4519 -1838 . THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES s J I '; ufiM ;^. w, ^. r>^7^ i POEMS POETICAL FRAGMENTS. LORD LINDSAY. WIGAN : J. BROWN, STAN DISHG ATE. 1838, Cs3/A/7 CONTENTS. David .... Scenes ofTravel Enterprise Cleopatra .... Quid Non > ... A Sketch .... The Gathering to the Slaughter Ossian's Address to the Sun Translations from Homer Guid-nicht and joy be wi' ye a' To a child sleeping Good Night to Minnie .... Sir Alan de Pennington and Ellen of Derwentwater Gamel de Pennington's Lullaby May Margaret Druramond The Nereids' Cave ..... Torre di Rosana . . . , The Martin of Tillicoultry .... Farewell to Scotland .... The Chapel of Balcarres .... Epitaph ...... The Ascent of the Cataracts PACK. 3 27 35 37 39 49 50 52 55 62 63 65 67 77 79 82 86 93 94 97 100 101 810898 DAVID A POEM. "AND IT CAME TO PASS, WHEN THE EVIL SPIRIT FKOM GOD WAS UPON SAUL, THAT DAVID TOOK A HARP, AND PLAYED WITH HIS HAND ; SO SAUL WAS REFRESHED, AND WAS WELL, AND THE EVIL SPIRIT DE- PARTED FRO.M HIM." I Sam. XVI. 23. D A V 1 D BOOK I. Father of all ! who from the heavens, thy throne, liOok'st down on empires and worlds infinite. Rescued by thee from chaos, and bestowed, Glorious and radiant, through immensity, — Lord ! on whose sole dominion all depend, The monarch and the slave, — God over all From all eternity, — who heaven's high King Ever hast been, nor e'er shalt cease to be,- — Who now art as of old, before worlds were, When thou wert All thyself, — who still shalt stand Ineffable, Supreme, when 'neath thy feet Rage the devouring flames, and earth and heaven Crash in one world of fire, and from the abyss Groan forth the sighings of expiring nature. Vanishing 'neath thy nod, and shrunk to nothing ! Teach me thy ways, oh Lord ! that when that hour Of awful retribution shall men call To reckon for their crimes, I may be found 4 DAVID. In Christ my Saviour, blameless ! On that dav Shall all appear to the dread trumpet's sound, A note of gladness to the good, a knell Of misery to the wicked ; with that blast Shall rush the tide of memory on their souls. And all their crimes shall rise in thick array. And stand against them, damning witnesses ! Grant me thy grace, oh Lord ! that I may run My path of life in innocence, unstained By crime or folly, — and should fortune change. Should adverse winds distract my labouring course. And hurry my frail bark afar from home. Speak, and the storm shall cease, — then guide me back, (If thou judg'st fit), to happiness. Awake, Oh Muse ! who lovest to stray by Siloa's stream And Zion's holy precincts, and renew The strain that erst was heard on Judah's hills, "When, summoned to attend proud Israel's King, The shepherd-minstrel harped ; when, rich attuned To solemn harmony, his lays rang forth The great Creator's glory, swelling high. And streaming on the air in liquid flow Of melody, — then dying soft away. Soft as his mercy. While the minstrel sung. Was heard the stifled sob, was seen the tear Of penitence and woe furrowing the cheek Wasted with crime and care ; — cursing their sins. DAVID. Once loved but now abhorred, in sackcloth clad, Weeping, they sought the long neglected shrine. And sued for pardon from their outraged God. Bright was the day of glory when the Lord Dwelt witii his people, cheered them on their way. And led them to salvation ; but the sun. E'en in his noontide splendour, oft retires Obscured by clouds dark hurtling o'er the sky, Teeming with storms and thunder ; and though at last. The mists dispelled, his rays burst forth again With tenfold lustre, yet awhile they are veiled. And day seems night : so Israel's day of glory Too oft was darkly overcast by clouds Of stubborn doubt and wilfulness, and they wandered. Bereft of guidance, blindly through the mist. Cheered but by glimpses of the heavenly ray. Now gleaming, now o'ershadowed ; but their God Had not forgot them, the deep-volumed gloom Rolled slow away, and the full tide of mercy Streamed glowing on their souls ; they bowed the knee And knew their God. Yet soon fresh clouds arose Black on the horizon ; discontent was heard. And murmurs deep.— They sought an earthly King. Rejecting an Eternal. In those days A Seer arose, and ministered to the Lord, His chosen servant, Samuel ; on his brow Old age had set his seal, and o'er his temples 6 DAVID. The silvered locks fell hoary as the snow On wintry Salmon : age had not yet dimmed The lustre of his eye, which, glancing wide, Seemed all to penetrate and all survey, Yet few could meet his gaze, for few there were Virtuous and pure to bear its scrutiny. Bright was the eve that fell on Gilgal's plain ; The western hemisphere was far o'erspread With golden radiance, and the waning sun Shimmered afar with calm and steady glow Deepening each moment ; every leaf was seen To boast a richer hue, — the wind was hushed. Nor fanned the clustering corn, — the distant clouds. All flame, melting with living glory, hung O'er the bright orb, drinking its beams of fire And pillowing on the breeze. Hast thou e'er stood, at midnight, on the craigs That tower above the ocean, and o'erlooked The boundless world of waters, stretching forth Beneath thee, glistening with the stars of heaven Deep-mirrored in the wave, while o'er the horizon "The summer lightnings wing their harmless way. Like angels, on their pilgrimage of love. Now passing out, now through, the gates of heaven ? This thou hast viewed, and ocean's nightly queen* Furrowing the dark blue waters with her track * " Queene of the sey, and bewtis of the nicht." — Sir David Lindsay's Dreme— (1528.) DAVID. ; Of hoarv tremulous lustre, — thou hast heard The distant billow thundering to the shore With ocean's melody, then hast watched its course. Maddening still onward 'gainst all obstacles, Till bursting in one lengthened peal, 'twas gone And all was silent, as if nature slept By Cynthia guarded, and the ebb and flow Of ocean were her breathings. — Soon once more Woke that mvsterious murmur, onward rolled The crested billow proudly to its doom, Dying in victory ; silence then awhile Reigned on the shore, a momentary pause, Breathless and deep as is an infant's slumber. Such was the roar of voices that was heard On Gilgal's plain, and such the breathless pause That made each heart hear its own quickened throbs, When Samuel rose to speak. High over all He rose, and stretching forth his hand sublime. While on his hoary locks and furrowed brow The sun's last beams shone radiant, his voice Broke forth in accents silvery and sweet. Yet thrilling to the soul. " Children of Israel ! Sons (oh ! how changed !) of Abraham and the sires Beloved of Him whose will ye now contemn, — Children of Israel, hail ! I call ye all. Each and together, here before the Lord Witness against me, — whom have I oppressed .? 8 UAVll). Whom have I wronged ? whose ox is in ray shed. Whose ass is in my stable ? Who can say On me lies guiltless blood, the widow's curse. Or drooping orphan's tear ? Ye answer, none — Then let my God and your God witness me Guiltless of such transgressions. — Oh my children ! Would ye but hear me ! — why thus tempt your God, Your own, your fathers' Saviour, who of old Brought ye from Egyi)t, quelled the Philistine, And broke the horn of Moab, that ye dwelled Safe in this place ; he saved the sires, and now Is his hand shortened that he cannot save The children, — even though Ammon war against The Highest, King of kings and Lord of lords, Whom ye reject, oh faithless ! and demand An earthly king ?— Have then your wish ! Behold Whom ye have chosen ! — King of Israel, hail ! — If ye obey him, if ye fear the power That gives him empire, honoured shall ye be. Following your God ; rebel — and, as of yore Against the fathers, so against the seed, God's hand shall be upon you. — Father, King, God over all. Omnipotent ! arise And shew thy people whom it is they spurn ; — Let loose the tempests, ope the gates of heaven. Wing forth the lightnings, bid thy thunders roll And shake earth's centre, that they aright may know Their wickedness how grievous in thy sight !" DAVID. Such was the Prophet's prayer, and o'er the sun Dark clouds came gathering fast, the zephyrs sped Home to their balmy caverns, and the blast. Bursting its northern prison, pitiless swept The lonely plain, with intermittent gust, Bitter and chill, wailing as o'er the crimes Qf faithless Israel. Night her sable wings Spread o'er the land, the thunders hoarser roared. And by the lightnings' blaze, rending the heaven. Were seen thick clouds hurrying athwart the sky, Veiling bright Phoebus' orb behind a curtain Of rairkest gloom ; deep moaned the rushing wind, Murmuring as the hoarse roar of many waters Closing above the head. The Almighty voice Had spoken, and the elements combined To obey the high behest ; — He spoke again. And Boreas winged his way to Scythia's shore, And Zephyr hied him from the western main. The clouds dispersed, the unnatural darkness fled, And nature, robed in light, emerged from storm All beauteous as before ; the pearl-drops hung On every leaf, glistening like maiden's tear Shed for her absent lover ; — while afar Sank day's bright orb in a full sea of glory. Fair Dian rose, as wooing him to stay. Nor shun his sister's soft alluring beam, — But vain her prayer ! his last rays die away 10 DAVID. And soft succeeds the sweet grey gloamin hour. Season of rest and peace, when night as yet Contends with day, spreading her mantle o'er The weary world, while in the distant sky Pale meteors play, and streams of sportive fire Gush forth unceasingly, like angels' swords Sheathed in the darkness, or their own bright forms Through heaven's thin veil translucent, as they dart On wings of gladness through infinity. BOOK II. Whence is that sound that dwelleth on the ear. Constant and low, like thunder's distant strife, While, ever and anon, the clash of steel Mingles with groans of agony, and shrieks Of mortal anguish ? ' Tis the accursed din Of war and carnage swelling on the breeze, And Israel conquers, but her King is fallen, Alas ! how fallen, from his high dignity. Pride is the bane of happiness, the blight Of every blessing; pride was our first sin. And, rooted once, will flourish on for ever. DAVID. 1 1 Pride is the cypress-tree of life, — its home The rocky cliff, secluded from man's ken In Alpine solitude ; in summer's reign Its branches, thick and clustering, deprive The soil they shadow of the sun's warm ray. And genial fosterage ; 'mid rude winter's havoc, Wrapt in impenetrable gloom, they still Frown o'er the vale, unbending to the storm. Lonely, exposed to — welcoming each blast However withering. Saul thus sinned in pride. And pride repelled each thought of milder mood His better angel whispered, till at last. Summoned by God, he yielded up his place To heaven's grim scourge, that satellite of sin. The evil demon, who, when conscience dies. Seizes its place, and makes man's heart his home. A change came o'er Saul's spirit, and he seemed To eye distempered visions of the brain. Mockeries of life, and all but palpable, In long procession gliding by his couch As there he lay, motionless all and still — Nor could he banish them. Still there past by Interminably life's ever-shifting scenes. Funeral, bridal feast, and holy rite. Distinct and clear, one after other came And gleamed and vanished 'mid unearthly gloom. While, maddening, as he lay, he thought that each Would prove the last ; his ancient friends long dead 12 DAVID. Came in their shrouds, and sat them by his couch. And held the converse of the dead, while Saul Gazed spell-bound on their wasted visages, And could nor move nor speak ; then they would leave him. And he would feel he died, and vainly strive To stay the fleeting breath ;" then by his bed His servants seemed to sit, and watch his corpse. And curse his memory ! then he was interred. And felt himself an inmate of the grave, But not its only tenant — for he found The worms his bedfellows, and pillowed on The dust of other mortals, while his eye-balls Cracked as he glared on black vacuity, Peopling the void with images of horror. His mind's creation, thronging grimly on And ever changing ; then he strove in vain To uplift the massy cover of the tomb. And cursed and howled despairingly, and shrunk From contact with the loathsome things engendered From his own heart's corruption, which o'erspread His narrow home, feeding upon their parent; — And then this vision past, and he beheld The fires of hell, hell's inmate, and he felt The crackling flames circling his limbs with fire, And blending with his being, — he breathed fire. And saw with eyes of fire, while all around Shrieks of unutterable woe arose. DAVID. 13 And hissing serpents came and wound themselves In flaming coils around him, and the sword Of Agag hung suspended o'er his head, Nor fell, because he wished it, — while the song Of hell's glad fiends exulting in his doom Thus rang thsir welcome to their victim's soul. FIRE-SPIRITS' SONG. Spirits of darkness, whom God in his ire Drove headlong from heaven to the regions of fire. Whose home is the thunder-cloud, from whose red eye Glance the keen-arrowy lightnings that furrow the sky. Who pillow on flame, yet who body have none. In essence of fire self-existing alone. Raise your glad voices, triumphantly sing. Long we've waited thy coming, hail ! Israel's great King! We strove for the victory, we fought and we won, But thy doom was foreseen ere thy course was begun ; We gazed at thy star glowing red in the heaven. But it darkened o'ercast by the wing of the raven, And we knew that the clouds of destruction would come To swathe that fair star in a death-shroud of gloom. We knew it must wane when its last lingering stay, God's pitying smile, should have faded away. 14 DAVID. That star is now fallen ! o'er Jezreel's plain One moment it hovered o'er heaps of the slain, When Israel fell hack, and the Philistine's sword Was sheathed in the hearts of the sons of the Lord ; Full on thee it glared as thou fled'st from the foe Who pursued thee with chariot, with lance, and with bow, — When it saw thy proud heart in death's last struggle quiver It shot from the heaven and evanished for ever ! Thy star is now fallen, thy glory forgot. Thy soul given to hell-fire, thy body to rot ; A burning existence, quintessence of flame. Is becoming for ever imbued with thy frame ; Thine hour of repentance for ever hath fled, Thy soul never dying — the worm never dead : — Dashed on cataracts of fire down eternity's river. Despair and self-hate be thy portion for ever ! Faded the song away ; its latest notes Dwelt on his mind as but a tale of yore Dimly remembered, or a face once known Haunting the memory ; as it died away. Flickered the flames with paler gleam and flash Unsteady, while strange shapes appeared to flit Half-seen, half-imaged, round his troubled couch ; And still, as his reviving eye would scan DAVID. 15 Each coming form, faint and more taint it grew. Baffling his scrutiny; — still as they past, Shadows, vain unsubstantial and unreal. They seemed to eye him, move their lips, and say " Farewell — we meet again." They're gone, — 't is night ; The moon is shining, and the empyreal sky Is bright with spheres innumerable, — as each "Were some dear sister's eye, who from the heaven Looks down on earth expanded far below. Where rests her brother, yet a slave of earth. Wrapt up in sleep, while she keeps vigil o'er him ; — What is so pure as is a sister's love ? — And thou, fair moon, mild orb of happiness ! Fair as the land thou smilest on, then young And beautiful, now blighted with the curse Of Israel's disobedience, doomed to wither Till sin shall cease to be, — how dear thine eye's Meek confidence, that cheering us through pain And sorrow, seems to invite us to a home Of innocence and peace beyond the grave I — Mild was that hour of rest, but Saul found none ; His heart was poisoned, jealousy's keen barb Rankled within. Oh ! had that heart been scanned, What passions were revealed, contending all. Each for the mastery, rendering life a curse. And self a hell ; he sinned against his God, And felt, still living, what were punishment 16 DAVID. Meet for his crimes : what was to him the crown Of Israel, when the aching brow it prest Was furrowed, seared, and scorched by hell's fierce fires Raging within him ? Conscience lent her pang. But pride, indomitable pride, was there To quench all softer feeling, and make up His tale of misery ; night brought him no rest, — Waking he eyed, as in the sage's mirror, The visions of his life, and what that life Would be hereafter, — he could read his brain. And felt each individual artery beat With pulse of fire upon it ; God had laid His hand upon him, and the immortal touch Had withered his existence. — yet he prayed not ; The evil spirit dwelt with him, — the good No longer tarried near, but fled to heaven. BOOK III. There was a youth in Israel passing fair, Holy and pure, who loved the Lord his God, And was beloved by him ; his look was high, Not haughty, and his smile had that wherewith Nations are governed ; o'er his ruddy brow The golden locks hung waving, as the breeze DAVID. 17 Fanned his young cheek, while in the pasture-fields He watched his father's flock, — alone, if man Can be alone where God is. Oft he sate Adoring Him in nature, and awoke The mountain echoes with his song of praise Spontaneous to his Maker : Now no more He treads the desert, communing with himself. With nature, and with God : he sits before His sovereign Saul, and harps the fiend away. Whose presence is his curse ; — the grateful notes Stream varied forth, now darting toward the heavens, Now slumbering like fresh perfumes from the East, Buoyantly on the breeze,— then roll the chords With heavier sweep, as God's wrath lowering o'er Crimes and their perpetrators,— next the scourge Of heaven is felt, jarring through nature's frame, Fire — famine— earthquake ; then, appeased, once more Bursts forth the song in one clear mellow strain Of praise and blessing, till the responsive heart Bounds to the note that calls on Israel's God By his ow-n arm to achieve the victory. Oh Music ! thou hast power to win the soul From many sorrows ; while the soothing strains Flow from the minstrel's lips, charming the air With holiest harmony, Saul's hand forgets To clench his sceptred spear, — his blood-shot eye Relaxes of its glare, — the welling tear. Unwonted guest, is seen to harbour there, — 18 DAVID. Each nmscle strained unbinds its tortured coil. As the dark gloom his soul was shrouded in Rolls, like night's mist, away, and light bursts o'er His haggard visage, as he bends the knee To adore that Being whom the harper sung, DAVIDS SONG. Ye Cherubim and Seraphim, Who, an unnumbered thronsr. Around God's throne prolong The everlasting hymn ! Ours may it be, unworthy as yet to bear Part in that heavenly song. Its sweetest notes to hear. Through the blue vault of night Winging their airy flight, As messengers of love from sphere to sphere,- Now lost, now borne on Zephyr's pinion Through the starry host's dominion. Now floating on the air Like summer gossamer. Oh ! praise his name, great God and Lord, By Dagon feared, by heaven adored. DAVID. 19 Whose throne is heaven, and whose breatli Is the heavy muttering thunder, Whose glance gives life or dooms to death. Whose nod rends earth's deepest caves asunder. Who rideth on the cloud, And biddeth his lightnings play, While earth dons her shroud, And the tempests bluster loud, And nature is bowed To obey. He wills the elements' crash In earthquake's embraces jarring. He points the scorpion-lash. Brothers with brothers warring, And, though fathers by sons be struck down m the fight. He sees not as mortals, but wills what is right ! II. Hail to the holiest King ! Father of heaven and earth. To whom we owe our birth I Shadow us with thy mighty wing,- And hear us raise a joyous strain. Earth's gratitude to heaven. For all the blessings and the joys By thee to mortals given. 20 DAvin. Thy love is boundless as thy power, Thy mercy an unfading flower. Of loveliest hue, that opens wide Its balmy leaves on every side ; Thou gavest us Hope, that heaven-born guest, In-dweller of each earthly breast. Whose pliant tendrils, like the vine. With the heart's inmost strings entwine, And cheer through scenes of toil and strife That gift so prized, so cherished — Life; — Much hast thou given us, more remains Untasted yet, love's cup runs o'er, — Thy Word shall burst the tyrant's chains. And sin and death shall rule no more ! I hear a voice sing sweet in heaven ! e'en now Thy Christ, our Saviour, bends his eye on earth ; An hour in heaven, and Angels at his birth Shall write love's tidings on his spotless brow, — A day — and, withering into nothing, all Shall vanish, — suns, moons, stars, like incense lost In ether; — nor shall mind again to dust Be linked, nor bonds of sin the enfranchised soul enthrall ! Ages must perish ere the woman's seed Redeem the guilty, crush the serpent's head. Ages, till crime's atoned for, man forgiven. Count but as seconds in the life of heaven ! DAVID. 2 1 III. Hear, while we bless thee, gracious Lord ! Our joy, our hope, our One adored ! Thanks for thy mercies ! heal the sin That taints with pride our hearts within. Disperse our foes, protect thy shrine. And shield us with thine arm divine. Let the Philistines' might dissolve away. Like the mists of night in the morning ray, — Let the joyous glance of the morrow's sun Reveal what the will of the Lord hath done. Let their arrows be broken, their bow-strings rent. Let their sinews grow weak and their hearts wax faint, To their idols of stone when the knee they bow. Let death's chilly fingers cling round their brow. And there before their Demon's shrine. Let them feel life's current die away. And count the throbbing pulse of Time, Whose ebbing tide they cannot stay, — There at the altar let them rot Unwept, unsepulchred, and forgot. Their swords shall be shivered, their spears shall be riven. For their foe is the Godhead, that rules earth and heaven ; He shall speak but the word, and the Philistines' might Shall waver in counsel, turn recreant in fight, 22 DAVID. In the midst of their boastings, when pride is most high. They shall feel their nerves wither, their energies die ; Their hosts shall be scattered, their princes shall flee, Jehovah shall conquer and Israel be free ! BOOK IV. Forth sped the Bard ; once more he sang heaven's praise His native wilds among, then hung his harp On the green bough, for Zephyr's wanton breath To warble through its strings, — the flock forsook, And sought the camp of Israel. On the gale. Like glances spear- shot from a distant host By rising sun, came rumours of high deeds In Israel's warfare, — how the stripling's sling God had directed, — how, their champion slain. The Philistines, dispersed like mountain deer. Had fled to Ekron's gates and Gath's proud towers, Strewing their path with corpses. But his meed Was Saul's ingratitude, which foully winged The murderous lance at his defenceless breast. Yet could not win his hatred, for his hand DAYID. 23 Refused to war against the anointed King Whose sceptre God had given him. Years flew by, SaiU died, and Israel, to her shepherd-king Obedient, dwelt in favour with her God, And honoured by the nations. Down life's vale Sped David, hoary sire, more loved, more honoured The nearer to the goa-1 ; his kingly brow Was shadowed by spare locks of silvery white. Like filigrain-work of frost on Hermon kissed By earliest sunbeam ; feebly now he reared His stately form, like column without peer O'er the still desert gleaming from afar. Or ancient cedar, eldest-born and last Of woods primeval, mourning in decay His brethren fallen, and bending to the doom Pronounced of God on mighty Lebanon. Thus withered David outwardly, — within Was no decay ; all holiness, all peace. All love dwelt there, with meek humility. Love's gentle sister ; God's own spirit dwelt Within him, God himself his proper praise Inspiring, whether in secret homage paid. Or openly, when thousands flocked to hear Israel's sweet Psalmist sing. With holiest light Still glowed his eye, with holiest joy his heart, Waiting God's time, as, on Goliath's sword 24 DAVID. Leaning, be gazed — nor sighed to gaze — his last On that fair sky, where lay his hopes of bliss Assured in heavenly mercy. Far beneath Stretched forth a plain o'erspread with flocks and herds. The wealth of Israel, offerings to her God; Spears were bright- glancing in the waning sun. And banners waving o'er the wrarriors' tents. Princes of Israel ; Israel's evening song. The Father's praise, came struggling up the hi\l. With swell unequal, — as the mystic wave, Third-born, hurrying still on with hoarier form And louder roar, outstrips its elder kin. Then sleeps — till winged forth again to win The self-same race, and perish in its pride. — What cry was that rose thrilling on the air ? A nation's shout of gladness ! David's eye Gleamed brighter, as he heard his son proclaimed Worthy the throne ; then rose the song of welcome. Not, like the evening hymn, subdued and low. Awe-struck before their Maker, but the breath Of Israel's countless myi'iads, children, all Uniting in one swell of harmony Borne proudly heaven-ward by the billowy breeze. As conscious of its burden. Calm reposed David, erst Israel's King, and, as the song Sailed fitful ])ast, now swelling on the gale. DAVID. 25 Now lingering on the mountain's craggy steep. He viewed in memory's mirror all his deeds From his first victory to the passing hour ; — His father's flock. Goliath's prostrate form, Past slowly by, then Jonathan came near. And locked his arms around him with a last Parting embrace, and long last look of love, While rose the burning tear he could not shed, Salt, salt and bitter ! — then he trod the plain, And fierce pursued the recreant Philistine, Quenching his grief with blood of Israel's foe : — — But then the song of welcome changed to sorrow, Lamenting him, who living had resigned His kingly crown to Solomon ; they mourned Their common sire, whom Father still they deemed. Though King no more. As softly rose from earth The grateful incense of its people's blessing, David reclined, all motionless and still, Listening the song ; he looked his joy to heaven, Then gazed once more upon the living plain Of Israel's hosts, his fellow-warriors all, Whom Eve's light mists were veiling from his view ; The tear that trembled in his glistening eye Fell, but the ray that gilt its starry fringe Sought vainly for another. He sank back. His ear bent dow^n to drink the dying song Still quivering upwards ; with its latest swell Rose the fair moon behind the mountain's brow, £ OG DAVID. And vou might think that note so clear, so thrilling, With her at length found rest : It past, and night Shadowed the world, — but David was afar Hymning his Saviour's majesty in heaven ! Jan.— Feb., 1831. SCENES OF TRAVEL. (Extracted, with the exception of the two first Stanzas, from a Poetical Journal, kept during a tour on the Continent, in 1829-30.) MOUNT PILATE. Harsh o'er Pilatre's brow God's thunders roll. Keen flash his lightnings o'er the unfathomed wave Of Pilate's Lake, where raveth many a soul Of those who to God's holiest mission gave No credence, — he, whose voice to an earthly grave Doomed Christ incarnate, ruling o'er their hell ; He hears their cries reechoing through the cave. And smiles in scorn, within his inmost cell Silently suflfering pangs more keen than lips may tell. Forth rides he yearly on the midnight wind In wayward flight, close followed by a train Of wailing spirits, whose shrill screams combined Out-howl the tempest's choir ; o'er rock and plain They shriek discordance, as, with slackened rein, 28 SCENES OF TRAVEL. Their cloudy steeds career upon the blast : Then slow return they to their prison again, Murmuring ; the portal closed, the dark hour past, Home creeps the blighted swain, right soon to breathe his last.* Heaven's holiest blessings on thy patriot land, Helvetia ! mother of thy William Tell, And of the gallant heart-devoted band That, daring to be men, crushed Gesler, fell Remorseless tyrant ! whose sepulchral knell Rang loud the peal that bade thy sons be free. Restored sweet peace to every mountain-dell. And won thee back thy long lost liberty. That blessing dear to all, but doubly dear to thee ! * " Mount Pilate, famous for the dismeil lake upon its summit. Wlien the cloud, which is very apt to form over that dark unfathomed pool, in- stead of rising, remains attached to tlie surrounding rocks, a violent storm generally follows. In remote ages this water bore the name of Mare Jnfernale. The belief was, that Pontius Pilatus had drowned himself there after his crime, — thence the present name of the mountain.'' — Simond. "Wagner, in his Natural History of Switzerland, speaks of thirty-five writers who have treated of the supernatural apparitions about the lake on Mount Pilatus."— Ibid.— Note. " Le peuple credule ajoute que Pilate y apparait une fois tous les ans — mais que ceux qui 1' ont vu mc\irent dans V anncc." — Moreri, Diet. Hist, art. Fracmont ou Mount Pilate. MOLA DI GAETA. 29 To thee — and one fair land, that, like to thine, Refused the yoke, and spurned the name of slave. And still bids Fame her freshest laurels twine To deck her Wallace's untimely srrave ; But other chiefs arose that land to save [right When he was gone, — when Bruce for Scotland's Marshalled by Bannock's burn her warriors brave, And, bursting through the clouds of thraldom's night. Sailed forth our Freedom's star, like thine, serenely bright ! MOLA DI GAETA. There is a ruined villa on the shore That smiles on fair Gaeta and the sea Murmuring melodious music, as of yore When Rome was yet the throne of Liberty ! There is a tower conspicuous o'er the lea. Rising 'mid orange-bowers, where, as we roam. The lizard rustleth by, with fearless glee, O'er arches hoary with eternal foam — That tower guards Tully's dust, these ruins were his home ! Here, through these groves where now his ashes rest. Oft would he rove at eventide, to behold 30 SCENES OF TRAVEL. Day's parting smile stream o'er the sunny West, Lighting broad ocean as a sheet of gold Of nature's book bv nature's God unrolled ; Till, softly fading, the last crimson ray Died on the hill, where erst the warriors bold Of Troy's last chieftain lingered on their way. To grey Caieta's shade funereal rites to pay. Oft would he linger here in solitude, To meditate on nature and mankind. Works of one Cause mysterious, understood But dimly, till God's light o'er darkness shined. And Truth came down from heaven to lead the blind : Christ though he knew not, oft, at evening hour. Truth's dawning rays flashed cheering o'er his mind ; And when fair Dian shed her evening shower Of melancholy light upon the citron bower, — And, bright and pure, reappeared the stars in heaven. Pure — as if each were riven in heaven's blue veil, God's holiest light escaping at each pore In golden gleams of promise to mankind, — Then would his thoughts to those high regions soar In contemplation, seeking there to wander 'Mong those bright spheres, throughout infinity. Here too he fell by the assassin's steel. NAPLES. 3 1 E'en on the shore he loved, and near the bower Where he so oft held converse vpith a few Dear chosen friends, and moralized on man, Youth, friendship, age, God, and eternity ! NAPLES. Hail to thee, Naples, fairest of the fair ! Thou second Helen, long contended for By hostile monarchs, who could scantly bear To view a rival till thy favoured shore. But rather chose to dye it with their gore [blade Than yield thee — what though now the conqueror's Be rusted, and the clarion tune no more War's thrilling summons, 'neath the olive's shade Happier thy sons recline, in noontide slumber laid. Far o'er thy classic hills, in lustre sheen. Mellow and rich, Sol's dying glances stream Dark-ivied rocks and vine-wreathed bowers between, Bowers such as bards in vision exstatic deem Meet shrine for beauty's worship ; but the gleam Of distant ages showed thy bosom rent By discord's dagger — a hell where ruled supreme War and his satellites, where'er they went [bent. Wielding rude rapine's scourge, on murderous outrage 32 SCENES OF TRAVEL. But now their hour's past by, and peace once more Restores her blessings and resumes her reign ; The vine and olive blossom on thy shore In rich luxuriance, and the yellow grain Waves on thy hills, where many a holy fane Glows to the setting orb, as in the West I watch his last rays greet the expectant main With love's mute welcome, pillowed on her breast Stream forth their brightest beam, then loveliest sink to rest. They're gone, but still, like good men's memory, light. As fain to linger, broodeth o'er the sky. Melting each shade to one less richly bright In due gradation, blending, as they die. Their roseate tints in Eve's grey harmony : They fade, and night's dark mantle veils the heaven. Peopled with spheres all glorious, from on high Shimmering, like hope's blest rays to mortals given To comfort e'en the heart by bitterest anguish riven. And there they shine for ever, until the power That gave shall quench their glory ; calm and mild They watch the peasant slumbering in his bower. They watch the mother bending o'er her child, His light repose by dreams of bliss beguiled ; NAPLES. 33 They watch the world, expanded far below, Lit by the moon's pale crescent, which hath smiled O'er many a generation, whose sons now Must soon pay mother earth the debt of dust we owe, Must soon be swept away, nor leave a trace To tell of our existence ; but the wand Of desolating time cannot efface The charms of nature, though the gory hand Of man, warring against his God's command " Love as thyself thy neighbour," — all the power Creation's lord can boast of, vainly fanned By hopes as vain, — must at the destined hour Sink at its touch to dust, to spring and bloom no more. Calm is the night, and silent save the tide's Recurring murmur ; calm composed and still Sleeps nature, as the guiltless, who abides Death on the morrow, slumbers ; on the hill The fireflies weave their mazes, and distil Their sweets a thousand flowers, — between the trees Gleams, like a shower of stars, the distant rill. Clear as the dews of Castalie, — the breeze Wafts odours past, and all is holiness and peace. 34 SCENES OF TRAVEL. Bright sleeps the moon on Capri's rocky wave, And Tasso's own Sorrento,* while a stream Of tremulous glory gilds the tides that lave The shores of Pausilippo, where the dream Of beauty, faultless beauty, yet may seem In nature realized ; — while oft afar Flashes o'er heaven Vesuvius' lurid beam. And seraph-voices, winged from star to star. Proclaim, "Peace, sons of dust ! or watch the elements' war." * "About two years after the completion of the 'Jerusalem Delivered' — when all Europe rung with the poet's fame, Tasso fled from the court of Ferrara, in a fit of distraction.— He fled, to hide himself and his sorrows iu the arms of his sister Cornelia. The brother and sister had not met since their childish years ; and Tasso, wild with misery, forlorn, and penitent, knew not what reception he was to meet with. When arrived within a league of his birth place, Sorrento, he changed clothes with a shepherd, and in this disguise appeared before his sister, as one sent with tidings of her brother's misfortunes. Cornelia, who appears to have inherited with the personal beauty, the sensibility and strong domestic affections of her mother, Portia, was bo violently agitated by the eloquence of the feigned messenger, that she fainted away; and Tasso was obliged to hasten the denouement by discovering himself. In the same moment he was clasped in her affectionate arms, and bathed with her tears. " How often, when I have stood on my balcony at Naples, have I looked towards the white buildings of Sorrento, glittering afar upon the distant promontory, and thought upon this scene ! and felt, how that which is already surpassingly beautiful to the eye, may be hallowed to the imagi- nation by such remembrances as these." — Loves of the Poets, v. i. p. 325. 35 ENTERPRISE. Spirit of Enterprise ! through good and ill Life's ruling principle subsisting still ! Pulse of the soul ! that throbb'st with eagerest fire When least our fortune speeds our heart's desire, What though no temples boast their incense thine, I own thee Goddess — each man's heart's thy shrine ! Thine are the ennobling energies that bend All powers, all passions, to one loftiest end — Goal of our thoughts, whose scattered rays unite In one keen focus, most intensely bright. The star of bliss Hope shows her votary through Each airy vista she presents his view, Whose brightening aspect still the pilgrim' cheers. His goal approaching through the vale of years, And, life's blest beacon flashing far and free. Guides him to joy or lures to misery. What is there mortals shrink from ? who can find Fetters suflficient to constrain the mind ? Who, but a God, shall curb man's spirit's soar. And sav, " thus far thou go'st, not one step more" ? Is there a goal that none as yet have gained. Is there a mark no shaft hath yet attained. 1 36 ENTERPRISE. Though million shafts have sought that mark in vain. Fresh archers ever crowd the weary plain. Far o'er the waste, within the gorgeous shrine Which glory's eager courtiers deem divine. Their common beacon blazes, with a light Clear but delusive flashing through the night ; All seek — none ever reached it but confessed The boon they sought a bauble when possessed ! Vanity, all is vanity ! yet who Ever believed it till he found it true ? On, ever on, like bubbles on the river. The votaries press, and will press on for ever. Here view the statesman, wreathed with specious smiles. Weaving a cobweb net of treacherous wiles, — There see the expiring warrior on the field Spurn prolFei-ed mercy, and disdain to yield, — There see the adventurous seaman spread the sail. And brave triumphantly the northern gale. Reckless of winter's adamantine chain Woo the bright horrors of the Arctic main. Strive solid waves of crystal to pierce through, And teach Kamtschatka's sons what Man can do : 'Tis all for glory ! — Glory's beams impart Promethean flames to man's awakening heart. Light the bold mariner o'er ocean's wave. Marshal the warrior to a conqueror's grave, Inspire with song sublime the poet's lyre. Clothe each high thought with kindred garb of fire. CLEOPATRA. 37 And bid him with exulting voice proclaim A Tail's, a Wallace', a Kosciusko's name,- Those noblest sons of glory who alone Strove not for glorv or a victor's throne ! »' March, 1831. CLEOPATRA. When man first marked, by rude Phoenicia's coast. The forest's pride on ocean's billow tost. Yet, like life's energies, by nought subdued. Nor crushed nor lost beneath the insatiate flood, — When first he dared the caverned shell to guide By untaught science o'er the yielding tide, — How little deemed he that his bark improved Would waft the lover and the fair he loved. Would, trimmed with cordage and the Tyrian sail. Skim o'er the deep, rejoicing in the gale. While Nereids fair would quit their coral reign, And raise their pearl-bound tresses o'er the main. To list love's music hovering o'er the sea In undulating flow of melody ! Sweep, Cleopatra ! o'er the limpid wave, And lure thy victim to his early grave ; 38 CLKOPATRA. Thy notes of joy shall soon be hushed in woe, Thy tears shall spring, but never cease to flow ! Glide proudly on, thy lover at thy side, In all the splendour of an Eastern bride. Thy maidens near to deck thy flowing hair. Thy songs to praise, thy sports, thy smiles to share, — Thou little think'st the flowers that gaily bloom Wreathed with thy locks — will soon bestrew thy tomb ! The breeze that fans thee — heralds misery's blast. The song thou breath'st — thy sweetest — is thy last ! Sail on, fair Queen ! the joyous waves among, Skim o'er the deep — thy course will not be long ! Live for to-day, enjoy the present hour. Nor heed the approaching cloud, the passing shower. Fill high the rose-girt bowl with Samian wine. And deem thyself, and all thou wilt, divine, — Speed to thy doom ! thine hour of shame is near. Thy home shall be the tomb, thy bed the bier, No honoured cypress o'er thy dust shall wave. Living — no home shall own thee but the grave ! Thy pride shall vanish with thy fortune's day. Thy last hopes melt like frost in morning's ray. While Ocean's daughters, blushing for thy shame. Weep tears of amber o'er thy blighted name ! Makch, 1831. 39 QUID NON? — " Venient annis Secula sens, quibus Oceanus Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens Pateat tellus, Tethysque novos Detegat orbes, nee sit terris Ultima Thule." Senec. Medka. vss. 374 sqq. "A day may dawn On Time's old age, when Ocean shall unloose The chains of nature. Earth unveil her breast, Tethys disclose new worlds, nor Thule's cliffs Earth's bound be longer deemed," Lo ! where Columbus, o'er Hesperia's main, A new world's realm reveals to thankless Spain ;'' Lightnings may gleam, and angry thunders roll. They cannot shake, they cannot daunt his soul ; Onward he speeds, by inward faith possest. Beyond the long-lost islands of the blest. * " Por Castilla y por Leon Nuevo mondo hallo Colon !" Columbus' Epitaph at Seville. 40 QUID NON? Gains the long-promised goal, and hails the strand A lovely captive to his children's land. There bloom, in summer's garb, spontaneous flowers, And garland vines, enwreathing beauty's bowers. The wild birds' song, escaping from the trees. Floats, like a perfume, on the evening breeze — Skies brighter far than ever limner drew, Fountains more clear, and fruits of sunnier hue Than blush and ripen, autumn's yearly pride. Where Guadalaviar rolls his azure tide — Well might the weary wanderer greet the shore. Call it his home, and tempt the seas no more ! And where were Britain's children slumbering then ? Her voice of thunder roused them ! every glen Poured its spring-tide of bold adventurers forth. Keen to explore the marvels of the North ; And gallant captains, many a future year. Names still to chivalry's pure memory dear* — Followed their track, in quest of worlds unseen. Vassals predestined to their Island-Queen ; And more shall follow : On, brave spirits, on ! Think on the gallant names your fathers won ! Dare and do nobly !-^weave fresh chaplets. Fame ! 'T was God that kindled — who shall quench the flame ? Then let the Spaniard boast his golden shore. His diamond caves, his mines of Indian ore, * Vide Note ad finem. QUID NON! 41 His flowery vales, his fruits of amber hue — England can boast her ocean-wanderers too, — Flowers ever radiant, jewels ever bright, Unbought by blood, yet hers by conquest's right, — A woild as fair as that Columbus won, Which yet ne'er cost a British sire a son ! The world of ice, where Zephyr's genial breath, As soon as born, expires congealed in death, — — Who would impeach the beauty freely given To every scene created under heaven, Could we but see as God did, when he viewed All He had made, and saw that it was good !" He willed those realms of ice to be — they were ; He willed them beauty— we behold it there ; — Beauty — though many an age unseen by eye Save His— the Watcher through eternity, — Beauty — for man, 'twas thus decreed, should come, In distant ages, from his English home. Uplift the veil which screened that northern shore, Reveal his Maker's work, proclaim it, and adore ! Beyond that shore, within that icy screen, What tongue may speak, what pencil paint the scene ? No summer flloweret blossoms in the wild, Or blooms matured, boon nature's desert child. But flowers, by hoar-frost's wintry pencil traced, With blades of mimic verdure interlaced. Replace the blossoms of a milder sky. Nor e'er, like summer's minions, droop or die. c 42 QUID NON ? — Crowned with bright winter's wreath, the iceberg glows, A frost-bound Iris, blushing like the rose. Shooting her airy pinnacles to heaven, In thousand spires fantastically riven, Whence, like the charger through the battle dashing, The sunbeams glance in silvery lightnings flashing, Mocking the dewy rainbow's richest hue, A stream of beauty, never lost to view, — "Where gleams Time's hoary beard, the icicle. Like hermit's lamp, within its dusky cell, — While all around one, all above — below — Is clad in virgin white, a robe of snow, With diamonds sparkling, nature's jewels rare. Meet ornaments for one so purely fair ; * And Sol lights up each crystal minaret With filigrain frost and ice-cut jewels set. Which, varying, now are bathed in emerald green. Now emulate the sapphire's radiance sheen. Now, orange-like, glow rich with golden dye. Now blend harmonious with the empurpled sky. Then when eve's shadows fall, the moon afar Chases her brother's fast-retiring car Round the horizon ; bright the Aurora gleams. Now here — now there — shifting like childhood's dreams, O'er the star-studded vault in beauty flushing, As at the unwonted gaze of mortals blushing ; QUID SON} 43 While the pure snow, suffused with Cynthia's rays, A robe of gold, its valley-folds displays. And, blending with the heavens' unsullied blue, Tinges the vault with hope's fond emerald hue ; And, far on night's horizon, towers of snow Gleam, ever radiant, o'er the abyss below, — Where hoary winter, shunning nature's mirth. Hath reigned secluded since creation's birth. And, rearing proud on high his dazzling throne. Looks down on snow-clad empires all his own.* March, 1831. * Icebergs. — " It is hardly possible to imagine anything more exquisite than the variety of tints which these icebergs display ; by night, as well as by day, they glitter with a vividness of colour beyond the power of art to represent. While the white portions have the brilliancy of silver, their colours are as varied and splendid as those of the rainbow, their ever- changing disposition pioducing effects as singular as they are novel and Interesting." — Ross's First Expedition, p. 30. — " The atmosphere was extremely clear, and all distant objects seemed wonderfully raised by refraction. The sun, passing in azimuth, seemed to delineate them on the horizon in a distinct and beautiful manner ; the re- flections of light on the icebergs were peculiarly splendid, the emerald, sapphire, and orange being the prevailing colours." — p. 100. — " We now discovered that the snow on the face of the cliffs presented an appearance both novel and interesting, being apparently stained, or covered, by some substance which gave it a deep crimson colour." — p. 138. — " While the moon was in sight, she had the appearance of following the sun round the horizon, and while these bodies were passing in azimuth along the tops of the mountains, the snow which covered them, and which had naturally a yellow tinge, had then the lustre of gold, and the reflection of these upon the sky produced a green tint so delicately beautiful as to 44 NOTE. " Names still to chivalry's pure mvmory dear," vent of precedent attempts made by tlie Spaniards and French sundry times, that, the countries lying North of Florida, God hath reserved the same to be reduced unto Christian civility by the English nation." A memorable passage, as worthy of deep reflection in the present day, as in that of Sir Humphrey Gilbert. 49 A SKETCH. I HAVE thridded many a cell Of dead monks' dust the receptacle. Where, on either side, dry crumbling bones Form avenues of skeletons. Robed as in life — and dim descried. Standing or kneeling side by side. Motionless as when they died ! Many a sire bent low with age Ponders o'er a ne'er-turned page. But the cowl covers nought save a fleshless scull, And the eyes are two caverns dark and dull. The soul that once fired them for ever fled. The tears that once dimmed them for ever shed ; — The torches, that light us our lonely way. Are of bones strung together, worm-eaten and gray. And the partial flame throws dubious light On tokens ne'er meant for living sight. The relics grudged a nameless grave ; The monks' dark garments seem to wave As we brush them by, and shudder to see Those orbs lowering down so fearfully. The very soil on which we tread Is — what we shall be — the dust of the dead ! 2 March, 1831. H 50 THE GATHERING TO THE SLAUGHTER. Partly suggested by the " Twa Corbies," an ancient Scottish Ballad, (Minstrelsy of the Border, vol. i. p. 216), and partly by Ben Jonson's " Gathering of the Witches," in the Masque of Queens. (Works, vol. 7. p. 127. Gifford's Ed.) " Where hast thou been, thou Vulture, say ?" — — " Hovering o'er the battle-fray ;" — — " What cheer when murder's work was o'er ?"- — " Warriors weltering in their gore ; Some were living, and some were dead, I lighted me on a chieftain's head, I tore his face — I picked his e'en. And drank of his warm red blood between ; But his daughter came a moonlight raid To seek her father among the dead, — The body yet warm, and the blood-stream hot. She turned him o'er, and she knew him not !" " Saw ye my comrade the Corbie there ?" — " He was sitting by a maiden fair. Sitting on her true love's breast Whetting his beak while he sank to rest ; — THE GATHERING TO THE SLAUGHTER, 51 The maiden strove but could not move, Nor scare him from her dying love, — He supped the blood from his wounds that fell. While his hoarse croak rang the warrior's knell ; She glared in his e'e, his keen black e'e. She could no more, but he would not flee, — He crept to her heart, — she let him feast. That he might not gorge on her lover's breast !" " Thou art late. Sir Vampire ! whence to-night ?" — " From the victor chief and his lady bright ; The battle was fought, the battle was won. The chief hurried home when the strife was done ; He was welcomed by sister, by sire, by mother, By wedded bride — and by yet another ! — I sucked his blood, I sucked her gore. Fanning them with my pinions o'er. Sweet dreams o'er each in fancy stole As past away the unconscious soul, — Each heart waxed heavy, cold each breast. Silently — softly they sank to rest." 7MAr, 1831. 52 OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN, IN CARTHON. " O ! thusa fein a shiubh'las sliuas," &c. Oh thou most glorious pilgrim of the sky. Round as the full-orbed targe that heroes wield ! Whence is thy splendour without frown, thy light Immortal ? — When thou com'st, clothed with thy robe, Thy dazzling robe of peerless majesty, The stars their journey veil from us, — the moon, Darkling, yields up her empire of the heaven. And 'neath the Western wave retires to rest. Thou art alone, companionless thy course. Who could endure thy presence ? — from the craig Downward shall crash the oak, old age shall mine The warrior's cairn, the scaur shall crumble away, Ocean shall ebb and flow, the moon shall hide Her orb eclipsed, but Thou alone for ever Victorious reign'st, unrivalled, in the joy Perpetual of thy light ! When round the world Darkens the storm, with thunder's hissing crash And lightning's glare, thou lookest from the roar OSSTAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. 53 Clad in thy robe of beauty, with a smile Stilling the war of elements. But me Thy glory cheers not, veiled mine eyes and dark. Joyless and dim ; I cannot see thy ray. Thy locks of gold dishevelled on the face Of Eastern clouds streaming athwart the heaven. Nor when thou tremblest at thy dusky goal On the still bosom of the Western main ! Yet thou must be as I am, — though awhile Youthful and strong, thou wilt at last become Useless like me ; e'en now with fleeter steps Our years declining hurry to their goal. Then be thou joyful, monarch of the sky ! Fresh in thy youth ; old age is lonely, sad. And cheerless as the moon's dim ray through clouds Struggling, while grey mist hovers on the cairn. And shrill the North-wind whistles o'er the plain Where toils the traveller doubtfully and slow. Jlne, 1831. NOTE. " The Address to the Sun in Carthon having been supposed by some of the opposers of the authenticity of Ossian's Poems, to be a forgerj- of Mr. MacPherson's, in imitation of the Address to the Sun in Milton, it may be proper, in addition to the evidence already 54 adduced of its having been translated from the Gaelic original, to mention a fact whicli corroborates his testimony, and must remove the most sceptical doubts on this head. The Kev. Mr. MacDiar- mid, minister of Weem, in Perthshire, transmitted to the Commit- tee of the Highland Society at Edinburgh, an original copy of Ossian's Address to the Sun in Carthon, with a translation by him- self. A copy of the original Mr. MacDiarmid got, about tliirty- five years ago, from an old man inGlenlyon, who learnt to recite it with other ancient poems inhis youth." — Ossian's Poems — (Gaelic and Latin) — Highland Society's Edition, vol. 3, p. 475. " I ought, I believe, to notice, that MacLeod and Mr. Suter have both heard a tacksman of MacLeod's, called Grant, recite the cele- brated Address to the Sun ; and another person, whom they named, repeat the description of CuchuUin's car." — Sir W. Scott's Journal; Life, vol. 3, p. 230. oo ILIAD. BOOK I. vss. i. 36. ATTEMPTED l.V ENGLISH HEXAMETEKS. Sing, O Muse ! Daughter of heaven ! the wrath of Achilles, Deadly and deep, — that a thousand woes entailed on Achaia, Many a hero's shade untimely devoting to Hades, Many a corpse to the dogs, their prey — to the vulture and eagle ; (Such Jove's will !) from the time when in anger first stood asunder Atreus' offspring, King of Men, and godlike Achilles. Which of the Gods, then, aroused their strife, to war with each other ? Jove's and Latona's son; for he, enraged at Atrides, Shed o'er the camp a deadly disease, and the warriors perished. For that their King had dishonoured Chryses, Priest of Apollo, When, to redeem his daughter, he came to the ships of Achaia. Wealth untold he bore, and the crown of the archer Apollo 56 II-IAD. BOOK I, vss. I. 36. Held ill his hands on a golden wand, while thus to the people Prayed he — thus to their leaders twain, the warlike Atridac. " Atreus' sons ! and ye iu your panoply, sons of Achaia ! Yours may it be — the boon of the Gods that dwell on Olympus, Home, this city of Priam destroyed, to return in glory ; Yours — , but mine— oh! take this ransom, and give me my daughter. Give her, honouring the son of Jove, far-darting Apollo !" Then, with applause, all the rest agreed to accept of the ransom. Honouring the Priest ; but it did not please Agamem- non Atrides, — Rudely he sent him away, and added threats in his anger, " Heed thee, old man ! let me not find thee here 'mong the hollow vessels Loitering now, nor again (forget not !) hereafter returning, L^ the sceptre avail thee nought, nor the wreath of Apollo. Her I will not release till age overtake her, an exile. Plying the loom, and sharing my bed, a dweller in Argos. IIJAD. BOOK VIII. AD FINEM. 57 Go — cross me not! go, I say, while thou mayest in safety !" Thus he spoke, and the old man feared and obeyed the commandment. Silently sped he along the shore of the boisterous ocean. Far from the throng, then many a prayer poured forth to Apollo, Child of the fair-haired nymph Latona — kingly Apollo ! ILIAD. BOOK VIII. AD FINEM. "As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night," &c —Pope. They on the field of war, exulting in thought of the morrow. Sat all night, and many fires were burning among them. As when the stars round the moon all-glorious glitter in heaven. While the breeze is hushed, and every peak of the mountain, Craig and grove, stands forth revealed, and the mea- sureless ether 58 ILIAD. BOOK VIII. au finem. Cleaveth above, and all the stars are seen, and the shepherd Joys in his heart, — so many in number the fires of the Trojans Glittered in front of Troy, between the ships and the Xanthus. NOTE. Rich, melodious, and strongly accentuated as our language is, I never could understand how a measure so peculiarly adapted to display its powers as the Grecian Hexameter, could have been deemed unsuitable to its genius. Many attempts have been made to naturalize it; hitherto, I acknowledge, without success: I think I can account for the failure ; I think I can suggest some general rules, the observance of which will ensure success in future. I need only quote Dr. Southey's beautiful line, "Fade like the hopes of yoath, till the beauty of esuth is departed," — or Mr. Coleridge's distich of unequalled melody, " In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column ; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back," — or the war-cry of AnUir, " Oh by Abs ! oh by Adnan ! I am ever the lover of Ibla !" — or that most magnificent line in the 14th chap, of Isaiah, "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning !" * * Like Livy in his History, Bishop Lowth, in his splendid translation of Isaiah, has repeatedly run into Hexameters. The line above quoted from the common version, he has had the good taste to retain, unaltered, iu his own. 59 to prove with what ex(|uisite felicity, what musical harmony, what solemn grandeur, the stream of English may be taught to flow in this Grecian channel. Why is it that such lines appear so seldom J that in the " Hj'mn to the Barlh," of Coleridge, the master of rhythmical melody, not five lines occur that can he cited in the same page with these ? Because the writers, adopting the metre, reject the rules, of Grecian versification ; forget that a Dactyl is crippled into a Cretic, when the initial letter of the syllable it precedes is a consonant; and too often suffer words of inferior consequence to occupy posi- tions in the line to which they are not enliiled. and under which, like pillars unequal to support the superincumbent structure, they are crushed in their insignificance. For the latter error I can allow of no excuse ; for the former, only in the case of minute particles, which fall lightly on the ear, and to which no independent sense is attached, — or secondly, when the final letter of the Dactyl and the initial of the sequent syllable are Uie same, as in the first line of Mr. Coleridge's distich.* I am afraid I thought more of the music, than of the theory, of English Hexameters, when T penned the foregoing lines, and have * On the substitution of the trochee for the spondee, 1 need not dwell ; for a moment's reflection will convince every one that no such thing as a spondee exists in English. The difference in time is made up by the deeper accent laid on the first syllable of the trochee -. just as, in music, a dotted quaver and a semiquaver are equal to two quavers. It has Just occurred to me, reading over the line " Silentlif sped lie along the shore," l/fc, while these sheets are passing through the press, that the aid of Allitera- tion, tlie rhyme of our eatly Poets, miglit be called in with advantage, to impart something of an English air to the Hexameter. Its use, however, should be unobtrusive and cccasional only. 60 sinned consequently against the principles I have just ventured to lay down. I may be excused for leaving it to the reader to detect my errors. Much, I admit, must be left to the taste of the Poet who may attempt to naturalize this noble metre in England. The difficulty of the task — to Avrite pure motlier English in a foreign metre, avoiding ungi'ammatical inversion in the sti-ucture of tlie sentence, and paying that due observance to the Caesura, without which blank verse must always become wearisome — is so great, that every licence should be allowed him, consistent with the preservation of that rhytlim in which the essence of the Hexameter consists, and which should be perceptible to the ear in spite of the most prosaic reader. If once the Poet be thoroughly imbued with the melody of the verse, he cannot go far wrong ; he may introduce an occa- sional variation, but it will be impossible for him to sing out of time ; —I use the phrase advisedly, for the Hexameter is essentially the metre of heroic minstrelsy. I may add that the more the Poet appreciates the dignity of the Doric, and the purity of the Ionic architecture, — the more he im- bues his mind with the gi-and ideas and lovely forms bequeathed to us by the Greek sculptors, — the deeper his love of Handel and Mozart, — and the more ardent his study of the Bible, that " foun- tain of fiery and God-like inspiration, of which the greatest of modem Poets have never been weary of drinking, which has sug- gested to them their noblest images, and animated them for their most magnificent flights,"* — the fitter will he be — I do not say to write original poems in English Hexameters — that I am far from wishing, but to present us with Homer in that garb — the only one, I am convinced, in which he can appear before a British audience with the simple dignity of his minstrelhood. — Will no one * Schlegel. 61 step forward?— Many a fair maiden, to whom the beauties of the Iliad and Odyssey are as yet but dimly visible through the mirage of Pope's version, would pay Queen Margaret's tribute to that Poet's lip, who, uniting the three characters of a genuine lover of Homer, a' master of mother English, and the possessor of an ear for music, with simple tastes and a feeling heai-t, would seize the Grecian lyre, and sing to it, in his native tongue, and in the mea- sure the Father of song has bequeathed to us, the Tale of Troy Divine, and the Wanderings of Ulysses. 1 62 GUID-NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A' ! GuiD-NiCHT, and joy be wi' ye a' ! Ye've made the aged minstrel fain, — Think whyles on him, when far awa', Wha'U maybe ne'er return again ; My heart's been withered mony a day. An' seared wi' tearless misery, ' May He wha reigns aboon repay The kindness ye hae shawn to me ! I maun awa', the moon my guide. O'er mossy muir, thro' brake and dell, — I canna stay — I canna bide — My blessings on ye — fare ye well ! Think whyles on him wha'll think o' you Till life's brief gleam be past awa', — An auld man's blessing be your meed — Guid-nicht, and joy be wi' ye a' ! Jl'NE, 1831. 63 TO A CHILD SLEEPING. Sleep, my Minnie ! sweetly slumber, Angels hover round thy bed, — Blessings without end or number Lighten on my darling's head ! — Softly ! art thou then awaking ? No — 't was but a transient gleam Of bliss serene through slumber breaking As thou weavest thy varied dream. Sleep, love ! sleep, and when thine eye Welcomes' again with brightening ray Thy brother, watching silently The summer-lightning thoughts that play O'er thy dear face as swift as skims The cloudlet's shadow o'er the deep. And fitful as the breeze that fans The waters' calm unruffled sleep. 64 TO A CHILD SLEEPING. Then thou shalt tell hira of the form That mingled with thy di-eams of bliss, A shadowy image, half-seen through The mist of sleep's forgetfulness. That form was mine ! the gleaming smile That shot across thy cheek like lightning. Was thy heart's welcome when thou saw'st Mine image through the vision brightening. Then rest thee, sister ! dearest, rest ! And dream, if dream thou dost, of me ; While I watch over thy repose. With angels for my company ! Feb. 1832. ( GOOD NIGHT TO MINNIE! One parting kiss, a kind good night ! And, Minnie, thou art gone ! Now all is silence, and I feel 'T is sad to be alone. Perchance among thine airy dreams My form may dimly stray, But long ere Minnie wakes again Shall I be far away. Sleep, dearest! then, and calmly weave Thy web of dreamy bliss. Live o'er again the bygone day Of love and happiness. The tales I told of fairy elves Will now be told once more. And fancy, spuming reason's yoke, Will high and higher soar. And now thou'lt charge with Wallace wight By Stirling's hoai-y tower. Now gaze on " castled Drachenfels," And the maid of Lurley's bower, K 66 GOOD NIGHT TO MINNIE ! Now hurry away over bank bush and brae. With the blood-hounds of hell coursing after Thy fainting steps, and the woods resounding To the Wild Rider's scornful laughter ; — But I shall appear on a white roc riding When, they 're ready to pounce on their prey, I'll stoop and catch thee in my arms And soar with thee safely away — Then, flash ! over hill, and flash ! over dale. O'er the Forth with her isle-gems gay. Nor rest we, though firefly shone ne'er so bright As yon star from the Isle of May, Till we light on our own Balcarres Craig, And bidding our bird good morrow. Glide home through the trees and over the lawn. Like ghosts flitting merrily home at dawn After wandering the wide world thorough. — Then career away in thy slumbers so gay 'Mong the planets and stars so bright — God in heaven bless thee, my sister sweet ! Good night — good night — good night ! 9 March, 1832. 67 SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON AND ELLEN OF DERWENTWATER. BtiRD EiiLEN was the fairest may That dwelt by Derweutwater, And there came Lords and belted Earls And gallant Knights to court her ; But though their steeds so gaily pranced. Nor Knight nor Earl could win The precious heart enshrined that lay Her bosom's snow within. " My gentle Squire," quoth Sir William a Wood, " Come read ye this riddle to me, Whv Ellen of Radcliffe will not wed "With a Baron of high degree ?" — " Sir Knight ! heart hath she none to give Since, under the greenwood tree, She trysted Sir Alan de Pennington, The flower of the west countrie." 68 SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON AND II. Sir Alan hath called to his little foot-page Ran merrily by his knee, " Go ask if my love by Derwentwater Hath token or best for me." Sped swift away the little foot-page. Nor badge nor plume he wore, Ye would have deemed him a simple wight As he sped o'er the moor. And on sped he, and on, and on. Though the wind blew keen and cold. When at eve he reached bonnie Derwent's vale The curfew -bell had tolled. There's a light in her bower, — she hears his song As he carols beneath the wa', " The bird to her nest, but the little foot-page O'er the heather by moonlight awa', — ' Go ask my love,' quoth the western Knight, ' Has she token or best for me, — The birds sang sweet when we last did meet By the mossy trysting-tree.' " ELLEN OF DERWENTVVATER. 69 Burd Ellen hath opened her lattice high. And she whispers fearfully. While the moon looks down with a smile of love On her maiden purity. The little foot- page leaves hill and rill And mossy moor behind. He speeds like the red-deer before the hounds. Or dry leaves before the wind. " My little foot-page, hast seen my love. Hast token or best for me ?" " Oh yes ! from her lattice she heard my song. And gave me this ring for thee. Saying, ' meet me by the Reiver's cairn Beneath the greenwood tree.' " " Now saddle my steed, my stable groom, "With silver and silken rein. And I'll away to the Reiver's cairn. Where the brackens are growing green. " And lie thee down, my little foot-page, Thou'rt travel- worn and chill. And the night-dews stream from thy raven hair — So rest thee, and be still !" i 70 SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON AND III. Sir Alan he pricked o'er hill and vale, O'er mossy moor and dell, And he was aware of Sir William a Wood Fast riding o'er the fell. " A boon. Sir Alan !" that good Knight cried, " Wilt thou do battle with me For Ellen de Ratcliffe of Derwentwater, Whose bride and whose love she shall be ?" They fought full an hour in deadly stowre Till he fell, that warrior brave ; There's a hillock still, by the tinkling rill. They call Sir William's grave. Then on fared he. Sir Alan bold. O'er mossy moor and fell, Till he 'lighted him by the Reiver's cairn. Where the green-robed fairies dwell. He sat him on a mossy stone. His scarf was of Lincoln green, — "Now who may this be," quoth a fairy wight, " Wears a robe might deck our Queen ?" ELLEN OF DERWENTWATER. 71 " 'T is Sir Alan the Lord of Muncaster, That seeks Burd Ellen's love," Said a wee wee man, with a merlin's e'e, And a bonnet o' the red foxglove. " He dies !"— " Ah no," said a fairy fair. The maid of the cairn was she, — " Oh ! do not blight his bonny face. Nor dim his winsome e'e, Burd Ellen's love we must not skaith Beneath the trysting-tree," — " For Ellen's sake, who loves our race. Thy life is spared, thy crime forgiven ; But seven long years must dawn and die Ere again thou view the light of heaven !' The weird is spoken. Sir Alan's corse Lies lifeless by the cairn. His spirit bides in the fairies' bower. His body among the fern. His good steed gazed as sore amazed. Like lightning then was gone. Nor paused till home bedrenched in foam. And riderless he won, — - They sought Sir Alan far and near. But rider found they none. SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON AND IV. Burd Ellen looked out at her bower- window. Nor aught might hear or see. And she's away to the Reiver's cairn. And the mossy trysting-tree. East she looked and west she looked. Nor page nor true love spied, She saw but a morning mist-wreath float On the cairnie's fern-clad side. " I may away to my bower-window And sing full low and mournfullie, — Dead or ta'en my Knight must be, For ne'er would he have lightlied me." Six years flew by, and still her place At her window Burd Ellen kept. By day she looked for her lover's plume. By night she prayed and wept. Seven years were fled, seven long long years. Of the eighth 'twas the dawning day, [dews When Burd Ellen went down through the morning By the burn where the minnows play. And soon she came to the Reiver's cairn Where Sir Alan's body lay. ELLEN OF DERWENTWATER. 73 V. " 'Tis a bonnie corse," said the kind fairie That dwelt within the cairn, " I'll guard it from ill and heat and chill, Till its spirit shall again return : — " I'll gather the leaves of the red red rose. And strew them on the ground. And there his head shall soft be laid. And the brackens will swathe him round." She gathered the leaves of the red red rose And spread him his death-bed gay. And the redbreast covered his face with moss That morning as he lay ; The moss above and the flowers below Were renewed day by day. Nor waxed his rosy cheek less bright, Nor waxed his bosom chill. But breath was there none, — his look was calm. All passionless and still : — Dearly they loved him, bird and fay. And would have loved him still. Aye, loved and watched him to this day Unweariedly, I well dare say, Had they but had their will. 74 SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON AND VI. But now right aneath the trysting-tree The long-lost Knight is laid ; Seven years' absence was his doom, And seven long years are fled. The Lady slowly and with pain Drew near the trysting-tree, And started there to view a Knight Lie slumbering at her knee. She had come to die where the Pennington Had pledged her his heart for ever, Where first he pressed his Ellen's lip. Where first he vowed to love her. As nigh she drew Sir Alan woke, From his death-trance wakened he. So Burd Ellen found her true Knight at last Beneath the greenwood tree. " Seven years, my love, my soul hath dwelt In the sunless fairy land. While my body lay 'neath the bracken bush By the Fairy Queen's command. ELLEN OF DERWENTWATER. 75 " But thou, my dear, that for many a year Hast ne'er mistrusted me. May the blessing of God for ever rest. On thv love and thv constancv !" VII. The banner's streaming to the gale On Muncaster's castle-tower. And torches gleam in Esk's clear stream Beneath the oaken bower, — A gallant train ride through the glen. Sir Alan and Ellen fair. And Sir Hugh, that mass-priest old and gray. To bless the bridal pair. Now my benisons on that company That so fair and knightly ride, And on every princely Pennington* That spurs by his chieftain's side ! * Most of the old Scottish families were distinguished by some allitera- tive epithet, expressive of their reputed character, and by v?hichthey were usually designated in the effusions of northern minstrelsy :— the doughty Douglases, the gallant Grahams, the gay Gordons, the licht or lichtsome Lindsays, &c. Nor was the custom confined to Scotland. In the ancient 76 SIR ALAN DE PENNINGTON, &c. The bride is won, my song is done, So, gentles, fare ye well ! Quoth Sir John of Muncaster's harper gray, Hight Eskdale's Andrew Bell. lo Sept., 1832. ballad of the Reidsquair we find honourable mention of the "fierce Fen- wicks," a powerful Northumbrian family ; and in the present instance, the epithet " princely" may be justly applied to the Penningtons of Cumberland, whose name, Penege-tun, as it is written in Domesday Book, implying the " dwelling of the Prince," was assumed by them from their castle of that name, deserted shortly after the Conquest for their present residence, yet still in the possession of the present Lord Muncasterby lineal transmission from his forefathers. 77 GAMEL DE PENNINGTON'S LULLABY. Hush thee, my darling, sleep softly and still ! No sound didst thou hear save the brook on the hill, — Hush thee, my Gamel ! sleep softly, my dear. None save thy God and thy mother are near. Hush thee, my sweet one, and list to my song. Soft let it mingle thy slumbers among. That in sleep my dear image may still be before thee. And my voice still pour blessings in ecstacy o'er thee ! Where art thou wandering afar from thy home — Where, in thy dream-travels, where dost thou roam .'' — Waking or slumbering, wherever thou be. May the love of thy mother glow constant in thee ! Thou'lt smile when thou wak'st from thy visions of bliss, Thou'lt murmur for pleasure, thou'lt crow for my kiss ! What thy tongue cannot utter, I'll read in thine eye, As thy first thought's to see if thy mother be nigh. 78 GAMEL DE PENNINGTON'S LULLABY. 'T is she that best loves thee, that kisseth thy brow, That prays for thee nightly, that bends o'er thee now ; Angels are watching to guard thee from ill, — Rest thee then, dearest, dream sweetly — be still ! May God in his mercy shower benisons o'er thee. May His light and His truth shine for ever before thee. May thy life be unchequered, thy sins be forgiven. My cherub on earth and God's angel in heaven ! 19 Sept., 1832. 79 MAY MARGARET DRUMMOND. He drinks the wine cam frae Campvere In his hall at Striviling, — " Gae bring me here my guid grey steed," Quoth gallant James our King. He's mounted on his guid grey steed. To Drummond castelle gaed he, " Oh Where's, oh where's May Margaret, Should hae bidden at hame for me ?" — " Lady Margret's sangs — wha'll sing them now ? She sleeps nae mair to waken. Her gowden hair and her cheeks sae fair. Lie cauld aneath the bracken. " There's Lady Sibyl lies at her heid. Lady Fleming at her feet. And by her side there's a place unfilled That aye shall be filled yet."— " Alack ! alack ! my winsome doo — And what was't gart her die ?" — 80 MAY MAUGARET DRUMMOND. " The poison ran thro' her bonnie blue veins. And she dieit speedily." " Oh where's her mither ?" — " She's lying aneath the mool' " — ^' Oh where's her brither ?" — " He's a monk ne'er '11 see the sun." " Gar open for me May Margret's grave, And lay me by her side, ' And hap us warm wi' the cauld cauld yird. For I'm corae to claim my bride. " Ye'll lay at my heid my gay goss-hawk — Will flee to her hand nae mair, — Ye'll lay at my feet my guid greyhound. Will press to her side nae mair, — " Ye'll lay aboon me my true-love's harp She played sae sweet yestreen, — Her spirit '11 play amang the strings. And lichtly I will dream !" NOTE. Margaret Drummond, daughter of the first Lord Driimmond— the mistress, or, according to others, the wife by a private marriage, of King James the Fourth — poisoned in 1302. 81 " Great mystery, " says Mr. Fraser Tytler, " hangs over the death of this royal favourite, and the most minute account is to be found in a celebrated work where one would certainly little expect to meet an obscure portion of Scottish history — Moreri's Dictionary. It is taken from a MS. history of the family of Drummond, com posed in 1689. Speaking of the first Lord Drummond — ' He had,' says this author, ' four daughters, one of whom, named Margaret, was so much beloved by James the Fourth, that he wished to marry her J but as they were connected by blood, and a dispensation from the Pope was required, the impatient monarch concluded a private maiTiage, from which clandestine union sprung a daughter, who became the wife of the Earl of Huntley. The dispensation having arrived, the King determined to celebrate his nuptials publicly ; but the jealousy of some of the nobles against the house of Drum- mond, suggested to them the cruel project of taking ofi" Margaret by poison, in order that her family might not enjoy the glory of giving two queens to Scotland." — It is certain that Margaret Drum- mond, with Euphemia Lady Fleming, and the Lady Sibylla, her sisters, died suddenly at the same time, with symptoms exciting the strongest suspicion of poison, which it was thought had been administered to them at breakfast. So far the story substantially agrees with Moreri ; but that the unfortunate lady fell a victim to the jealousy of the Scottish nobles, rests on no authentic evidence ; nor does this explain why her two sisters. Lady Fleming and Lady Sibylla, should have shared her fate. The story tells more like some dreadful domestic tragedy, than a conspiracy of the aristo- cracy to prevent the King's marriage to a commoner." — (Hist, of Scotland, vol. iv. p. 419.) M 82 THE NEREIDS' CAVE. A FRAGMENT; IN IMITATION OF ALFRED TENNYSON. Though the silvery-foaming wave Ever boundeth o'er the ocean. Though the emerald billows rave With an everlasting motion, In the waters far beneath All is calm and still as death, — Here are coral-pillared caves, Unvisited, untenanted. Here are rock-ensculptured graves. The huge Kraken's giant bed. Whither he retires to die When his parting hour is' nigh : — Here are crystal palaces. Forest-shaded by the wild Ruby-branching Ocean-child, Where the blue-eyed Nereides Tune the human-ivory flute. And Ocean's echoing grots prolong Their wild notes as they float along, While all around is spell-entranced and mute THE NEREIDS' CAVE. 83 Here are coral-trellised bowers. Wreathed with ever-blooming flowers, And 'mong them twine eye-glassy water-snakes. Gliding swift and silently, While oft, in unexpected freaks, The keen-eyed merry lizard breaks From the shadow of the shell. Where his form the curious eye. Darkly sheltered, scarce can spy. He hath chosen his lurking-place so well. All is calm and still ; Far above we faintly hear The sea-tempest, to the ear Moaning softly, like a rill Moss-enchannelled on the hill As it downward flows. With a murmur melancholy. Like the eve-prayer breathed lowly By a maiden mild and holy Ere she seeks repose. Thought is soothed to rest ; Here we laugh nor weep. Each in bourneless reverie blest Lightly seems to sleep. Here is music ever flowing. Like a sunbeam, through the waters. Here are fresh flowers ever blowing. Ocean's bright but chilly daughters. 84 THE NEREIDS' CAVE. And we pluck them, as they grow Gently waving to and fro. Ere they reach the upper tide, — While we are idly intertwining Blossomy garlands bright and rare With our fair ones' sunny hair, Each one by the side reclining Of his blue-eved Nereid bride. Happy we live beneath the sea. Undisturbed and silently ; Day by day, and hour by hour. Dreams of wildest pageantry Flicker past delusively. Or stars in thick continuous shower Fall, like feathery snow-flakes streaming O'er Himala's wintry bower, [gleaming. Or hover, as when, through the casement The myriad sunmotes idly quiver. In the ray disporting ever. From the ray departing never. Thoughts that once, with tyrannous spell. Held our hearts enthralled, and gave A living instinct to the dell The mountain and the wave, Till no-where could we find a spot Where Life and speaking tongues were not- I THE NEREIDS' CAVE. 85 Thoughts that at each moment met us Thoughts that would not be supprest, But ever unawares beset us , When most we sighed for rest, Stirring up each wild emotion. Till our hearts, like vexed Ocean, Swelled in rapture to the sky. Or shrank in lowliest agony — Thoughts like these have had their day, Like a dream have passed away. Joy nor Sorrow, Hope nor Fear, Childhood's smile nor Woman's tear. Love nor Hate can move us here. On a sea of bliss reposing, A calm unruffled sea of bliss. Every warring thought composing Into still forgetfulness. Glide our careless hours away, As in Indian groves they say Will be our lot, supremely blest, When reabsorbed in Brahme's rest.* 8 Dec, 1832. * " God, as separated from matter, the Hindoos contemplate as a Being reposing in liis own happiness, destitute of ideas ; as infinite placidity; as an unruffled sea of bliss ; as being perfectly abstracted and void of consci- ousness. They therefore deem it the height of perfection to be like this S6 TORRE DI ROSANA. A FRAGMENT, And am I mad ? — they tell me so ; Perchance that bell ! that bell ! Again I hear the knell. And 'tween my prison-bars I see That face so meek in misery. And hear her whisper soft and low. And all my madness thrills again Through pulse and nerve and bone and brain — I will not look — I will not hear, — I am not mad, though all alone A woman's faint and stifled moan Be ever ringing in mine ear, — Although between me and the sky I see, at times, the phantom fly lieing." — " The person whose very nature, say they, is absorbed in divine meditation ; whose life is like a sweet sleep, unconscious and undisturbed ; who does not even desire God, and who is thus changed into the image of the ever-blessed, — obtains absorption into Brumhu." — Ward's View of the History, Literature, and Religion of the Hindoos — vol. ii. pp. 177-8. (3d edit.) TORRE DI ROSANA. 87 Of one I loved, I am not mad, — I've dreamt these visions all before, But they are past, and I am glad To -think that I shall dream no more ! I will not rest, I will not sleep, But I will watch yon lonely star That trembleth o'er my prison-bar. Beaming upon me, as I weep. With pity's smile ; this weary night Glide not too quickly from my sight. Blest star ! but cheer me with thine eve. Kind as it shone in years gone by. When, sailing 'mong thy sisters bright, I hailed thee from the mountain's height Emblem of Love's true constancy. Oh ! that I now were wandering free Among my native hills again. No more to feel the weight, or hear The clanking, of this iron chain That cramps my limbs with agony ! Yes ! I have loved — and those there were Who loved me ; still they haunt my bower. This ruined lichen-bannered tower. And carol o'er me as I sleep My torture-dreams, convulsed and deep ; And then I seem to view once more My mountain-home, as when of yore We dwelt there in obscurity. 88 TORRE 1)1 ROSANA. Scorned or unheard of; we were not Quite orphans, for a mother's eye Watched o'er our heedless infancy ; Now — we are all alike forgot ! — A stranger owns my fathers' hall. Green ruin o'er its chambers preys, The fearless lizard on the wall Basks in the noontide blaze ; The garden's labyrinth-maze of flowers Conceals the speckled serpent's bowers, And you may hear him rustling pass Unseen amongst the tangled grass, Beneath the myrtle boughs that wave In fragrance o'er my mother's grave. — All I loved are dead and gone — I look around, and am alone ! And yet, not so ; for oft they come To visit me on airy wings. And of our mother and our home I hear a voice that sweetly sings Words, which in my imaginings, I dream of having heard before. Though when or where I cannot tell ; But this is only when afar The torch of that dear lonely star Is lit within her crystal cell. For when beyond yon iron-bar She wandereth, they sing farewell. TORRE DI ROSANA. 89 And am I — am I, then, alone — Alone on earth ? and are there none To love me — none to soothe my brow. When racked with anguish, as 't is now, — None to watch o'er me lest I sleep That slumber agonized and deep ? No, no — not one ! I saw them die. Each — all, before my frenzied eye ; My sister and my fair-haired brother, And she, the only one that e'er Than sister I esteemed more dear, — All, all are gone, nor breathes there other By sea or land or far or near. That cares for or would weep for me. — Can this be but a faithless dream. Or vision of insanity ? — I know not, — for my fevered brain Peoples my sight with forms that seem Theirs, yet inconstantly they gleam. And come awhile, then go again And sport them round my prison-tower As if they recked not of my pain : — I have no friend but thee, dear Star ! Blest, oh for ever blest the hour When first I saw thee rise afar. Thy soft eye glistening through the night With tearful lustre, mild and bright ! N 90 TORRE DI ROSANA. Oh ! if indeed some Seraph dwell Within that silver-trellised cell. Who views my tears' unceasing flow, And beameth on my prison-home To be a solace to my woe, And teach my panting soul to roam Aloft unto yon peaceful skies Whither, uncalled, Man cannot rise, — Oh ! by the tear that dims thy ray ! 1 pray thee, plead for me in heaven That hence I soon be called away, My sins in death forgot — forgiven ! Then will we join thee in thy sphere. My sister, brother, bride, and I, And live and love from year to year, Till Time ends in Eternity.— Sweet Virgin Mother ! let me die ! — And bid those spirits come once more To cheer me on my dying bed. Singing the hymns we sang of yore Ere childhood's happy hours were fled I met them on the mountain's brow — It may be days or years ago, I know not— but I had broke my chain, And climbed Rosana's peaks of snow, The avalanche's desert reign, — The sun — I had not felt his glow TORRE DI KOSANA. 91 For many a year — was slowly sinking Beneath the wave, and heaven was drinking His glory as he sank to rest Beyond the billows of the West ; I gazed upon the world below. And there I saw a lake of pride Embosomed in the mountain's side. And towered cities, and the sea Gleaming in golden majesty. And gallant ships in white array Bedecked as on a festive day ; — I joyed to see that cheerful sight. And blest the Giver of the light. But o'er that happy scene came night. And all was mirk and grey ; Then woke the tempest, cloud with cloud Battling through heaven — my brow was warm With lightnings streaming from my shroud Of sable mist, and o'er the storm I ruled in madness wild and proud. And laughed to hear the thunders crashing. And feel the arrowy lightnings flashing, 'Round my throbbing temples dashing — Madly did I laugh and loud : Till softly through the murky storm There beamed a young and lovely form, In robes of purity arrayed, — I knew her, 'twas my own dear maid ! 92 TORRE DI ROSANA. I felt her kiss upon my brow, I heard her voice in accents low Blessing me as she onward past. Departing lightly on the blast : — Then others came, — I knew them all ! My martyred sister, and my brother. My broken-hearted, grey-haired mother,- They bent them from their airy ball, And each one prest my lip of flame. And smiled on me, and blest my name Dec. 22, 1832. 93 THE MARTIN OF TILLICOULTRY, Aloft in her nest, where none intrude But birds of her own Lindesian brood. There dwelleth a Martin ' ' Wha for certain Doth love us all Both great and small !" Our own dear guardian bird, she brings Good luck to our home, and sweetly sings Her vespers, when she wends to rest Beneath the roof her abode hath blest. — Kindest, dearest of thy race. Blessings on thy dwelling-place ! We love our Martin, she loves our clan, And none shall molest lier, bairn woman or man ! March, 18:31. 94 FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND. Time sports with our happiness ; brief though and bright Be our seasons of bliss, he wings swifter his flight Till the sun-shine's o'er-clouded, then knocks at the heart To claim entrance for sorrow, and bid joy depart. Mine hour is at hand, and afar must I rove, From the home of my heart, from the land of my love. From the bosom of those whose kind welcome hath shown I've two homes still in Scotland to claim as my own ! To the land of my sires a lone stranger I came, A Southron in all save my heart and my name, I found sisters and brothers where, such was my blind- ness, I deemed I'd no right nor pretension to kindness ; God's blessing light on them ! His peace ever rest On their dwellings with virtue and happiness blest, — Tillicoultry — Balcarres, by reason, wit, mirth, Love and concord, combined, rendered Edens on earth. Save among whose dear inmates my soul never knew Blood gushing so warmly, hearts beating so true. FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND. 95 — Farewell ! the sad hour of departure is near, Slow receding my steps will soon die on the ear. Yet o'er some oft will flit an emotion of sadness, When they miss the rude laugh that betokened my gladness ; Rob Roy '11 no more hear me ascending his stairs, "With some harsh Gaelic guttural assailing his ears, Yet oft, when the Merry one climbs on his knee. Will he hear the blythe jest in remembrance of me ; And often at noon will his sweet smile be seen. While he telleth the tale of the days that have been. When our steeds, side by side> far out-galloped the wind, as. Like Aeneas, we left Fiumicino behind us. — Farewell, dearest Rob ! when I'm far far away, Forget not the brother you part from to-day; Few friends can T number — of those thou art one Who I think will be grieved when they hear I am gone. Whose smile will subside at the whisper of sorrow When they think of me absent, and miss me to-morrow ! Adieu, dearest Auntie ! full oft have I listened To your heart-music's thrill till my eyelids have glis- tened. Unconscious the while from what chords of the heart Your touch caused such mingling emotions to start. Farewell, Mary Anne, Alexina, and Katie! Dear — dear to my heart since the first hour I met ye — S6 FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND. I know ye — I love ye — when far o'er the sea Think often, dear Wee ones, and kindly, of me. — Adieu to auld Reekie ! where dwell all alone Three ministering angels that live but for one Dearest object of love, to his feebleness given As a staff for his pilgrimage homeward to heaven. — Adieu to Balcarres, adieu to the den, And the Craig with its tower that in fancy again Gleams o'er me as clear 'gainst the warm sunny sky As of late every morning it greeted mine eye : Oh ! many's the scene I have welcomed with joy O'er land and main roving, a mountaineer boy. But ne'er saw I landscape so dear and so fair To a poet's fond heart as I gazed upon there — The den with its burnie, the green-wooded lea. The kirk and the chapel, the loch and the sea, And the door of the mansion, where year after year My welcome's still warmer, each inmate more dear. Farewell then to Scotland ! her mountains of blue Ers to-morrow's sun wane will be lost to my view — Britannia's white cliffs soon will fade o'er the main. And years may elapse ere I hail them again. But the farther o'er Europe or Asia I roam. The dearer shall still be mine own Scottish home. And what bliss will be mine should each land I explore But point out one new cause to love Scotland the more ! March, 1834. 97 THE CHAPEL OF BALCARRES. Within these walls green wreaths of ivy wave O'er many a brother's, many a sister's grave, — Beneath the flowery turf the living tread Our sires and mothers slumber with the dead ; Sacred to one dear name, these groves embrace No foreign dust, no strangers to our race ; In death united, as in life, we dwell. Son laid next father's, — wife next husband's cell. The infant's lip beside the mother's breast. Each by the one most loved, all hushed to rest. — The Brother's heart that blest his Sister's name, The voice at whose fond summons blythe she came. The loving eye that watched her early bloom. The trembling arm that bore her to the tomb. The quivering lip that vainly strove to pray O'er dust whose heavenly spark had passed away — Are Nothing now ! the lips that pressed her cheek, The arm that clasped her — withered cold and weak, — The knees that bent beside her at the shrine Where, guests of Christ, both shared the cup divine. Nerveless, — their voices stilled, that late were blending In self-same prayers for others' weal ascending, — o 98 THE CHAPEL OF BALCARRES. Their song of grateful homage hymned no more — Night's shadow flung their life's brief morning o'er, — Rent the bright web of bliss their fancy wove, — Chilled their warm hearts, whose every throb was love ! But tenderer smiles await them in the skies. And holier love whose freshness never dies ; Robed all in white, they bend before the throne, Their mother's voice proclaiming them her own ; " These, Lord ! the children by thy bounty given. Thy blood redeemed, thy grace assured to heaven !" Angels of brightness, hand in hand they roam. In bliss immortal, through their heavenly home. Yet oft at eve, when earth's faint music's still. And mellow twilight slumbereth on the hill. Oft may we hear, soft swelling on the breeze. Their voices blend in heaven's rich harmonies ; For still they haunt the spot of gladness where Their infant hearts first glowed in inward prayer. Still love to wander through their fathers' halls. Still love to hover o'er these roofless walls. Where, Death's pale emblem, blooms the Stuarts' rose, O'er chiefs that wore it ere they wooed repose. Closed are the lips that erst in feudal jar Cheered on to blood the ravening wolves of war. Closed are the lips and hushed the honeyed tongue On whose bland accents kings and councils hung, — Hushed the soft breath that graced the minstrel-lays Of tribute fond to Caledonia's praise, THE CHAPEL OF BALCARRES. 99 And hushed the death- wail echoing through the gloom When vassals bore their chieftains to the tomb ! — What various thoughts — loves — passions thrilled the breast Of each dear kinsman gathered here to rest ! The studious sage — the chief that for his bride Wooed war's rude Goddess — slumber side by side ; — The hunter's foot no longer scales the hill. The hound's at rest, the mellow clarion still ; The pilgrim's eye that roved o'er earth to find Pure springs of knowledge to refresh mankind, Yet found, where'er his curious glance might roam. No land so lovely as his Northern home,— ^ The wayworn feet, — the knees that reverence paid To Christ in deserts where the Moslem prayed, — Rest here at last, amid the kindred dust Of saints that throng the mansions of the just. Light be their slumber, mild the dews that shed Beauty and fragrance o'er each honoured head. Hallowed the spot where yews and lichens wave Their mingling banner o'er our fathers' grave ! The star-beams, struggling through the foliage deep. Smile on the mossy hillocks where they sleep, — Yet oft, or legends err, at evening-tide From grave to grave the awakened spirits glide. And, dimly flitting in the moon's pale ray. Hold sweet communion till the dawn of day. April, 1834. 100 EPITAPH ON MARION GUTHRIE, WIFE OF JOHN LINDSAY OF BALCARRES. SECRETARY OF STATE TO K. JAMES VI. BY SIR ADRIAN DAMMAN A BISTERWELT, A DANISH ENIOUT. FR OM TH E LA TIN. O'er Death victorious, face to face with God Thrice-happy Marion stands, and, as her songs On earth were His, among the angelic choirs Still sings His praise. Long may ye sojom*n here, Sweet children, sorrowing husband ! still your God's Peculiar care, till, satisfied with days. Ye reach the same abiding-place in heaven ! 1836. 101 THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. The sky is clear, not a cloud in heaven. And blythely swells the sail, "While myriad islet rocks between We skim before the gale — Like a black swan each on a still lake's breast. Peacefully cradled in noontide rest. The cataract's roar ! around their chief. Each to the God of Ishmael bending, The turbaned crew approve his prayer. Their lives to Allah's will commending ; A prayer of much simplicity — And we too. Lord ! we trust in Thee ! Syene's rocks are far behind. And thy green banks, sweet Isle of Flowers ! And thine, Shehayl ! whose children's laugh Rings merrily through the date-tree bowers That erst, mysterious rites concealing, O'ershadowed silent Pharaohs kneeling. 102 THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. And yearly to the triple shrine — For Kneph's and Sati's equal smile With Anuki's was courted there — Dark-visaged Queens from Meroe's Isle, And Kings from farthest Hadramaut, Bright gems and Indian incense brought. — The Nile ! the Nile ! I hear the gathering roar — No vision now — no dream of ancient years ! Throned on his rocks amid the watery war The King of floods, old Homer's Nile, appears ! With gentle smile, majestically sweet. Curbing the billowy steeds that vex them at his feet. Not so when, bursting from the matron breast Of central Afric, veiled from eye profane. Ten thousand fertile streams, with foamy crest, Rush down to waft their Monarch to the main ; Then to those billowy steeds he gives the rein. And, leaning on his car with simple grace. Speeds, like the light, o'er Egypt's thirsty plain ; The Hours, the Seasons, laugh before his face, Fresh as the new-born Sun, rejoicing in his race. Thus, when the Sun of Righteousness, his wings Of healing spread, shall rise upon our woe,* * The orb with expanded wings is the device sculptured over the en- trance of every temple in Egypt, THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. 103 The River of Life, from heavenly Zion's springs, As Nile o'er Egypt, o'er the earth shall flow ; Desert no more, Zahara's sands shall glow With purple flowers, — where'er the floods extend Knowledge shall bloom, and Love, enthroned below. Dwell in all hearts ; — and every bough shall bend With sacramental pledge of blessings without end ! Then, Philse ! — (lo ! the rapids past, Like wrath supplanted by a smile, 'Tween opening rocks and waters clear That murmur music to the ear, Steals into view the lovely isle — ) Then, Philee ! then shall hymns once more Resound along thy templed shore ! Shrine of old Faith, though long defiled ! To God and man thou still art dear. For Cushite Kings of earliest time. And blameless creed, have worshipped here. Ere blinded man the All-seeing Eye Degraded to idolatry.* * The Isle of Philsc was held equally sacred by the Egyptians and Ethi- opians, v/ho met there to perform the common rites of their religion to Osiris, Isis, and Horus, whose worship had supplanted, and partly become blended with, that of the hawk, originally kept there as an emblem of the Omnivision of God, but elevated to the rank of a deity after the meaning of the emblem had been forgotten. 104 THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. — Christ's agony ! a second blight That morn pale Egypt overspread ; The hoary Pyramids, steeped in night. Trembled upon their rocky bed. Foreboding judgments from on high Fiercer than those that shook their infancy.* Isis that morn, moon-crested dame. Sweet Philae's bowers forsook for ever ; Her shrine thenceforth was dumb, — Kings came To ask, but answer gat they never ; The Priests, too, fled, their time was o'er. And votaries sought her Isle no more. Years dawned and died till, bound for Ind, With holy eye and snowy beard, * " And it was about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour. And the sun was darkened." — ' This obscuration of the sun was observed at Heliopolis, in Egypt, by Dionysius the Areopagite, afterwards the illustrious convert of St. Paul at Athens ; who, in a letter to the martyr Polycarp, describes his own and his compa- nion the sophist ApoUophanes' astonishment at the phenomenon. Apol- lophanes exclaimed, as if divining the cause, 'These, O Dionysius, are the vicissitudes of Divine events!' Dionysius answered, 'Either the Deity suffers, or he sympathises with the sufferer.' And that sufferer, accord- ing to tradition, recorded by Michael Syncellus of Jerusalem, he declared to be the unknown God, for whose sufferings all nature was darkened and convulsed.' — Suidas. ap. Hales' Chronology. The Pyramids were building when Abraham visited Egypt. THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS, 105 With scrip and staff and girdled robe. One autumn eve a Sire appeared ; More to be loved seemed he than feared, — The children rested from their play. And craved his blessing as he went his way. Well might they ask it ! he was one That He who little children loved Had breathed his Holy Spirit upon ; And by that Spirit inly moved. He then sought out an humble pair That dwelt in lonely virtue there. The night in holy converse past, The stranger went his way the morrow, — Long, long remembei-ed, unefFaced, His words of mingled cheer and sorrow ! For meek and mournful was his mien, As one that of himself had much mistrustful been.* Me lists not to recount the tale How, through that pair by truth enlightened. To hundreds o'er each Nubian vale The sun of Gospel gladness brightened. And Philse heard once more delighted Hymns to the God to whom her youth was plighted. * I have no authority for making St. Thomas pass through Ethiopia on his way to India. 106 THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. But Persecution even here Sought out and slew them ; writ in heaven Their names, unread in human story. Shine like the morning-stars in glory ; In robes of whiteness, freely given, Palms in their hands, the victor band Before the Lamb, their Saviour, stand. Uncouth inscriptions, rudely traced, A sculptured cross — mute things alone Reveal where erst Acceptance graced The prayers thro' which their prize was won : And Philse, with a mother's moan. Unmindful of their happier lot. Weeps o'er her children that are not I Rise, sweet one, rise ! and dry thy tears, — A brighter day is dawning o'er A world for twice three thousand years Trodden down of man and drenched in gore j Thy children thou shalt see once more, Shalt hear their voices blend united In hymns like those in which thy youth delighted ! — Soon, O soon, may the day-star rise O'er Egypt's vale and Asshur's bowers. THE ASCENT OF THE CATARACTS. 107 To warn the nations, unseal their eyes, And guide their feet to Salem's towers. When every hand shall an offering hear. And every heart he a House of Praver ! Nubia, Jan., 1837. SFES^E^, t. BROWN, PRINTER, H'ICA.V. -ht I^W{i.^^J,?«A«V rkr»Kt UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 Crawford ii5l3 Poems and C 23 A 17 — ^ 3tical frar 1838 merits ;-^"''''^^7^"*^^"*::ry»j:-