The generous Hermit from his distant cell 
 At intervals appears. To that sad home 
 His coming is a cheering beam from heaven, 
 
 Piercing the clouds that intervene 
 To hide the brighter glories of the future. 
 They hang upon his words that breathe of peace : 
 And chiefly she who feels her hour at hand. 
 In his mild accents naught of threatened doom, 
 
 No awful images arise — 
 No talk of death eternal, or the pains 
 
 Of unconsuming fires. 
 He never spoke of death, or taught its fear. 
 But raised the'drooping soul from earth to heaven ! 
 His eyes had long been opened to a Truth 
 
 Which spurns corruption and the grave: — 
 Rapt in the glory of that brighter promise, 
 He waits, he hopes, and if, meanwhile, death come, 
 'T is like a sleep unvexed by troubled dreams 
 
 Betwixt a dreary day 
 
 And an unfadino; morrow ! — 
 
 happiness supreme, 
 'Mid all poor Marie's crushing woes, to hear 
 Such godlike accents from the lips of man ! 
 


THE PYRENEES. 87 
 
 The mystic hour of sleep has come for her — 
 The two lone watchers stand beside her couch, 
 Gazing upon her as she prostrate lies 
 In the still chamber : even as thej watch 
 
 Those once so lustrous eyes 
 
 Now wearily unclose, 
 And a gweet smile plays on her pale blue lips, 
 
 That part as if to speak. 
 
 But no Avords issue forth ; 
 
 One deep-drawn sigh escapes, 
 And on its airy wings the spirit soars 
 From the poor, blighted, earthly tenement 
 
 To meet its God and Judge. 
 
 o 
 
 That night there was a silence in each home, 
 And hearts were heavy in the Val d'Osseau. 
 
 The rising moon, full-orbed. 
 Through one small casement throws her silver 
 
 beams 
 Upon the placid features of the dead, 
 And on the grey locks of a lone old man 
 
 Who crouches by the side 
 
 Of her to him so dear I 
 His head is bowed upon his heaving breast. 
 
 And to and fro he rocks. 
 
 As his grief sways him ever — 
 
 Or only stops to chase 
 


88 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 The fly that fain would settle 
 Upon that pallid cheek ! 
 He weeps not, for his grief 
 Is deep and hot within him, 
 And sears his tearless eyes. . 
 Oh ! it is terrible 
 To feel a desolation such as his ! 
 
 1 
 


1^1111113. 
 





91 
 
 VI. 
 
 Stranger ! lov'st thou to feel 
 The chilling kisses of the Queen of night 't 
 
 There is a glory in her reign, 
 
 Though she look pale and sick 
 
 As Fear or blighted Hope. 
 I've watched her shine upon the mighty deep. 
 Tipping with silver all its crested waves, 
 And thought upon the w^ide, tumultuous world, 
 And the dark workings of its secret breast — 
 
 Its plottings, wiles, and mischief. 
 I've seen her light upon a broad blue lake, 
 
 Whose waveless waters slept 
 
 As do the minds of those 
 
 Who find in death a friend. 
 
 Rest all their aim on earth, 
 
 No hope in heaven beyond ! — 
 I've seen her shine upon the monuments 
 
 Of some old sculptured race, 
 And bring their hoary beauty forth to view, 
 Till every fretted angle told its tale 
 
 Of the great buried Past. 
 So the old warrior, or the storied sage. 
 


92 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 In the calm moonlight, of his latter days, 
 
 Relates the wonders of the early time, 
 
 Which show still greater through this silvery veil. 
 
 I will not wrong thee, mysterious Night ! 
 And draw comparisons with joyous Day ; 
 Let each live in itself; the one all smiles 
 Like thoughtless youth,— the other sombre, grave. 
 As best becomes the elder of the twain. 
 Thine age who dares to guess V 
 Thou with thy brothers grim. 
 Chaos and Space, wast never young, 
 x
d Limit hath no name in thy domain. 
 A million unknown spheres might lose their way ^ 
 Left they their thrones to wander through thy 
 shades. 
 One power, Night, can compass thee. — 
 One power, Night, can conquer thee— 
 He said, " Let there be light !" 
 And at His will the new-created ray 
 Sprang from thy bosom, then first taught to feel 
 Dismay that for a time your reigns should be 
 Alternate— henceforth thou must yield him all I 
 
 Yes, dark-browed, ancient Night, though black thy 
 
 frowns. 
 And terrible sometimes, thou hast thy charm 
 In measured portion with the gorgeous day. 
 Sated with lustre from the flaming sun, 
 


THE PYRENEES. 9o 
 
 How sweet the shelter of thme ebon wing, 
 
 In the soft hip of sleep ! 
 How sweet for him, who toils from early dawn 
 To wring a pittance out of pampered Wealth, 
 Or cold, stern Avarice, to feel thj shades 
 Creep o'er him, granting kindly interval 
 
 ^rom the long, weary task ! 
 How sweet for her who counts each lingering hour 
 Of the long day, and dreams of love and bliss, 
 To find them both in thee. Sweet unto him, 
 Whose soul is in some mystic science rapt. 
 Are thy kind, silent hours, and the pale lamp 
 That sheds its halo o'er the realms of Thought. 
 
 I will not hate thee, Night, 
 Though Crime may hide her in thine ample cloak. 
 And stalk abroad to ravage and destroy. 
 I w^ill not hate thee, though men stain thy bosom 
 With their foul acts and treasons : let them benr 
 The hellish stigma ! thou, the looker-on 
 
 And favourer perforce. 
 
 I will not hate thee, Night, but call thee kind 
 And generous to men — to me most kind ! 
 Beneath the shadow of thy giant wings 
 I lay me down to sleep, and visions float 
 Before my spirit's ever wakeful eyes 
 Of mystic seeming, which, with early dawn. 
 Spring into life. Bright forms ! more palpable 
 Than may appear from your fantastic dress, 
 


94 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Truth hides within you, and my weary heart 
 Is soothed into endurance by your smiles. 
 
 gracious, friendly Night ! 
 Would we awaken to thy majesty, 
 'Tis not within the densely peopled hell 
 Men call a city, whence they shock thine ear 
 With their mad riot and ungodly deeds, 
 But in the peaceful, far-removed plain, 
 Or where the mountain pythons of the earth 
 
 Point their proud crests to heaven 1 
 'Tis there we know thee in thy regal state 
 
 And comprehend thy power. 
 There, too, Queen, that 'mid a blaze of jewels 
 On a rich robe, hang'st like the modest opal — 
 There, too, we view thee in thy silvery pride 
 Of beams that emulate the fiercer sun. 
 And the rich clustering stars! — those watchful 
 
 eyes 
 Of myriads of bright angels — how they gem 
 The raven tresses of the old King Night, 
 Adding fresh lustre to his diadem ! 
 
 The world profoundly sleeps 
 ' After its many toils, 
 
 Wrapped closely in the mantle of the dark — 
 If dark indeed you call 
 A spectre of midday, 
 Clothed in bright silver beams. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 95 
 
 The giants of Bigorre 
 
 In serried ranks stand forth, 
 
 And cast their mighty shades 
 
 Far o'er the silent plains, 
 Like the famed oracles of ancient days 
 
 Searching the clouded fjature. 
 
 Above all other, looms 
 
 Into the moonlit air, 
 
 Bagnieres, thine ice-crowned peak, 
 
 The sovereign of its range, 
 Whose sparkling crest for forty leagues around 
 
 Makes its great presence known ! 
 
 What figure moving up those rugged slopes, 
 Now wrapped in shadow, now in light displayed, 
 
 Salutes our startled gaze ? — 
 What reckless wretch thus lonely in the night 
 Seeks doom inevitable ? Mark it well ! 
 That form is not of earth ! Its face is pale — 
 It glides upon the rocks and glittering ice ! 
 No human footstep e'er so swift, so sure ! 
 And now it gains the summit where it stands 
 
 And, statue-like, awaits — 
 
 wonderful to see ! 
 It is no phantom form — 'tis mortal! — 'tis 
 The wanderer of the mountains — the lone man 
 
 Of Luz's distant vale. 
 Why comes he there while sleeps the prostrate 
 world ? — 
 


96 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 '' Lo ! from tliis point I overlook the earth. 
 And, first of men, shall hail the morning's light — 
 
 To me blest privilege ! 
 Thus vroulcl I ever hail it — ever watch 
 
 For the first streak of dawn. 
 
 In bygone ancient days ^^B 
 
 So stood the Prophet on the hill of Faith ^^Bl 
 
 Down gazing through the stormy night around ; 
 And, while all slept, or heeded not his voice, 
 Proclaimed the terrors of the coming time ! 
 
 Ye, too, profoundly sleep, 
 
 people ! 'neath my feet, 
 Unmindful of the morrow, as of yore. 
 When will ye learn to wake, and watch, and 
 feel 
 
 That which is soon to come — 
 
 Which is e'en now so near 
 That it may take you in the lap of sleep ! 
 
 " Thou glorious heavenly arch ! 
 I gaze upon thy majesty to-night 
 For the last time from this exalted stand. 
 The Angel's whisper passed into my ear. 
 As I ascended, that my feet no more 
 Should leave their impress on the Monarch's crown. 
 May all who follow read in thy bright book. 
 Lit by yon wondrous stars, what I have read 
 So oft before, and may they be prepared | 
 


THE PYRENEES. 97 
 
 Even as I am now. 
 • Be merciful, Heaven ! 
 
 Give them the peace that filleth all my soiil^ 
 Which I knew not until I learnt thj ways, 
 And clomb the mountain nearer unto Thee !" 
 
 I He ceased to speak, and for a while his head 
 j Drooped on his ample chest : 
 
 I He raised it soon, and with his eye of power 
 I He pierces the deep shadows of the night. 
 I , Long stood he thus ; 
 
 His form defined against the southern sky, 
 I ^ Distinct and clear. 
 
 In its proportions rose more vast than nature. 
 
 So Destiny, 
 From some huge pinnacle untrod by man, 
 
 Broods o'er the plastic world, 
 Hatching fresh change and turmoil while it sleeps 
 In false security ! 
 
 Athwart the face of night a change comes on 
 Perceptible, though gradual, like the light 
 Of truth that steals into the stubborn heart ; 
 At first a spark, then rising to a flame 
 
 Triumphant and eternal. 
 
 Pale is the silver moon ; 
 More wan, more pale now shows her queenly brow, 
 A.S at her heart some bitter grief were gnawing. ' 
 


98 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 The stars, too, that before 
 So thickly spangled all the dome of heaven, 
 
 Wax fainter and retire. 
 Like wearied watchers, to refresh their strength 
 
 For lengthened vigils new. 
 
 The Hermit's eyes upon the east are fixed 
 
 With steadfast gaze, as though some cherished hope 
 
 Long buried there, was soon to be revealed ; 
 
 And in that region doth the solemn blue 
 
 Of heaven dissolve into a gentle grey — 
 
 (The tint that in this world some choose to call 
 
 The robe of Piety, which Sin assumes 
 
 When she repents her of her past misdeeds : — 
 
 How many use this seeming saintly cloth. 
 
 Deceiving others and not less themselves !) 
 
 And now a warmer flush, 
 
 So delicately pure 
 That with it naught of earth hath rivalry. 
 
 It deepens then in hue, 
 
 Like the fresh summer rose, 
 Emblem of innocence and virgin love 
 Unstained by contact foul with earthly guile. 
 
 truly happy state ! 
 Which many know not, or who, knowing, leave 
 
 Too soon for that which brings 
 With wider range of knowledge evil seeds, 
 Producing in the end their rotten fruit — 
 
 1 
 


THE PYRENEES. 99 
 
 In lieu of Peace, Discomfort, Pain, 
 Uncertainty, Confusion, Sin, 
 
 And its dread offspring, Death ! 
 
 Yet brighter glows the east ! 
 As grim old Night his sable chariot turns, 
 And whij)S his steeds into the farthest west — 
 
 Brighter and brighter still ! 
 
 Each moment is a messenger, 
 Clothed with new beauty from the sun, 
 That rushes forth upon the sleeping world, 
 Full of glad tidings of his near approach : 
 
 He comes, he comes, he comes ! 
 Up and receive him in your best attire 
 
 ever- varying Nature ! 
 Ye fertile plains ! ye high aspiring hills ! 
 Give him due honour in return for all 
 The beauty and the wealth ye win from him 
 In multiplied abundance. Man alone, 
 Unmindful and ungrateful, sleeps ! 
 
 Bigorre, thou mountain king ! 
 Thy crown of ice w^ill soon be molten gold — 
 And thy huge brethren, too, shall take their share 
 
 Of the fast rising splendours 
 Long ere the lower world can tear away 
 Its misty veil. He comes ! — Hail glorious sun ! — 
 


100 THE HEEMIT OF 
 
 He rises to thy view, man of heaven ! 
 
 Crowning the Monarch's crown. 
 The streams of light are, to thy spirit's glance, 
 A pathway forming to the realms of day ! — 
 
 Unequalled, wondrous scene ! 
 Can pen of man depict thee ? Can weak words, 
 Though fraught with passion of the Poet's soul, 
 Imbue the minds of others with the sense 
 Of thy o'erwhelming beauty ? Vain the task ! 
 
 Go ye who have the gift 
 Of God within ye for the great, the grand — 
 Follow the Hermit — stand where he now stands, 
 And drink, nay, revel, where he revels now ! 
 
 The sun is risen, and the night hath fled — 
 The night beneath whose sable mantle lie 
 The sins and secrets of yon drowsy world — 
 
 The sun hath risen high. 
 And in his sea of living light 
 
 The mountains bathe their brows. 
 And from their flanks unwrap the vapoury shroud 
 
 Which evening winds around them. 
 Beyond the utmost bounds of mortal vision 
 Thy plains, Bigorre, now lay their beauty bare, 
 Smiling and blushing, like sweet maidens coy 
 For the first time in loveliness revealed, 
 xlmid their beauty doth full many a town 
 
 Arrest the wandering eye ; 
 


THE PYRENEES. 101 
 
 Til vain it hovers o'er the vast expanse, 
 
 And strains its utmost might ; 
 Grey distance mocks its efforts and retires 
 
 Beyond the blue horizon. 
 
 Such wondrous scene as this 
 Should wake in dullest brain the holy life 
 Of Poe«y — and from the inner depths 
 Of coldest hearts call forth both love and praise. 
 Lo ! how its power within the Hermit works, 
 As down he gazes from his lofty throne, 
 
 The Monarch mountain's crown. 
 His eyes dilate, his face all flushed with fire 
 From the rapt soul, and thus his words pour forth 
 
 In swift, melodious stream :— 
 
 *' Eternal Fountain of all living light ! 
 
 From heaven Thy glory through yon rising orb 
 
 Revives this thankless earth. 
 
 How wearily she lay 
 Beneath the shadow of impending night 
 
 A few short hours ago ! 
 And now, how eagerly she drinks thy beams 
 
 At every teeming pore ! 
 
 How wondrous are Thy works ! 
 
 These mountains and yon plains 
 
 That stretch so far aivay — 
 
 Whose beauty fills my spirit 
 
 E'en to o'erflowing — these are Thine I 
 
 10* 
 


102 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 This air, so fresh and pure, 
 That stirs my snow-streaked locks 
 And plays upon my cheek 
 Buoyant and healthful, doth proclaim 
 
 Thy grace and mercy unto all mankind ! 
 This sun, whose early beams 
 
 Now raise the vapours of the night, and spread 
 
 Their light refulgent to the utmost verge 
 Of the far blue horizon, 
 
 These all breathe of Thy spirit and Thy powei-. 
 Unmeasured, unapproached ! 
 
 " favoured, happy clime ! 
 Whose fertile breast the scantiest toil repays 
 With tenfold gain. Unlike the barren north, 
 Where toil and sweat are oft profusely spent 
 To win the meanest pittance from the earth, 
 
 And sometimes that denied. 
 
 Thrice happy, happy clime ! 
 For all this bounty which His hand bestows. 
 The note of praise should rise at earliest dawn, 
 And fill the air with melody divine. 
 
 But ye, alas ! are mute. 
 People forgetful of these precious gifts. 
 
 And sleep when ye should wake ! 
 
 " world that I have left, 
 And now behold so far beneath my feet. 
 


THE PYRENEES. 108 
 
 For the last time, perchance, I speak to thee ! — 
 Sore hast thou laboured to bring forth thy fruit. 
 And sorer still thy travail shall become, 
 ^luch shall be wasted ; much that seemeth good 
 For offering shall rejected be, and cast 
 Aside as emptiness, amid the wreck 
 - Of matter and of men. 
 
 '' Is the work done, Nations ! which w^as set 
 For you to do, each in your own degree ? — 
 l>oth Order, eldest born of Heaven, and sent 
 With his meek spouse. Obedience, here below 
 To reign with Peace and Plenty, hand in hand — 
 Doth he abide and hold his sovereign sway. 
 
 As first designed ? Alas ! proud man ! 
 Thou hast unstrung the first great harmon}^ ! 
 And Discord and Confusion, in its stead. 
 
 Show their vile birth and parentage 
 
 In their yet baser progeny. 
 
 " Thou mighty, gorgeous realm, 
 Whose limit northward is the narrow sea 
 Crossed by the first great Caesar ! thou art fair 
 To look upon, and valorous as fair ; 
 But all thy valour and thy beauty are 
 
 As naught, because misused. 
 Why conquer others if thou hast not learned 
 
 To rule thyself within ? 
 


104 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 How vain that outward show, that clash of arms, 
 That loud high-soundmg tongue which thunders 
 forth 
 
 The fame of thy past deeds — how vain ! 
 Hast thou reformed mankind, adventurous France V 
 Laid the foundations of an edifice 
 
 Which shall outlive these latter days ? 
 Thou hast cast kingdoms down, and thine own kings 
 Hast spurned and humbled, to no worthy end. 
 Woe unto thee ! Thou hast offended Heaven ! 
 Perverting all its laws to thy bad use. 
 AVhat next must follow but convulsive throes, 
 Succeeding each the other, till ensues 
 A wild delirium and eternal death ! 
 
 " I turn me to the north, the south, the east : — 
 Empires and kingdoms stretch in long array, 
 Tottering and crumbling to their bases, rent 
 
 By their internal strife. 
 The passions vile of those that would be great. 
 Or, great already, ever thirst for more. 
 How loathsome to thy sight, great Heaven ! this 
 
 mass. 
 Corrupt, confused, which thou didst destine first 
 1^0 be the best, the proudest of thy works, — 
 
 How loathsome, how impure ! 
 Yet naught is inaccessible to Thee 
 Tn ocean, earth, or sky ; and thou hast said 
 


THE PYRENEES. 105 
 
 That these thy works are good, and shall be so 
 To all eternity, though sullied now : 
 Thy Word shall come with awful power ere long ! 
 The dregs of earth shall fill the tombs they build, 
 iind from one mighty, teeming multitude. 
 
 Thou wilt choose forth Thine Own !" 
 
 He ceased to speak ; 
 And, statue-like, upon the pinnacle 
 Of the great Monarch, rested still, 
 As though he were most loath to quit 
 His icy throne. 
 'Tis joy to him to triumph o'er the world, 
 That world still hushed in slumber at his feet. 
 And feel his burning thoughts ascend to heaven ! 
 His starry eyes are filled 
 With glory from above ; 
 They revel in the vast expanse, 
 
 They heed no more the valley ! 
 
 Lo ! the thick mists arise. 
 Swathing the mountain round 
 AYithin their duskv folds. 
 They roll beneath his feet, 
 And frown upon the world, 
 But ever o'er his head 
 The gorgeous mid-day sun 
 Shines forth resplendently ! 
 


106 THE HERMIT OF 
 
 Shine on, thou mighty orb, 
 And pour thy living light 
 In liquid, golden streams ! 
 The Hermit hails thee ! revels in the glow 
 Of thy celestial presence ! 
 Upon an islet now, 
 Amid a milk-white, dazzling sea, 
 He stands alone. Such quiet reigns. 
 Such gracious and such holy quiet, 
 Known only in those wondrous realms above, 
 
 Where the soft ambient air 
 Yields to the pressure of angelic wings ! 
 
 The Hermit stands alone ; 
 The envious clouds have wrapt him from our sight ! 
 
 Long time the mists hang round the granite King, 
 Casting dark scowls upon the vales beneath, 
 
 And the big drops descend ; 
 
 Then through each gorge and glen 
 
 The rude winds wildly sweep, 
 
 And soon the vapoury shroud 
 
 Is scattered by their breath, 
 
 Assuming to the eye 
 
 In the wide span of heaven 
 
 A thousand varied shapes. 
 Aerial palaces and pinnacles. 
 Huge phantom mountains, glowing in the light, 
 Rosy and golden, of the setting sun. 
 
 n 
 


THE PYRE^:EES. 107 
 
 Again the icy crown 
 
 Of the great monarch gleams 
 
 In all its royal pride ; 
 
 But he who lately stood 
 
 Rejoicing on that height, 
 The gentle Hermit, the lone Man of Liiz, 
 
 -He there is seen no more. 
 His noble form hath melted into air ; 
 No more his footsteps echo on the rocks, 
 No more we trace them in the silent paths, 
 That wind among the gorges of the mountain. 
 
 Deep silence reigns : 
 He hath departed ; whither ? who can tell ? 
 His coming and his going, both, are clothed 
 
 In mystery. 
 To solve it why essay ? enough to feel 
 
 His life of faith and love 
 
 Obtained its own reward. 
 





lIisaltoJU0its i0mB anJj Brnwds, 
 
 11 
 





Ill 
 
 A POET'S JOYS. 
 
 Yes, let me roam in freedom, where 
 The mountains raise their heads, 
 
 And breathe the fresh and joyous air 
 
 On lofty summit, wild and bare ; 
 
 Or in the gentle valley — there 
 The earth her carpet spreads. 
 
 ( )r lead me by the tell-tale brook 
 That babbles forth its lay 
 
 Unto the flowers which in it look ; 
 
 Or to a lonely quiet nook. 
 
 With silence and great nature's book 
 To while the time away. 
 
 My joys are in vast solitudes 
 
 Far, far removed from men ; 
 I love to track the pathless woods. 
 Or where the kingly eagle broods 
 Above the sparkling mountain floods 
 That thunder through the glen. 
 


112 A poet's joys. 
 
 I love to see the golden sun 
 
 Awake the world from sleep — 
 To watch how fast the shadows run, 
 How soon bright Day's short life is done. 
 Night's solemn reign in state begun 
 On the great western deep. 
 
 I love to hear the throats of birds 
 Pour forth at peep of morn 
 
 A hymn of praise, without the words, 
 
 Or learned rules of firsts and thirds ; 
 
 The lowing of the distant herds, 
 Rich bass, the scores adorn. 
 
 In every spreading tree or flower, 
 
 An image lurks for me; 
 I see even in the falling shower 
 The Angels weeping for the hour 
 When Man succumbed to Evil Power, 
 
 And knew mortality. 
 
 I love to watch the eagle rise 
 On wide, expanded wings, 
 
 And look with proud and flashing eyes 
 
 Upon the glories of the skies ; 
 
 Or round high mountain majesties. 
 Sweep in gigantic rings. 
 


A poet's joys. 113 
 
 And when at eve the God of Day 
 
 Reins in his steeds of flame, 
 I love to watch him stalk away, 
 Still clad in all his bright array, 
 Which to the world doth seem to say, 
 
 He goes the king he cam'e ! 
 
 I love to watch the stars appear 
 
 Amid th' ethereal space ; 
 A countless host from far and near 
 That come to hail their sovereign dear. 
 The moon, who then, serenely clear, 
 
 Unveils her pallid face. 
 
 A meteor, like a flash of thought, 
 
 Shoots through the gulf profound, 
 
 With train of fire ; then, lo ! — 't is naught ! 
 
 By this the erring world is taught 
 
 That Vanity, so glittering wrought, 
 Is but a sight or sound. 
 
 There's joy in all the wondrous things 
 
 Betwixt the sky and sod ; 
 And Music from her million springs 
 Sustains this truth the Poet sings. 
 Creation is a Harp — its strings 
 
 Touched by the hand of God ! 
 
 11* 
 


114 
 
 THE MAID OF OCEAN. 
 
 Upon the sands of ocean stood 
 
 A maiden tall and fair ; 
 In proud inspired attitude 
 
 Long hours she lingered there. 
 The wind toyed with her golden locks 
 
 And stirred her raiment white ; 
 She looked the queen of waves and rocks. 
 
 That maiden fair and bright. 
 
 She gazed upon the stormy deep 
 
 Whose angry billows rolled 
 E'en to her feet, with foaming sweep, 
 
 To threaten one so bold : 
 But unappalled amid the strife 
 
 Of waters stood she there — 
 They could not steal the charmed life 
 
 Of one so bright and fair. 
 


THE MAID OF OCEAN. 115 
 
 '^ Roll on ! rave on, thou stormy sea !" 
 
 Exultingly she cried, 
 "" My cradle first was rocked by thee — 
 Thou art my joy and pride ! 
 Thy wrath is music to mine ear. 
 
 Thy sleep felicity — 
 Holl on thy course from year to year. 
 Stream of eternity ! 
 
 ''Thy passions are not those of men, 
 
 Thou hast no thoughts impure ; 
 There is no malice in thee when 
 
 With smiles thou dost allure. 
 Both fierce and sudden is thy wrath. 
 
 When in its might displayed ; 
 For Crime thou hast no secret path. 
 
 No poison, and no blade. 
 
 " If e'er thy waters owned a stain 
 
 'Twas Man that left it there. 
 To vanish soon — no spot of pain 
 
 Thy purity will bear. 
 The myriads that have found their rest 
 
 Beneath thine emerald pall 
 Sleep sounder than within the breast 
 
 Of earth, or marble wall. 
 


116 THE MAID OF OCEAN. 
 
 " Roll on ! rave on ! for ever loved, 
 
 For ever glorious sea — 
 Mirror whereon God's spirit moved 
 
 In its immensity ! 
 Roll on ! rave on a little space, — 
 
 The death of Time is near, 
 And that dread Form upon thy face 
 
 Shall once more reappear !" 
 
 n 
 


117 
 
 I. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 LoxG hath the voice of song been hushed in me ; 
 I scarce know why, for I am much the same— 
 And jet, methinks, 'tis not so. Poesy ! 
 I love thy numbers, I revere thy name ; 
 But in my breast there is a raging flame 
 Which burneth ceaselessly both night and day ; 
 That fire is Love, unquenchable, supreme, 
 And brooks naught else beneath its sovereign sway. 
 Yet will I dip me in thy sunny stream, 
 Sweet Harmony, that when she wanders near 
 My voice from out thy waves may strike her ear. 
 And steep her senses in a blissful dream. 
 Ha !— see !— she comes !— she lingers near the 
 brink, — 
 
 And now she bendeth down to drink I—to drink ! 
 


118 
 
 II. 
 HOPE. 
 
 Fair child of lieaven ! soul-inspiring Hope ! 
 Why from my fond embraces hast thou flown ? 
 May I not know why thou from me art gone ? 
 Why I am left thus desolate to cope 
 With the rude world ? Once, when against the slope 
 Of the bright heavens I saw thy colours thrown. 
 My soaring spirit caught a higher tone ; 
 But now^ I feel no more thy mighty prop. 
 Thy rainbow hues have faded from my mind. 
 And left its troubled waters dark as night ; 
 And dismal thoughts rush o'er them, like a wind, 
 Blasting all others with a fatal blight ! 
 must it thus continue ? Hope, be kind ! 
 Disperse these terrors with a ray of light ! 
 


119 
 
 III. 
 HOME. 
 
 How dark and dreary is this winter night ! 
 
 The voices of the winds are loud and shrill 
 
 As they rush madly forth to sport their fill 
 
 Upon the pathless heath. With true delight 
 
 I sit alone, and store my mind, or WTite, 
 
 Or gaze into the cheerful little flame 
 
 That leaps up on the hearth close at my side. 
 
 Oh, why should men so pant, so thirst for fame 
 
 And the vain glories that compose a Name — 
 
 Which, after all, cannot for aye abide ? 
 
 Within the compass of these narrow walls 
 
 Is bliss ; outside, the world doth rage and foam. 
 
 And he who listens to Ambition's calls 
 
 Must wander through the storm without a Home ! 
 


120 
 
 IV. 
 LIFE. 
 
 Our early childhood is the first fan' beam 
 
 Of morning in the East ; and, as we grow, 
 
 The colours deej)en to a fiercer glow, 
 
 And life appears one joyous, golden dream ! 
 
 Our thoughts, like angels, spread their wings and fly, 
 
 Exulting o'er this earthly paradise, 
 
 Which G od hath spread before our Avondering eyes, 
 
 And crowned with star-bespangled sky. 
 
 But, mounted in the chariot of our years, 
 
 Whose motion soon attains a headlong speed, 
 
 We quickly learn by sounds of woe, and tears. 
 
 Those truths to which at first we gave no heed. 
 
 Our tempered thoughts then contemplate the West, 
 
 And, like the sun, we slowly sink to rest. 
 
 1 
 


121 
 
 V. 
 
 THE AGE OF GOLD. 
 
 What are the treasures of the unfettered mind ? 
 The gems of thought it can dispense around ? 
 Why, so much dross ! They lie upon the ground 
 Unvalued by the bulk of human kind. 
 In vain the Poet's mighty spirit soars 
 To sing of beauty in the realms above, 
 Or stoops to earth and tells a tale of love 
 That touched his soul on distant sunny shores : 
 Men's thoughts are on the metal from the mine 
 Which the}^ can grasp, and with it sway the world ; 
 Nor shall they care for that which is divine 
 Until the earth is from its centre hurled — 
 Then only will their awe-struck eyes behold 
 The soul resplendent in its native gold ! 
 
 12 
 


122 
 
 VI. 
 THE PAST. 
 
 The Past is like a place where many tombs 
 Stand in the unvexed silence of the night ; 
 And Memory is the moon, whose silver light 
 Steals in among the death-polluted rooms. 
 The ghosts arise, and bathe them in her beams. 
 As in a crystal pool. Some cherished form 
 Appears again, as lovely and as warm 
 As when it lived ; but others draw the shroud 
 Over their faces, and avoid the gleams 
 Of light, like hateful shadows. Motley crowd I 
 'Tis in your power some pleasure still to give, 
 Though ye are dead, and never more shall live. 
 I've spent long hours among you, and the sun 
 Has seen me grieve my spectre-dream was done. 
 
 3 
 


123 
 
 VII. 
 THE PRESENT. 
 
 The Present is the life, the breathing form, 
 That comes all joyous, like the rising morn ; 
 Or, bathed in tears, dejected and forlorn, 
 Doth seem a wreck struck by some mighty storm. 
 The countless thousands pour their streams along, 
 Through many channels, to their several ends — 
 Onward, still onward with a current strong ! 
 Strangers to-morrow are the dearest friends. 
 The note of War is sounding in the East ; 
 Grim Death impatient for his bloody feast ; 
 And angel Peace home up to heaven ascends, 
 To take her seat upon a thorne of glory — 
 Joy unto all, when she once more descends, 
 And bloodshed only shall survive in story ! 
 


124 
 
 VIII. 
 THE FUTURE, 
 
 The Future ! 'tis a heaven or a hell : 
 
 An Eden passmg fan- ; a desert waste ; 
 
 A glorious isle amid rough ocean's swell ; 
 
 A dismal rock by roaring surge embraced. 
 
 We know not what it may be, yet our eyes 
 
 Are by a mighty impulse to it drawn, 
 
 And, ere a happy Present fades and dies, 
 
 Our secret thoughts are with the morrow's dawn. 
 
 The glories of the earth, the sea, the skies 
 
 May mingle with our silent reveries ; 
 
 But still 't is there, that one prevading dream, 
 
 The joys, the dangers of forthcoming days ; 
 
 Now tinged with sadness, like the evening beam. 
 
 Now clothed, like noon, in full meridian blaze. 
 
 i 
 


12(> 
 
 \ 
 
 \ - . 
 
 THE STARS. 
 
 The stars above us ! Are they worlds ? or gleams 
 Of mightier, purer, though still veiled things ? 
 Are they the seraph choirs, from whose sweet strings 
 The golden harmony of Heaven streams ? 
 Are they the souls of Saints, who, though earthborn. 
 Have thus been glorifiedj thus made to shine 
 As lamps unto the world they did adorn — 
 Which once denied their mission was divine ? — 
 Yet more ! Those stars are God's own words, out- 
 spread 
 Upon the vast abyss, line after line ! 
 First revelation, ere that Blood was shed 
 Which raised a Living Glory from the Dead, 
 And made Man what he is. Read, gazer, read 
 The myriad wonders of yon starry creed ! 
 
 THE ENI), 
 


12.0 
 
 IX. 
 
 ETERNITY. 
 
 By day, by night, gaze on the troubled deep, 
 And then upon the mighty dome above : 
 They both are seas, yet neither is asleep. 
 One watches with its countless eyes of love ; 
 The other chafes, and boils, and leaps, and roars. 
 Or bursts in thunder on the rocky shores 
 With awful discord. But th' ethereal seji, 
 Though vaster far, is ever still the same, 
 Unchanged, unchanging — 't is Eternity ! 
 God's holy throne ; the sun, His tongue of fianie. 
 Speaking in glory, yet in mystery, 
 The marvels that compose His wondrous name ! 
 The moon that sparkles on the rolling wave 
 Displays His mercy and intent to save. 
 


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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 * Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 ^ /WO.T.J , ^, , • Treatment Date: March 2009 
 
 / ^* ^ %'^Pav' PreservationTechnologies 
 
 4 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
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 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724) 779-2111 
 



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