M554h
821


Grogo Meryweather

LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY
OF ILLINOIS
821
M554h





PUBLIS


Merryeveall video
Mr. 」
身​A
THE
H ER MIT
OF
ES KD ALESIDE,
WITH
OTHER POEMS.
BY
I. A. Morowali
A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,
To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
For evermore!
Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,
- Bid the Stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,
A thought restore!
Song, is the gift with thee?-I ask a lay
Soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away
From the still breast;
Fill'd with a tone-oh! not for deathless Fame,
But a sweet haunting murmur of my name,
Where it would rest !
MRS. HEMANS.
WHITBY:
:
PUBLISHED BY R. KIRBY: TO BE HAD OF MESSRS, SIMPKIN AND
MARSHALL, LONDON; AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1833.


WHITBY:
Printed by R. Kirby,
Bridge-Street,


M55th
821
23 apl+ 180
CONTENTS.
Hermit of Eskdaleside
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
59
65
69
74
80
To Happiness
The Mermaiden's Song -
The Halls of Missolonghi
Thoughts of an Invalid -
Oswy-
Lines, written after great affliction
The Emigrant Peasant's Farewell
Egeria to her Lover -
Meta, or the Power of Joy
The Revel's Queen
89
-
93
98
101
115
To Wordsworth
117
The Maiden's Grave-
118
To Winter
123
129
Lucy Ashton, to Ravenswood -
Invocation to the Spirit of Health -
To my Boy
130
133
Dan. Res. Wasserman 24 peb, 47 Lovella 133





PREFACE.
In presenting to the Public a Second Edition of the Hermit of
Eskdaleside, with the addition of other Miscellaneous Poems,-
the Authoress begs to state, that she fully appreciates the influ-
ence, which a poetical description of scenes, endeared to most
of her Readers, by early and pleasing associations,—may have
had upon their minds, while judging of the merits of her little
performance.
This kind feeling, so natural and so praiseworthy, may
account for the favorable local reception of the first impression;
but its present more extensive circulation will deprive the Poem
of this fostering protection, and expose it to the unbiassed
critical judgment of the Public, from which the Authoress does
not venture to anticipate sentiments so encouraging.
It may, however, deprecate the severity of criticism, to
premise-that the composition of these Poems formed the alle-
viation and employment of many hours, which must otherwise
have been passed in the languor of indisposition. The Au-
thoress is quite conscious that her mental powers would neces-
sarily sympathize with the suffering and debility of her bodily
frame; and that many of her Pieces are too much
« sicklied o'er
With the pale cast of thought,"
arising from the emotions which pervaded her mind during their
composition. The same causes, it is hoped, will also palliate
and apologize for every other imperfection.
To each Individual included in the List of Subscribers, the
Authoress begs to express her deep sense of obligation; and
hopes that, at least, one hour's amusement may be afforded, for
the lasting honour they have conferred upon her.
Whitby,
June 13th, 1833.





THE
HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE,
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age, a rev'rend Hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his bumble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
Prayer all his business—all his pleasure praise.
PARNBLL.
à
A little lowly Hermitage it was,
Down in a dale hard by a forest side,
Farre from resort of people that did pass
In travell to and fro: a little wide
There was an holy chapel edified,
Wherein the Hermit duly went to say
His holy things each morn and evening tide:
Thereby a crystal streame did gently play.
SPENSER.





THE
HERMIT
OF
ESKDALESIDE.
SPIRIT of Poesy! whose lovely rays
Their soothing influence have deigo'd to cast
O'er the still current of my silent days,
And ling'd them with thy glory as they pass'd
To find E:ernity's wide sea at last.
Spirit of Puesy! whose lightest lone
Has been 10 me a witchery and a spell ;
Whose visions oft have blest my musings lone,
And whose bright essence, in the deepest cell
of my heart's worship, still has deign'd tu dwell;
Assist me now! and may !hy numbers, wreathing
With the wild notes of my unpractis'd song,
And o'er my strains the rapt enchantments breatbing,
Which to thy heaven-taught Lyre alone belong,
Blend its sweet tones my humble verse among:
And may thy mantle, Scott! on me descend,
The warm admirer of thy mios!relsy
A


2
HERMIT OF BSKDALESIDE.
-
And glorious genius!- ihough the last attend
Not the rude efforts of thy votary:
Lend to my late the pleasing melody
Which to the Northern Harp thy touch imparted;
Whilst I, with feebler hand, attempt to raise
The echoes of a legend long departed—
The ling'ring, dying tones of other days.
Inspire my timid pencil wbile it strays
O'er the lov'd scenery of my native bome;
And to depict those beauties dares essay,
From wbieh how gladly would I never roam,
If Health would o'er me shed her wish'd-for ray
And all the sadness of my soul allay!
Assist me while I paint the ruin hoar
Whose mould'ring arches still thy summits crowo,
The restless waves that wash thy unding shore,
The lovely vale where Esk meanders down,
And all thy lonely charms, my cherish'd pative town!
1.
Fair Streoneshalh! on whose stately fane
Where high it towers above the main,
Where long it crown'd the rocky steep
A beacon o'er the trackless deep,
I oft have idly gazed ;


HBRMIT OF ESKDALRSIDB,
And mused upon the ruind halls
With their huge strength of cloister'd walls
In other ages rajsed;
And as I watcb'd the rays of light
Through the worn arches shining bright,
And saw heaven's canopy of blue
The crumbling windows gleaming through,
Where sbone of old the storied pane
Ting'd with rich colour's brightest stain,
Which far the painted shadows flung
Where Hilda pray'd and Cedmon sung,
Upon the ballow'd Abbey floor,
With grass and weeds now mantling o'er ;-
I've ponder'd o'er the tiny span
Allotted to the works of man,
Aod sadly mus'd o'er the decay
That sweeps our mightiest deeds away.
Fair Streoneshalb! now it is not mine
To wail o'er thy august decline;
To mourn the downfal of thy power,
Or sigb above thy prostrate tower,
On which, at noon's resplendent hour
I've gazed, with awe-struck, anxious eye,
In childhood's fond credulity,


HERNIT OF ESKDALESIDB.
To mark Saint Hilda's shadow dim,
Which, 'mid the cloister'd arches grim,
Js said to linger, for a while,
In sorrow o'er the ruin'd pile;
Where ruld of yore the holy maid,
And potent intercession made,
Tbat, of the myriad snakes that coil
O'er ber domain's all-hallow'd soil,
And rear their venom'd heads, each ove
Should, at her prayer, be turn’d to stove.
III.
Fair Streoneshalb! mine be now the strain
To paint the honours of thy fane,
When in our second Henry's reign
High was thy rule-supreme thy sway-
Peasant and prince alike obey.
Widely thy fair domains ex'ende
Thy coffer'd treasures know no end-
While to thy favour'd sons is given
The rule on earth, the keys of heaven.
Then did thy massive pile look down
Upon a humble, clust'ring town,
Chiefly of Gsbers' huts composed,
Ill-built and carelessly disposed;


HERMIT OF ESKDALBSIDE.
The shelter of the hardy brood
Who seek their dangerous livelihood
Upon the treach'rous briny Aood.
Though minglicg also there, I ween,
Some Franklins' dwellings might be seen
Simple and rude their masonry
Offensive to a modern eye.
No Pharos then, or noble pier,
Warn’d the toss'd vessel where to steer,
Nor shed a bright protecting ray
Across the waters of our bay,
Whose silver-crested heaving wave
Its attribute the bamlet gave,
And, as augments the village small,
Its humble homes they "White-Bay" call.
IV.
The gifts of Culture's teeming band
Were then ill-scatter'd o'er our land,
Wide were the trackless wastes of moor
The roe-buck bounded fleetly o'er;
And where the Esk now sweetly glides
Through scenes that grace its gentle rides,
Where fields of corn, and meads of green,
In pleasing interchange are seen;


6
IBRNIT OF ROKDALESIDB.
And stately mansions crown the heights
Which guard the lovely vale of Sleights;
A gloomy desert stretched around,
Where tangled forest-growths abound.
The wolf's long howl is sounding there,
And there the wild-fox makes bis lair,
While oft the hurry of the chase
Breaks the lone silence of the place;
And hound, and knight, and yeoman dash,
While bough and brushwood loudly crash,
The grisly Boar to rouse and slay:
Such was the pastime of the day.
V.
Two dwellings, which the peasants call
Of each respective place, “the Hall,"
On separate heathy bills are found,
While humble huts are clust'ring round.
Each is the village manor-house-
Homes of De Piercie and De Bruce,
Two Norman knights of gentle straio,
Whose fathers pass'd the roaring main,
When warlike William cross'd the brine,
To wrest tbe crown from Harold's line.
The conqu’ring Monarch gave the lands
Their good swords won from Saxon hands,


HBRMIT OF BSKDALBSIDE.
7
And the rude mansions still remained
As first their forfeit rights were gained.
Not oft these dwellings of the waste
Were by their masters' presence graced :-
Aspiring, proud, and courtly bred,
A different life the Barons led
Than in their rude, remote homestead.
Each in bis Sov'reign's favour high
Ambition's paths proposed to try
And sought the balls of royalty;
But sometimes to their manors came
To share the sports of sylvan game,
And left Ambitiov's eager race
To taste the pleasures of the chase,
VI.
De Bruce and Piercie both were proud,
Handsome and young, and in the crowd
Of life, small difference, I ween,
Might in their characters be seen;
Yet were the features of their souls
Separate, as th' ideal poles,
On whicb, through space, our planet rolls.
Gen'rous was Piercie's nature high
Which sparkled in his falcop eye
The lofty light of chivalry;


8
HERMIT OF BOKDALBSIDE,
Deceit and meapness were his scorn-
And oft Oppression's slave forlorn
Would to De Piercie's halls repair,
Sure of protecting safety there:
Foremost in battle's stirring hour-
Humane in conquest's dreadful power-
Courteous and wild in lady's bower.
VII.
Yot fairer gifts of outward grace
The eye in Bruce's form might trace
Of poble mould and faultless face.
The beauty of the serpent's skin
Conceals the venom'd store within,
Jo tortuous paths it loves to wind,
Arch-enemy of human kind,
Since the deep wiles of its advice
Cost our first parents Paradise,
And brought the heritage of woe,
Labour and death, on all below.
Meet emblem is the venom'd worm
Of the De Bruce's soul and form,
Whose mappers, graceful and refin'd,
Hid a perfidious heart and mind.
His aims concepter'd all in self
His pleasure, profit, power, or pelf;


HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDR.
Nor guilt, nor crime, his band restrained
If, by these means, bis ends were gained,
-
Yet were bis sios conceal'd and sly,
And veil'd with soft bypocrisy;
Though many a ruio'd house could tell
By the De Bruce's arts it fell
His coffers and estates to swell;
Aud many a lovely lady sigh'd
Bereft of hope and maiden pride,
And sadly wail'd the luckless hour
When the false knight first sought her bower.
Now, at his sov'reign's kind command,
De Bruce aspires to Clara's hand
The crown's own highly portiond ward,
Nor his success does ought retard,
But thrives bis suit, and speeds his name,
With the fair, wealthy Norman dame.
>
Vill.
At present, on their Yorkshire ground,
De Bruce and Piercie both are found,
By purpose met, with other kvights,
To share the bunters' keen delights;
To chase the Stag, the Boar to slay,
To make tbe horrid Wolf their prey,


10
HERMIT OP BSKDALESIDE.
While plots, and schemes, and war's alarms,
And prosp'rous love's bewitching charms,
Are, for the nonce, alike resign'd
For the rude joys that sportsmen find,
For merriment and heartsome gleo
And careless mirth and jollity.
IX.
Where our fair stream's blue waters glido
Through tbe rich banks of Eskdaleside,
There rose, of old, a humble cell
Where, as our ancient legends tell,
A holy Hermit lov'd to dwell.
A Monk of S:reoneshalb's pile was ho,
Of spotless life and sanctity.
Better be lop'd in this abode
To rest with Nature and bis God,
Than in St. Hilda's walls immur'd
From fair creation's charms obscur'd
In those bright scenes to have no part,
Which light devotion in the heart.
A chapel small, of structure rude,
Near the low cell adjoining stood :
When morn's first light was beaming there,
It found the Holy Man in prayer


ABRNIT OR BSKDALESIDE.
11
And when boon pour'd her glowing raya
'They saw the Monk absorb'd in praise
While under ev'ning's deep'ning shade,
Siill the old Hermit knelt and pray'd.
’lis sweet to list the tinkling bell
Which sounds at eve from that lone cell,
And tells Religion's lovely tale
Far down the soft reposing vale,
When sober ev'ding's shadowy ray
Succeeds tha spleudour of the day,
And softly shine the wood and stream
Beneath that gentle, chasten'd beam;
The bee's grave hum, the bird's wild note,
On western zephyrs sweetly foat,
Till night ber sable mantle throws
And veils the scene in soft repose :
How sweetly through the forest dim
Rose the good Hermit's midnight bymn,
While to the list'ning moon and sky
He pour'd bis straius sublime and high-
Devotion's purest harmony !
X.
A mile's short distance from the shado
Where the old Hermit knelt and pray'd,


12
HERMIT OP ESKDALESIDE.
A Franklin's ample home was found,
With cultur'd fields reposing round:
A shelter'd, happy-looking spot,
A wealthy Saxon's goodly lot,-
Between the river and the wood
On a soft rising ground it stood,
The tranquil home of love and peace,
Industry, with alternate ease.
Its owner was an honest heart
Who lov'd repose, and took no part
In the ursettled time's turmoil-
But till'd, well pleas'd, his native soil:
A tender father, and a kind
And gen'rous master-still inclin'd
His boudsmens' hearts with grace to biod
And find their love bis safest guard ;-
Such was the Saxon Hereward.
XI.
A lovely and an only child
Within this peaceful mansion smild;
A fairer or a gentler maid
Than blue-ey'd Emma, never stray'd
Through the wild haunts of sylvan shade.
Her widow'd father's treasur'd joy,
Light of his eyes, bis age's toy,


NERMIT OP ESKDALBSIDB.
13
.
.
Rear'd in the lap of tenderness,
Stranger to sorrow and distress,
Her light and happy youthful heart
Had knowo no pain, had felt no smart.
Conceal'd withio her native shades,
Her joys all centred in their glades,-
Skreen'd from the tumult of the world,
In peace her blooming charms unfurl d.
She fear'd no ill — she knew ao wrong -
But sweetly pour'd her joyous song
Her lovely native woods among,
And peaceful pass'd her happy time,
Nor reck'd of guilt, nor dream'd of crime,
While all she felt of misery
Was, when some fav'rite dove would die.
XII.
The simple household owo her sway
And all ber gentle rule obey.
To gain the milky mother's store
Her maideps she presided o'er,
And oft her fairy fingers plied
The spindle's whirling dance to guide,
While snowy rounds of wheaten cakes
She sometimes o'er the ashes bakes.
B


14
IBRMIT OF BⓇKDALBSIDB,
Her sire to soot be in evening's shade,
Oft on the virginals she play'd, -
And would ber flaxen tresses braid
With wreathing flowers, on holidays,
When through her father's fields she strays
Or grac'd the pastime of the day,
With garlands crown'd the queen of May.
XIII.
Once in an ill-starr'd, luckless hour,
De Bruce had mark'd this forest-flower
Where her soft bloom the woodlands grac'd;
Her beauty fir'd bis pamper'd taste --
Alas! I cannot say bis heart,
Where true affection had no part.
He sought her father's rural balls,
And by his wiles the hearts enthralls
Of sire and child ; and oft be sought
Their home or cattle to be bought
Or sold on varying pretence,
He blinds good Hereward's sturdy sense;
And Saxon prejudice gives way
To the demeanour, frank avd gay
Of the young knight, who soon, I ween,
High in the gen'rous Franklin's grace is seen.


NERHIT OP B&KDALESIDE,
15
XIV.
Ill-fitted was the gentle hope
Of her fond father's heart, to cope
With the De Bruce's practis'd art,
Aud soon the tender Emma's heart
Beats with a pang before unkoown;
She loves to ramble forth alone
The shady forest-branches under,
And sigb, and ruminate, and wonder,
When the young, graceful knight will call
Again, at Eskdale's rustic hall.
XV.
"Tis not my purpose to unfold
A tale too often darkly told,
Or the development to paint
of fell Seduction's withering taint;
Such theme too mournful for my lay,
Nor could I the sad task essay,
To paint the rose of innocence
And youth and beauty, basely blighted
By passion's selfish, fuul pretence;
And eyes, which happiness once lighted,
Now sadly droopinga-:o avoid
A father's, gaze-and swellid with weeping, .


16
DERMIT OP ESKDALBSIDE.
The joys of youth and hope destroy'd-
And bittes misery now steeping
The heavy days and weary nights,
Once fill'd with home-felt, pure delights.
And ab! the worst of miseries,
To feel degraded in those eyes
Which Passion's victim makes her heaven,
And view ere long their alter'd glance ;-
There is no pang to mortals given,
More dire, than waking from the trance
Of passionate love,-to feel 'tis gone,
Where we have treasur'd bliss alone!
XVI.
Such was the ruin'd Emma's state-
Such wretchedness her hapless fate.
Amid the summer woods she stray'd
Like s:ricken deer, that seeks the glado
For the concealment of its shade,
And there to weep, and weeping die-
Such seem'd poor Emma's destiny.
She fear'd to meet her father's gazs
Oft sadly fix'd upon her face,
In grief to mark the paling cheek,
Where softest colour wont to speak


HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDR.
17
Of the heart's healthy, gladsome tide;
And oft the tender father sigh'd
To miss the bounding step, that o'er
The verdant sward, or oaken floor,
Was wont so joyously to spring -
His homeward footsteps welcoming.
Now slow and mouruful was her tread,
And bowed the lovely drooping head,
That none upon her downcast face
The sadness of her soul might trace.
Though grier'd to mark bis darling chang'd
From all her youthful sports estrang'd,
The truth we'er flashed on Hereward's mind,
In fond confiding safety blind,
XVII.
Soon weary of his hapless prey,
De Bruce now lingers long away ;
Seldom his visits to the dale
Their moonlight rambles down the vale
Where first he breathed his tender tale,
Unfrequent now - estranged his mien
Wbile soon the dreadful truth is seen
By the poor maid, that love has fed,
And left her hopes all cold and dead,


18
HERMIT OF BSADALESIDE.
Still does she play fond woman's part
And hoard the traitor in her heart,
While sometimes does her bosom burn
With hope bis passion may return.
So fond, so true, so kind he seem'd
His vows will surely be redeemid;
While all ber lonely weepings dried,
She shall become bis happy bride,
And by her worshipp'd Bruce's side
Spend joyfully ber peaceful life,
An honour'd and a cherish'd wife
Nor fear disgrace's blight to shed
On her kind father's boary head,
But be his age's crown of joy,
Such dreams sometimes the fears decoy
Of the poor maid, and ease the dart
Of anguish rankling in her heart.
XVIII.
'Twas Night-and o'er the lonely vale
Moonlight's soft rays were sweetly sleeping,
The owl was whooping down the dale,
And from the stream the fish were leaping;
The silver radiance gently play'd
O'er the s'ill surface of the river,


ABRMIT OP ESKDALESIDR.
19
While, 'mid the wood's reposing shade,
Scarce does the breeze a leaflet shiver;
O'er Saxon Hereward's teeming fields
The lovely light is softly stealing,
The yellow store their harvest yields
Its mellow brilliancy revealing;
Where perch'd the feather'd subjects press,
The wily fox around is prowling,
And from the desert-wilderness
-
The hideous wolf is loudly howling.
Onward the peaceful river flows,-
Scarce does a breath its bosom wrinkle,
While through the evening's still repose,
Is softly heard the silver tinkle
Of the old chapel's little bell;
And oft belated wanderer straying,
Has sought the shelter of the cell
Where the good Hermit still was praying,
And found, till morn, repose and rest
A welcome and a cherish'd guest.
While many sought the humble cell
Confession's hidden tales to tell,
And not the lowly serfs alone
There breatb'd their souls' repentant moan,
But many noble of the earth,
Of higher rank, and prouder birth,


20
BERNIT OF BSKDALBSIDE,
Would from remotest parts repair
To seek for absolution there,
Apd crave the holy Hermit's prayer.
The anguish of too late remorse
Was sooth'd by his sublime discourse :
How many in that lonely spot
Were taught to fix their hopes on high,
And bear the evils of their lot
With Faith's divine serenity!
Whilst oft the erring sinner found
A balm for keen repentance there,
Taught where blest Mercy's stores abound-
The fruit of penitential prayer!
XIX.
Wherefore at Night's untimely hour
Does gentle Emma leave her bower-
And quit the safety of her home,
Down the still moonlight vale to roam?
When Beauty seeks this stealthy hour
To quit unseen her shelter'd bower,
Nor dares step forth beneath the ray
Which pours the open face of day,
But chooses midnight's canopy
To veil her from her parent's eye;


HERMIT OF EXKDALESIDE.
21
Then may she fear that guilt or ill
Will track her covert footsteps still,
And grief or crime will dog the ways
Which shun a tender father's gaze.
XX,
Wrapt in her mantle's shroud, the maid
Far down the winding valley stray'd,
And tracks the sound, the chapel's bell
Is softly swinging down the dell.
At length before the lowly cell
The maiden faulters for a while,
In the still moonlight's gentle smile,
How sweetly sleeps that hut of moss
Surmounted by the blessed Cross !
From the low chapel twinkling streams
The sacred lamp's undying beams,
And softly murm'ring on the air,
Comes the old Hermit's whisper'd prayer.
XXI.
At length, with trembling band, the maid
A feeble, lowly tap essay'd
The Hermit mark'd the gentle sound,
And Emma soon admission found.
She comes in soul-felt keen distress
Her sin and sorrow to confess;


92
HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDB.
Prostrate upon the earthen foor
Her beauteous tresses streaming o'er,
With burning tears of grief and sbame,
And sobs that thick and choking came
Emma her tale of woe reveal'd,
Nor aught of her disgrace conceal'd.
XXII,
The pitying Hermit heard with pain,
For oft, within his holy fane,
He mark'd the blooming Saxon fair,
So constant in devotion there.
Her gen'rous-hearted sire be lov'd —
And now, with deep compassion movid,
He sorrow'd o'er the witbering blight
Of hope and innocent delight,
Which through De Bruce's guilt had come
To blast the Şaxon's happy bome.
XXIII.
No word to injure or upbraid
Her faithless lover, breath'd the maid ;
She dwelt upon his sacred vow,
Nor would the dreadful truth allow,
He meant to break the plighted troch
So often pledged with solemn oath,


IBRMIT OF BOKDALESIDE.
23
-Mature of thought, the Holy Man
Was better skill'd the arts to scan,
By which the gentle, injur'd maid
Had been so cruelly betray'd.
XXIV.
With sorrow's bitterest anguish stirr'd,
Poor Emma murmur'd, she had heard
That soon De Bruce the hand would claim
Of a young, wealthy Norman dame,
Long his betrothed, affianced bride.
Deeply the hapless maiden sigh'd
And said, resolv'd the truth to know,
If perjur'd faith and broken vow
Indeed were Bruce's sad intenta
A trusty messenger she sent,
To bid him to the trysting-place
He oft with eager step would trace,
When first poor Emma sought the shade
To meet him in the forest-glade.
Should the De Bruce accord her
prayer
He now would wait her coming there,
For past already was the hour,
She bade bim to the forest-bower.
With prostrate form she bent to crave
The Hermit's blessing, which he gave;


24
UERMIT OF ESKDALESIDB.
But kindly strove the bapless maid
From this sad meeting to dissuade.
He gently dar'd the truth to tell
And own'd the fact was known too well,
That soon to Clara's house allied,
De Bruce would claim another bride.
With injur'd love's deep sorrow grier'd,
Emma confirming word receiv'd
Of all her fears—but not the less
Was she, with woman's tenderness
Resolv'd to bless her eyes once more,
With bim so fondly lov'd before;
And vainly hop'd her tearful prayer
Would change De Bruce's purpose there,
Where he so oft had breath'd the row,
Alas! a wretched mockery vow.
The Hermit's mild attempts were vain
The injur'd Emma to restrain
From meeting her false love again
He therefore asked her walk to share,
To guard her with a father's care,
And o'er De Bruce exert bis sway
Poor Emma's sorrows to allay,
And all her injuries to redress
By a kind busband's tenderness.


HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
25
Whilst bitterly she wept and sigb'd,
The maiden still the grace denied,
Of the good Mook, De Bruce's mood
She fear'd, if on their solitude
A third should come for well she knew,
He wish'd their meetings secret too.
She thank'd the Hermit fervently
For all bis love and should she die,
(If Bruce indeed was false,) of grief,
She pray'd bim give each kind relief,
To her poor father's sorrow great,
And soothe bis wretched ruin'd state.
Humbly and low the maiden bended
And while hot tears of anguish fell
Upon the hand the monk extended,
She kiss'd it oft, and left the cell.
XXV.
The Hermit's soul oppress'd by gloom
Of this sad tale, could not resume,
His solemn prayers, but sadly mus'd
O'er trustiog love and faith abus'd,
O'er Hereward's blighted home of joy,
O'er guilt which could such bliss destroy;


26
HRRMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
He thought of Bruce-whose burthen'd soul
At Retribution's awful day,
When trumpets speak, and thunders roll,
Would have such fearful debt to pay;
And ihe dread penalty would feel,
Which sin must then in torments prove,
When heavenly vengeance will reveal
The aching wrongs of injur'd love.
At length to ease the load that weigh'd
His spirit down), be sought the glade-
And wander'd onward through the shade,
To watch the safety of the maid.
A tangled path the Hermit took,
Beside the waters of the brook.
He felt the still and holy calm,
Which breath'd the lovely silent night,
O'er his vex'd spirit shed its balm,
And raise devotion's pure delight:
He wander'd on, and caught at last,
A glimpse of Emma and her lover,
Where by the river's side they pass'd-
He saw, alas! her hopes were over
By the wild gestures of the maid-
Who bitterly her clasp'd hands wrung,
And sometimes kneeling in the glade,
Round Bruce her arms distracted flung,


HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
27
Who walk'd apart and proudly there,
And shook his head with haughty air,
Impatient of the maid's despair.
XXVI.
Quicker the Hermit pass'd along,
The moonlight forest-walks among:
The river here, with graceful sweep,
Rollid on its current calm and deep;
Hid by its curve, the Hermit's eye,
No more could Emma's form descry,
For gentle slope and leafy skreen,
Now spread umbrageous sbade between.
When sudden on his startled ear,
Is borne the sound of struggling dear-
Terror's wild shriek-into the stream
A heavy plungeone bubbling scream
And then the river murmurs o'er,
Lovely and silent as before.
Horror the aged Hermit bound,
And held fast rooted to the ground;
With mighty effort then, at last,
The river's bend he slowly pass'd, -
Where, leaning on a rocky sione,
Stood the De Bruce--and stood alone!


28
UERMIT OF BOKDALESID3.
XXVII,
Quailed that dark-beaming eye of pride,
To mark the Hermit by bis side;
Passion's wild storm is on the brow,
Dash'd with detection's paleness now.
Hellish convulsions madly chase
Horrific o'er that working face,
In its fierce beauty scowling thero
How like the Dæmon of tbe Air-
The fall'n Archangel-wbeo from Heaven
Its dark, rebellious son was driven!
Wiib tiembling lips and ashen cheek,
The Hermit vainly tried to speak,
The awful, death-like calm to break.
At length' bis faull’ring tongue essay'd, -
Though faint its sound, "Where is the maid?"
" What maid? I know not of a maid !"
a
With bollow voice the murderer said.
I fear,
“What maid ? - the hapless, ruin'd one!
By ibine accursed arts undone-
The innocent, who vow,
Through thee, bas found a wat'ry bier !
Nay, turn not scornfully aside,
But lower that haughty glance of pride.
• The Saxon Hereward's lovely child,
By thy demowiac arts beguild,


HERMIT OF ESKDALBSID&
29
Her woful story came to tell
Of deep repentance in my cell,-
From wbich, an hour is scarcely gone,
She came to meet with thee alone.
I follow'd soon, resolv'd to aid
With my best power, the much-wrong'd maid;
And hoped to make thy band atone
For all the injuries thou hast done,-
On dread of holy church's ban
An excommunicated man!
Long by the river's brink I spied
The maiden pleadiog by iby side,
Till as the stream there bending strays,
Its curve conceal'd her from my gaze.
Then, as if in a horrid dream,
I heard the struggle and the scream;
I heard the heavy, falling plashi,
The closing river's murmuring dash,
Oh, wicked man! and could'st thou kill
The gentle heart that loved thee still?
For here, before God's awful throne,
I charge the deed on thee alone!"
XXVII.
6 Thou didst not see me do the deed ?
Thou couldet not, and I do not plead


30
HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
My innocence-in deepest scorn
I the foul, guilty charge return!
Thou saw'st the maiden by my side
Enough-when I her suit denied
To make her fair, frail self my bride,
Aud all my cherish'd claims discard
On our kind monarchi's lovely ward,
The frantic and distracted maid,
While by the river's side we stray'd,
Rush'd madly where its waters flow,
And desp'rately essay'd to throw
Herself into the brimming flood.
Emma's rash purpose I withstood,
And strove to draw ber from the stream,
-Wherefore the struggle and the scream.
In vain my best attempts I tried
She plung'd into the sweeping tide-
And here I stood-alarm'd-dismay'da
By the dread action of the maid,
When on my privacy you stole
And saw the tumults of my soul,-
The cause might amply justify,
To see so fair a creature die,
By her own act's insanity.
or This is the sad and simple case :
And, holy Father, should you grace
-


TERMIT OP ES KDALESIDE.
31
With credence, Bruce's knightly word,
'Tis well;
if not, my own good sword
Shall, to the death, resent the sbame,
By any cast upon my name,
And bright renown's unblemish'd fame!"
XXIX.
“Thy bright renown! Peace, sinner, peace!
Thy profitless deceptions cease ;
As well thy guilty soul I read,
As though I saw thee do the deed.
Not her's the act, poor, gentle maid,
(If frail she was, by thee betray'd;
To thee, how constant, tender, true!)
So fell-So dire a deed to do.
Her humble soul, and gentle heart,
In such rash violence had no part;
Rather would she have slowly pin'd
Away, to hopeless grief resigo'd,
Than back upon the Giver throw
The gift He can alone bestow;
Or peril ber immortal soul,
By deed so impious and foul,
And thine the peril, thine the cost,
Should that unhappy soul be lost!


32
RRRMIT OP ESKDALBSIDE.
It soothes to think, that in my cell,
Before this horrid scene befel,
Whilst with confessing anguish griev'd,
She absolution's rites receiv'd.
“Now will I to my cell repair,
And give myself to solemn prayer,
Fasting, and lonely vigil there,
Two days and nights—her soul to ease
From purgatory's agonies,
Which sacred, needful duty done,
I bie to Hilda's blessed son,
Abbot of Streoneshalh's hallow'd fane,
Thy guilt and murder to arraigr.
And, in the intervening time,
For thy most horrid, treach'rous crime,
I lay the church's solemn ban
Upon thy head, most perjur'd man!
And on thy soul its blood-guilt lay,
Anathema, Maranatha!"
Tbus said,the Hermit turn'd aside
And homeward down the valley hied,
Sore griev'd, and bitterly dismay'd,
By the dread murder of the maid,
Apd shock'd to view the maze of sin,
-
De Bruce had wound his soul within,


HBRMIT OF BOKDALESIDE.
33
la fervent prayer the Hermit sought
To find relief from painful thought;
And earnest supplication made,
To ease the spirit of the waid.
XXX.
How fair is Morn! when first her rays
O'er Nature's varied charms are breaking,
Freshen'd by sleep-as is the face
Of Beauty, from repose awaking.
How graceful curls the misty wreath,
From the blue bosom of the river !
Wbile, in cool morning's gentle breath,
How softly does the foliage quiver!
Amid the east tbe clouds are blushing,
To bail the monarch of the day,
Who soon from hidden chambers rusbing,
Pours.o'er the earth bis glorious ray;
He gilds the forest summits tender,
With the brigbt lustre of his beam;
And showers a flood of dazzling splendour,
On Esk's fair valley and its stream.
Witb joy the choral soogsters greet bim,
And swell the liquid tide of song;
While higher svars the lark to meet him,
The fleecy clouds of morn amoog.


34
HBRMIT OF ESKDALESIDB.
The graceful stag, from covert bounding,
Snuffs the fresh morning's breezy gale,
Nor fears tbe hunters' bugles sounding-
But lightly curvets down the dale.
The wolf aud fox are slowly creeping,
To find their rest when others wake,
And sound the brindled Boar is sleeping,
Within the forest's thickest brake.
O'er murky towns, bright rays are stealing,
Soft sunbeam, o'er the alleys play
Their squalid wretchedoes revealing;
And Sio and Mis’ry slink away,
Rebuked by that pure lucid light,
From those vile baunts, too throngly crowded,
Where many pass their guilty night,
By darkness' dusky cov'ring shrouded;
Though not unseen by that bright Eye,
From which no lurking-place can hide us-
And from Sin's darkling misery,
Whose blessed beams alone can guide us.
Within the sick man's chamber streaming,
Is softly seen morn's lovely ray;
Where dusky lamps are dimly gleaming,
Abash'd by the fair light of day.


NERMIT OF BSKDALESIDE.
36
$
XXXI.
A lovelier September morn,
Ne'er shone upon the waving corn-
Than that which pour'd its golden light,
After the melancholy night,
Of sin and woe described before;
Pair stream'd the sun's glad splendour o'er
The verdant earth, as woe and sin,
Were not her beauteous scenes within.
:
Early tbat morn the bugles blew,
The bounds might souff the scented dew,
Ere by the sun's bright beams exhaled
The fragrant vapour would have failed :
Early the sportsmen left the ball
Early the steed forsook his stall-
From kernel lova'd, in leash to stray,
Pleas'd the glad hounds whimper and bay;
Clad in the forests' vestments green
Huntsmen and servitors are seen,
All meetly arm'd with stave and spear,
And full of glee and mirthful cheer.
On noble hunters, side by side,
De Bruce and Piercie proudly ride
And none upon De Bruce's face,
The tempest of his soul might trace


36
ABRNIT OF BOKDALBSIDE.
1
And brightly shone bis eagle eye,
As though it ne'er saw Emma die.
Many good knights were riding there,
Of haughty mien and stately air,
But noue, who sought that morning's chase,
Could match the form of manly grace,
Which Bruce's palfrey proudly bore,
The heathy moorland desert o'er,
XXXII.
1
1
At length they reach'd the wilderness,
Within whose tangled dark recess,
They meant the grisly Boar to rouse
For the day's pastime and carouse.
Huge oaks, within that gloomy shade,
Stretch'd their goarled boughs athwart the glade;
And aged thorns long sbadows threw,
O'er the soft green-sward's untracked dew.
The mountain-asb, with berries red,
Her graceful, feathery foliage spread,
And hazles bend the fruitful bough,
Weigh'd down with russet clusters now,
Hollies of giant size were found,
While wreathing brambles choke the ground.
Tangled the forest's children stand,
Uoknowing of man's pruning hand;


HERMİT OF ESKDALESIDB.
37
Coil'd up within th' impervious brake,
Lurks in its nest, the swelt'ring snake;
And reptiles nestle in the shade,
Where man ne'er wielded plough or spade.
XXXIII.
Far in the thicket's mazes there,
A monstrous Boar had made bis lair-
Stretch'd out for rest each hideous limb,
Fast lock'd in sleep, loathly and grim.
The hounds upon bis traces came,
And eager sought the slumb'ring game, -
Who rous'd from deep repose at length,
Slowly oprear'd his bulky strength, -
Shook the night's dew drops from his hide,
And gripping borrid, opend wide
His frightful jaws, where wbite, and strong,
And sharp, large tusks were ranged along;
Then fiercely bristliog—as he came
Quitted the brake-bis path the same-
Now feeter ran director iwined-
And left the yelping pack behiod.
XXXIV.
Within his chapel's hallow'd pile,
The boly Hermit watch'd the while,-
D


38
HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDB.
His aged knees the rough stoves wear,
While his clasp'd hands are rais'd io pray'r.
Before the crucifix he kneels
And o'er bis face the lustre steals
Of the blest lamp, whose mellow ray,
Does o'er his aged forehead play,
With its soft waves of silver hair,
1
Low bow'd in meek devotion there!
In his blue eye, how mildly heams
The fire, which from his bosom streams,
Of holiness, and heavenly love,
While wafts liis pious prayer above! !
Nu seraph in the courts of heaven,
Can have a fairer aspect given
Of love, and rapt ecstatic prayer,
Than that old Hermit kneeling there.
XXXV.
-Suddenly rings the boly place
With all the hurry of the chase,
With noisy rout, the eager throng
Gallop the echoing vale along,
While bugles ring, and stag-lounds yell,
Far down the Jab'rinths of the dell.
When, through the chapel's open door,
Stagger'd the foaming, harrassid Boar,


HBRMIT OP ESKDALESIDE.
39
He stumbled opward through the cell,
Till at the Hermit's feet he fell,
Awhile convuls'd, he dying lay,
But soon life's struggles pass'd away,
And with stiff limbs, the vanquish'd Boar
Stretch'd his gaunt bulk, to rise no more.
XXXVI.
Shock'd and dismay'd, the Mook arose,
The chapel's open door to close,
Lest bound and huntsman should intrude,
Upon his prayers, with clamour rude.
Better bis privacy to guard,
He carefully the portal barr'd,
Then turning to his beads and book,
To silent prayer himself betook,
Nor listened to the clam'rous rout,
Who swore, and yell'd, and scream'd without,
XXXVI.
The eager dogs-baulk'd of their prey,
Before the holy chapel, bay
At fauli-and scratch the sturdy door
With knobs of iron studded o'er;
The sportsmen, madden'd at the foil
Oi eager hunt and keenest tuil


40
HERMIT OF BKDALESIDE,
.
Forgot their rev'rence for the place,
In the wild fury of the chase.
Meanwbile, for his owo wicked views,
To raise their passions tried De Brucea
“Beat down the door,' he loudly cried,
“We will not, comrades, be denied
Of our won game, nor be debarr'd
By Hermit's bolt and shackled ward.
Beat down the door, again I say,
Nor longer keep our dogs at bay-
And should the Hermit still resist,
Wreak bunter's vengeance as ye list!"
XXXVIII.
“For shame, De Bruce," De Piercie cried,
His cheeks with blood indignant dyed, -
“ For shame, again I say, De Bruce,
Thus angry feelings to arousa
Against the venerable man,-
Into his cell the creatore ran
By us pursued and much I fear,
Has done the Hermit damage here.
Let us with gentle words induce
The Mork bis portal to unloose ;
-Nor harshly fright his rev'rend age
Nor force bis holy Hermitage-
Nor risk our souls by sacrilege!"


HBRMIT OF BSKDALBSIDE.
41
-Haughty assent De Bruce then bow'd-
Murmur'd applause, tbe nodding crowd
While to the Monk, with language bland,
De Piercie tells his friepas' demand,
With their sharp spears the Boar to slay,
And end the pastime of the day.
XXXIX.
Of anger,
Slowly the Hermit drew away
The bolts,--and there the monster lay,
In deaih all horrid, stiff and stark.
De Bruce obsery'd the rising spark,
in tbe bunters' eye,
Kindling in fury rapidly,
To be thus hinder'd of the sport
When bugles sound, “A mori-a mort!"
And hideous grips the monster there,
To rush upon the meeting spear,
While at his throat and haunches spring
The eager dogs, and on him cling,
“'Tis shame, my friends," cried Bruce, "'iis shame,
To be thus baffled of our game
The eager hurry of our race,
The toilsome labour of the chase,


42
HERMIT OF BSKDALESIDE,
All thrown away_what sort of cheer,
The flesh which died exhausted here,
Nor bled upon the sbarp boar-spear?
I cry revenge-revenge I cry,
For blighted sport's festivity!
If we to this outrage submit,
Each sbaven Monk will deem him fit
To thwart our sport, and spoil our game!"
-The crowd De Bruce's words inflame,
Around the Monk they fiercely throng,
With vague intent to do him wrong,
They know not wherefore, know not why,
In passion's hot insaniiy.
To speak the Hermit vainly tried-
Vainly De Piercie stemmed the vide
Of frenzy, fast and furious rolling-
At length De Bruce, with uplift spear,
And eyes with vengeance fiercely scowling,
Rush'd on the holy Hermit there,
And sheath'd the weapon in his side!
The ballow'd cbapel's scatter'd rushes,
Are colour'd by the crimson tide,
Which from his wounded bosom gushes.
In grief and horror Piercie bends
Where the Monk's dying form extends,


ABRMIT'OF BSKDALESIDB.
43
And strives to staunch the death-wound wide,
Which yawns upon the Hermit's side.
Cooled and astounded at the deed,
To see the boly Hermit bleed
Aghast the crowd repentant stand,
And sbrink from Bruce's bloody hand.
De Bruce the change of feeling spied,
And instant from the chapel hied,
To where his bunting-steed was tied
Beneath the forest's leafy shade,
And grazing in the verdant glade.
XL.
With sick'ning beat--the noon-day beam,
Shone o'er the valley and the stream;
Piled in the west, dark storm-clouds frown'da
While solemn stillness reigo'd around.
The birds, desisting from their song,
Sate hush'd the forest boughs among;
And cattle leave the open glade,
To cower beneath the forest-shade.
-'Twas as if Heaven bad made a pause,
To mark its violated laws-
A solemn pause, ere vengeance shed
Its thunders on the murd'rer's head. :
C


44
HRRMIT OF BSKDALBSIDB.
-Sudden the gust sweeps down the vale,
While creak the boughs beneath the gale,
And on De Bruce's ansious brow,
Broad liquid drops are falling now.
-At length the lightning's dazzling flash
Leaps from the cloud-and then the crash
Of thunder's awful voice succeeds-
Wbile bend tbe woods, and quake the meads !
His poble steed De Bruce essay'd
To urge through the involving shade,
Where weeds the courser's boofs detained,
And tangled boughs bis flight restrained.
Fast forward to the stretching plain
He urged his steed, with spur and rein,
And soon the heathy wastes of moor
The startled horse is bounding o'er;
While peals of thunder shake the ground-
And lightnings fiercely blaze around-
And darkling glares the lurid sky,
To mark the tempest's revelry!
Torrents of pouring hail and rain,
Are dashing on the palfrey's mane-
While through the deluge from the sky,
Hardly can Bruce his way espy.


HERMIT OR BSKDALESJDR.
45
-Darker and darker lowers the heaven,
Then the o'erhanging cloud is riven!
-Staggers De Bruce in that dread blaze
High rears, bis courser in amaze!
Then-ou the bead of guilt accursi-
The flaming thunder-bolt has burst!
And horse and rider prostrate roll
While speeds to doom the sipful soul!!!
-Low lies on earth the stricked steed,
To urge no more his gallant speed !
-Low lies De Bruce's tow'ring plume,
Amid the moorland's storąy gloom!
The stately form, the noble brow,
All blacken'd, and distorted now,
By Heaven's avenging, awful fire-
Meet recompence for crime so dire !!
When on his track pursuers sped
And saw the cruel murd'rer dead, -
They owned the awful Hand of Heaven,
In the dread doom, 80 promptly given!
XLI.
Meanwbile the Hermit dying lay,
Slow ebbs bis fleeting life away-


46
FERMIT OF BSKDALESIDB,
By bis low couch De Piercie kneels,
And grief and horror keenly feels,
While hang their heads the guilty crowd,
In deep repentant anguish bowed.
Terror alarms each startled soul,
When o'er the cell Heaven's thunders roll-
And the dread tempest yells around,
While shakes the trembling, echoing ground!
Soon as the storm's first bursts subside,
A messenger De Piercie bied
To Streoneshalb's hallow'd pile with speed,
To warn the Abbot of the deed-
And crave his presence at the cell,
Where murder's hideous crime befell.
Fleet horsemen too be promptly sped
To follow where De Bruce had ied, -
To scour the country wide and far,
And bring bim to the Abbot's bar.
This present urgent duty done,
De Piercie bovers like a son,
Where the good Monk exhausted lies
And friendship's soft attention tries.
XLII.
The awful storm had pass'd away
Long ere the soft decline of day,
|


ABRMIT OP ESKDALESIDE.
47
And ev'ning's rays now calmly fell,
Upon the verdant, silent dell.
Twinkling with dew drops, bright and sheen,
How fresbly shone the foliage green!
While on each beauteous shrub and tree,
A tbousand birds made harmony.
Soft scents were stealing on the air,
From plant and flow'ret breathing there,-
And shining softly down the dale,
A glorious rain-bow spann'd the vale.
XLIII.
A dark procession, side by side,
Now slowly up the valley ride-
In cloaked and hooded garb array'd,
Mounted on mules, they thread the glade,
Till at the cell, a pause they made.
'Tis Sedman, of St. Hilda's fane
The holy Abbot, and his train,
With horror struck, and bitter woe,
The holy Monks their brother saw,
Pale and exhausted lying there,
Wounded to death by the boar-spear.
A leech, among the sable crew,
Aside the staunching "kerchief drew,


48
HBRMIT OF BSKDALESIDE.
Witle wbicb De Piercie stemm'd the wound
Apd shook his head to all around.
XLIV.
The sorrowing Abbot hastes to pour
The sacred oil of unction o'er
The dying Hermit's pallid brow,
With many a boly prayer and vow.
-When was perform'd the solemo rite,
A beam of beav'nly lustre bright,
Broke o'er tbe features sunk and faint
Of the expiring, murder'd Saint!
He motion'd Hereward where he lay;---
-Poor Hereward! who since earliest day,
Had through the woods and valley ror'd
To seek his child, so fondly lov'd-
So strangely lost!-when the storm fell
He sought the Hermit's shelt'ring cell;
And since remain'd, o'erwbelmed with grief,
Off'ring with Piercie kiod relief
To the poor wounded Hermit there.-.-
Hereward does to the couch repair;
When, at the portal of the cell,
Arrive, their startling tale to tell,
The men who after Bruce had sped,
And found him, thunder-struck and dead.


ABRUIT OP BSKDALESIDB.
49
The Abbot, and the startled crowd,
Signed the blest cross, and wondering bowed
To the avenging stroke of Heaven,
Jo Bruce's doom, so jastly given.
XLV.
Paintly and low the Hermit spoke,
And first the solemn silence broke:
“Short space have I my tale to tell
Abbot and brethren all-farewell!
My blessing on your Abbey rest;
May each and all be truly blest!
My fervent soul, with warm desires,
For Jesus' blessed courts aspires;
I long for joy and rest in Heaven
And, as I hope to be forgiven,
I now forgive each erring son,
For my rash wrongs in passion done,
Vengeance has lighted on the bead,
Which most deserved its thunders dread.
-Not for my cruel death alone,
That guilty spirit must atone
lo flaming fire for yesternight,
Hereward, thy child, ihy home's delight,
Pound by his murd'ring hand a grave,
Where Eik's blue waters o'er her lave!
R


50
HERMIT OF BSKDALESIDE.
-I mark'd him do the accursed deed,
-
And hence his wish to see me bleed,
Weep not, afflicted sire, nor mourn
-To thee, she can no more neturn
Bow to the stroke, so darkly given,
And seek the gentle maid-in Heaven!
And ye, who shar'd the angry strife,
When Bruce assail'd my aged life,
I bind this pedance on each soul,
As each desires a heavenly goal.
Henceforth, by my express command,
Ye hold of Streoneshall's fane your land.
When blossoms bud, and warblers sing,
Amid the leafy bowers of Spring;
-I charge ye, on Ascension-even,
Of stakes, within this forest riven,
By earliest light of rising sun,
In pedance for transgression done
To make, on Whitby's yellow sand,
A verdant bedge, which still must stand
Three tides-and at the matin hour
Of nine-mor will ge find the power
of Ocean mock this penance meet;-
For still, will at that bour retreat


HBRMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
51
The sinking waves, and leave the strand
Free for your forfeit-fence to stand.
And still, on that appointed morn,
A recreant note must blow the horn,--
And still, on that appointed day,
Your heirs this tribute-service pay,
Tbat thus may live, from age to age,
The slaughter of the Hermitage."
XLVI.
Feebler and faint bis accents grew,
“I bid," he cried, a last adieu
To tbis fair vale, and lovely stream,
- I go where brighter glories beam!
Farewell, a long and last farewell,
To my lov'd home and lowly cell-
Scene of Devotion's raptur'd joy
Sole blise, the world can not destroy!
I bless you all-adieu, adieu!"
One soft_long sigh, the Hermit drew
And then his spirit fed above,
To peace, and happiness, and love!
U. OF LL L13.


---


53
NOTE
TO THE
HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.
“ The echoes of a legend long departed.”—Page 1, line 23..
X
N the fifth year of the reign of King] Henry the Second,
after the Conquest of England, by WilLIAM, Duke of
Normandly, the Lord of Ugglebarnby, then called WILLIAM DE
Bruce, the Lord of Sneaton, called RALPH De Piercie, with a
Gentleman and Freeholder [of Fylingdales), called ALLATSON,
did, in the Month of October, the 16th day of the same Month,
appoint to meet and hunt the wild Boar, in a certain Wood or
Desart, called Eskdale-Side, The Wood or Place did belong to
the Abbot of the Monastery of Whitby, who was called SEDMAN.
Then the aforesaid Gentlemen did meet with their Boar-Staves
and Hounds in the Place aforesamed, and there found a great
wild Boar, and the Hounds did run him very well, near about
the Chapel and Hermitage of Eskdale-Side, where there was a
Monk of Whithy, who was an Hermit. The Boar being sore
[wounded, and hotly] pursued, and dead-run, took in at the
Chapel-Door, and there laid him down and presently died.
The Hermit shut the Hounds forth of the Chapel, and kept
himself within at his Meditation and Prayers, the Hounds:
standing at Bay without. The Gentlemen in the Thick of the
Wood, put behind their Game, following the Cry of their
Houuds, came to the Hermitage, and found the Hounds round
about the Chapel. Then came the Gentlemen to the Door of


54
NOTE.
1
the Chapel, and called the Hermit, who did open the Door, and
come forth, and within lay the Boar dead; for the which, the
Gentlemen in a Fury, because their Hounds were put from their
Game, did [most violently and cruelly) run at the Hermit with
their Boar-Staves, whereof he died. Then the Gentlemen,
knowing and perceiving that he was in Peril of Death, took
Sanctuary at Scarborough; but at that time the Abbot, in great
Favour with the King, did remove them out of the Sanctuary,
wbereby they came in danger of the Law, and could not be
privileged, but like to have the Severity of the Law, which was
Death for Death. But the Hermit being a boly Man, and being
very sick, and at the Point of Death, sent for the Abbot, and
desired him to send for the Gentlemen, who had wounded him
to Deatli. The Abbot so doing, the Gentlemen came, and the
Hermit being sore sick, said, I am sure to die of these Wounds,
The Abbot answered, They shall die for thee. But the Hermit
said, Not so, for I freely forgive them my Death, if they be
cortent to be enjoyned to this Penance, for the Safeguard of their
Souls. The Gentlemen being there present, (and terrified with
the fear of Death,] bid him enjoyn what he would, so he saved
their Lives. Then said the Bermit, “You and yours shall hold
your Lands of the Abbot of Whitby, and his successors, in this
manner; That upon Ascension-Eve, you, or some for you, shall
come to the Wood of the Stray-Head, which is in Eskdale-side,
the same Day at Sun-rising, and there shall the Officer of the
Abbot blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to
find him, and he shall delirer unto you WILLIAM DE BRUCE,
ten Stakes, ten Strout-Stowers, and ten Yedders, to be cut by you,
or those that come for you, with a Knife of a Penny Price; and
you RALPH DE PERCIE, shall take one and twenty of each Sort, to
be cut in the same manner; and you ALLATSON shall take nine of
each Sort, to be cut as aforesaid; and to be taken on your Backs
and carried to the town of Whitby, and so to be there before
nine of the Clock of the same Day aforementioned. And at
the Hour of nine of the Clock, (if it be full Sea, to cease that
Service) as long as it is low water, at nine of the Clock, the
same Hour each of you shall set your Slakes at the Brim of the
>


NOTE.
55
Water, ench Stake a yard from another, and so Yedder them,
as with your Yedders, and so stake on each side with your
Strout-Stowers, that they stand three Tides without removing by
the Force of the Water. Each of you shall make them in several
Places at the Hour aforenamed, (except it be full Sea at that
Hour, which when it sball bappen to pass, that Service sball
cease) and you shall do this Service in Remembrance that you
did (most cruelly) slay me. And that you may the better call
to God for Repentance, and find Mercy, and do good Works,
the Officer of Eskdale-Side shall blow his Horn, Out on you,
Out on you, Out on you, for the heinous Crime of you. And if
you, aud your Successors do refuse this Service, so long as it
shall not be full Sea, at that Hour aforesaid, you, and yours,
shall forfeit all your Lands to the Abbot [of Whitby), or his
Successors. Thus I do intreat the Abbot, that you may have
your Lives and Goods for this Service, and you to promise by
your Parts in Heaven, that it shall be done by you and your
Successors, as it is aforesaid.' And the Abbot said, I grant all
that you have said, aud will confirm it by the Faith of an honest
Man. Then the Hermit said, My Soul longeth for the Lord,
and I do as freely forgive these Gentlemen my Death, as Christ
forgave the Thief upon the Cross: And in the Presence of the
Abbot and the rest, he said, In manus tuas Domine commendo
spiritum meum: [a vinculis enim mortis] redemisti me, Domine
veritatist, * Amen.
And so he yielded up the Ghost, the 18th day of December,
upon whose Soul God have Mercy. Amen. Anno Domini
1160. [1159.]+-Rev. George Young's History of Whitby,
Vol. I. page 310.
* Psa, xxxi. 5.
+ From an ancient copy printed on vellum, with a few cor-
rections and supplements taken from other copies.





MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
O mes
amis!-rappelez-vous quelquefois mes vers,-mon
ame y est empreinte.
MADAME DE STAEL.





MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
TO HAPPINESS.
It is the gay to-morrow of the mind
That never comes.
MIRANDOLA.
THIRst of the soul!-Hope of my heart!-
Is tbere no home for thee on earth?
Must all life's lovely dreams depart,
Nor give thy bright creation birth?
Art thou ap Iris, changeful-fair
Which still eludes our eager graspo
And leaves pale Disappointment there,
When thy blest form. we hoped to elasp?


TO DAPPINESS.
60
Ah! say, where is thy dwelling place!
Our earth is fairmour skies are clear
And all the efforts of our race
Are but to make thee welcome here :
To thee we raise the lofty fade-
For theo we deck its marble walls
And the rich mine of Genius drain,
To glitter in its gorgeous halls !
For thee the costly feast we spread;
For thee we pour the sparkling wine
In bright libations-freely shed
To woo thee from thy baunts divioe.
For thee we strike our sounding lyres,
And chase thee tbro' the mazy dance;
Wbilst Pleasure's glow our bosomas fires,
And all her thousand wiles entraoce.
>
For thee we pluck the flowers of Spring,
And twine them 'mid our flowing hair ;
While rose-bud wreaths we gaily fling,
To shed their balmy fragrance there :
For thee Thalia holds her court,
And Syren voices, pour their strains ;
-Suill dost thou shun each gay resort,
Our festive pomp tby smile disdains.


TO HAPPINESS,
61
For 'neath the gilded roofs of Pride,
Oft lurks the canker-worm upseen ;
Add fell Remorse is apt to glide,
Where Pleasure's flying feet have been.
While thorns have mingled with the wreaths
We gaily wove, of clust'ring roses ;
And fragrance now no longer breathes,
Where pale Decay her tints discloses.
-Wilt thou not own the hallow'd spot,
Where fond Affection's tendrils twine;
And o'er the Mortal's checquer'd lot,
Love sheds a steady ray diyinel-
Thou wilt oot sbun the blissful home
Of Peace, and Innocence, and Truth!
Wbence sweet Content can never roam,
And Age looks smilingly on Youth!
Where bowers of sweet repose are spread
'Mid scenes of rural peace and joy;
While fairy footsteps lightly tread,
O'er flowers whose fragrance cannot cloy:
Where joyous voices ring around,
And merry eyes are glancing bright;-
Where Beauty, Gladness, Youth abound,
And all js present to delight.
P


62
TO HAPPINESS,
But ab! across the lovely scene
A gloomy shade may darkly glide;
And where Disease or Death have been,
Happiness never can reside:
Bright Tenant of the realms above,
Our Homes of Earth are not for thee!
1
-Ah! what avails our fondest love,
Whose blight is Mutability!
Our Homes of Earth are not for thee
But we will leave the baunts of men,
For Nature's sweet society-
Far from the world and human ken :
Shake off the stain our spirits caught,
'Mid earthly pomp, and toil, and pain,-
To revel in the realms of Thought
Where Solitude and Silence reigo.
1
Where the bright river's glassy stream,
Mirrors the blue depths of the skies ;
And far its distant waters gleam,
Where geotly swelling hills arise :
Where, o'er the meadows, stately trees
At noon-day, cast a dickering shade-
And 'mid their leaves, the dancing breeze
Has softly murm'ring music made.
1


TO HAPPINESS.
63
But o'er the fairest woodland scene,
Siern Winter still
usurps
his
sway, -
And howling tempests, bleak and keen,
Mar the gay landscape with decay;
The sparkling tide reflects no more,
The azure canopy serene ;-
118 turbid waters rudely roar,
While Horror blackers all the scene.
And is there, then, no home below,
Where Happiness may weave her bowers;
Nor dread the change of time and woe,
To dim her amaranthine flowers?
Alas! the charms of Nature fade,
With joys which owe to her their birtb;
And Mis'ry will too oft invade
Where Love had blest our Homes on Earth.
Our Homes may boast the hallow'd guests,
Rrjoicing Hope-expectant Bliss
H, o'er the tumult of our breasts,
Religion breathes her "perfect peace:"
There, Gratitude her treasures pours,
And Resignation sheds her ray,
While Faith, with uplift eye, adores-
Gazes on Heav'o, and points the way!


64
TO AAPPINESS.
-
:
--For there, beyond our 'circling skies,
Transcendent Happiness is found ;
'Mid glorious bowers of Paradise,
Diffusing heav'nly joys around :
And all who seek the blessed ligbt
Religion's lovely beams afford,
May taste her fountains of delight
In the blest mansions of our Lord !


65
THE MERMAIDEN'S SONG.
across the still apd moonlight sea,
A Fisher's vessel glides,-
While sounds of dulcet miustrelsy,
Float o'er the slumb'ring tides.
“Come to my halls!-young Rover!
For thou art bold and brare-
And meet to be the lover
Of a daughter of the wave!
“Come to my balls ! - where sadly,
I sit and sigh for thee,
I will welcome thee-how gladly!
To my realms below the sea!
6. Thou shalt taste of choisest pleasures,
To mortals yet unknown;-
And view the countless treasures
That surround my sparry. Ibrone..


66
The MERMAIDEN'S SONG.
" Within the bed of Ocean
My kingdoms widely spread,
Thou shalt hear its restless motion,
Softly sounding o'er thy head. •
1
“And list the witching melody,
That breathes the Indian shell,
While through its breast of harmony,
Soft winds and waters swell.
“Come to my balls!-where glittering,
Bright spars and crystals shine, -
And white and ruddy branches fliog,
The groves of coralline.
“ Come to my hals!-where orient gems
Are seattered thickly round,
None, in earth's richest diadems,
So beautiful are found.
" For here, the diamond's purest ray
With steady lustre shines,
More lucid than the light of day,
Its splendour ne'er declines.
“And here the ruby's glowing light,
A mellow radiance spreads,
While trembling beams, more cold and bright,
The em'rald mildly sheds.
1


THE MERMAIDEN'S SONG.
67
“And thine shall be the plunder
Of many a-stately deck-
Which storm, and war's fierce thunder,
Have made a gallant wreck.
“ Within my caves of Ocean,
Their wealthy spoils are stored;
The rich and costly portion,
A sea-nymph brings her lord.
L
“And oft-times to enchant thee,
With softest barmody-
Sweet melodies I'll chaunt thee,
As we float upon the sea.
• When evening's purple glory,
Shines o'er the boundless maio,
O'er cliff, and mountain hoary
How sweet will be my straip!
“And when phosphoric splendour,
Illumes the midnight sea
How bewitching!--and how tender!
Will be my songs for thee!
" Then baste to me-young Rover!
For thou art bold and brave
And meet to be the lover
Of a daughter of the wave!


68
TAB MBAMAIDBN's song.
“Come to my balls!—where sadly,
I sit and sigb for thee,
I will welcome thee-how gladly!
To my realms below the sea!"
1
.
The Fisher lends a willing ear,
And on, his vessel glides;-
He starts is that a wbirlpool near-
Where chafe the 'whelming tides?--
A moment's thought-his brow he crossd-
His bark shoots o'er the wave!
The soul and boat, so nearly lost,
Jesu! he prays to save.
Dark grows the night-the tempest sweeps,
Athwart a starless sky;-
And, fearfully, the sounding deeps
Lift their fierce voices bigb.
But morning comes--and into port
The little vessel sails -
While mid her shrouds, soft breezes sport,
And blow the fav'ring gales.
And oft the Fisher warns his males,
Who wander o'er the main,
To shuo the sweet and artful baits,
Of tbe Mermaiden's strain !
4


69
THE HALLS OF MISSOLONGHI.
If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here: up to the field, and give
Away thy breath.
Seek out, less often sought than found,
A soldier's grave, for thee the best:
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.
BYRON.
In the Halls of Missolongbi,
A Chief expiring lay-
Where soldiers gather throngly,
While ebbs bis life away:
Confusion and dismay surround
And war's turmoil is there,
Where silent Sorrow should be found,
Or the grave chorchman's prayer.


70
TAE HALLS OF MISSOLONGHI.
He bad left bis lands and lordship,
And sail'd far o'er the seas,
For danger and for bardship,
In the hapless cause of Greece.
He came, in the red battle-field,
If so it chancedio die!
While o'er his gory bed was peal'd
The shout of Victory!
He came to blend a warrior's ys,
With bright Apollo's crowo;
And higher yet the altar raise
Of his own fair renown;
He came with treasure freely pour'd
And all a Patriot's fire,-
To add the triumpbs of the Sword
To the triumpbs of the Lyre!
-
He came to give a sated life
lu Glory's arms away;
In Battle's spirit-stirring strife-
-Not thus, in dull decay.
And now, on fever's restless bed,
loglorious must he die
Where he tbe squadrons might have led,
Or Greece and Liberty!


TAE HALLS OF MISSOLONGRI.
71
He came from Grecian necks to break
The hated Moslem yoke
And Freedom's echoes to awake,
Where erst her trumpels spoke!
He came ber altars to uprear,
And raise each ruin'd fane-
And, from a bleeding country, tear
Oppression's ruthless chain!
O'er bis Lord's dying pillow
Does one sad mourner bend ;
He had track'd him o'er the billow,
His follower and bis friend :
The staunch, stout-hearted yeoman,
Who-from bis Master's side
Nor fear of foreign foe-man,
Nor danger could divide !
-And is he thus expiring,
In a distant land alone,
Whose Harp our souls is firing
With its undying tone
Ill-fated-dark and lonely,
Thy brief career has been !
High Inspiration only,
To gild thy 'wilder'd scene!


72
THB BALLS OP MISBOLONGAI.
Bright, erring Child of Genius!
Who shall dare to censure theo ?
Or cast one shade calumnious,
On thy ballow'd memory!
Tbine was a dang`rous dowry,
Apollo's burning beam,
No earthly fount can satisfym
But an immortal stream !
For thine, were aspirations,
This hollow world beyond ;
And to thine inspirations,
What bosom could respond?
To thy rapt Lyre's impassion'd tone,
What music could reply?
-Nature's harmonious voice alone,
The earth, and seas, and sky!
The mighty Sire, whose temp'ring hand,
Thy soul's keen polish koew,-
And whose unsleeping knowledge scann'd
Thy grosser frailties too;
May, to the errors of his child,
Parental grace accord-
And pardon-though the sheath defil'd
The lustre of the sword !


THE HALLS OF MISSOLONGHI,
73
The halo of Fame's glorious rays,
Shall gild thine early tomb;
While deathless wreaths of brightest bays,
Shall o'er thy ashes bloom!
And in our country's fairest page,
Shall shine her Byron's name ;
From year to year-from age to age
Its glory still the same !
G


74
THOUGHTS OF AN INVALID.
Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me,
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In bours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration.
WORDSWORTH.
Oft wben oppress'd with pain and grief,
Languid and fever-toss'd I lie,
Where nought can cheer, or give relief,
And frequent bursts the struggling sigb;
When reading palls and converse tires
And from my Babes fatigued I turn,
While kindled are the hectic fires,
That thro' ny frame corrode and burn;
I think upon the cooling Streams,
That wander through the meadows free
And steep my hot and fever'd dreams,
Iu Images of Purity.


THOUGHTS OF AN INVALID
75
I think upon the silent Hill,
Where I have sate iu days of yore,
And felt such rapture, deep and still,
As I may ne'er be bless'd with more:
Where stretch'd the dark brown heath around, -
Above, Heaven's azure concave shone,
And, scatter'd thinly o'er the ground,
Gleam'd thro' the moss, the dim grey stone;
Wbile, 'mid the silence, oft is heard,
The peaceful moor-sheep's plaintive cry,
The twitter of a startled bird,
Or bee's deep bum, while sweeping by.
I think upon the gushing Rills,
That sparkle brightly to the Sun,
Avd through the silence of the hills,
Gaily their cheerful current run;
Jo Summer's heat, 'tis sweet to lie,
With their cool waters welling near;
Their limpid freshness soothes the eye, -
Their rippling music charms the ear:
Stainless those little mountain streams,
Pursue their journey to the sea ;
Aud image forth, in Fancy's dreams,
Pure. Life--and vast Eternity!


76
TROUGHTS OF AN INVALID.
2
I think on glowing Summer eves,
When free, as yet, from pain and care,
I wander'd on, amid the leaves,
Tasting the soft luxuriant air,
Fraught with the woodbine's balmy breath,
Which far its luscious fragrance throws;
And pausing oft, to snatch a wreath,
Wherc blooms the lovely wilding rose;-
While, on the gentle evening gales,
Is borne the bay-field's sweet perfume ;
And oft, the half-cloy'd sense inhales
The purple beaa-lower's od'rous bloom.
Sweet is it, thus, to muse and dream,
Our pleas'd unconscious youth away,
To court bright Fancy's orient beam,
And far from peopled haunts to stray;
To gaze upon the glowing West,
Where slowly sinks the Orb of Day,
And laves his beams in Ocean's breast,
While glory tracks his parting way-
And, where those gorgeous clouds are furl'd,
In mimic palaces and towers,
Imagination paints a world,
Brighter and lovelier far than ours!


THOUGHTS OF AN INVALID,
77
I think on fervid Summer days,
When I have lov'd to sit alone,
And on the spreading Ocean gaze,
And listen to its murm'ring tone,
As, curling to the echoing shore,
Breaks on the beach, each silver wave;
While the white sea-mew circles o'er,
And her bright wing delights to lave;-
Yes, it is sweet, in scenes like these,
To taste the bliss of Solitude,
Where sights and sounds alike must please,
And harmonize the troubled mood.
I think upon the lowly Nest,
Among cool pastures far away,
Where the Lark bides her downy breast,
Apd springs aloft at peep of day.
Swift through the yielding air she flies,
And cleaves her upward course along,--
Piercing the azure-vaulted skies,
With her shrill-sounding matin song;
Could I but own her buoyant wing,
Far from this fer'rish world I'd soar,
To regions of eternal Spring,
Where pain and grief are felt no more!


78
THOUGHTS OF AN INVALID.
I think upon the fresh'ning Breeze-
That sweeps its chainless course along,
Whether it gently stirs the trees,
Aud sports the forest-boughs among,
Whether, o'er beds of fragrant flowers,
The perfum'd gales are softly stealing,
Or, when the threat'ning Tempest lours,
The rusbing blasts are loudly pealing:
To each, the straage, mysterious chords,
That form the music of the mind,
Sweet, sad, or solemn tones afford,
As breathes thy voice, Ob viewless Wind!
I think upou the solemn Night,
When, 'mid those purple skies afar,
The lovely Moon emits her light,
And brigbtly burns each glorious Star.
-And not in vain ye brightly burn!
The rous'd, awaken'd Soul replies;
-Much may the ardent spirit learn,
Gaziog upon those tranquil Skies!
Far as the Earth's remotest bound
Is heard, though silently, their voice ;
Diffusing holy thoughts around,
And bidding faipting hearts rejoice!


THOUGHTS OF AN INVALID,
79
I think upon the living Streams,
Beyond those radiaut, speaking Skies;
Aod feast my glad aspiring dreams,
With rapt'rous thougbts of Paradise,
I think upon the fields of light,
Far, far above our Planet's sphere,
Where fades no joy—where lurks po blight-
But all is blissful, bright and clear!
Where the assembled happy flock,
Their blest Redeemer's face behold;
And Sorrow's pangs no more can shock,
The ransom'd tenants of His fold!


80
OSWY,
A Legendary Tale of Cleveland.
Oh! we have need of patient faith below,
To clear away the mysteries of such wo!
MRS, HEMANS.
"Twas op a Summer evening-when a traju
Moved slowly on through Cleveland's fertile plain;
Dimm'd was their garb by travel's dust and soil,
Their palfreys wearied with unwonted toil,
Yet might you see, on each grave brow impress'd,
The thoughtful knowledge of some high behest;
Amid the throng a litter's freight they bear-
Northumbria's Princess, and her infant Heir.
C
Where Roseb'ry rears bis isolated cone,
Like some huge Giant,--mighty and alone;
And, in his solitary grandeur, stands
To gaze, afar, o'er soft surrounding lands-


OSWY.
82
-Turn'd that grave escort, from th' accustom'd road,
To one but rarely by such trav'llers trode;
Up the steep Mountain's side, they slowly wend,
And painfully its rugged height ascend;-
At length they gain its barren, heathy brow,
And gaze upou the lovely Vale below.
Gay tents, unwonted sight! are quickly spread,
And glitter strangely on that Mountain's head
Guiltless before of such fantastic crowa,
-His coronet, the Mist and Cloud alone !
The astonish'd peasantry, with up-turn'd gaze,
Mark Roseb'ry's stranger-guests with mute amaze ;
Whuse solemo preparations all declare,
They mean to make no transient visit there.
>
Meanwhile, attendants carefully dispose,
Means for refreshment, and the night's repose;
And, when their duteous services are done,
The royal Lady, and her little Son,
Are left, within the tent, to rest alone.
-Costly repast is placed upon the board,
With fruits and odorif'rous pigments stored;
But still untouch'd the golden vessels stand,
Though placed invitingly, by Order's handa


82
OSWY.
-Wrapt and absorbed in all a Mother's joy,
The Princess gazes fondly on her Boy;
Whose features fair-and noble, vig'rous form-
With int'rest, ev'o a stranger's breast might warm;
She clasps him to her fond maternal heart,
Wbile in her eyes soft tears of rapture start,
And oft repeats the oft-return'd caress,
And pauses still to gaze, and still to bless!
“ Now thou art safe, my beautiful! my own!
Safe are we, Oswy, on this Mountain lone!
Far, far above the Sea's tumultuous tide-
Far from fierce Rivers rolling deep and wide.
-No Lake, of bounds o'er-swol'n, can reach us here,
So welcome Hope! and bid adieu to Fear!
On this high Mount, the Augur's doom I brave,
Nor dread his terrors of prophetic wave,
Tu sweep iny Oswy from his Mother's breast,
But safely may he on this bosom rest!"
Hush'd by her song, and cradled by her hand,
The Boy resign'd himself to slumbers bland;
-Still the glad Mother, by her sleeping Child,
Hung fondly o'er, and in her rapture smil'd; --
Kiss'd his soft lips, and forehead brightly fair,
Till her full soul found best relief in prayer!


OSWY.
83
Long knelt she there, in plenitude of joy;
Theo rising, gazed again, and kiss'd her Boy,
How beautiful is Childhood's happy sleep!
lo Innocence how pure!-Repose how deep!
We gaze, half-rev'rently, on rest so fair,
And feel a bolier spirit breathing there.
Spell-bound, we lean above the tranquil form,
To fuller beauty Aush'd by slumbers warm;
And fondly linger o'er each placid grace,
How softly beaming in the quiet face!
Ab! might such graces evermore appear,
And Purity and Peace smile always there!
All thoughts of joy were to that Princess sent,
Lost in a reverie of full content;
Seldom and rare, such blissful moods are given
But when they are, Earth breathes to us of Heaven!
And even Hope's delicious tumults cease,
Lost in the certainty of perfect peace:
-Not oft can we such cloudless transports know,
“The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!"
The curtain'd entrance, now, the Lady rais'd,
And o'er the soft, reposing landscape gaz'd.
- In that pure region of the middle air,
What deep tranquillity and peace were there !


84
OSWY.
Which sweetly harmoniz'd in blissful rest,
With the delightful calmness of her breast.
-Sunset, with hues of rich and gorgeous dyes,
Had spread his banner in the Western skies;
Earth smiles enchanted, in the golden beam,
While o'er her verdant breast its glories stream.
Fair spreads the undulating Vale around,
With trees, and woods, and ricbest culture crown'd:
While noble Mountains link stupendous chain,
And rise, protecting, from the smiling plain.
Far 'mid the glowing West, the Lady sees,
Where rolls thy silver stream-majestic Tees !
-But glancing quickly to the spreading main,
The Princess clos'd her silken doors again ;
A chill of horror through her bosom rushid-
Till pleas'd Şecurity her tremors hush'd.
-“Safe are we here, from Stream and rolling Sea,
They cannot come, my Child, to injure thee!
Save that a Deluge lifts them to the sky,
Then, in one wave oogolph'd, we both should die!"-
-
The Prince was lock'd in slumber-sweet, serene
O'er him, bow foodly, does bis Mother lean!
Till Sleep, long banished from her wakeful eyes,
Now gently seals theor., with a soft surprise :


OSWY.
85
Tir'd Nature yields,-the Mother and her Boy,
Are lost in grateful sleep's unconscious joy.
Morn wakes the tuneful bird-ihe busy bee-
O'er purple beaths, to bold their revelry;
And Morn is lovely, on that Mountain old,
Of which this legendary tale is told.
He seems to rear bis hoary Crest on high,
To court the awak'niog blushes of the sky;
Whose earliest beams, first gild his dewy brow,
Long ere bright rays steal o'er the Vale below.
-And, cloudlessly, that morning rose and smiled,
To wake, with its soft light, the joyous Child:
Who soon up-springing, gaz'd surpris'd around,
Nor wist, at first, what scene might him surround.
-
“ Not this my couch, in fair Northumberland !".
But soon was recogniz'd, the spot he scann'd;
He softly kiss'd his sleeping Mother's brow,
-Then, from the tent, went bounding like a roe, -
Unmark'd by any, for fatigue and sleep,
Yet plung'd them in oblivion, calm and deep.
-Delighted with upwopted liberty,
The Boy rov'd on, with step and spirit free;
Now paus'do gaze upon the East, where rollid
Clouds of rich purple, blent with burnislı'd gold,
A


86
OSWY.
Now dash'd the dew, from the wild-rose away,
And hung enraptur'd o'er the scented spray,-
Imbib'd the woodbine's redolent perfume,
Apd pluck'd the lowly heath-flower's purple bloom.
At length be reach'd a limpid, bubbling rill,
Which coolly gushes, on that mossy bill;
The tinkling Fount makes melody around,
To Oswy, all unwonted sight and sound-
For still where streamlets sing, and waters play,
Had Oswy watchfully been kept away;
In hope the Prince might shun the doom of dread,
Like sword suspended o'er his infant head.
-Prediction's voice bad warn'd, that in the wave,
Northumbria's heir should find an early grave;-
But, could he 'scape such doom, his bright career
In Britain's annals would be held most dear.
-For this, the Princess sought that Mountain's height,
To ward her Child from the decree of Fate;
And, with false safety, tranquilliz'd and bless'd,
Awid unconscious danger, took her rest.
Long, by that Fouutain, play'd the gladsome Child,
Wbile on its bason, Morn's first radiance smil'd;-
In which, reflected now, the Prince espies,
His beauteous Shadow, with a pleas'd surprise.


OSWY.
87
Long, coyly there, the pretty Shade he eyed,
Smiling upon him from the crystal tide ;
Such Shade, before, the Boy bad never seen,
-Nor can he now define what it may mean!
He stoops-bis playmate by the hand to clas?,
But only ice-cold water meets bis grasp !
He thinks that surely bid, beneatb the stream,
Must be that Boy, whose smiles upon him beam!
Upon the brink, he hesitating stood-
Then plung'd, to meet bis Doom, in that small flood !
The stilling waters drown'd his feeble cry,
And none beheld his dying agony !
Alas! for that poor Mother's waking woe,
To miss the Babe-her cherish'd bliss below!
-Alas! for her who came, too late, to save
Her beauteous Oswy, from the fatal wave !
-Oh! pang most fearful, to the Moiher's heart,
To feel such deep, deep love--and yet to part!
By that lone Fount, bereav'd, the Princess stands,
With curdling cheek, and vainly-wringing hands ;-
The mute attendants gather sadly round,
While speech at length the wretched Mother found.


88
OSWY.
-" Alas! too long and fruitlessly I've striven,
To mar thy changeless purposes, high Heaven!
Oh! grant me strength, to bear this stunning blow,
Aud be my Comforter and Blessing, Thou !
-Henceforth to Heaven--myself I dedicate,
No more to struggle 'gainst ibe doom of Fate.
A Cloister's shade shall bide me in its gloom,
To pray, for ever, by my Oswy's tomb;
And cherish hope, tbat when these woes are o'er,
My Babe and I shall meet-to part no more!"


89
LINES,
Written Nov. 21st, 1832, after great affliction.
Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth
and rust doth corrupt, and wbere thieves break through and
steal:
But lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither
moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break
through nor steal:
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
ST. MATTHEW.
Sot no:-set not your hearts on Earth,
Her joys are fleeting-her gifts have to worth;
Bright and fair as her glories seen,
Tbey will fade to the touch, like she hues of a dream;
Sweet as the draught in her Chalice may be,
The dregs are embitter'd by Misery.
&
.
Heed not the baits of her gilded snare,
Trouble, and watchings, and toil are there;
Anxious days and sleepless nights,
Are the price of the Miser's stero delights ;
And many a coffer's hoarded gold,
Could a tale of murder and fraud unfold.


90
LINES,
Raise not your eye to Ambition's Star,
Where, fiercely flaming, it beams afar ;
The scorching glare of its baneful light,
Each lovely growth of the Soul will blight;
And, beneath its self-consuming fire,
Freedom, and Honour, and Truth expire!
Does thy boson swell with the hope tbat Fame
May blazon her glories around thy name?
That about thy brows her wreaths shall twine,
And the meed of immortal praise be thine ?
- With the burning brain, and the racking thought,
And the wasted frame, will thy laurels be bought!
Has Love his thraldom about thee wound,
And thy heart in bis silken fetters bound?
Are his roseate bues o'er thy future cast,
Does he promise for ever his joys shall last?
Hast thou made thy bosom an Idol's throne,
Where he reigos despotic, and reigns alone?
Soon, too soon, will the vision fade,
When the wreck of heart and of peace is made:
The fairy scenes Love's witch'ries make,
Fleet like the Desert's treach'rous lake;
And the weary Pilgrim journeys on,
When Love, and Hope, and Joy are gone!


LINLS.
91
Dost thou pour Affection's treasures forth,
On some fair, frail tbing, some Child of Earth?
Dost thou garder thy hopes on some dear head,
And tears of parental raptare shed,
As the lovely human blossom blows,
Add far and wide its fragrance throws?
Place pot-place not your treasure there,
Or farewell Peace! — welcome Despair !-
The fairest forms, Decay will pine,
And bid each budding grace decline;
And fell Disease oft sweeps away,
The vainly lov'd, and cherish'd clay!
Taste not Pleasure's madd'ning draught;
-Mark those well who her cup have quaff'd;
The haggard cheek, and the reeling eye,
Are the signs which note her Votary;
And Healih and Peace, pay, the precious Soul,
Are often lost in the midnight bowl !
Those blessed Lips which could not lie,
Hare bid us build our hopes on high :
- Place we on Earth our fondest trust,
Our treasures are clay, and our wealth is dust;
And rust may canker, and moths consume,
What escapes from spoil and the yawning tomb.


92
LINES,
Fis-oh! fix then your hopes above,
Transplant to Heaven that yearning love!
Bliss, on Earth, but blooms--to die !
In Heaven-it blossoms eternally!
Aud lasting the treasure unchanged the reward
That is waitiog in Heaven-for the lov'd of their Lord !


93
THE EMIGRANT PEASANT'S FAREWELL.
* Nos patriæ fines, et dulcia linquimus arva;
Nos patriam fugimus :
VIRGIL Ec. I. 3, 4.
Exilioque domos et dulcia limina mutant,
Atque alio patriam quærunt sub Sole jacentem.
VIRGIL G. II. 511. 512.
"Tis Eve--and o'er the distant bill
>
Slow sinks the Orb of Day,
While clouds of glory linger still,
To track bis parting way:
O'er rock and sea, that lovely light,
A mellow radiance throws;
And field and wood are glancing brigh',
Io evening's soft repose.
* In apology for the apparent affectation of making a quo•
tation from a language of which I am totally ignorant,-I
beg leave to say, that I have done so, at the request of my
father, who judged this beautiful selection from Virgil, too
appropriate to the tenor of the little poem to which it is
prefixed, to be omitted,


94
THE EMIGRANT'S PAREWELL.
A stately Vessel proudly glides
O'er Ocean's glassy breast;
Her buoyant keel the surge divides,
Which rears its snowy crest:
To court the soft awak'ning gale,
Her white wings are unfurlid, -
To waft that fair, receding Sail,
To the far Western world.
The glorious Ship-She grandly looms
In the declining Sun;
While, from the shore, yow gravely booms,
The solemo farewell Gun:
And, ever and anon, this strain,
Is o'er the waters flung;
Upon the mighty, tranquil Main,
By parting voices sung.
6 Adieu !-A long and last adieu,
Our pleasant native Land!
We go, to scenes and faces new,
Upon a foreign strand:
It boots pot, now, to mourn aud weep-
It boots not to repine-
Though we may find pot, o'er the Deep,
A soil more lov'd than thine!
>


TAE EMIGRANT'S PAREWELL.
95
“ We leave our Homes, where joyously,
Our own young footsteps strayed;
Where, under Summer's shelt'ring tree,
Our children safely play'd.
We leave the Hearths, where song and tale,
Have cheer'd the winter night,
In our own cherish'd, native vale,
'Mong kindred faces bright!
“ We leave--we leave our pleasant Fields
Our baunts by wood and stream;
How sweet the scent their harvest yields !
How bright their waters gleam!
No more shall we how cheerily-
In those lov'd limits toil;
But heartless-hopelesswearily-
Improve a foreigo soil.
“We leave the Tombs, where quietly,
Our Fathers' ashes lie;
Our own will sleep-across the deep-
Beneath another Sky:
We leave the ancient Church, where first,
Our souls commun'd with God;
Where holy thoughts were gently nurs'd
Even by the hallow'd sod!


96
THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL.
:
“ Farewell-a loog and last farewell
Our tranquil cottage home!
The fav'ring gales our canvass swell,
While cbafes the salt sea- a-foam :
Farewell, the Land which gave us birth,
Which saw our children born,-
Which knew our youth's unheeding mirth,
And Manhood's cares forlorn !
.
“We go, where vast Savannahs spread,
A distant home to fiod;
Wbere gloomy Forests, dark and dread,
Bow to the midnight wind!
We go, where mighty Rivers pour
Their rushing torrents wide;
To hear Ohio's waters roar,
Or Susquehapa's tide!
“ And other hands our fields will reap,
While far remov'd we stray;
And, o'er Atlantic's awful deep,
Have ta'en our parted way.
Upon our hearths, now cold and dead,
A Stranger's fire will burn;
While we to other lands have fled-
-We never shall return!


THB EMIGRANT'S PAREWELL.
97
“ Adieu! again, our native shore;
Our homes our friends adieu !
We hear your kind farewells no more;-
No more your faces view.
Tbink of us in your pensive hours;
Think of us in your prayer;
We fear no storm that darkly lours
For-Father!—Thou art there!".
I


98
EGERJA TO HER LOVER.
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast; wbate'er thou art
Or wert,-a young Aurora of the air,
The nympholepsy of some fond despair;
Or it might be, a beauty of the earth,
Who fouad a more than common votary there
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
CHILDE HAROLD, Canto IV. v. 115.
WITHIN my
silver fountain,
I sit and wait for thee;
The hours and minutes counting,
Which part my Lord from me:
Mightier the deathless flame I prove,
Than that which I inspire,
For mine, the depths of woman's love,
With an Immortal's fire!


EGBRIA TO HER LOVER.
99
When the first blushing light of day
Colours my crystal rill,
And bright Apollo's golden ray,
Streams o'er the distant hill;
. Witb joy I hail the day-star's birth,
Which, in its soft decline,
When evening's shades steal o'er the eartb,
Will blend my soul with thine !
+
When, in the fervid heat of noon,
I seek my coolest cell;
And sit and muse on thee alone,
Where purest waters well:
I sigh to think, I cannot share
With thee, my limpid bome;
Nor shield thee from the sun and air,
Of thine owo glowing Rome!
When, in the purple light of eve,
The flowers their petals close;
And weary men, their labours leave,
For Nature's soft repose:
When perfumes fill the gentle air,
That breathe from plant and tree,-
I, to iny fountain's side, repair,
And watch and wait for thee!


100
EGERIA TO HER LOVER,
Oft then, as fade the fleeting hours,
In roseate light away,
The nightingale, above me, pours
Her soft, mellifluous lay:
This fault'ring tongue can ne'er express'
All that I feel for thee;
Let her entrancing tenderness,
My soul's best medium' be!
Then, while each burning star of night,
My fount its mirror makes;
And the bright moon's resplendent light,
Its crystal depths awakes;
How merrily the bubbles dance,
To meet that glorious beam,
Which casts, at length, its wish'd-for glance,
Upon my haunted stream!
Haste, Numa, haste!-or I will chide
My Lover's slow delay;
Fling all thy cares of state aside,
Thy regal pomp away:
In love and bliss they bave no part-
So come, with spirit free,
And bless the fond, and loving heart,
That watches still for thee!


101
META, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
A Tale.
--nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria,
DANTE.
It is a simple tale I tell;
-But buman joy, and human woe,
Have power the answ'ring hearts to swell
Of those, who owo a kindred throe;
Whether Emotion's tide is poured
Through sterner bosoms of the North,
Or bearts, with Soutbero passions stored,
Lavish their burping treasures forth;
Where'er it be, that Grief has wept,
Devotion pray'd, or Hope has smild,
Or Love into the heart bas crept,
'Mid city-throngs, or in the wild:-
-


102
META, OR THB POWER OF JOY,
Where'er the joys and griefs are known,
Our common nature bids us feel,
Responsive throbs we still must own,
And sigh for woe, and smile for weal:
Therefore this simple tale I tell,
Of home-felt grief and home-felt joy;-
Too potent joy-as it befell,
To one, whose youthfullife, such gladness could destroy!
Not distant far, where Haerlem's towers
Arise, 'mid stately groves and bowers,
A wealthy Merchant's mansion stood,
Embosom'd in a poble wood.
Fair were his field:-bis gardens fair-
Abundance pour'd ber treasures there;
His vessels ride the subject main-
His flocks and herds adorn the plain-
And, in bis home, a blooming train
Of youths, and gentle maidens rise,
To bless tbeir loving parents' eyes.
The kindly peigbbours smile to see,
Their worthy friend's prosperity;
lo others' woes to bear a part,
Prompt was his kind, expansive heart
And all who bless'd bim as he pass'd,
Wish'd bis fair fortunes e'er might lasi-


META, OR THE POWER OP JOY.
103
And Sorrow's bligbt, and Hope's decay,
Far from his mansion keep away.
Who has pot mark'd, where bright and boon,
Shine the resplendent beams of Noon;
Sume envious Cloud at distance rise,
Aud veil their lustre from his eyes?
-Small tho', at first, that envious Cloud,
Soon it extends i18 gloomy shroud;
And o'er the dim, and paliog Sun,
Spreads its dark mantle, drear and dun.
Then, blinding showers begin to fall,
And Nature's charms are hid in pall :
While all the beauteous flowers that threw
Their sweetness on the morning-dew,
And oped their blooms, to court the ray,
Of the refulgent God of Day,
Now bang their beads beneath the rain,
Their bright leaves dimmed by spot and stain;
Their odours fled their beauries soiled-
They lie-of loveliness despoiled.
Who has not mark'd-ihe tempest o'er-
When pouring torrents fall po more,
When angry clouds disperse away,
Aud bursts again the cheering ray,


104
META, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
Though bent their stems and cups with rain,
Those drooping flowers revive again,
And glistening wet with pearly dew,
Upraise their prostrate charms apew,-
Bestowing fragrance rich and sweet,
To bail the parting Storm's retreat,
And rear their lovely heads once more,
Fresher and fairer than before ?
Who has not mark'd some hapless fower,
Low bowed amid the thunder-shower,-
Broken and bent, all sullied lie,
Nor rise beneath a smiling sky,
Which pours in vain its genial ray,
O'er the poor flow'ret's dim decay?
Thus rose, afar, the envious Cloud,
Our worthy Merchant's hopes to shroud.
Whether Almighty Power design'd,
To have his sterling ore refin'd
In adverse Fortune's furpace-fire-
To humble pride and stiot desire :
Or whether Sathapas had power,
To tempt in Sorrow's painful hour-
As erst o'er Job such sway was given,
To prove him in the sight of Heaven :


MBTA, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
105
- That as it may,
bis fortunes failed,
Prosperity's bright Sun was veiled
On every side, reverses rose,
His plans, unlook'd events oppose.
Some years to breast the stream he tried,
Which forced along its 'whelming tide,
Till, as he mark'd each hope's decay,
His fortitude and strength gave way;
Of bopeful energy despoiled,
No more against the stream he toiled,
But saw its darkly-flowing tide,
Spread devastation far and wide,
And all his cherish'd household joy,
His wealth and bliss alike destroy.
Time pass'd—and where he dwelt of yore,
The worthy Merchant dwells no more
A stranger owns his fair domain,
While distant far, he seeks to gaio,
A scanty pittance--far remov'd
From scenes, so long and fondly lov'd.
- Oft will Distress, Love's links divide;
His children, scatter'd far and wide,
Must earn a painful livelihood
In the barsh bonds of servitude.


106
META, OR TRE POWER OF JOY.
One son, a vent'rous youth and bold,
Left the low roof, in quest of gold;
He sought the traffic-teeming main,
Other, and wealthier lands to gain;
And hoped, by treasure bardly won,
Beneath a burning Indian sun,
His ruin'd parents to restore
To their "fair palmy state" of yore.
-Such hopes, the gallant youth inspir'd,
By filial love's devotion fir'd;
-Such hopes, the gen'rous bosom gave,
Which found, alas! a wat'ry grave,
'Neath the vex'd Ocean's billowy wave!
-Ere long the hapless parents read,
Wbile torn afresh, their bosoms bled,
The gallant Ship, with all her crew,
Had perish'd—and their Ernest too!
Bowed to the earth by pain and grief,
Religion gave her mild relief;-
Her anchor, 'mid Affliction's flood,
The tempest of despair withstood.
They toiled in hope of better days,
And still had strength for prayer and praise ;
-But should Misfortune's devious strife,
End only with their mortal life, -


MBTA, OR THE POWBR OF JOY.
107
More lastiog bliss they trust to owo,
Where life's reverses are unknowo!
Still time pass'd 00-years had gone by,
And seen their patient poverty;
The Merchant's locks were silver grown,
And grief had furrowing wrinkles sowo;
Decay, his aged partner shares,
Unfit for toil and household cares,
Which fall in beavy burthen now,
Oo one ill-formed such pains to know.
Their youngest child, a tender maid,
Yet with her aged parents stayed.
-Had prosp'rous fortune Meta bless'd,
How had sbe been admir'd, caress'd !
Her beauty and her talents prais'd,
While on her charms, adorers gaz'd!
Remote-neglected, and alone,
Now must she different fortunes own
In menial offices must share,
Though all too frail, such toils to bear.
When the bright page of studious lore,
Sbe gladly would have ponder'd o'er, —
Os wak'd her now all-silent lute,
From its long slumber-sad and mute


108
MBTA, OR THB Power OP JOY.
Now must she act a hireling's part,
And stifle sadness in ber heart.
Patient she toil'd, and murmur'd not,
But sunk beneath her adverse lot.
Of soul refin'd-of fragile form-
She drooped beneath Affliction's storm;
-As the bright wreath, iu Summer's ray,
Yields sweetest odours to the day-
But bends and breaks beneath the shower,
Which beats upon the helpless flower.
'Twas on a lovely eve of Spring,
When Meta's daily duties o'er,
She sate her down to knit and siog,
Beside the humble cottage-door.
Around her was a garden plot,
A small, but fair and cultur'd spot-
Where the good Merchant's ev'ning toil,
Wop beauty from the teeming soil.
Flowers of rare and richest dyes,
Shone softly 'neath the evening skies;
They bloom'd as fair, with odours sweet,
As when their fragrance wont to greet
The Merchant, in his lov'd retreat.
Their beauty charm'd each grateful sepse,
With colours bright, and sweets intense,


META, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
109
As bounteous, by that cottage-door,
As in the Mapsion's bowers of
yore:
-Ah ! how unlike the faithless race,
Who shun Misfortune's hiding-place-
But lavish all their sweets and charms,
Where prosp'rous Fortune's supshine warms !
Such thoughts might pass, tho' upexpress'd,
Through the sad Meta's mournful breast.
Awhile she sang—then paused ;-again
The Maid resum'd her pepsive strain
Now ceased her weary bands give o'er,
And ply their busy task no more ;
While o'er her wak’ning memory stray,
Shadows of joys, long pass'd away.
Her arms are folded o'er her breast,
Her leaning form reclines for resim
-Fixed on the West, her vacant eye,
Marks not the evening's gorgeous sky
But inward turn'd, to mind recalls,
Her ruin'd Father's distant halls-
Where once her bappy childhood played,
Nor dream'd of hope and joy decayed.
-Now busy Fancy, wakes a train
Of vanish'd pleasures, in her braio-
K


110
MBTA, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
Brothers and sisters smiling rise,
As once they fourish'd in her eyes
Their gentle voices float around,
And all is holy, haunted ground!
She joios the dance-she hears the song
Steal the soft ev'ning airs along-
-On Fancy's pipions borne, the Maid
Far from the cot and garden strayed-
'Mid scenes of youthful rapture rovºd,
And met again with friends belov'd!
Wbilst thus the visionary Fair,
With Mem'ry, sought relief from Care;-
A gentle hand, the wicket raised,
And op a Stranger, Meta gazed.
Swart was his hue-foreign bis mien-
Hot Sups have burn'd where he has been.
Afric's dark sons such cints disclose;-
Such stain, the dusky Indian shows.
His turbavn'd head, and jeweli'd hand,
Bespeak a Stranger in the land,
Yet gaz'd she-as that dark youth were
Not all an unknown Stranger there!
- Something bis beaming looks disclosed,
The Maid's rous'd bosom discomposed;


META, OR THE POWER OP JOY.
III
Hopes-fears-long silenced and repressed,
Awoke wild tumults in her breast.
She strove to speak—but sound denied
On her pale lips the accents died;
And when the Stranger silence broke,
What passions in her bosom woke!
- For, amid Manhood's deepened tone,
She hears a voice-well-fondly known!
But yet the thrilling hope repells-
And wild Emotion vainly quells !
-Has the Sea given up its dead?
When hope so long ago was fled!
Dusk stands the swarthy Stranger there
Her Ernest's hues were bright and fair!
His tones were soft-yet this deep voice,
Brings back the thought of buried juys!
A thrilling and o'er-pow'ring train,
They hurry through her breast and brain,-
She pants-she trembles-wild and pale,
She listens to tbe Stranger's tale.
“And does my Sister know me not!
Is the poor Ernest quite forgot
-When, 'neath the burning beams of Ind,
For Home, and home's delight 1 pined-


112
NETA, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
Thoughts of my blest return, had power
To cbeer each toilsome, absent hour!
-Little my gentle Meta knows,
All her fond Brother cap disclose,
Of Storm and Slipwreck-doubtful strife,
'Mid the wild elements, for life!
Of danger 'scap'd—of Slavery's yoke-
Which nigh this buoyant spirit broke !
Of flight-of labour long and stern,
Ere I
my
Master's grace could ears:
Once won, how generous and kind !
Even to faults and errors blind!
-No kindred claims the Moslem knew
Therefore his gifts distill'd like dew,
On those who in his favour grew.
-But this is theme for future day-
Suffice it, briefly, now to say,
My gen'rous Master drooped and died-
And left me free !—and wealth beside!
- These precious gems, Meta, bebold !
And-gentle Sister-I have gold
Our parents' comforts to restore
And cheer them, as in times of yore !
-How are my Mother, and my Sire ?
Bright hopes, my eager questions fire!


META, OR THE POWER OF JOY.
113
I trust tbat Age has lightly pass'd
O'er their dear heads--por shadows cast;
But each kind face will beam with joy,
To bless their los-returning Boy!"
No glad reply, the Maiden gave-
But all was silent as the grave !
Her passive hand, her Brother took,
And bent-lo seek the answ'riog look
Of those fund eyes, which ever shone
Her Ernest, tenderly upou !
- There still was light, in that dim gaze,
Which beamed no-as in other days
And when she met her Brother's eye,
How long she look'd !-how fervently! -
What depth of bliss tbat gaze express'd!
Bliss-softly sinking into Rest!
One pressure, gave her gentle hand!
One sigh, her Brother's dark locks fann'd!-
And then her soaring Soul bad flown,
Where sucb wild transports are unknowo !!!
Too finely strung-her Heart had broke
When bliss its thrilling music woke.
The tide of rapture, deep and strong,
Had borne ber fragile Life along;


114
META, OR THB POWER OF JOY.
And keenest Bli88—and purest Joy,
Had proved Almighty-to destroy !!
-Thus, the fair flow'ret drooping lies,
Beneath Misfortune's frowning skies-
And, when glad sun-sbine smiles again,
Reviving rays are pour'd in vain
On the pale wreath, stili with'ring there,
Though bright the Sun, and mild the air!


115
THE REVEL'S QUEEN,
Amid the gay and festive throng,
My smile is brightest seen;
And mingling glittering crowds among,
I move, the Revel's Queen :
They little think, that, all the wbile,
I play a false false part;
And beaming eye, and wreathing smile,
But hide a breaking heart.
I braid my locks with gems and gold,
I crowo my brows with lowers,
While gorgeous robes my form enfold,
To grace those festal hours;
And when those festal hours are o'er,
I fling my gauds aside
And ab! how bitterly deplore,
Thy triumph, heartless Pride!


116
THE REVEL'S QUEEN.
Where floats the song, my soft guitar
And voice, most gaily twine;
And where the dancers' mazes are,
The lightest foot is mine.
Mine is the joyous-sounding laugh
Mine is the gladsome eye-
And, thoughtlessly, I pledge and quaff,
The cup of revelry!
This gay disguise, from those around,
May goawing grief conceal;
-But where shall Lethe's wave be found,
To bid me cease to feel?
For this, I Pleasgre's cup have quaffed,
And Sleep's narcotic bowl;-
Nor sparkling wine, nor opiate draught
Can cheat tbe wakeful Soul!
1


117
TO WORDSWORTH.
High Priest of Nature !-When I read thy strain,
A soothing calm breathes o'er my breast and brain;
While o'er my Soul, thy gentle notes diffuse
Refreshing balm-like Evening's grateful dews.
_'Tis as a Summer-shower had clear'd the air,
And left delicious odours breathing there-
Or, as Earth smiles-when Sunset's mellow ray,
From her green bosom, sweetly melts away!
-As sweet, the thougbts thy holy lays impart,
To tranquillize, and elevate the heart,
Deep and serene thy Inspiration flows,
Like a pure River, in its calm repose;
-Long may its stream o'er human bosoms glide,
And fertilize them with its limpid tide!
Rouse kindly feelings in th' awaken'd breast
And bid a Mortal-taste an Angel's Rest!
C


118
THE MAIDEN'S GRAVE.
How many sink into the grave in all their personal beauty,
and all their mental charms, and are heard of no more! Of
them no bright thoughts are recorded, no touching emotions,
no wild imaginations. All their fine and true perceptions, all
their instructive knowledge of the human soul, and all their
pure speculations on the inystery of human life, vanish for ever
and ay with the parting breath. A fair, amiable, intelligent
young maiden has died, and is buried. That is all. And her
grave lies in its unvisited rest.
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF Scottish Life,
Beneath an Elm-tree's shelt'ring shade
Tbere lies a grassy Tomb,
Where primrosc-tufts have sunshine made,
And earliest violets bloom;
'Tis water'd by the dews of Heaven,
'Tis fapn'd by Summer's breeze,
'Tis shadow'd by the tinis of Even,-
And Morp's Girst radiance sees.


TAB MAIDBN'S GRAVE.
119
And o'er that bumble, quiet Grave,
Blythe birds are singing free,
Where rustling boughs the foliage wave,
Of that old, leafy Tree.
And when the gentle airs of Spring,
Their balmy influence breathe,
Glad cbildren there, bright flow'rets bring,
And lovely chaplets wreatbe.
The sculptur'd Stone, which o'er the Grave,
Its mute memorial keeps
Tells, where tbat Elm-tree's branches wave,
A Maiden sweetly sleeps;
Within that verdant, grassy mouud,
She takes her dreamless rest,
Wbere fairest flowers are earliest found,
On Earth's maternal breast.
We only know, a Maiden's bloom,
Was early hidden there;
Within the cold and silent Tomb,
From Life's illusions fair.
We only know, a Maiden sleeps
Beneath the flowery sod:
The Grave her mould'ring ashes keeps
Her Spirit is with God!


120
THE MAIDEN'S GRAVE.
We only know, that Youtb's glad light
Once fill'd those darkened eyes;
Though now, in Death's all-rayless night,
That Maiden slumb'ring lies.
We know not of ber form or face,
We know not of her lot,-
Her name-her age-are all we trace-
More is remember'd not.
Percbance, within that quiet bed,
Some beauteous fair-one lies;
Whose lovely form, and airy tread,
Have charm'd admiring eyes:
Perchance, the silver-sounding tongue,
And voice, are silent there
Which, softly sweet, their music fung,
Upon the list'ning air.
Perchance, the glories of the mind,
Once lit that mould'ring clay,
Which now, in cofin'd gloom enshrin'd,
Consumes to dusl away.
We find no ling'ring record there,
Of the deep thoughts and high,
Which once that silent breast might share,
And light that slumb'ring eye!


THE MAIDEN'S GRAVE.
121
Perchance, Affection's rifled heart,
And hopes, lie buried here:
-When Love's enliv'ning beams depart,
Oh! what is Death to fear?
Better that wounded heart to hide
To hide that blighted bloom
And shroud the wither'd maiden pride,
In the shadow of the tomb!
Who knows what mines of burning thought,
Her lofty mind might yield;
Though the rich ore no longer wrought,
They perish'd unreveal'd!
What rays of Genius' hallow'd fire,
O'er her their lustre pour'd,
Though now unstrung the tunefal Lyre,
And mute its quivering chord !
Perchance, a soaring Soul might cling,
Within a cov'ring frail,
Which shiver'd at the breeze of Spring,
And bent beneath the gale;
Higher, has sprung that mounting Soul-
Higher, that Spirit soared-
Though shatter'd is the golden bowl,
And loos'd the silver cord!
L


122
THE MAIDEN'S GRAVB,
Who knows what bursts of tenderness,
That buried heart has kuown;
What love to share what pow'r to bless
Though now 'tis cold and lone!
Alas-for Love!-Alas for Youth!-
With all their purple bloom;
Nor flatt'ring Hope, nor glowing Truth,
Can cheat the yawning tomb!
Who knows what storms of Passion's might,
That bosom may have quelled,
Wben fair Religion's lovely light,
The meteor-blaze dispelled!
What rainbow dreams of bliss on earth-
Imaginations .proud-
High thoughts, to which our hearts give birth,
Before the Cross have bowed!
We know pot tbis-we know no more,
Than ibat a Maid lies here,
Where turf and flowers, are clust'ring o'er,
Her lowly, bumble bier.
We know but that a Maiden sleeps,
Beneath the verdant sod:-
The Grave her mould'ring ashes keeps
Her Spirit is with God!
a


123
TO WINTER.
Written at the commencement of April, 1833.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze ;
Chills the pale morn, and bids. bis driving sleets-
Deform the day delightless.
THOMSON'S SPRING,
GLOOMY Winter, bence !--away!
Nor longer in our climate stay.
Galher all thy train together,
All tby host of adverse weather-
Fog, and mist, and fearful sturm,
Too long pale Nature's face deform.
Hence !-and prison'd in thy cave,
Bid thy fetter'd tempests rave,
Till a few brief Moons have pass'd,
And their sweet influence o'er us cast,
Then shall thy rage have leave again,
To rend the bill, and wreck the plain,
With howling winds, and blighting rain!


124
TO WINTER.
Meanwhile, I bid thee bence !-away!
Nor longer chill our levgthen'd day,
Nor “linger in the lap of May."
Hence! -where rourd the frozen Pole,
Arctic glooms and horrors roll!
-Where thy stern eternal reigo,
Chains the sea, and binds the plain!
-Where Silence fills the solemn air,
Save, when thine awful Voice is there,
Or, muttering, growls the Polar Bear!
Hence !--give place !--away, away!
We pine for Spring's awak'ning ray.
Winter!--now thy reign is o'er,
Tempests vex the earth no more.
-Winter!-word of eulogy,
Shall thy cold Moons ne'er win from me.
Though sweet tby sport of hardy joy
To the glowing, vent'rous Boy.
Whether he dares, elate, to glide
O'er the lock'd River's frozen tide-
Or archly aims the snowy ball,
Conceal'd behind some shelt'ring wall
Or frames, of snow, the spectral shape,
The human face and form to ape,
-


TO WINTER.
125
Which'soon in streams dissolves away,
Beneath the San's first feeble ray.
Winter!-thy lengthen'd Night is dear,
To those whom health and gladness eheer;
Who cluster round the evening fire,
While tale and song, gay Mirth inspire,
Or Music's spells our souls entrance,
Where graceful foals the mazy dance,
And soft lips smile, and bright eyes glance !
-Dear are the joys thy twilight brings,
While mantle о'er, its dusky wings ;
- Favor'd of bounteous Heav'n!-o those,
Who, io Conteniment's sweet repose,
Taste bliss, from which they ne'er would roam,
Amid the heartfelt joys of Home!
Who see their Children's tresses bright,
Shine gaily in the red hearth-light-
Who hear each merry, youthful voice,
Bid the glad Parents' hearts rejoice-
Wbilst Mirth and Lore the time employ,
Iu lofty thought, or harmless joy~
Yes! sweet such home-felt pleasures are,
If Health, Religion, Peace, be there!


126
TO WINTER.
Winter! dear thy aspect wild,
To the glad, admiring Child ;-
-He loves, with up-turn'd gaze, to mark,
Where from the Cloud, so stern and dark,
Noiseless, the feathery snow-flakes fall,
And their white liv'ry cast o'er all.
-He loves, on the boar pane, to see,
The frost-work's curious tracery,
Of landscape fair, and leafy tree;
-To mark, suspended from the bough,
The icicles' bright, glittering row;
Or, pleasing task! the crumbs to fling,
Where Rubin hops, with russet wing,
And breast of scarlet's brightest dye,
With trustful look, and suppliant eye.
-Such scenes, to Childhood's happy heart,
Pure bliss, and keen delight impart.
Winter !-dread thy gloomy reigu,
Where Health denies her blissful train
Of choicest gifts—when the frail form
Shrinks from the blighting winter-storm;
And thrills responsive, while each change,
Does the weak tenement derange.


TO WINTER.
127
-Dread is thy influence to those,
Who know nor comfort, nor repose,
But drain the bitter Chalice dry,
Offer'd by meagre Poverty !-
Wbuse Children bread in vain implore,
When the starv'd Parents have no more!
Nor fire their frozen limbs to warm,
But, shivering, cowers the squalid form!
-Then is the time--for those who share
High boons from Heaven's indulgent care
Part of their blessings to bestow,
Oo those who Misery's anguish know.
-Such gifts may chance the Hand restrain,
Impelléd to crime by Hunger's pain-
-Such bounty melt the stong Heart,
Harden'd in Grief's uppitied smart!
Winter!-dire thy mournful gloom,
When Joy's bright beams no more illume;
When Grief, and brooding Thought, have power,
To steep in gloom each lonely hour.
-Where all within is dark and drear,
How stern tby influences appear !
-We pipe and languish for the ray,
Of bright'ning Spring's reviving day,
And bid thee, Winter! -hence !-away!


128
LUCY ASHTON, TO RAVENSWOOD.
TABY tell me, thou art faithless grown,
In yon far foreign land;
That soon another Bride will own
Thy now apostate band.
And, tauntingly, they chaplets twine,
Of tbe sad willow-bough;
And say the doleful gift is thine,
To wreathe wy faded brow..
They press me with a Stranger's suit
They urge a Stranger's claim;-
But though my tongue and lips are mute,
My heart is still the same
As when we dared our troth to plight,
Within you leafy shade,
Whose murm'ring fountain dancing bright,
Besponsive music made,


LUCY ASHTON, TO RAVENSWOOD.
129
And when my perves are all upstrung,
My heart oppress'd and sore,
I hide myself those bowers among,
And live our meetings o'er.
I muse upon thy bearing proud
Thy dark and flashing eye,-
Nor can I think thy soul bas bow'd
To such deep treachery!
Where I with thee have rov'd-there beams
>
A glory o'er the place,
And, like remember'd, happy dreams,
Thy presence there I trace.
Lull’d by that softly whisp'ring rill,
In thine ancestral bowers;
I oft forget that thorps will still
Lurk 'mid the sweetest flowers.
Ill-omen'd was our meeting there-
lll-omen'd was the love,
A Parent's blessing may not share,
Nor sanction from above.
But nought can change this trustiog heart,
To thee how fully given!
And doom'd on Earth to live apart,
Yet may we meet in Heaven!


130
INVOCATION TO THE SPIRIT OF HEALTH.
Written May 10th, 1832,
After a long and dangerous illness, and while still
labouring under the pressure of indisposition.
>
Spirit of Health !-thy presence I invoke
Long has thy calm been absent from my mind;
Crush'd 'neath the weight of Sickness' iron yoke,
Long has my languid frame for thy sweet influence
pin'd!
On softest couches, thou dost not abide-
Pillows of down are seldom pressed by thee-
In curtain'd chambers, have I vainly sigh’d,
-Still dost thou shuo my sad society !
Where shall I find thee? I have drain'd.the bowl
Of Med'cioe oft, to woo thy soft return;
Yet still thy peace is absent from my soul,
-Siill do my reins with Fever's hectic burn!


INVOCATION TO HEALTH,
131
.
Fruitless for me, opfolds the letter'd page,
Once source of purest pleasure upalloy'd ;
The tale of Fancy-or the lesson sage-
Unheeded now their relish all destroy'd.
The fairy forms, 'twas happiness to see,
The childish mirth, it once was joy to hear ;
Now yield do soft maternal bliss to me,
But startle oft, th' acute, the morbid ear.
Spirit of Health! return-I pray return !
Long has thy calm been absent from my mind;
My heart is sad-my veins with fever burn-
Long bas my languid frame for thy sweet influence
-
pin'd!
Afar I see thee!--'mid the blush of Morn,
Guiding the Lab'rer on his early way;
Or, 'neath the shelter of yop aged Thord,
Watching the Cotter's' childrens' artless play!
I would pursue thee to the thymy hill ! -
-Full well I know thou lov'st its brocsy air ;
But o'er my limbs, is Languor's 'numbing abill,
-Ah! nu, I cannot yet pursue thee thero!


132
INVOCATION TO HBALTH.
At my
Spirit of Health! I worsbip thee in vain!
Creator's throne, I bow the koee:-
Oh! if it be Thy will, may Grief-may Pain-
A patient, humble victim find in me!
Yet if Thy gracious Providence incline,
To hear the prayer my trembling pen pourtrays;
Ob God! may all my future days be thine,
And may new Health give strength to hymn Thy
praise !
Spirit of Health !_it
may
pot be
my
fate
Below, to share thy bliss-to wear thy bloom ;
But Faith, with eager confidence elate,
Points to thy joys in worlds beyond the Tomb !


133
TO MY BOY.
A Mother's Prayer.
I have a Boy of “ three " years old;
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beauty's mould,
And dearly be loves me.
WORDSWORTH.
When Grief and Pain together cast
Their deadliest shadows o'er
my
heart;
When keeply blows the Eastern blast,
And Hope's enliv'ning dreams depart :
When Sickness bows my feeble form,
And gloomy thoughts my peace destroy,
Thy supoy smile my soul can warm
With Joy's bright beams—my darling Boy!
Thy sunny smile!--no thought of guile-
E'er crossed that Cherub lip and brow;-
Oh! may the scoff-the envious wile-
Be ever strangers there-as pow!
M


134
TO MY BÓY.
And, fearlessly, thy loving eyes
Look up, an answ'ring love to see ;-
Wbile sad and tender thoughts arise,
My precious Child-gazing on thee!
That spotless brow!-is fitting throne
For Innocence to sit epshrined ;
Nor does its pure expanse disowo
Rich promise of the wealth of mind :
Grant, Gracious Heav'n! that guilt may ne'er
Contract that fair and flowing line;
Almighty Father! hear my prayer,
And make bim early, wholly Thine!
Oh! may thy Holy Spirit guard
My treasure, 'mid Earth's wild'ring maze ;
His gentle heart from danger ward,
And the temptation that betrays !
May the soft band, which fervently,
Returns the tender clasp of mine,
Ne'er sully, 'mid Pollution's dye,
But Health, Religion, Peace, be thine!
2


135
NOTES
TO THE
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
NOTE 1.
For thee we pluck the flowers of Spring,
And twine them 'mid our flowing hair;
While rose-bud wreaths we gaily fling,
To shed their balmy fragrance there.
Page 60, verse 3.
“Let us fill ourselves with costly wine and ointments : and
let no flower of the spring pass by us :
crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be
witbered.”
Wisdom of Solomon, chap. ii, verses 8, 9.
- Let us
NOTE II.
Far as the Earth's remotest bound
Is heard, though silently, their voice;
Page 78, verse 2
« There is neither speech nor language, but their voices are
heard among them.
“ Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words
unto the ends of the world."
Psalm xix. verses 3, 4.


136
NOTE III.
Too finely strung, her Heart had broke,
When bliss its thrilling music woke.
Page 113, lines 21, 22.
The Story of Meta is founded on an authenticated circum- .
stance, which I have extracted from the Monthly Review, Vol. I.
No. 3, March 1833.-
“But the strangest fact of all is, that sudden Joy is one of
the most fatal disturbers possible of the human mind. Zim-
mermann, in his Treatise on general and particular Experience
in the Art of Healing, mentions the case of a Dutch female,
who fell a victim to Joy.
“ The family were respectable, but met with reverses, and
were reduced to indigence, Whilst in this condition, the eldest
son, who had been some years absent, returned home with a
considerable fortune, and being desirous of communicating so
pleasant a piece of news to his sister in a practical manner, he
presented her with one of the richest jewels. She instantly fell
down as if struck by lightning, and expired.
“The history of Ancient Greece contains narratives of similar
effects being produced by sudden Joy."
R. Kirby, Printer, Bridge-street, Whitby.


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