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 N*^
 
 AONIAN HOURS; 
 
 AND 
 
 <&t$tx \$otm$. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. H. WIFFEN, 
 
 AUTHOR OP " JULIA ALP1NULA, " SfC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Acque stagnant!, inobili cristalli, 
 
 Fior varj e varie piantp, erbe diverse, 
 
 Apriche collinette, ombrose valli, 
 
 Selve e spelonche in una vista offerse: 
 
 E quel che il bello, e il caro accresce all'opre, 
 
 L'arte che tutto fa, nulla si scopre, 
 
 TASSO. Gerutalemmc Liberata. Canto decimoseito, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN; 
 AND FOR JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
 1820.
 
 I, Maunlag, Printer, N**-pwt-Pag ncll.
 
 
 TO 
 
 B. B. WIFFEN, 
 
 in recreation and in study, 
 
 in gladness and in trial, 
 
 The Companion, The Brother, and The Friend, 
 
 THIS POEM 
 is affectionately inscribed by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 8G9018
 
 TO wander at will, iu the earliest hours of spring, is> 
 one of the sweetest and most refined enjoyments. The 
 face of things and the mind's feelings have then a fresher 
 aspect aud a dearer sensation than at any other period of 
 the year. It is only at the first starting of Nature from the 
 repose of winter, that these emotions arc forcibly excited ; 
 for after we have been accustomed but for a few weeks 
 to the prospect of buds, and flowers, and the gladness of 
 all things, the mind recedes into its habitual temper and 
 tone of feeling. When these sensations are connected 
 with other associations, with the spot of our boyhood or 
 our birth, or with the pleasures of maturer life, the charm 
 becomes still stronger and sweeter ; and we may truly say, 
 as the Arabian prophet exclaimed of Damascus, " This is 
 almost too delicious!" 
 
 From my earliest years were these expressions of Nature 
 imprinted on my heart ; from earliest memory my imagi- 
 nation has been teeming with those particular images with 
 which it was first and most intimately conpected j and 
 under these sensations, and to express these interesting 
 associations, the following Poem was begun and finished.
 
 Those who are not unacquainted with the spot, may dis- 
 cover a local identity of scenes, to which I would rather 
 refer thetn than to my own inadequate descriptions j 
 which, however, in the study or the parlour, may refresh 
 the imagination with living pictures and recollections, more 
 delightful than the severe realities of life, and more inno- 
 cent than many of its pursuits. 
 
 The Wood and Village of Aspley are situated near the 
 town of Woburn, in Bedfordshire. 
 
 Woburs, 1820.
 
 &&bertteemen* 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 t am unwilling to let pass the opportunity which a 
 ttew Edition of this Volume presents, without acknow- 
 ledging my sense of the flattering manner in which it has 
 been received by the public, to an extent much beyond 
 what I could anticipate, considering either the local nature 
 of the subject, or the manner of its execution. 
 
 To the principal Journalists- of the day, I feel bound 
 no less to offer my thanks for the opinions they have 
 been pleased to express ; opinions of too encouraging a 
 nature to fail of exciting the desire of producing some- 
 thing more deserving of approbation than the present 
 speculative attempt. 
 
 A slight addition has been made to the Introduction, 
 by the insertion of some Stanzas by a Friend. In print- 
 ing them thus, greater publicity cannot be given them 
 than that which they have already obtained; and this has 
 reconciled me to their appearance here. It i3 presumed 
 that they will be regarded by others in the same light 
 as they are viewed by the one to whom they were ad- 
 dressed as a simple, but elegant tribute of Friendship: 
 and that to the partiality of this sentiment alone will be 
 ascribed whatever of personal compliment they may seem 
 to convey.
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAP OF 
 
 "AON I AN HOURS." 
 
 
 BY A. A. WATTS, ESQ. 
 
 I. 
 
 Though many a Minstrel's harp now ringeth, 
 
 With tones the ear of Taste must lovej 
 And many a Muse her chaplet bringeth 
 
 From Fancy's golden bowers above; 
 More passionate strains than those thou breathest, 
 
 Perchance the melting heart hath owned j 
 And brighter blooms than those thou wreathest 
 
 Round thy wild chords, some lyres have crowned y 
 Bat none may boast, 'mid the tuneful throng, 
 A lovelier garland, or purer song!
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis true, not seldom hoes of sadness 
 
 Pervade thy flowers and tinge thy lay ; 
 Bnt who, for mirth's broad glare of gladness, 
 
 Would wish that tenderer gloom away ? 
 Not I, in sooth ! thy pensive n ambers, 
 
 Than joy's light music sweeter far, 
 Can rouse my bosom's deepest slumbers, 
 
 Or, when its inmates wildly war, 
 On my world-vexed, turbulent spirit break, 
 Soothing as bells on a twilight lake ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Lover of rivers, woods, and mountains ! 
 
 Haunter of Nature's green recesses ! 
 When sparkles in eve's glassy fountains 
 
 The light of Luna's silver tresses, 
 Companionless 'tis thine to wander, 
 
 And watch the starry hosts assembling j 
 On scenes above around to ponder, 
 
 Till every pulse with love is trembling 
 To Him who from darkness called up light, 
 And wrought from chaos a world so bright.
 
 1. 
 
 For whilst thine eye with rapture dwelleth 
 
 On the varied charms of heaven and earth, 
 With gratitude thy bosom swelleth 
 
 To Him who spoke them into birth ! 
 And, with thy waking visions blending, 
 
 Religion breathes her holiest balm, 
 In each strom-troubled moment lending 
 
 A sweet, and peace-compelling calm : 
 Oh, ever thus till life's latest day, 
 May thy tempests of grief to that .power give way. 
 
 5. 
 
 Minstrel and Friend, farewell ! though lightly 
 
 'Vaileth such meed of praise as mine; 
 Though this rude wreath may ill requite thee 
 
 For beauty-breathing strains like thine ; 
 Yet whilst that tie remains unbroken 
 
 Which kindred souls account so dear, 
 Not valueless thou'lt deem the token 
 
 Thus offered from a heart sincere j 
 Farewell ! 'twill be joy enough for me 
 If it 'guile an hour of gloom for thee, 
 
 A. A. W.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ASPLEY WOOD, Canto 1. 7 7 
 
 Canto2 69 
 
 To 129 
 
 To 131 
 
 Propertius. Bookiii. Elegy 10 132 
 
 To a Lady Netting 135 
 
 Parting 137 
 
 To 139 
 
 The Vase of Lilies 142 
 
 Stanzas , , 143 
 
 The Last but One 146 
 
 Lines on Howard 150 
 
 To the Memory of William Thompson 159 
 
 NoteB 167
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 "Solo, chi segue cio chc place, e saggio, 
 E in sna stagion degli anni il fratto coglie; 
 
 Qaesto grida natara." 
 
 TASSO. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE breath of Spring is on thee, Asp ley Wood ! 
 Each shoot of thine is vigorous, from the green, 
 Low-drooping larch, and full unfolded bud 
 Of sycamore, and beech, majestic queen ! 
 With her tiara on, which crowns the scene 
 With beauty, to the stern oak, on whose rind 
 The warmest suns and sweetest showers have been, 
 And soft voice of the fond Favonian windj 
 His thousand lingering leaves reluctantly unbind.
 
 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 II. 
 
 But of all other trees, a clustering crowd 
 Bow their young tops rejoicingly, to meet 
 The breeze, which yet not murmurs overloud, 
 But wastes on Nature's cheek its kisses sweet, 
 To woo her from dark winter ; the wild bleat 
 Of innocent lambs is on the passing gale, 
 Blending with pastoral bells, and at my feet, 
 From yon warm wood the stockdove's plaintive wail 
 Wins to the curious ear o'er the subjected vale. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nature ! woods, winds, music, vallies, hills, 
 And gushing brooks, in you there is a voice 
 Of potency, an utterance which instils 
 Light, life, and freshness, bidding Man rejoice 
 As with a spirit's transport : from the noise, 
 The hum of busy towns, to you I flyj 
 Ye were my earliest nurses, my first choice, 
 Let me not idly hope nor vainly sigh j 
 Whisper once more of peac<5 joys years long vanished by !
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To you I fled in childhood, and arrayed 
 Your beauty in a robe of magic power j 
 Ye made me what I am and shall be, made 
 My being stretch beyond the shadowy hour 
 Of narrow life, ye granted me a dower 
 Of thoughts and living pictures, such as stir 
 In the eye's apple ; to the breathing bower, 
 Here, where bright chesnut weds the towering fir, 
 Recal fair Wisdom back that I may dwell with her. 
 
 V. 
 
 Visions on visions ! how the moving throng, 
 These bright remembrances on fancy press 
 Buried enjoyments as I pass ! the song 
 Sung in the hushed vale's verdant loneliness, 
 The storm the sun the rainbow the vain guess 
 Of notes heard in the distance, the advance 
 Of bells upon the wind, the loveliness 
 Of flowers, unwithering in the sun's hot glance, 
 The thousand hopes that high in Youth's brisk pulses dance :
 
 10 ASPLEY WOOD. canto I. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Why, and from what far region come ye back 
 With bloom and youth all animate? ye seem 
 Like airy voices on a blighted track, 
 Peopling my slumber sybils of a dream. 
 If of your presence rightly I may deem, 
 Ye are my better Genii! are ye come 
 To quicken in my heart each earlier theme 
 Of innocence, or with alarming drum, 
 To beat a guilty knell, and strike conviction dumb ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Our first affections are but ill resigned, 
 The blossoms of tranquillity and peace, 
 For the world's splendid guilt, which leaves behind 
 Dark fruits and bitter weeds, the blind increase 
 Of boiling billows from tumultuous seas, 
 Which beating on a wild and desolate shore, 
 Horrid with wrecks of innocence and ease, 
 Behold our bark without or sail or oar, 
 Drive to the gusty winds, and anchor nevermore.
 
 CANTO I. ASPLEY WOOD. II 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Shut from the world of beauty and repose, 
 There strive, there toil, there toss we ; grasp a shade, 
 A bubble, and an echo to the close 
 Dallying with danger, yet of nought afraid; 
 Bridling the mad leviathan, yet swayed 
 By every breath of Fortune, she who mocks 
 The heart which wooes her, false, coquettish maid! 
 Till when most seeming kind, her tempest's shocks 
 Whirl our light boat a wreck on ruin's lonely rocks ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ye come the winning voices of the past, 
 The warners of the future! I receive 
 The revelations which ye bring, and cast 
 All meaner broodings earthward, and thus leave 
 Turmoil to worldly minions ; here till eve 
 With thee, O Nature, will I commune, gain 
 Godlike impressions, from thy breast receive 
 Thy milk, celestial aliment ! O deign 
 To take thy truant back, and staunch his wounds of pain.
 
 12 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 X. 
 
 A world is at my feet of flowers and fern, 
 Cornfield and murmuring pine, vale, villa, heath, 
 Aisles through whose sylvan vistas we discern 
 All Heaven on high, and fruitfulness beneath. 
 Shades of my love and infancy! bequeath 
 A portion of your glory to my lay 
 A Pilgrim of the Woods ; I twine a wreath 
 Of wildflowers for thy revel, dancing May ! 
 My theatre the woods my theme one vernal day. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Still floats in the grey sky the moving moon, 
 A crescent o'er yon valley of black pines 
 Where Night yet stands, a centinelj but soon 
 In the far streaky east the morning shines, 
 The Iris of whose bursting glory lines 
 With fire the firmament ; distinct and clear 
 'Gainst the white dawn proud Ridgemount high reclines 
 His mural diadem : lo ! from his rear 
 The breaking mists unfurl, and Day has reached me here.
 
 canto I. ASPLEV WOOD. 13 
 
 XII. 
 
 Here on a solitary hill I take 
 My station days on years thus hurry by, 
 And of the varying present mar or make 
 A gloom or bliss in Man's eternity : 
 Suns rise ascend set darken and we die, 
 The dewdrops of a morning, in whose glass 
 All things look sparklingly ; alas ! where I 
 Now stand, in how brief time shall others pass, 
 Nor heed, nor see the blade whereon my moisture was. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 E'en as yon flower with hyacinthine bells 
 Playful as light, which shivered by my tread, 
 Is turned to dust and darkness to all else 
 It is as though it was not ; swiftly sped 
 Spoil o'er its bruised buds which blossomed 
 A blending of all sweetnesses what now ? 
 A few years hence, and over this bent head, 
 Dashing all life and gladness from the brow, 
 The scythe of Time shall pass, and Ruin's silent plough.
 
 14 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Long ages since, upon his mountain-peak, 
 The adoring Persian bent him to the flame 
 Of the uprisen Sun, the whilst with shriek, 
 And clang of soaring wings the eagle came 
 From his precipitous eyrie j See the same 
 Vicegerent of the Deity ascend 
 His watchtower in the zenith ! by what name 
 May I best greet thee? what new honour lend, 
 Cradle of infant Time his womb, birth, being, end ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 In wonder risest thou, material orb ! 
 And youthfulness a symbol and a sign ; 
 Change, revolution, age, decay, absorb 
 All other essences, but harm not thine: 
 In thy most awful face reflected shine 
 Thy Maker's attributes, Celestial Child! 
 When shapelessness ruled chaos, the Divine 
 Looked on the void tumultuous mass, and smiled 
 Then startedst thou to birth, and trod'st the pathless wild :
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 15 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Girt like a giant for the speed, the flight, 
 
 The toil of unsummed ages 5 in thy zone, 
 
 Charmed into motion by thy sacred light, 
 
 The glad earth danced around thee with the tone 
 
 Of music for then Eden was her own, 
 
 And all things breathed of beauty, chiefly Man 
 
 Drank of an angel's joy 5 where are ye flown, 
 
 Too fleeting suns ? a mortal's thought may span 
 
 Your course for ye returned to whence your race began. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And we became all shadow in the abyss, 
 The spirit's desolation, here we stand, 
 Wrestling in darkness for a heavenly bliss, 
 And an immortal's essence : brightly grand, 
 How climbest thou thy skies? nor leud'st a hand 
 To help us to thy altitude ! away 
 Earthborn repinings ye may not command 
 A sparkle of that intellectual ray, 
 Which yet from heaven descends, and communes with our clay.
 
 16 ASPLEY WOOP. canto i. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The dark Chaldee, Assyrian, Persian, Mede, 
 The magic sons of pagan Babylon, 
 Papyrus-scarfed Egyptian, sacred seed 
 Of Abram Greek, Goth, Vandal, Roman gone! 
 Where are the many worlds ye lost and won ; 
 Fame, laurels, empire, grandeur, glory, guilt, 
 Sceptres, crowns, diadems ? what can atone, 
 Avengers ! for the blood your pride has spilt ? 
 Can crumbled thrones, or swords though shivered to the hilt ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 With heart 'all ecstasy, and eye all fire, 
 Ye drank the morrow's freshness haply wove 
 Wreaths round the steel, and myrtles round the lyre, 
 And woke with dance and revel the still grove, 
 And heaped your incense at the shrine of Jove, 
 And hoped your cinnamon should reach the sky 
 To purchase fresh indemnities of love 
 And power to whet your biting falchions by, 
 Some bloodier field to win, and haughtier foes to try.
 
 CANTO i. ASPLEY WOOD. 17 
 
 XX. 
 
 And built yon columns of Corinthian brass, 
 Babels of stone, and pyramids of clay, 
 And on the applause of millions sought to pass 
 In apotheosis of light away 
 To be like Gods adored, and blest as they, 
 The Romuli of earth with Gods to class ; 
 And did your high ambition pave a way 
 To them? your pinnacles ye built on glass, 
 Dust dust is all your tomb, and o'er it nods the grass, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Which sheds its seeds and withers ; but the Spring 
 Fair as Aurora in her purple cloud, 
 Descends and wakens in their slumbering, 
 Life from the ashes, beauty from the shroud, 
 And speaks of immortality aloud 
 To mourning man ; and thus the flower I trod 
 To its maternal dust shall issue proud 
 Of its new birth, and on a greener sod 
 Bow to the dallying winds a sign to man from God.
 
 18 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Thus Life is twofold, twofold are our hopes ; 
 They die to bloom, they sink but to ascend, 
 E'en as the hill I stand on downward slopes 
 To that low vale which with a gentle bend 
 Again aspires, as though resolved to end 
 In nothing less than heaven : mark with what sweep 
 Of proud pre-eminence the trees ascend! 
 But with a softer grandeur, as to keep 
 Watch o'er the sea beneath, lone, billowy, wild, and deep; 
 
 XXIII; 
 
 And hollow as the mighty sea's scooped bed, 
 And with a murmur like the mighty sea's, 
 Heard afar off at intervals the tread 
 Of the dark waters breaking by degrees, 
 To which the ear lists lovingly but these 
 Are of the green bough's wafture ; here the fir 
 Sits on its haughty hill, and as the breeze 
 Vibrates, bids all its thousand branches stir, 
 And ever as they move the pleasant sounds recur.
 
 CANTO I. ASPLEV WOOD. 19 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And the lone Mount hath free and ample scope 
 
 To wrap his mantle gloomily around 
 
 His mass of shadow, like a misanthrope, 
 
 Who breathes a vital scorn on the sweet ground, 
 
 And heaven's bine tinct of loveliness, and sound 
 
 Of lulling lutes, if chance they meet his ear: 
 
 So stern and strict a penance has wrapt round 
 
 Its top it smiles not to the murmurs near, 
 
 But loneliest looks and lowers when sunniest is the year. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And near its summit the funereal yew 
 Hath built himself a pinnacle, and stands 
 The guardian of the vale whose dropping dew 
 Binds with a deadly barrenness the sands 
 Which loathe the weeds they nourish ; to the bands 
 Of its mysterious circle not the bee 
 Comes, which all blossoms seeks, though it commands 
 A berry beautiful as eye may see, 
 Nor there one green herb grows, nor harebell of the lea.
 
 20 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But well its shade would please the anchorite; 
 There might he build him his monastic dome. 
 Arch, cell, cave, cloister, altar, minaret, 
 And moan and patter in that Gothic home 
 O'er creeds of o'erpast centuries : but to roam 
 Yon dell with moorland fragrance overspread 
 In the sweet summer tide would ill become 
 His ashy cheek, and heart to pleasure dead, 
 For him that heathy couch were far too soft a bed. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But I thereon in the warm luxury 
 Of an Italian sky will fling me down 
 Unscrupulously, lightly envy I 
 The cowled monk's scapulaire or hermit's gown 
 Woven of sackcloth, and a bed of down 
 I scorn as lightly ; but on Nature's breast, 
 Mid flowers, and ferns, and freshness all her own, 
 And soft airs giving sweetness sweeter zest, 
 O who could slight such charms, who shun so pure a rest !
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 21 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The far-extended prospect the dim spire 
 Which bounds the blue horizon white walls seen 
 In glittering distance wreathing from the fire 
 Of pastoral huts ascending smoke the sheen 
 Of hamlets humming in the morn the green 
 And beautiful hue of youth on every flower, 
 And herb where Spring's betraying steps have been- 
 The bright leaves sparkling in a sunny shower, 
 Music on every bough, and life in every bower: 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The plover 8 shrilly whistle the quick call 
 Of pheasants in their devious wanderings, 
 The heifer lowing from the distant stall, 
 And sudden flutter of the wild bird's wings, 
 Invisible in passing sunrise springs 
 Whose crystal gushings momently engage 
 The babble of an echo these are things 
 Too mean, or far too lovely for a Sage 
 With whom delight is crime, and solitude a cage.
 
 22 ASJPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But 1 not so have read the leaf of life 
 In nature's volume, as to task my powers 
 In mastery of my pleasures - } sorrow, strife, 
 Sufferings they may be, as they have been ours, 
 And our drooped eyes have met them with salt shower* 
 Which spoke without repining they are gone 
 Like to a biting viper, and my hours 
 Somewhat for fruitless anguish would atone, 
 But with a gentle aim, indulged as then alone. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With a more melancholy tenderness, 
 And more subdued intenseness, I would scan 
 All scene, all life, all pleasure, all distress, 
 The majesty and littleness of manj 
 For Melancholy with my youth began, 
 And marked me for her votary wherefore not ? 
 Is being bliss : but as my being ran, 
 My sufferings cherished, and my fire forgot, 
 With a more placid mind I scrutinize our lot.* 
 
 I
 
 CANTO I. ASPLEV WOOD. 23 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Sons of a Sire, to whom the earth is dust, 
 And man all ashes, save the immortal part 
 Which will outlive its sanctuary, he must 
 Sustain, enjoy, weep, wither, and depart, 
 To what new sphere he knows not in the mart 
 Of worldly selfishness, for him I learn 
 Pity j 'tis in seclusion that my heart 
 With aspirations to the skies will yearn, 
 Imbibing mournful joy from her inspiring urn. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He who hath ne'er invested Solitude 
 With an undying beauty, ne'er hath knelt 
 In worship when her sceptre brought the mood 
 Of melancholy o'er him, hath not felt 
 Sweetness in sorrow is not used to melt 
 With the humanities of life, nor hears 
 The whispered lore, the music which is dealt 
 Invisibly around us from the spheres, 
 The tender, bright, and pure the Paradise of tears
 
 24 ASPLEY WOOD. canto I. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The ineffably serene, the kind regret 
 Which speaks without upbraiding, the mild gloom 
 Of thought without austerity, but yet 
 Heavy with pensiveness, our future doom 
 Seen without fear, presages which assume 
 The features of an Angel feelings grand 
 Grand, and of incommunicable bloom, 
 The growth of Eden ; O, he hath not spanned 
 The soul's infinitude with an Archangel's hand! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Storm, wind, clouds, darkness, twilight, and deep noon, 
 Summer and wizard Winter, and thou Eye 
 Of most mysterious Night, thou moving Moon, 
 Who yet hang'st out thy cresset in the sky, 
 Pale, but still beautiful ! ye know that I 
 Have loved her as a Psyche, and have bound 
 Her sweet zone round my loins when ye were by, 
 And nought material uttered voice or sound; 
 Whilst she her face unveiled, smiling when most ye frowned.
 
 CANTO I. ASPLEY WOOD. 25 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Spirit of Ossian ! thou too from thy shroud 
 Didst come and stand around me, charge with light 
 The wood, the stream, the cave, the flashing cloud, 
 The thunder and the loneliness of night, 
 Charm with thy melancholy harp the flight 
 Of Time, stern chronicler ! and in the leaf 
 Of waning Spring and the autumnal blight 
 Of her last flower, subdue me into grief, 
 To which Morn broke unloved, and woe wished no relief. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Thine was the darker solitude of heart, 
 And solitude of sight O, pang severe! 
 Thou felt'st each Loved one, one by one depart 
 Timelessly, till Time left thee not a tear 
 To shed o'er all thy kindred, and the drear 
 Vacuity of sorrow on thee lay ; 
 But then thou took'st thy harp, Immortal Seer ! 
 And in the reliques of thy song, to Day 
 Long buried deeds returned, and heroes of old sway.
 
 26 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO i. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 By tower all green with ruin, vacant hall, 
 Or lonely cataract, I saw thee sit, 
 Blind Prophet ! visions swarming at thy call 
 Tiresias-like as fancy gave the fit 
 To sorrow; their eyes shaded their brows lit 
 By an eclipsing moon all substance passed, 
 Or melted to a shadowy softness, writ 
 By Pity's finger, whilst the murmuring blast 
 Unfurled their airy halls, interminably vast; 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And all the music of the elements 
 Stirred in thy bosom, in the cherishing 
 Of which sublime emotion which intense 
 Struggle the Harp of Passion found a string 
 Unknown before or after, for the spring 
 Of harmony was fathomed, and the prize 
 Was music most unhappy a sweet thing 
 Which Melancholy loves to realize, 
 Her punishment, pride, pain, gloom, glory in disguise.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 27 
 
 XL. 
 
 And at the Voice of Cona, thing6 around 
 Uttered similitude of grief ; the wave 
 Broke to the sad shore with a mellow sound, 
 The dew hung on the floweret of the cave, 
 Which sparkled droopingly ; meanwhile the rave 
 Of gusty winds spake loudly calm anon 
 And russet looked the mountain-tops which gave 
 A smile as of enchanting seasons gone, 
 And aye the Canna quaked, the cataract flowed on. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And thy Malvina is a peerless theme, 
 Young, sorrowing, sweet, empassioned and refined, 
 The embodied image of a poet's dream, 
 Grace warm with feeling, Beauty fraught with mind 
 Fair as her sister-lilies gentle, kind, 
 And tempered all to tenderness but she 
 Soon flew a shadowy Spirit on the wind, 
 And left the Last One of his line to be 
 A single shivering leaf on ruin's hoary tree.
 
 28 ASHLEY WOOD. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Such as I was in those delicious days, 
 Smit with tbe love of sadness, see me still 
 A lover of the lines on nature's face, 
 The gloomy forest and the lonely hill, 
 My haunt the rustling pines a leaping rill 
 My Castaly inspiring as when first 
 I touched the simple harp with simple skill, 
 And in its wild tones sought to slake the thirst 
 Which classic Milton woke, and wizard Ossian nursed. 
 
 XLI1I. 
 
 Sunbeams of Song ! ye were my waking bliss, 
 The visions of my slumber; in the shade 
 To steep my light cares in forgetfulness, 
 Lightly dispersed, I called ye to my aid : 
 At noontide in the boundless forest laid, 
 I heard you from its deep recesses fling 
 Voices like Ariel's musical, whilst played 
 The bee amid the bluebells murmuring, 
 Who comes e'en now around with memories on her wing.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 29 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Rise to my thought the shadows and the sheen 
 As then, of the sought sylvans; the green bough 
 Waving at will dun deer at distance seen 
 Starting, in flight if but a zephyr blow; 
 The bittern's sullen shriek the water's flow 
 O'er mosses, sauntering idly in the sun, 
 A thousand stirring fancies come and go 
 With thy revisiting sound, but, Murmuring One! 
 What grieves thy happy wing that thou so soon art gone ? 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Why didst thou come to bring those moments back, 
 And make me yet more mournful ? severed Friends ! 
 Am I not now companionless ? the track 
 Of innocent boyhood in a desert ends 
 To which your names are stages j Youth ascends 
 The zenith I review the past with pain ; 
 In what far regions strive ye ? my soul blends 
 In secret with you Life's elastic chain 
 Snapt with your parting steps Fate, join those links again !
 
 ASI'LEY WOOD. canto I. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 North, on a mild declivity of hill, 
 Stands a hoar oak, majestic root ! the growth 
 Of rolling centuries, and haughtier still, 
 Unbent beneath their passing pressure, both 
 Scornful, and scorning ruin ; Time looks loth 
 To smite at it with his devouring scythe, 
 Nor sends one spoiling canker with fell tooth 
 To gnaw its core, and in its ashes writhe ; 
 But o'er it Spring looks green, beneath it dances blithe. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 There isolate it stands, and from its height 
 Sees generations in their ebb and flowj 
 The mighty tide sweeps on in dark and bright, 
 Hope, danger, doubt, tranquillity, and woe ; 
 First, Infancy runs round thee to and fro, 
 And makes him acorn-cups the dews to sip; 
 Years pass the Infant sits a Youth below, 
 With Beauty in Love's holy guardianship, 
 Sighs at his beating heart, and kisses on his lip.
 
 canto I. ASPLEY WOOD. 31 
 
 XLVIIL 
 
 He glows, and is made wretched ! for the spell 
 Of love when most it works is most unkind, 
 And if its first touch is untunaWe, 
 It leaves a blasting ecstasy behind 
 Its sweets are changed to wormwood; for the mind 
 Cannot its dragon-folds at will uncoil j 
 Is not the passion masterless and blind, 
 Hoping 'gainst hope, redoubling toil on toil? 
 Unblessed the mad tears start, the heart-drops overboil. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 But give the Youth his angel! on his cheek 
 Let Manhood set his signet, see him blest 
 Moons speed, cares thicken, patience waxeth weak, 
 And all too soon, Age seeks thee in the quest 
 Of a light slumber of a little rest, 
 Or wraps his mantle closer in the chill, 
 Quick breath of Winter; shrinking in his vest, 
 He grasps his staff, and totters down the hill, 
 His pulse beats, flutters, fails one throb and all is still !
 
 32 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 L. 
 
 And chattering Infancy assumes again 
 Thy acorn-cups, and o'er the turf so late 
 Trod by her lost sire, sings and weaves a chain 
 Of bluebells and ancmonies elate, 
 And forming to her hopes as fair a fate 
 As the sweet flowers she kisseth ; but the noon 
 Of years, as of the day, with withering weight 
 And hot breath, passes o'er the twined festoon, 
 She blossoms with the flower, and droops almost as soon ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 Turn from the thought the season and the hills 
 As yet are breathing beauty; all is Youth 
 Around, undarkened by prelusive ills, 
 The fanciful of being with the truth ; 
 And who, whilst yet the current lingereth smooth 
 And every wave reflects a flower above, 
 Would mar it with a wrinkle ? let it soothe 
 In spring to shun the raven for the dove 
 Who cooes, herself untaught, yet ever teaching Love.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 33 
 
 LII. 
 
 Hid in a bushy grove, where every wind 
 That stirs showers down new blossoms from its wings, 
 Like a lorn voice, all querulous but kind, 
 In love with grief, that turtle sits and sings 
 To the wood-echoes of a thousand things 
 To which her bosom beateth ; of her mate 
 From her side too long absent of the springs, 
 Her pastime, all unvisited of late, 
 Since that a mother's cares were added to her state. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 Cares and a mother's transports ! fear and joy, 
 Meek gentleness and calm solicitude j 
 The very breathing winds those fears employ, 
 And now a voice and footfall in the wood: 
 Listening, alive to aught that may intrude, 
 What can a mother-bird so gentle do 
 But o'er her young more flutteringly to brood, 
 %And kiss them with her bill, and sweetlier coo, 
 And them not e'er forsake whatever ills ensue \ 
 

 
 34 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Peace, fearful one ! 'tis but a passer-by,. 
 The fond impatience of a village maid, 
 Who seeks to trace thy dwelling with her eye, 
 And bless thy tones, then plunges in the shade : 
 Why of Ianthe's steps art thou afraid? 
 She threads this lonely thicket but to cull 
 The ripest flowers on which the sun has played, 
 Of which this hazel covert is so full, 
 And now an orchis seek, and now a primrose pull. 
 
 LV. 
 
 And arm in arm with her Viola trips, 
 And with an osier basket on her arm, 
 A murmured song is on her moving lips, 
 Her looks with busy hope and rapture warm; 
 Her eyes the violets which she seeks inform, 
 Eyes glittering on you like two Naiad founts 
 Of purest azure skies without a storm : 
 Each valley she descends, each hill she mounts, 
 Springs to her lurking flower, and every one recounts.
 
 canto l ASPLEY WOOD. 35 
 
 LVI. 
 
 And tears down woodbines from the branching planes 
 To crown her stores, and form her coronal, 
 That scarce her Sister of the Wood sustains 
 The heaping coil of leaves which round her fall} 
 Soon overflowing is her basket small, 
 But she the more her busy office plies, 
 And calls Ianthe nearer to her call 
 Ianthe comes fresh flowers rain from the skies, 
 Then laugheth she aloud, and followeth her who flies. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 And far behind them rosy infants run, 
 Two darling shoots from one sustaining spray 
 For one lorn parent rears their youth, and one 
 Though loved, is as a stranger passed away. 
 She, when to her sequestered home they stray 
 Fondling each other, in their deep-blue eyes, 
 Looks how endearingly ! and seemeth gay, 
 But for their sweet caresses gives them sighs, 
 And aye the more they smile, more fast her tears arise.
 
 ASPLEY WOOD. canto I. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 But they know not her source of grief, or soon 
 Forget all sense of sorrow in the chase 
 Of fantasies, on which the mutable moon 
 Stamps all the changes of her wexing phase, 
 Joy in them all ! now with unequal pace 
 Those virgins of the village they pursue, 
 But frequent pause them in the panting race, 
 To seize some fallen flowers besprent with dew, 
 And prank each other's breast with quaint devices new. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Small choice make they of what the green-wood bower 
 Scatters so lavishly the daisy pied, 
 The purple hyacinth, Apollo's flower, 
 Fresh kingcups, and sweet cowslips crimson-eyed, 
 Blushing anemonies which plucked, have died 
 With the first wind, red lychnis, blue eyebright, 
 And many a golden cup which loves the tide, 
 The oxeye pale, the laurel blossom light, 
 Are gathered all in turn, in turn abandoned quite.
 
 canto i. ASPLEV WOOD. 37 
 
 LX. 
 
 For, lo ! a wilderness of lilies, whither 
 The merry hum of bees attracts their eye ! 
 The rosy boy on tiptoe flieth thither, 
 His timid sister nothing does but fly 
 In fear of the winged insects ; sad and shy 
 At length her secret the coy creature tells 
 He on them rushes shouting none are nigh, 
 They may fall down and fill their lap with bells, 
 Cn a delicious dream, unheedful of all else. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 E'en thus, when Delos started from the wave 
 Sacred, to blossom in perpetual May, 
 E'en thus, on myrtles in a pleasant cave, 
 The infant Phoebus and Diana lay: 
 A triple crown of sunbeams did the day 
 Knit round the awful temples of its god, 
 On her the crescent cast a lunar ray, 
 And tall trees bowed in homage, whilst the sod 
 Poured forth a thousand flowers where sportively they trod.
 
 38 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO i. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 There rest you, Wearied Ones ! at pleasure use 
 What childhood's Amalthean horn may grant j 
 If on your lids fall slumber's golden juice, 
 May wizard Fancy be your pursuivant 
 Into her fairy halls, around your haunt 
 Music and floating whispers lull your ear, 
 But may the noxious adder coil aslant, 
 Nor grey gnat sound his shrill reveille near, 
 With bitter venom wound, or cause one sorrowing tear ! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Sleeping perchance the redbreasts may behold, 
 And deem you shapes of beauty passed away, 
 And with their bills, as beldames oft have told 
 The tale, aspire to make your pillow gay, 
 Bringing you odorous herbs and mosses gray, 
 As to the Innocents of yore, whom grief 
 Slew without fault, and for your shroud array 
 The ashy-pale rosemary, mourner chief, 
 And many a lily-flower, and many a lily-leaf.
 
 ASPLEY WOOD. 39 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Look on that Flower the Daughter of the Vale, 
 The Medicean statue of the shade ! 
 Her limbs of modest beauty, aspect pale, 
 Are but by her ambrosial breath betrayed. 
 , There, half in elegant relief displayed, 
 
 She standeth to our gaze, half-shrinking shuns j 
 Folding her green scarf like a bashful Maid 
 Around, to screen her from her suitor suns, 
 Not all her many sweets she lavisheth at once. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Locked in the twilight of depending boughs, 
 Where night and day commingle, she doth shoot 
 Where nightingales repeat their marriage-vows ; 
 First by retiring, wins our curious foot, 
 Then charms us by her loveliness to suit 
 Our contemplation to her lonely lot ; 
 Her gloom, leaf, blossom, fragrance, form, dispute 
 Which shall attract most belgards to the spot, 
 And loveliest her array who fain would rest unsought. 
 
 E
 
 40 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Her gloom, the aisle of heavenly solitude ; 
 Her flower, the vestal Nun who there abideth ; 
 Her breath, that of celestials meekly wooed 
 From heaven ; her leaf, the holy veil which hideth ; 
 Her form, the shrine where purity resideth ; 
 Spring's darling, nature's pride, the sylvans' queen 
 To her at eve enamoured Zephyr glidcth, 
 Trembling, she bids him waft aside her screen, 
 And to his kisses wakes the Flora of the scene. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 But O, the thousand charms of this wood-cover, 
 The plain, the steep, the musical, the still, 
 The sad, the cheerful ! here may Nature's lover 
 For ever taste, yet never have his fill : 
 The tangled valley now becomes a hill, 
 The hill a glade, the glade a vista riven 
 From depth of groves, and then we view at will 
 Far towns and plains, and where earth blends with heaves 
 Blue Ocean seems to roll, and mimic waves are driven.
 
 cakto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 41 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 And thus we wander, e'en as though a spell 
 Clung to our footsteps, and transformed the view; 
 Making the bosky hill a pansied dell, 
 And tiuging all things with Enchantment's hue. 
 Small need have we of Ariadne's clue, 
 To guide us through our labyrinth to-day ; 
 Here, where each step creates a landscape new, 
 Here, where to linger is a sweet delay, 
 O, who would not be lost within a maze so gay ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Hark to the merry Gossip of the spring 
 The sweet mysterious voice which peoples place 
 With an Italian beauty, and does bring 
 As 'twere Elysium from the wilds of space 
 Where'er her wing inhabits ! give it chace, 
 In other bowers the Fairy shouts again j 
 Where'er we run it mocks our rapid race 
 Still the same loose note in a golden chain 
 Rings through the vocal woods, and fills with joy the plain.
 
 42 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Hail to thee, shouting Cuckoo ! in my youth 
 Thou wert long time the Ariel of my hope, 
 The marvel of a summer ! it did soothe 
 To listen to thee on some sunny slope, 
 Where the high oaks forbade an ampler scope 
 Than of the blue skies upward and to sit, 
 Canopied, in the gladdening horoscope 
 Which thou, my planet flung a pleasant fit, 
 Long time my hours endeared, my kindling fancy smit. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And thus I love thee still thy monotone 
 The self-same transport flashes through my frame, 
 And when thy voice, sweet Sybil, all is flown 
 My eager ear, I cannot chuse but blame. 
 
 may the world these feelings never tame ! 
 If age o'er me her silver tresses spread, 
 
 1 still would call thee by a lover's name, 
 And deem the spirit of delight unfled, 
 
 Nor bear, though grey without, a heart to Nature dead !
 
 CANTO I. ASPLEY WOOD. 43 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Thus too the Grasshopper is still my friend, 
 The minute-sound of many a sunny hour 
 Passed on a thymy hill, when I could send 
 My soul in search thereof by bank and bower, 
 Till lured far from it by a foxglove flower 
 Nodding too dangerously above the crag, 
 Not to excite the passion and the power 
 To climb the steep, and dwon the blossoms drag, 
 Them the marsh-crocus joined, and yellow water-flag. 
 
 LXX1II. 
 
 Shrill sings the drowsy Wassailler in his dome, 
 Yon grassy wilderness where curls the fern, 
 And creeps the ivy ; with the wish to rove 
 He spreads his sails, and bright is his sojourn 
 'Mid chalices with dews in every urn : 
 All flying things a like delight have found 
 Where'er I gaze, to what new region turn, 
 Ten thousand insects in the air abound, 
 Flitting on glancing wings that yield a summer-sound.
 
 44 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And chief the Fly, upon whose fans are spread 
 Hues with which summer warms the Occident 
 At the rich sunset, epicure in taste, 
 Beholds the odorous light, and deems it lent 
 For amorous pastime, and in truth seems bent 
 To find or form a paradise below ; 
 With blooms and herbs of every various scent 
 Dallies her tongue her wings expanded show 
 Like ornamented clouds hung round by Iris' bow. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 O'er mead, moor, river, garden, forest, mount, 
 In her gay search the delicate Lady flies, 
 Tries every odour, sips of every fount, 
 Nor trusts her form but to most crystal skies. 
 Coquettish in her motions, how she tries 
 Thousand admiring hearts to captivate ! 
 The Swallow too pursues so bright a prize, 
 Wins, and destroys so Beauty bows to Fate, 
 Caught in the toils she spread, to be bewailed too late.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 45 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 That pageant past, comes the quick Squirrel forth 
 From his high cedar with a burst and bound, 
 To sport upon the warm grass of the earth 
 Feeding, and wave his graceful brush around, 
 And pause and prick his ears, and at each sound 
 List in a breathless attitude, and start 
 If far away intruding steps resound : 
 With feet already raised to spring, to dart 
 On to the nearest pine, but claims a moment's part. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Anon he cowers upon a branch, and thence 
 Looks deeply down on his pursuer's shape, 
 And yet alarmed, on his glad eminence 
 Stamps wrathfully, then looks a laughing ape, 
 Playing his thousand pranks o'er an escape 
 Almost too lofty for our eye to reach 
 Through the thick gloom, then hies he to the rape 
 Of the pine's cones, or to his nest, the pleach 
 Of many a wilding bough in the next giant beech.
 
 46 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 This his spring-life e'en when the October wind 
 His firm beech rocks with a sea-murmur loud, 
 That squirrel the same merry mime I find 
 A mariner on his vibrating shroud : 
 Though darkly glooms the burning thunder-cloud, 
 And rends with sulphurous bolt some mighty tree, 
 He hears the roar as fearlessly and proud 
 As a Fleet-admiral when dark alee, 
 The fiery battle joins, and chaos shakes the sea. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Hush ! for the most shy Pheasant leaves the brakes 
 To bask her beauteous plumage in the sun, 
 Which, as in love with its bright colours, makes 
 A hundred brilliant Irises of one. 
 Autumn is past : the desolating gun 
 Haunts not her dreaming sleep ; she now may tread, 
 A Princess, through the halls she wont to shun, 
 Silence around, and verdurous domes o'erhead, 
 More high exalt her crest, her whirring pinions spread.
 
 canto I. ASPLEY WOOD. 47 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 She looks down on a swarming multitude, 
 The CommoDwealth of Ants a populace 
 Moved by one mighty aim, a nation's good ; 
 Instructive lesson to a haughtier race ! 
 
 For here no selfish ministers efface 
 
 The charter step-dame Nature first designed, 
 The people's independence ; nor for place, 
 Truck to a crown their dignity of mind 
 
 The Emmet's polity leaves Europe's far behind. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 They throne prosperity in grainy hives, 
 Her throne has been an armed seignorage; 
 Their social bond through centuries survives, 
 Hers homicide infracts in every age ; 
 A spotless quiet is their heritage, 
 Hers the keen scythe of fierceness and of guilt ; 
 At but a breath her myrmidons engage 
 In fratricidal crime, and blood is spilt, 
 Till Power's all-evil blade is shivered to the hilt 
 
 F
 
 48 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 The voice of purple Pride, whose barbarous rod, 
 Shaken o'er vassal-realms, in time became 
 Consociated with the cross of God, 
 A bigot torch, lit at revenge's flame, 
 To be the scourge of nations ! of this frame 
 Empires and thronedoms have been, and are made 
 Erewhile to crumble at some mighty name, 
 Philip or Mahmoud or that Giant Shade 
 Who struck at crowns for France, and was by France betrayed I 
 
 LXXXIU. 
 
 0, with what sweet abruptness to this bower 
 Of woodbine comes the music of those bells, 
 Blown by the dissolute winds x . a marriage hour 
 Is nigh, that sound can chronicle nought else. 
 Over the uplands, into the gay dells 
 Momently sinking, momently to rise, 
 It rings around a syren-mass of spells 
 To the bride-maid some silenced hopes and sighs, 
 And many a smile and tear in two fond bridal eyes.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 49 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 To One I deem it brings remembered trace 
 Of a faint dream, a phantasm of delight, 
 When the fresh morning wore a chernb's face, 
 And there were tears and sufferings long ere night. 
 When unsubdued Affection hastes to plight 
 Long summer-vows to a maid's icy frown, 
 There is no sun, no shade, no bud, no blight, 
 He can feel more albeit, romantic town ! 
 Ring oat thy merry bells till yon tired sun goes down. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 But the young mourner, his first pangs gone by, 
 Consorted by the sacred Sisters nine, 
 In their communion finds tranquillity, 
 Served with nepenthe from their spring divine, 
 Which laps the soul in gentleness benign, 
 Reversing what the Fatal Sisters weave; 
 This gift, Alonzo, this should now be thine, 
 Woo thee a kinder Fair and cease to grieve, 
 Assured no future hope can like the past deceive.
 
 50 ASPLEY WOOD. canto I. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Then still, romantic Town! thy sweet bells ring, 
 Waft it o'er primroses to his lulled ear, 
 Wind of the south ! not one tone scattering, 
 The pleasant sound might make a desart dear ; 
 What, where of all her charms the virgin year 
 Wistfully flings the sweetest, as to crown 
 With mirth the melancholious ? Lo ! tis here 
 She builds her bower then still, romantic Town ! 
 Ring out thy merry bells till yon tired sun goes down. 
 
 LXXXVU. 
 
 Wensdon! up thy sequestered hill I spring, 
 Thy hill of broom, with flowers on every stemj 
 Of these secluded precincts thou art King, 
 And mak'st the mountain-pines thy diadem. 
 Thy yellow sands are an enchasing gem 
 To those who love thee, for thou dost bequeath 
 A far pervading vision unto them : 
 Here many a sheepbell tinkles on the heath, 
 Green waves the fir above a cottage smokes beneath
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ASHLEY WOOD. 51 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 In a blue Pillar to the sky, so calm 
 Is Heaven's high caerule vault ! the palisade 
 Round the nigh garden sweeping, throws a charm, 
 A pastoral beauty round the lovely maid 
 Verduta, culturing roses with her spade, 
 And watering them erewhile needs but a fount 
 Of dulcet waters bubbling in its shade 
 To make the hill of glorified account, 
 As Aganippe bursts beneath the Muses' mount. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 But the still Picture far away expands 
 Into an ampler scope for ear and eye ; 
 Herds low flocks graze distant a hamlet stands, 
 Its steeple tolling as the breeze blew by. 
 We may discern an antique Library, 1 
 Where blossomed lilachs shake in bright relief 
 Their tassels with whose grateful tint may vie 
 The green Corn, rising into lofty leaf 
 On plains which Ceres piles with a redundant sheaf.
 
 52 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Art thou a lover of thy race ? advance, 
 And view a nation's opulence in seed ; 
 A child of nature? lo! the woodlands dance, 
 The vales are vocal with the shepherd's reed. 
 A patriot ? England's garner is thy meed 
 A soldier? bear thy idle honours hence, 
 For on this stage no gladiators bleed; 
 The patriot's glory and the sage's sense 
 Inhabit with the lark, and she is Innocence. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Where the flute warbles, should the war-drums knoll ? 
 Where ripen vines, should conflagrations curl ? 
 Should nature's leaf become a shrivelled scroll? 
 Where wave her pines should bannerols unfurl? 
 Should Murder her destroying lightnings hurl, 
 Sweet Freedom ! o'er thy populated plains, 
 To seas of blood transform thy streams of pearl, 
 And turn thy rosy fillets into chains? 
 Should e'en a Wellesley tread the turf which yet retains
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 53 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Remembrance of our Howard ? you have seen, 
 Hung round with delicate herbs, a little rill 
 Gush into life, and make creation green, 
 Where'er ' it glideth at its own sweet will,' 
 Heaven settles on its face its course is still, 
 Nor would betray its currents as they pass, 
 Did not a livelier colour clothe the hill, 
 The valley-flowers, the moss of the morass 
 Like to that little rill benignant Howard was: 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 A Spirit in our wilderness below, 
 Scattering ambrosial verdure, sanctified 
 For the severe discipleship of Woe, 
 Pity's apostle, Duty was his bride. 
 By him no panacea was denied 
 Which lulled affliction Mercy was his tone, 
 His acts the good man's wish personified 
 Lutes whose sweet strains were touched for heaven alone, 
 But by the winds betray'd, and o'er far billows blown.
 
 54 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Aspley! thy pleasant bowers his feet have wooed, 
 The Pilgrim came and loved them, for on thee 
 There doth repose a^holy quietude, 
 The inspiring Genius of philanthropy : 
 Within yon simple mansion, where the bee 
 Murmurs and feeds all June amid the limes, 
 Paused a few sunny hours the Devotee, 2 
 Ere yet again he sought in scorching climes 
 Each dreadful Lazar-house of sicknesses and crimes. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 His deeds are scions of a nobler stem 
 Than laurels gathered in a nation's tears 5 
 With healthy tenderness we turn to them, 
 And grey Tradition chronicles for years 
 The walk where once an age the man appears 
 Shaped out by deep communings with the sky, 
 Heaven's Mercury to earth whom earth reveres: 
 Bowers fall yet here thy memory should not die, 
 But like the Banyan spread, and flower immortally.
 
 CUno I. ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 XCVL 
 
 Yes! still amid this beauteous Theatre 
 His gentle spirit seems to hover round, 
 The vallies breathe of him ; of him the fir, 
 Vibrating, whispers in a silver sound. 
 It is his voice which hills to hills resound, 
 As echo to enchanted echo calls : 
 I ga2e I rove on consecrated ground, 
 Where broods his gentleuess his mantle falls ; 
 Groves, vallies, warbling hills, and ornamented Halls. 3 
 
 m 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Such talisman within my mind awakes 
 The melting sweetness of the Month I sing : 
 The spirit its own gloom or Eden makes 
 Whene'er it wills to strike the secret spring 
 Of Good or Evil s for we have a string 
 Which touched aright divinely will respond, 
 Like -Love amid blown roses as we bring 
 Virtue in sight, of Virtue we grow fond, 
 W are not of the earth our spirits soar beyond.
 
 56 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Yet here the warrior in his armed hall 
 Sate throned in evil state in ages gone, 
 A powerful prince within his Capitol 
 And whensoe'er he blew his Saxon horn, 
 Corn blazing, hamlets rifled, virgins torn 
 Weeping away from their paternal cot, 
 His ravage marked with blood a little Urn 
 Of marble now is all the Guises' lot, 
 They came and passed away they won and are forgot ! 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Yon Church contains their ashes enter there ! 
 Through arched aisle, low eell, and gallery dim, 
 To purge the stain from off the scimitar, 
 Dark murmurs stole of orison and hymn. 
 There, but no more armipotent of limb, 
 Some man of many sins recumbent lies 
 Pillowed on stone, and there antiquely grim, 
 His hands beseech the offended Deities, 
 Clasped, as in love with life whilst passing to the skies.
 
 * 
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 57 
 
 c. 
 
 The crest, the spear, the banner, and the plume, 
 Emblazoned shield, and iron-twisted mail 
 Which leut devices to their sculptured tomb, 
 Pomp to their brattles can they more avail ? 
 Alas for them the maid, the widow's wail, 
 The morning spoil, the midnight sacrilege ! 
 On high that stony warrior will wax pale 
 When thousand tongues the heavenly throne besiege, 
 And the scorned Vassals' wrongs condemn the guilty Liege. 
 
 CI. 
 
 From Jenghis-Kahn to terrible Mahinoud, 
 Trace Slaughter through all chronicles to Cain, 
 From Cain to Caesar from the Hounds of blood, 
 Peru's fierce spoilers, to the Scourge of Spain 
 'Tis the same Tale ! first pride, ambition then, 
 The spur of frenzy, anger's trumpet-call, 
 Mirth, murder, victory ; a boast a stain 
 Last, closing conscience with her snakes and pall 
 Enough ! the Conqueror bends, and Nations bless his fall !
 
 
 
 58 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 CI I. 
 
 "Fis well ! his life was like the Upas-tree, 
 The curse of all his kind ! who touched him, drew 
 Contagion from the contact, they might flee, 
 But guilt, the Simoom, ever would pursue ; 
 And still around would hang the fatal dew, 
 Corroding what it poisoned to the core, 
 Tinging the bough till lividly it grew 
 All ashes ! as the shirt of Nessus bore 
 Torture, and tears, aud shrieks, to Hercules of yore. 
 
 CIU. 
 
 Away ! all else is whiteness by his side : 
 A many-chambered Hall before me stands 
 The House of Learning flings its portals wide, 
 And Knowledge bears within his ample hands 
 The volumes of the dead 5 at his commands 
 What busy pupils class the tribes of mind 
 And banquet upon fruitage ! as he scans 
 The past long ages will their scrolls unbind, \ 
 See Rome her eagles bear, and Greece her clarions wind.
 
 canto i. ASPLEY WOOD. 59 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Sages again and legislators build 
 The wealth of realms, the policy of states, 
 Numa, and Solon, and Lycurgus, wield 
 Their ivory sceptres at the city-gates. 
 Cumaean Sibyls here aread the Fates, 
 With holy fillets there the priest divines, 
 There the grave Senate holds its dread debates, 
 Here speaks a Cicero, a Cimon shines, 
 And gay Anacreon bathes his song in Teian wines. 
 # 
 
 CV. 
 
 Bends to their sway the ductile soul of youth, 
 Now touched, stung, softened, mellowed, rapt, on fire, 
 As pity, fervour, eloquence, zeal, truth, 
 Or music glances on the electric wire 
 Which moves their passions. Hark they to the lyre 
 Which Horace, Virgil, and Tibullus strung 
 To satire, war, and love; or what the Sire 
 Of verse, divine Melesigenes sung, 
 Strains through the lapse of years imperishably young. 
 
 *
 
 60 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 O glorious records of the march of Time, 
 Gems of a world in shadow and decay ! 
 Whilst you exist to soften and sublime 
 Earth's noblest relics are not passed away. 
 The birth of Empire seems of yesterday, 
 Seen through your telescope ; lo ! cycles, suns 
 Melt to a span, roan seems a child to play 
 Beside Creation's waters, yet at once 
 Pervades her glassy stream, all sweeping as it runs. 
 
 CVI I. 
 
 Yet are those Halls not always dedicate 
 To Grecian sweetness and Ausonian lore; 
 Some hours there are when pastime can create 
 Of simple pleasures an unblemished store 
 Pleasures, by past restraint enhanced the more, 
 Welcomed with smiles, and closed without a sigh : 
 
 x 
 
 Why in the noon of manhood evermore 
 Should the fair flowers of morning-promise die 
 Around the heart, whose bloom no future can supply? 
 

 
 canto I. ASPLEY WOOD. 61 
 
 CVI1I. 
 
 Nor want there happier hours when hours arc sweetest 
 With mirth and music to awake delight, 
 When eyes the most benign and steps the fleetest, 
 Do make a dancing vigil of the night. 
 When the whole room is beautiful and bright, 
 And on young lips the heart's warm sunshine dwells, 
 When voices are melodious as the light, 
 And pleading Love to blushing Beauty tells 
 Regards in pleasing tones, but pleasing from none else; 
 
 i CIX. 
 
 When in the shadow of each full dark orb 
 He sees the Morning-star of Passion break, 
 And the dear smiles which all his soul absorb, 
 Around her cheeks a warm Aurora make, 
 Fair as the Sunrise on a mountain lake ; 
 When at each tread of her harmonious toe, 
 Pendants, like dew-drops on the lily, shake 
 And odorous tresses negligently throw 
 Sweets round the breathing room, a twilight round her brow: 
 
 *
 
 62 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO I. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Then let the meditative mind retire 
 To some near region of illumined ground. 
 The spell begins : fond fairy hands aspire 
 To deal the magic of emotions round; 
 The woods are filled with a voluptuous sound 
 Now floating full, now faint upon the ear, 
 And tones are heard to swell, and feet to bound, 
 Which heavenly Dian curbs her car to hear, 
 And all the sparkling stars which make chaste night so dear. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The unenrtained window looks a gay recess, 
 A burst of unexampled brilliancy, 
 And there are forms of finished loveliness 
 In scarf, and robe, and flowers, seen sweeping bv; 
 A gorgeous crowd is ever in the eye, 
 Divinest of imaginable things ! 
 The wizard Fancy throws his heavenly dye 
 On all, and each resounding valley rings 
 To the rich, kissing touch of instrumental strings. 
 
 
 #
 
 canto it ASPLEY WOOL). 53 
 
 CXII. 
 
 To sit thus in a blissful solitude, 
 With mirth around and innocence within, 
 With no disturbing passion to intrude, 
 To mark the Vision and its rites begin 
 The invisible Eye of All this is to win 
 The dream o'er which ecstatic Milton smiled 
 Ere yet he communed with the Cherubhij 4 
 It hath a sense, sweet, wonderful, and wild, 
 And well may suit the vein of a poetic Childe. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 He who is wise will gather joy from joy, 
 And bid the busy brain of sadness sleep, 
 When Life has no amusement to employ 
 Thought in her chambers, it may soothe to weep. 
 But the Lethean stream should not be deep, 
 To drown reflection is but to alarm 
 We have a few Elysian drops to steep, 
 And this is one, our sadnesses with balm, 
 No Moralist need frown on a so simple charm.
 
 64 ASPLEY WOOD. canto i. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 But the shade shortens : 'tis the sultry hour, 
 The hush of noon siesta of the day ; 
 The wind has left the field, the dew the flower, 
 The gathered flower droops witheringly away. 
 Where have I wandered? whither do I stray 
 With half-shut eye, in wildering reverie? 
 Leave thou thy air- built palace to the Gay 
 Thy spell is broken broken let it be, 
 Winningly waves the Wood, to its Lycaeum flee. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Hail and farewell, sweet Valley! though farewells 
 Are vainly given to grieve o'er thine and thee, 
 For thou dost colour the mind's secret cells 
 With prism-tints, from which we cannot flee, 
 Most vivid still in absence ! and our knee 
 Devoutly bent beneath a vault so blue 
 To the Great Spirit, never can be free ; 
 We pause turn linger love admire anew, 
 Hallowing the ground where first our inspiration grew.
 
 canto I. ASPLEY WOOD- 65 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Hail and farewell ! farewell a little while, 
 Vision of beauty ! with the yellowing leaf, 
 I come to watch thy melancholy smile, 
 The music of thy features spent in grief 
 O'er their decay, a glory bright but brief, 
 Pathetic sweetness to the heart applied ; 
 Who could view Winter a Plutonic thief, 
 Coming to claim thee for his Mourning Bride, 
 Nor shed few parting tears of passion and of pride ? 
 
 CXVII 
 
 The scene recedes. Welcome these aisles of larch, 
 The walk of happy spirits ! 5 so the mind 
 May fitly deem, that views the heavenly arch 
 Hung o'er it like a Sapphire : look behind ! 
 Earth shows a mossy Eden just resigned 
 By Adam, no more mingling with the blest, 
 For they are vanished and a wandering wind 
 Comes with its whispering dirges from the west, 
 And the green shady bank is wooing to be pressed.
 
 Q6 ASPLEY WOOD, canto I. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Tis sweet to throw at will, as now I throw 
 My limbs upon the dainty lap of May, 
 And hold in dalliance the ripe flowers which grow 
 Confusedly among the lichens gray. 
 Is this Titania's bower, where fairies play 
 Their antique revels in the glowworm's sight? 
 Moss and wild thyme are all the weeds which stray 
 To pave her palace with a green delight 
 Thus then for dulcet dreams and slumber's soothing rite. 
 
 END OF CANTO 1.
 
 CANTO II.

 
 3&>I$$ 1BJS3& 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 "fl Primavera eioventu de l'anno, 
 
 Bella madre di flori, 
 
 D'herbe novelle, e di oovelli unori ; 
 
 Tu torn! ben, ma teco 
 
 Nod tornano i sereni 
 
 E fortunati di de le mie gioie." 
 
 GUARIXI. 
 
 'Twas sweet I said to throw yourself at noon 
 Loose on May flowers and placidly repose, 
 \Vhilst twine o'erhead in many a fair festoon 
 The gadding woodbine and the sweet-briar rose. 
 But sweeter far, as airy music flows 
 From the grove's orchestra above, around, 
 In the open sky to wake. He only knows 
 How laughs the sun, and on the grassv ground 
 What chequering shadows lie, and what bright tints abound.
 
 70 ASPLEY WOOD. canto h. 
 
 II. 
 
 I was still dreaming when I heard the boughs 
 Parted asunder with a gentle noise, 
 But yet the falling blossoms could not rouse 
 My soul entranced, though conscious of its joys. 
 I heard the low of kine, but 'twas my choice 
 Not to be stirred, and thus I slumbered still} 
 Till high methought I heard Acasia's voice 
 Call me with songs up her dear native hill 
 Why did I wake so soon? 'twas but the linnet's bill; 
 
 III. 
 
 Which breaks the crystal air in sounds that gush 
 Clear as a fountain from its jasper base, 
 And warm as if its little heart would rush 
 To ruin with the music. From the face 
 Of the pure firmament light shadows chase 
 Each other o'er our world, as flies the rack, 
 Softening the sunbeam for a little space, 
 And saddening all the landscape in its track, 
 Till the cloud parts like snow, and the sweet ray comes back.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEV WOOD. 7\ 
 
 IV. 
 
 On my hot brow, diffuse, delicious breeze, 
 The coolness of thy chalice ! thus to lie 
 In the fresh shadow of the flickering trees, 
 Gloom on the grass but glory in the sky ; 
 And mix with idlesse a calm dignitv, 
 Which finds a moral in the slightest thing, 
 The whisper of a leaf a lulling fly 
 All changes which the cuckoo-seasons bring, 
 Is to draw bliss from toil, sounds from a tuneless string. 
 
 I cannot wrap in hideous vacaney 
 
 Mind's glorious faculties upon the stream 
 
 Of Thought my gondola I love to ply 
 
 In search of greener shades, a fresher dream. 
 
 Drive wheresoe'er it will, let shade or beam 
 
 Glance on its painted prow from cloud or sun, 
 
 There fails not solemn or romantic theme 
 
 To light the gorgeous waters as they run 
 
 Awake, ye mighty Shades ! my vigil is begun. 
 
 i
 
 72 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO H. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And O, what page can charm the lingering noon 
 Like thine, wild Master of the mask and pall, 
 Shakspeake ! prince, patriot, wizard, mime, buffoon, 
 All all in turn, and great alike in all. 
 The cold,, the loved, the crowned obey thy call, 
 Now Passion thrills us and now Terror shakes 
 The bridal now becomes a bloody Hall, 
 The feast a couch from which no sleeper wakes, 
 Where Murder plants her stab, the Furies coil their snakes. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The sweet, the grand, the fair, the terrible, 
 The foul, the fond, the hideous and the bright, 
 The summer's vision, the magician's spell, 
 The stars, and the proud thunders of the night ; 
 The sightless steeds of agonised affright, 
 Whispers of love and battailous uproar, 
 Burn in thy thoughts and radiate into light, 
 Which Time repeats and Feeling must adore ; 
 What new sublimer worlds shall Genius hence explore !
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 73 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Here Caesar, recent from barbaric wars, 
 Leads Rome in chains the purple robe assumes ; 
 There a loud shout thrice strikes the golden stars, 
 The deed is done, and Liberty resumes 
 Her march : to horse ! to horse ! a thousand plumes 
 Wait round the midnight Brutus in his tent. 
 Wan in the midst his warning Genius glooms 
 With finger to Philippi ! a lament 
 Floats round the seven-hill'd Town its last lorn pennon rent. 
 
 IX. 
 
 There stands the gentle-musing misanthrope, 
 The Prince of faded passions, on whose breast 
 Sorrow writes madness he whose sweetest hope 
 Droops like narcissus, when the winds o'the west 
 Gather its willing leaves ; forlorn his vest 
 The fool of Fortune, with keen feelings cursed, 
 To be a proud King's terror and his jest : 
 The dark grave crops his rose the rose he nursed, 
 What can his heart do now but wither, bleed, and burst ! 

 
 74 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO n. 
 
 X. 
 
 O for a love like thine, dear Imogen, 
 Unchanged in absence, undeprest by ill! 
 Those rueful storms which shake the faith of men, 
 Left thee the same fond, trusting woman still. 
 Tears for thy tale ! the elder grows at will 
 Rank o'er a crumbling ruiu with the rose, 
 Which then her essence sweetest does distil, 
 Like Virtue run to wildness with her woes 
 So, through thy weeds of grief, Love's mossy buds Hnclose. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Or, we will climb the mountainous cliff which hangs 
 O'er the mad surge, unheard so high, with Lear. 
 He is a chaos of all passions pangs 
 Have hurled presiding Reason from her sphere: 
 His eyes are stormy, but without a tear 
 Them wrath has scorched ! his majesty but brings 
 The fiery-flying lightnings yet more near, 
 To strike the Tower round which one sweet root clings, 
 Whilst the wolf howls beneath, and the hid scorpion stings.
 
 CANTO II. ASPLEY WOOD. 75 
 
 XII. 
 
 Proud as those fires, dallying with nought but clouds, 
 Wild as their will, and blasting as their stroke, 
 His brooding, bright ambition Richard shrouds 
 Beneath a painted mask a muffling cloke 
 Till works his poison, and all bonds are broke 
 Which kept him from his dazzling wish j when won, 
 Glideth the subtle aspic from his Oak, 
 To rear his soldier-crest unto the sun, 
 And flesh bis fangs in blood avenged ere day be done. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But May is ripe with roses virginal 
 Unplucked of summer, where no serpent's tooth 
 May bubble forth its venom ; ere the fall 
 Was sweetness and the stainlessness of truth, 
 And unpresuming love and it may soothe 
 To mark their rays of radiance meet in thee 
 Csesario or Viola maid or youth 
 Thy love is unsunned honey, which the bee 
 Cells beneath briery boughs that eye may never see.
 
 76 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Break off! a Phantom moves through marble halls 
 In gloomy stateliness night's shrieking bird 
 Flaps the friezed window with her wing which falls 
 Hollowly on the ear my brain is stirred 
 But she who bears the taper hath not heard, 
 With fearful visions her wild eye is glassed 
 Staring in slumberous trance, and many a word 
 Of guilt from her divining lips have passed, 
 Whilst the Weird Sisters laugh astride the groaning blast. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Sweet winter-blossom, by a wind too rude 
 Tossed on the waters of a stormy sea, 
 Which Heaven with greater tenderness endued 
 Than thy sire's heart alas, that such should be ! 
 Young Perdita ! O let me walk with thee 
 Through all thy fortunes ; exiled as a thing 
 Of ill a worm from a degraded tree ; 
 But thee erewhile the handmaids of the Spring 
 Transplant to rosy bowers on Pleasure's April wing.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 77 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Gold in a rock ! who hides his casket so ? 
 
 Timon of Athens ; mark his gloomy stare 
 
 A yellow Lion glaring on his foe 
 
 His sonl was bountiful and trusting, e'er 
 
 That trusting bounty wove itself the snare, 
 
 In which all rage is powerless. To the cave 
 
 i 
 He shouts his wrongs it babbles his despair ; 
 
 He hath betook him to the savage wave 
 
 Of the resounding sea, and dug him there a grave. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Or to the 'modern Timon' let us turn,* 
 Whose deep misanthropy winds like a spell 
 Around our young affections, till they burn 
 With feelings visions which no tongue can telL 
 Harold ! with thy dark grandeur I will dwell 
 All mad and moody being as thou art, 
 In the eye of fiery zealots, who compel 
 Thy Prince to wrap a mask about his heart 
 With smiles we ever meet, and 'tis with sighs we part 
 
 Childe Harold. See Addition to the Preface.
 
 78 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Whether in Rome we hear the authentic voice 
 Of her sad Genius, or in Athens mourn, 
 In sweet Egeria's mossy grots rejoice, 
 Or wildly weeping clasp dear Thyrza's urn; 
 Now briefly kind, now stoically stern, 
 Censor or soph, the scorner or the sage, 
 To thee we cling, and drink af. every turn 
 Freedom, and fire, and pathos from thy page, 
 Through every varied scene which marks thy Pilgrimage. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In naked gloominess the Pilgrim stands 
 No hope to woo, no danger to appal, 
 In Christian, Turkish, and Barbaric lands, 
 Without his like, and saturnine in all, 
 His honey-drops of pleasure turned to gall, 
 Raising the fever which they sought to slake 
 A Statue on its marble pedestal, 
 Whose nervous limbs some unguessed passions shake, 
 Where Grief seems to repose or Agony to ache.
 
 
 ASPLEY WOOD. 79 
 
 XX. 
 
 There is one golden chord in Being's lyre, 
 One trembling string to finest issues wrought, 
 If a beloved finger touch the wire, 
 It deals around amid the heaven of thought 
 Elysian lightnings with like music fraught : 
 Once snapt no hand re-strings it, or can steal 
 The vestal flame which visits it unsought, 
 But on the instrument Gloom sets his seal 
 This stroke the poet's heart hath felt doth hourly feel. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 What marvel then if Fancy should rebel 
 Against her first creations, and thus shape 
 Shadows on canvass Tasso in his cell, 
 A Corsair anchoring off a Turkish cape, 
 A fiery Giaour, a Selim in escape 
 Bleeding in death or Hugo's fatal flame ? 
 The cup which sparkled with the bright blue grape 
 Is filled with wormwood to the brim, will claim 
 A harsh and bitter hue the spirit does the same. 
 
 K
 
 80 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then to its first romantic dream recurring, 
 Recals the fugitive which Pride exiled; 
 Its first emotions in the pulse are stirring, 
 And roses fix and flourish in the wild. 
 Hence Love, pure, warm, and guileless as a child, 
 Rises from the Pactolus of his mind 
 Leila the lovely, and Medora mild, 
 Zuleika a mimosa from the wind, 
 Folding her shrinking leaves, and Florence fair and kind. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 A dream to wake from, and to weep that such 
 Was not accorded to his lonely lot, 
 Dark Disappointment ! at whose withering touch 
 The past all but the present is forgot; 
 And the mind colours all things with a blot 
 Of midnight, in whose depth no star may burn, 
 Making that seem to be, which yet is not 
 And hence it is dull Hatred will discern 
 Him in his Pilgrim's vest, the sternest of the stern.
 
 canto n. ASPLEY WOOD. 81 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Meanwhile, by Adria's sunny sea thou rovest, 
 Heartsick with sorrow whilst in life's best bloom, 
 The pensiveness thou woo'st, the face thou lovest, 
 The eye of azure, and the cheek of gloom, 
 Her waves to please thee silently assume j 
 And in them and in thy benevolence 1 
 Which speaks a better and a brighter doom 
 Than envy grants thee, is some happiness 
 For her calumnious wrong will pity love thee less ? 
 
 XXV. 
 
 O no, no, no! nor vainly hast thou sung 
 Thy hidden griefs, the blighting thoughts which tear 
 The heart they torture Minstrel ! many a tongue 
 Repeats thy echoes to the charmed air, 
 And eyes there are have mourned o'er the despair 
 Which made thy breast the home of bitterness; 
 The great, the good, the noble, and the fair, 
 Albeit their blessing could not make it less, 
 Have bent them from their bliss to pity and to bless.
 
 82 ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 We see, but cannot heal the stanchless wound, 
 We share its gushing sorrow, still it bleeds ; 
 Man plucks from out the garden's ruinous ground 
 The baleful nightshade, though it shed its seeds 
 With lavish bounty, but the bitter weeds 
 Of rooted sorrow mock his arm ah why, 
 When the stung heart on its own sickness feeds, 
 Can we not wring from out compassion's eye 
 One potent silver drop to hush its agony? 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And is there then no talisman to quell 
 The thousand dark soliloquies entwined 
 With the soul's sufferance, and from out its cell 
 Expel the spirit which enthralls the mind, 
 Which from the Void of years long left behind 
 With Ariel voice evokes from their abode 
 The pulseless phantoms of delight ? to bind 
 Those airy shapes, O can no pitying God 
 Wave the subduing charm of his Lethean rod ?
 
 canto II. ASPLEY WOOD. 83 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Yes ! though the mind by Memory's scathing share 
 Ploughed waxes flowerless, black, and withering, 
 Like fields o'er which the desart's burning air, 
 Simoom or Samiel, passes with hot wing, 
 Fountains there are which for a season fling 
 Freshness around, and with their gentle dews 
 Charm wearied nature to a second spring 
 Hope, and the sweet voice of the prompting Muse, 
 Both stirring still to joy, nor thou their gifts refuse! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Tis true the one but seems to draw its dyes 
 From the orbed rainbow in the dark storm bending, 
 Beautiful Visitant ! to mortal eyes 
 Our gloom with the first light of Eden blending ; 
 Beautiful, but how brief! too soon descending 
 In gentle tears that seem to weep our woej 
 But still the colours are of Mercy's lending, 
 And presage of her future fiat Go 
 To your own home, ye Clouds, thou swelling Deep reflow !
 
 S4 ASPLEY WOOD. canto 11. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And who from oat the dim abysmal sky 
 Would pluck the lovely Crescent of the night, 
 Because she has not all the majesty 
 And arrowy brightness of the God of Light, 
 Nor cull the blossom ere decay or blight 
 Feed on and spoil its damask beauty ? so 
 Shall we not seize the sybil of delight 
 Because she has a fairy's fleetness J No- 
 Pluck the fair flowers of Hope whilst yet her roses blow. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Or, if her fleeting visions be too weak 
 To silence thoughts that ill with pleasure suit, 
 Again the Muses' hallowed region seek, 
 Aud touch the string of that Elysian lute 
 Whose sound might charm the Furies as the foot 
 Of Orpheus trod the downward path, and they 
 With all their thousand hissing asps grew mute 
 In listeniug to his song griefs dark as they 
 The Eolian talisman of Music will obey.
 
 canto H. ASPLEY WOOD. 85 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 There is another and a purer fount, 
 There is a sweeter and a happier meed 
 Than e'er was gathered on the Muse's mount, 
 A plant for sorrow and for paiu decreed, 
 Comfort the fruit Religion is the seed. 
 She calls us with mild voice, which to repel 
 Must cause the wounds of sorrow still to bleed ; 
 Obeyed the waters of delight will swell 
 From an unfailing spring. ' Sweets to the sweet, farewell. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Ye that are weary of the world, come here 
 And drink a Lethe to your cares its stream 
 Flows through these alleys silent, deep, and clear, 
 Making the toil of human passions seem 
 A restless vigil or a shifting dream. 
 It is not in the stirring haunts of men 
 That peace resides, the ever-pleasing theme 
 Of our desire her nest is in the ken 
 Of some religious wood, or dim romantic glen.
 
 86 ASPLEY WOOD. canto II. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 'Twas in a grove retiring far away 
 Of blackening pines, and on a hill like this, 
 Silent and sweet, I've heard Alonzo say, 
 He felt the first thrill of enamoured bliss> 
 That lured him to the fatal precipice 
 From which he fell as in the flowers he played. 
 Tis a sad tale, and suiteth not amiss 
 With the deep umbrage of this placid shade, 
 Wherein his feet so oft have languishing])- strayed. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 A youth he rarely mingled with the rest, 
 His chosen friend was solitude, among 
 Vallies, and woods, and waters, he was blest; 
 To him, earth, heaven, and ocean found a tongue, 
 And told their mysteries to them he clung 
 Like a vine's tendril, till his spirit grew 
 Shy, silent, and reflective, and so hung 
 On what was wild, and wonderful, and new, 
 Till it seemed coloured all with their enchanting hue.
 
 ASPLEY WOOD. 87 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 With this severe reservedness of mien 
 Was mixt a fervid and a gentle mood, 
 Which ever seemed to shun, yet charmed if seen, 
 By him the mossy rock, the wave, the wood, 
 Were peopled with affections, them he wooed 
 In every season ; in the summer wind, 
 And snows of winter, it was joy to brood 
 On nature's volume, where the Almighty Mind 
 Pictures his awful face, magnificently kind. 
 
 XXXV II. 
 
 'Twas Summer ; scarce upon the aspin tall 
 The small leaf trembled in the noon's repose 
 He sought from far a hospitable Hall, 
 Which dimly peeping, from the woodlands rose ; 
 Not uncompanioned arm in arm with those 
 Who most had met his warmth with warmth sincere ; 
 Hid from his sight a neighbouring river flows, 
 Hung with fresh bowers, which murmuring cool and clear 
 Down many a rich cascade, stole sweetly on his ear. 
 
 L
 
 88 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The Genius of the Place poured all his pride 
 At his advance upon the hanging grove. 
 Sparkled in light the ever-flashing tide, 
 A sound beneath a silentness above ; 
 Of brightest blue that day the skies were wove, 
 Its hue was magical the Hall he found 
 In whose high porch now first he saw his Love, 
 Pouring sweet medicine in a brother's wound, 
 Which as the more he wept, more tenderly she bound; 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And from the busy fingers wiped the blood, 
 And soothed his sorrow for a father's sake ; 
 Her form, her pity secretly subdued 
 His gazing eye he knew not what could make 
 A stranger look so dear, and prisoner take 
 His soul in sighings he could not explain ; 
 Kind was their greeting, and his heart could ache 
 With hers to see the suffering and the pain, 
 One moment linked it there in a familiar chain.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And in the garden sitting by her side, 
 When all was blissful, solitary, sweet, 
 He found the voice he ne'er before had tried, 
 And taught the warbling echoes to repeat 
 The name of Ion. In that dear retreat, 
 Musing or smiling she was ever by, 
 Or if she strayed to some romantic seat 
 Unknown, a shout was in the crystal sky, 
 " Ion ? " the hollow cliffs and mossy walks reply. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Whatever flowers she cropped him were preserved 
 In his best volume with a miser's care, 
 Whatever were the praises she deserved, 
 He deemed she was the fairest of the fair ; 
 Perfect each word, look, motion, gesture, air 
 And I have heard him say, her native tone 
 Was a pathetic simpleness so rare, 
 It fell like music o'er deep billows blown, 
 That such another voice was O no, never known !
 
 90 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO n. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And in their long, long walk at summer-eve 
 Beside the temple, in the accustomed wood, 
 Whose was the leaf which opened would relieve 
 Alonzo's fearful and desponding mood ? 
 To her he read, with bosom too subdued 
 By what it felt, sweet-stirring at the core, 
 What Campbell's happy hand, benignly good, 
 Drew of the tenderness which Gertrude bore, 
 Ajut's departing sail, or weeping Ellenore. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And ever from his lid a tear would slide 
 Which he could not repress, he knew not why, 
 And Campbell, Ion, valley, temple, tide, 
 Swum in a Paradise of beauty by. 
 And on the air would fall the unbidden sigh, 
 Till Ion trembled, and no more the page, 
 Bent at the passage wet by cither eye, 
 The excess of praise or pity could engage, 
 Too dear the* glancing war which their dark pupils wage.
 
 CANTO II. ASPLEY WOOD. 91 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Are they on earth or in the court of heaven? 
 A thought to be imagined, not expressed ! 
 But with their rapture a decay is giveD, 
 Or bliss would so annihilate the blest. 
 Love is the Aloe of an age at best, 
 Its leaf may for a century be green 
 That for which Youth is ever on the quest, 
 Its present flower tomorrow but has been, 
 So must it fare with those who linger in that scene. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 It came at last, the melancholy hour 
 Dreaded so long, and it was death to part j 
 O had he never known the passion's power, 
 Than feci the struggles of a bursting heart ! 
 He passed away and never told his smart, 
 One kiss he stole, and thrice returned to tell 
 By nought but sighs, a gaze, a pause, a start, 
 A gushing tear, the mastery of the spell 
 Scarce spoke his wild white lips articulate farewell.
 
 92 ASFLEY WOOD. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The world hushed not his agony of thought, 
 The peopled city was to him a wild 
 Whose vital barrenness before him brought 
 The face the idol from its shrine exiled. 
 Yet were there things which oft his grief beguiled, 
 The moss-rose given when it began to blow, 
 The tale o'er which she wept, or sighed, or smiled, 
 Her folded leaf, her profile these could throw 
 Sunshine on his despair, deliciousness on woe. 
 
 XLVI I. 
 
 I see him join the gay his brow is knit, 
 I know his thoughts, to Ion they belong ; 
 There is no charm can overpower his fit, 
 But pity, and the harmonies of song. 
 Once hid the laurels and the pines among, 
 In his love's youth I heard him touch a strain 
 Liquid with tenderness, to which his tongue 
 Trembled, as though prophetic of his pain, 
 As I his form rccal, his spirit sings again.
 
 canto II. ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 1. 
 
 The waves we traced, the walks we trod, 
 
 I cannot help but build in air, 
 
 When Ion seeks their lonely sod, 
 
 Say, does she wish Alonzo there ? 
 
 Upon my fancy graved I bear 
 
 The flowery wood, the mossy hill, 
 
 And that forsaken Temple, where 
 
 We sat, and sighed, and looked our fill, 
 
 And e'en the sunshine and the shade 
 
 Which robed the paths wherein we strayed. 
 
 2. 
 
 How darkly hare the journeying years 
 O'er me their stormy shadows cast, 
 Since in a war of hopes and fears, 
 Sweet Ion, from thy bower I passed ! 
 It soothed the tears which rose so fast 
 And gushingly when thou wert by, 
 In thy dear eyes to see them glassed 
 Like rain-drops in a sunny sky. 
 I would not that one drop of pain 
 Thy tranquil spirit then should stain.
 
 94 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 3. 
 But now so changed in love or ruth, 
 I gness not how, I know not why, 
 These weeping eyes 'twould more than soothe, 
 To know that Ion's are not dry. 
 The woods are wild with harmony, 
 I hear it, but I am not glad, 
 I ask if in as blest a sky, 
 The heart of Ion is as sad 5 
 To think such things I know unmeet 
 From one so fond, of one so sweet. 
 
 But oft the fondest thing assumes 
 
 A moodiness from others' glee, 
 
 These waves will frown, when fall the blooms 
 
 Upon them of the lilach tree 
 
 They waft a sound of joy to me 
 
 I would not feel, I would not hear, 
 
 Ion! alone I'd gaze on thee, 
 
 And wrestle for a bursting tear, 
 
 One sunny tear, to prove at last 
 
 Thy constancy through all the past
 
 CANTO II. A8PLEY WOOD. 95 
 
 5. 
 
 But if thy maiden truth I wrong, 
 Here as I kneel where I have knelt 
 In prayer for thee so oft and long, 
 Look on this heart and thine will melt. 
 In desolation it hath dwelt, 
 And mourned o'er its uncertain lot 5 
 O if the half of what it felt 
 Be thine, I am not all forgot. 
 This bosom could not then repine. 
 Convinced it held one pulse of thine. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Years passed with years ; unchanged his spirit was, 
 A virgin volume filled with Ion's name, 
 In whose pure sound he read as in a glass, 
 A kindred feeling, an unbroken claim, 
 Perfect as when without a farther aim 
 He listened to her tones and now the blast 
 Of winter blew, spring tied, and summer came, 
 And with a beating heart and footsteps fast, 
 Filled with a thousand thoughts he trod that Hall at last. 
 
 M
 
 96 ASPLEY WOOD. CANfd n. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 She was still beautiful, and gazed on him 
 With a bewildered eye of kind regard, 
 And prayed the youth to ease his wearied limb 
 What toil would not that winning voice reward ? 
 Nor were the woods, the rushing waves debarred 
 To their soon-seeking sight his love he told, 
 A feeling pity in her eyes was starred^ 
 She could not listen with a bosom cold, 
 But an usurping root had flourished o'er the old. 
 
 L. 
 
 He heard he felt, wept, chided, pardoned, passed 
 A hurried hand across his burning brow, 
 And in unutterable wildness cast 
 The dark thought back perhaps it was not sO, 
 Her love might yet awaken to his woe, 
 A wronging Angel he could never hate; 
 I know not for her tears refused to flow ; 
 He still against all hope would hope await, 
 Again he passed away, again he sought her gate.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEV WOOD. 97 
 
 LI. 
 
 The reckless stream flowed as it flowed before, 
 The lychnis budded, and the forest bowed 
 With blossoms all unsparing as of yore- 
 He asked of Ion, but the wave was loud, 
 And the rock wohW not answer 'twas too proud 
 To bear the question Ion was a bride ! 
 He knew it not. A voice amidst a crowd 
 In pity to his ignorance replied 
 Enough ! a broken heart what hand cau heal or hide ? 
 
 LII. 
 
 He could not to the place of many graves, 
 Rushed like a driven deer the unconscious man, 
 To pour forth groans of which the innocent waves 
 Prattled, as smooth and tranquilly they ran. 
 He wished his life were fettered to the span 
 Which they, the buried held it might not be j 
 The winds were charged with gentleness to fan 
 The fever of his agony, as he 
 Bent to the Power above his supplicating knee.
 
 98 ASPLEY WOOD. canto it. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Thence Mercy, radiant as an angel flew, 
 And shook a flower of comfort in his bowl, 
 Torn from the amaranth ; in the bowl it blew, 
 And shed a sovereign balsam o'er his sonl. 
 Beside her mother's turf, it could console 
 Him of past hopes forsaken, even there 
 To wish, that as the varying seasons roll, 
 No portion of his pangs might Ion share, 
 He turned and passed away 'twas more than he could bear ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Peace to thy banished, but enduring breast, 
 Alonzo ! as the woodbine round the tree 
 Twines sweetly, may the Star which rules thy rest 
 Diffuse its choicest influences on thee ; 
 Sorrow the path, in heaven thy bridal be, 
 A glory faintly shadowed forth on earth, 
 Hallowed with seraph songs and jubilee ; 
 Peace to thy troubled spirit, in the dearth 
 Of thy once promising hopes, and dear domestic hearth !
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 99 
 
 LV. 
 
 Advancing to the steep wood's southern side, 
 A glimpse comes on me of the glittering Town, 
 Far off o'er trees and level lawns descried, 
 In midst a Tower with ivies overgrown 
 Starts from a mass of shadow. Taste has strown 
 Her verdant web o'er chancel and o'er aisle ; 
 On buttress, turret, Gothic mullion, stone, 
 Creeps the dark weed in beauty, to beguile 
 With its religious shade the horror of the pile. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Thence widely winding down a sylvan dell, 
 Fenced from the touch of each ungentle wind, 
 I reach methinks Love's Delphic oracle, 
 For many a long-forgotten name is shrined 
 In sculpture on a beech's glossy rind, 
 And whispered vows, and words of tender sound 
 Are heard they say to float, when suns are kind, 
 From viewless forms, now near, above, around, 
 Blessing their steps whose feet its solitude have found.
 
 100 ASl'LEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The air is delicate, and pure the place, 
 The tall tree's foliage casts a pensive shade, 
 Its boughs depend with inexpressive grace, 
 The last to wither, and the first arrayed 
 When April dances in each opening glade ; 
 And far and wide is seen Adonis' flower 
 Stained from his ancient wound, and born to fade, 
 Which Venus mourning many a summer-hour, 
 Here drives her turtle car from Acidalian bower. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Steep is the acclivity which now my foot, 
 Ambitious of its scene, aspires to scale ; 
 A hawk flies round it, and the Wood grows mute, 
 Conscious that evil pinions load the gale. 
 But look ! what loveliness is in the vale, 
 Solemnly beautiful ! that golden light 
 Eve's curtain is. Plato, I bid thee hail, 
 Did not thy spirit move before ray sight ? 
 llaunt'st thou not now these groves, thine own uprooted quite?
 
 CANTO W ASPLEY WOOD. 101 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Where are thy olives and thy laurels now, 
 Frequented Porch and holy Academe ? 
 Owls haunt the ruin, axes lop the bough. 
 Fallen is the column, shrunk IlissuS' stream ! 
 And is it so? is Science too a dream 
 Baseless as they, the echo of a sound ? 
 The sage's precept, rhetorician's theme, 
 Fall they with tower and temple to the ground, 
 Feriods which charmed and lit assenting nations round ? 
 
 LX. 
 
 Twined with the ivy of despoiling years, 
 The fane of Pallas to the dust may sink ; 
 But She is co-eternal with the spheres, 
 And Wisdom is the soul's ethereal link 
 Which binds it to its God. With thee to think, 
 Pure Plato! though in error, is a fit 
 More glorious than from other founts to drink 
 The stream of truth. If falsely Tully writ,* 
 It is a bright deceit which she may well remit. 
 
 * "Errare mehercule raalo cum Platone, quam cum istis vera sentire!' 
 
 ( icero.
 
 102 ASPLEY WOOD. canto h. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 I did not err, for Science can evoke 
 E'en from their urn the ashes of the wise, 
 The thoughts they cherished, and the words they spoke, 
 The key of life within her volume lies; 
 And thus that sea of bowers before my eyes, 
 Where blooms the unfading bay, the cypress weeps, 
 Is populous with earth's divinities ; 
 They well may be where thought such silence keeps, 
 And from the gloom she loves the bird of Wisdom peeps. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Within the shade a ruined temple stands 
 To sight conspicuous, navelled in the pines, 
 Speaking of Grecian art, since Vandal hands 
 Defaced her structures, and despoiled her shrines. 
 As here, the weed of ruin darkly twines 
 Her marble walls now verdant with decay, 
 As here, on roofless floors her sunbeam shines ; 
 As here the fox, the jackall howls for prey 
 There, where Minerva shone, and Pericles bore sway.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 103 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Too clear a type of thy degraded state ! 
 And there are lovely things which haunt thee still, 
 Land of immortal relics ! in thy fate, 
 Though fallen Colonna strews Tritouia's hill, 
 Forms such as those which rapt Apelles' skill 
 Made breathing in thy high and happy hour, 
 Thy olive shores with classic beauty fill, 
 But chained beneath the Vandal Slavery's power, 
 We love and start away the wasp is in thy flower! 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 But round the princely coast of Albion, she 
 Who starting from thy ashes, keeps thy fire 
 Of Vesta in her temples of the free, 
 The wise to win, the coldest to .inspire 
 With the mild pulse of elegant desire, 
 With more than Grecian beauty, Woman roves j 
 Her wit Aspasia, Sappho gives her lyre, 
 Penelope her cestus, veil, and doves, 
 And Helen the dear smile which dimpled Hebe loves.
 
 104 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 And as the brilliant halcyons seek the shades, 
 And fluttering upon azure wings, appear 
 Loveliest above secluded waters, maids 
 At the calm sunset walk in beauty here ; 
 Wise but not grave, correct but not austere, 
 The harmonists of life, who scatter round, 
 Benignant as the Pleiads in their sphere, 
 Mirth in their smiles, and music in the sound 
 Of tones which sweeter fall than dews on starlight ground. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Saw yon those eyes which sparkled as they passed, 
 Bright with excessive feeling } they belong 
 To warm Euanthe, in whose soul are glassed 
 The love of nature, and the love of song. 
 The mirthful form which gayly shot along 
 With her whose look was an ingenuous grace, 
 Fluttering with sweet confusion, was the young 
 Iaxthe with Verduta; next in place 
 Is one whom from your mind no season can erase.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 105 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Her eloquence of figure seems to start 
 Pure from the Grecian chisel, and to claim 
 A kindred with those statues which impart 
 Awe to the eye, and rapture to the frame. 
 Warm from her cheek the Promethean flame 
 Of what from heaven was stolen might be caught, 
 And dignify the Rhodian artist's aim; 
 The blended charms which he all vainly sought 
 Throughout the shores of Greece, in 1 saline are wrought j 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 And graces which they had not the gazelle 
 Springs not in glorious liberty more free 
 To the far palms which shade some Syrian well, 
 Or almond-bowers in happy Araby. 
 Thoughtful beside the bright laburnum-tree, 
 Her hours devoted to some glowing page, 
 Combines the fanciful Eupiirosyne, 
 Youth's flowers of freshness with the fruits of Age, 
 Then Phryne golden-tress'd, and Sopuonisba sage.
 
 106 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 But than the quivered Dian far more shy, 
 With modest beauty, in her sable veil, 
 Sulmalla in the loneliest walk will fly 
 The breath of praise. Listening the nightingale 
 Too late, has made Medoka's face so pale, 
 So like the jasmine, innocent and sweet j 
 The mild-cycd Arethusa seeks the vale, 
 And gay Janeiba and Janessa's feet 
 Have too their share of joy in this beloved retreat. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Nor pass unsung the fair Genevra by, 
 Whose hand, disporting with the silent strings, 
 Draws sounds which make us watchful, and the eye 
 Melt, as when Israfil the angel sings, 
 And to some holy Imaum's vision brings 
 The beauty-peopled bowers of Aden near: 
 Hark ! for liis flute the shut of blossoms rings, 
 From the far \ alius creeping in the ear, 
 Vullics, in whose cool depth the first blue mists appear.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 107 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 It is the dying hour of day which grows 
 Sweeter in setting all is shadow round, 
 But where afar the tall trees part in rows, 
 The West burns like a ruby, and the ground 
 Is tinctured with its brightness to the bound 
 Of the soon-purpling East. I will away 
 And gaze once more upon the ancient mound,? 
 Where with stern hands embrued in civil fray, 
 Roundhead and Cavalier usurped alternate sway. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The point is won : how balmily the breeze 
 Breathes from the sky-aspiring larch ! this hill 
 And all its vales of tributary trees 
 Are gathered in one scene, which asks the skill 
 Of Poussin's beauty-breathing hand to fill 
 The fancy of a stranger; but to wreak 
 Such love upon the task as to instil 
 The immortal tints of nature's changing cheek, 
 Art must exhaust her stores, and leave the rainbow weak.
 
 108 ASPLEY WOOD. canto n. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 We move the expressive Picture will assume 
 A more endearing aspect, we recur 
 To Tempe and to Vall'ombrose a gloom 
 As holy falls from the umbrageous Fir 
 Which shades these vallies, and the vallies stir 
 With as white flocks^ nought else is seen to leave 
 Its fixt repose the statued clouds scarce err 
 Over the marbled skies, which to them give 
 Hues which dispute in love, and discords which relieve. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Such pastoral quiet marks this evening scene j 
 But where conspicuous o'er yon Eastern vale 
 Hill undulates on hill, the roar has been 
 Of Battle, ('tis Tradition tells the tale,) 
 The ni'igh of snorting steeds, the trumpet's wail, 
 Whilst civil banners flouted the blue sky, 
 Stained with devices proud, which seldom fail 
 To fan the fire of feud and anarchy, 
 " Tuk Commons and tub Cause" their watchword and reply.
 
 canto II. ASPLEY WOOD. 109 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Answered with taunts the gallant Cavalier, 
 The battle joined where then was your renown, 
 Frenetic zealots ! when in mid career 
 The kingly squadrons hewed your pennon down ) 
 Then might you hear " The Crosier and the Crown' 
 Pass o'er both armies, in a shout which took 
 The air in thunders to the distant town, 
 League after league, and into vapour shook 
 Craulee ! the startled waves of thy pellucid brook ! 
 
 LXXYI. 
 
 'Tis done ! the strife is over on the plains, 
 The years revolve. Yon subterraneous tower 
 Holds now within its heart, but not in chains, 
 The daring Regicide who mocks the power 
 Of swords that seek him, Argus-eyes that lower 
 To trace his haunt, and what is now his doom? 
 To shroud, year after year hour after hour, 
 His helmed head within a living tomb; 
 How brooks that rebel Chief his cell's sepulchral gloom ?
 
 110 ASPLEY WOOD. canto h. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 E'en as the Lion-leader of the Gaul, 
 Took in the toils of nations, to become 
 A vassal to the tyranny of all, 
 Once trembling at the thunders of his drum 5 
 E'en as he bears in rocks his martyrdom, 
 With a despair which would annihilate 
 The past, and the eternity to come 
 Of his dark doom, but with an eye elate, 
 Steeled with the pride of scorn, the apathy of hate. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 How oft, stern Tower, did thy enclosing vault 
 Echo the whispers of his powerless rage, 
 And the vain wish that a more hot assault 
 Might loose his soldier-spirit from its cage, 
 On an arena on a wider stage, 
 To wreak his fury, not on walls but men ! 
 Gold conquers all and gold has won his page 
 To snare the hunted Lion in his den ; 
 There lies the slayer slain what boots it how or when ?
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. Ill 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The moral is the same a truth enshrined 
 In this wild tale for subject and for king ; 
 The ruler and the ruled are entwined 
 In blest concordance by a golden string. 
 Whose keen sword cuts the Gordian knot, doth bring 
 Wrath on himself, and ruin on his race, 
 Ambition's suicide he dies, a thing . 
 For scoffing Time to point at with his mace, 
 Avouch it, Thou who fell at Pompey's marble base I 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Man did not draw his birth from heaven to be 
 In turn the tyrant and the tyrannised, 
 His Maker formed him like the eagle free, 
 To spurn at* slavery, howsoe'er disguised 
 By cowl or crown ; but freedom realized, 
 Is to be guarded with an eye more keen 
 Than of the fabled Dragon, erst surprised 
 By Hercules. England, inviolate queen ! 
 Guard well thy golden fruit thy spoiler works within.
 
 112 ASPLEY WOOD. canto u. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Beside that Tower of ages past I rove 
 At summer-eve, when dews and twilight fall} 
 It is a foolish fancy, but I love 
 To gather from the mosses of its wall 
 A flower and ask the winds if this be all 
 The poor, poor blossoms of a warrior's fame > 
 'Tis fragile ! the next blast which round the Hall 
 Resounds will scatter it to whence it came; 
 Was it for such ye fought? O greatly-glorious aim! 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 These peaceful times behold the peasant pass 
 Unconscious o'er your ashes, see his plough 
 Glide where bones whiten, and where carnage was 5 
 O'er embrazure and ruined rampart now 
 The adjacent garden waves its wilding bough, 
 And bees hum round the untended mignionette; 
 And thither, ere the spring's first roses blow, 
 Do young lambs bound, and village-girls are met, 
 To cull from nettles rank the snow-white violet.
 
 canto ii. ASPLEY WOOD. 113 
 
 LXXXIIf. 
 
 But not like those, unwept and unbeloved, 
 Whitbread ! to Lethe shall thy spirit pass, 
 Whose Attic lips majestic senates moved, 
 Thou in whose bosom Freedom sought to glass 
 Her beauty, all she is, and ever was, 
 The nurse of glory, and the scourge of wrong, 
 A kindling Ray breathed in the Statue's mass 
 The electric fire of life : as Pallas sprung 
 Armed from the Thunderer's head, immaculate and young,- 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 And grasped the writhen lightnings in her hand, 
 The heart of guilty princes to appal, 
 But with her olive making green the land 
 Where Truth and Mercy flourished free from thrall: 
 So, when his moral thunders shook the wall 
 
 Of Senates, Wisdom from his councils burst 
 
 Illumining the grove, the camp, the hall, 
 And breathing freedom when none other durst 
 Impugn the guilty great, whom pride in purple nursed.
 
 114 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 There has been One on whom the snaky breath 
 Of Hate would breathe pollution, but who stood 
 Unsullied as Alasnam's glass 3 beneath 
 What sought to taint it, innocently good, 
 The applause of millions ! when the venomous flood 
 Hissed in its bubbling caldron to o'erboil, 
 His was the awful /Egis which subdued 
 The Dragon which her garments would despoil, 
 And stiffened it to stone, though heaping coil on coil. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 How, when your hand unfurled the historian's scroll, 
 How have ye pictured Cato, he who fell, 
 Wept by a world ? whose thunders sought to roll 
 If aught like Caesar shot athwart the cell 
 Where jealous thought sate like a centinel 
 On his high watch-tower, and whose trumpet blew 
 In every danger an alarming knell, 
 Till hushed by agony? in what bright hue, 
 Puocion, the good, the great, adoringly ye drew ?
 
 canto II. ASPLEY WOOD. 1J5 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Say, was it not with a majestic brow, 
 Lit by the blaze of His electric eye, 
 Whose fascination won, we knew not how, 
 The key-note of the soul's ascendency, 
 Whose music was the appeal of Liberty, 
 The Greek's philippic in the Roman's tonej 
 Say, was it not with his despairing sigh, 
 And arm whose pulse was eloquence alone, 
 Which throbbed at Genoa's wrongs and Saxony o'erthrown? 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Silenced for ever ! but his glorious name 
 Hath aye become a watchword, to combine 
 All hearts that fly for freedom or for fame 
 To freedom's ark the threshold of a shrine, 
 Hallowed by many an oracle divine. 
 The Ship may wrestle with the enemy, 
 Whilst whirlwinds battle with its groaning pine, 
 It strikes not ne'er shall strike, whilst such as He 
 Nail s with determined hand her colours to the tree !
 
 116 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 The westering Son has reached his distant goal, 
 He looks an idol robed in scarlet weed, 
 And heaven, from the horizon to the pole, 
 Is massed in fire, as recent from the speed 
 Of snorting Ethon and each other steed 
 Which whirled to Hades his descending car; 
 I must away, in Nature's book to read 
 One other page, ere evening shadows mar 
 Her glittering leaves though blessed by planet and by star. 
 
 XC. 
 
 1 stand where I was standing in the morn, 
 And all has changed around me time has come, 
 And passing, scattered fruitage from his horn, 
 The bashful maid has found a bridal home, 
 The anchored vessel launched in ocean foam, 
 Oceans themselves have flowed since morn began, 
 And bright orbs ebbed in the aerial dome, 
 M6ving the pendulnm of heaven ; to Man 
 Figuring what glorious hours to joy or ruin ran.
 
 CAOTO II. ASPLEY WOOD. U7 
 
 XCI. 
 
 So dies the Good as nature now assumes 
 The mask of night, to dwell a little while 
 Amid the shadow of funereal tombs, 
 Until the bright To-morrow ! such the smik 
 Which radiates round his soul to reconcile 
 The shrinking body to its dark sojourn, 
 A beam which Mercy deigns us to beguile 
 The eyes which weep o'er lost Affection's urn, 
 Sphered in some happier star, for ever so to burn. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 This leaf recals to earth my wandering thought 
 Beneath the setting sun's illuming shower, 
 Its lines are into life and language wrought, 
 As Memnon's harp, beneath his rising power, 
 Woke into sound. On Temple and on Tower 
 Hangs in a glory the last flake of light, 
 For now the clock tolls forth the curfew-hour, 
 The rippling lake flows rosily, and bright 
 The windowed Abbey shines, part melting into night.
 
 J18 ASPLEY WOOD. canto ii. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Looks not that Structure, in the hues of eve, 
 A palace of enchantment? a recess 
 Shaped for a prince, where Birth and Beauty weave 
 The net of conquest of a golden tresse 
 A dance perchance or song, at lute or chess? 
 Of such, Arabian minstrelsy has sung 
 Erst in the halls of Bagdad, these no less 
 Might furnish dreams, lovelier than Fiction's tongue 
 Hath over Tigris' waves magnificently flung. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Of pictured heroes might description speak, 
 The pride of Albion, glorious in their strife ; 
 Of freedom's banner, weeping beauty's cheek, 
 The martyred husband, and the sainted wife; 
 Statues whose look is loveliness and life, 
 On which Canova has his spirit poured 
 Creative for of each these Halls are rife; 
 But weary falls my finger on the chord, 
 And the first stars are met, and Twilight walks abroad.
 
 CANTO II. ASPLEY WOOD. 119 
 
 XCV. 
 
 With twilight wakes the nun Mnemosyne, 
 Parent of pensive pleasure ! at whose wand 
 The vanished are compelled again to be, 
 And wear a robe whose Painting is beyond 
 The touch of Rubens. Questioned they respond, 
 Albeit but shadows from Trophonian cavej 
 With them the loved, the absent, and the fond 
 Commune, and thus defraud the silent grave, 
 Long as the Goddess will her ivory sceptre wave. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Most amiable in sadness is her mien, 
 Her magic cell a mild sequestered grot, 
 Hung round with shells and mosses evergreen 
 Of shells the fount, of shells the walls are wrought. 
 Thither, 'tis said, her nymphs one summer brought, 
 And to her arms consigned a truant boy, 
 Wandering beside the cell ; she smiled, for Thought 
 Sate on his brow, and melancholy Joy, 
 In sooth she loved the child so beautifully coy;
 
 120 ASPLEY WOOD. CANTO II. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 And gave him Fancy for a nursing mother, 
 The Sister of her Vigils ! with his guide 
 He ever wandered, he would seek no other, 
 She was his consolation, he her pride. 
 And in the Grotto sitting by her side, 
 Of all their fairy wonders he would ask, 
 The waving sceptre and the pictured tide, 
 Of her own magic dress and painted mask, 
 And of the Elysian Maid, and her mysterious task. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 The lore she taught him, and the tales she told 
 Sunk on his heart it was a bliss to stand 
 Near where the fountain's bubbling waters rolled, 
 And see the wild, the wonderful, and grand, 
 Called into being by the nun's command ; 
 And sometimes as the floor he darkling trod, 
 The smiling Goddess trusted to his hand, 
 His little hand the waving of her rod, 
 Then waxed he pleased indeed, and deemed himself a God.
 
 canto H. ASPLEY WOOD. 121 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 It chanced, while watching by the noontide lymph, 
 When the mild nun had sought the bower of sleep, 
 Came running to his side a babbling nymph 
 On airy toe, who nothing does but peep 
 At what the renovating Sisters keep 
 Guarded, locked, covered, caverned, veiled, and hid, 
 All heedless if it make her smile or weep j 
 'Twas she who erst the sweet Pandora chid, 
 Till she her best obeyed, and oped the fatal lid. 
 
 C. 
 
 He was yet bending thoughtful o'er the fountain, 
 Which nothing did but sparkle, play, and curl, 
 And in the mirror of his mind was counting 
 Each brilliant drop which fell like orient pearl, 
 Kissed by the sunbeams when that prying girl, 
 Young Curiosita rushing to the well, 
 Her blue and busy eyes fixt on the whirl 
 Of waters, bade him seize a chorded shell 
 At the fount's base, on which a mimic rainbow fell.
 
 122 ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Seizing, he drew from forth the conch a sound, 
 Clear as the silver of the warbling wave, 
 Were nought but heavenly numbers heard around, 
 To fill the coral vault, the shelly cave ; 
 The stir of his ambitious fingers gave 
 A voice to echo at the grateful song 
 The wondering Infant now looked glad, now grave, 
 New thoughts broke on him in a glorious throng, 
 As stole the pensive strains melodiously along. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Mnemosyne awoke, nor knew what hand 
 Could make so sweet her slumber ; 'twas too sad 
 For viny-crowned Thalia, for the grand 
 Melpomene too innocently glad. 
 Urania sometimes played so, but she had 
 As 'twere a starry music of her own, 
 Yet her belov'd Euterpe could not add 
 A more sonorous and engaging tone 
 She rose to see by whom her daughter's flute was blown.
 
 CANTO U. ASPLEY WOOD. 123 
 
 CHI. 
 
 But who may paint her transport and surprise? 
 She started 'twas the infant Rogers drew 
 The tears which rushed to her rejoicing eyes, 
 In strains to pathos and to pity new. 
 To the dear sound all birds of beauty flew, 
 And hovered round, and fanned him with their wing j 
 There sunny halcyons spread their pinions blue, 
 The tender wren, the turtles of the spring, 
 And to her new-blown rose the bulbul ceased to sing. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 In her maternal arms she clasped the youth, 
 And on his forehead printed many a kiss, 
 And called up all her shadowy shapes to soothe 
 His pensive mind with images of bliss. 
 Him too the Muses with their melodies 
 Inspired, instructed, softened, and entranced} 
 " Framing loose numbers," in Parnassian skies 
 His boyhood fled but as his years advanced, 
 A more pervading power within his pupil glanced.
 
 124 ASPLEY WOOD. 
 
 CV. 
 
 CANTO H. 
 
 And in his foster-mother Memory's praise, 
 He woke a grateful, a Virgilian strain, 
 Which told the secret of his boyish days, 
 Making grief beautiful, and teaching pain 
 To smile, and talk of happy hours again. 
 Anon to Human Life his string was given, 
 He drew it pure in precept, free from stain, 
 A Sail which glides from infancy to Heaven, 
 By many a willing wind down glassy waters driven. 
 
 CVl. 
 
 Nor deem his triumphs foreign to my song 
 Not now through shade is seen the Abbot's Tree,* 
 But chasing there the moral hours along, 
 The poet wove his recent minstrelsy, 
 Near to the waves which, from my infancy, 
 I called the Lake op Rogers ! for the beech 
 Shades with such loveliness its placid sea 
 In autumn noons, I could not chusc but teach 
 Loud to the golden Woods his sweetnesses of speech.
 
 canto H. ASPLEY WOOD. 125 
 
 CVII. 
 
 But whilst Mnemosyne awakes, and loves 
 To picture forth the absent, where art Thou, 
 N******, of late my partner of the groves? 
 Thou treads't not Syria's holy mountains now, 
 Nor seest in Greece unfading myrtles blow, 
 As in sweet seasons past but it is thine, 
 Whilst round me Night descends, and waves the bough, 
 To mark through breaking clouds the morning shine, 
 Sweeping with orient keel the many-coloured brine. 
 
 CV1II. 
 
 From the wild depth of woods, from silent hills, 
 And vallies by the maiden moon made pale, 
 Shrined in the solitude which most instils 
 The tenderness of thought, I bid thee hail: 
 Health to my friend ! where'er thy Indian sail, 
 By cliff or cape, in haven or in bay, 
 Waves to the influence of the tropic gale, 
 The blessing of that Spirit on tbee lay, 
 Whose voice the absent forms of past delight obey!
 
 126 ASPLEV WOOD. canto il. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 The stars are gathered thick in Heaven I pass 
 Beyond their limits on Devotion's wings, 
 Albeit as in a multiplying glass, 
 In them we read unutterable things. 
 Thou Wood ! where now the bird of Evening sings, 
 To thee shall I devote my silenced shell, 
 With no ungrateful breast : to Rapture's springs, 
 And to the threshold of Urania's cell, 
 Thou hast thy Votary brought all hail, and fare thee well !
 
 POEMS.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Co 
 
 ****** 
 
 The Greeks, when o'er a buried friend 
 
 They raised the monumental stone, a 
 Reared high one pillar which might lend 
 
 Memorial of his virtues gone; 
 And round the sculptured column high, 
 
 They twined the sweetest summer-flowers, 
 Gladdening the conscious passer-by, 
 
 With beauty breathing in all hours. 
 
 There flourished they in dark and bright, 
 
 Or if, oppressed by tempests rude, 
 The thunder-storm their leaves might blight, 
 
 The morrow saw those blooms renewed. 
 So in thy absence, dearest maid ! 
 
 Bright monument of thee I build, 
 And thus my soul, in sun and shade, 
 
 Is with enchanting memories filled.
 
 130 POEMS. 
 
 For round thy Image fair and kind, 
 
 A thousand flowers of thought I cast, 
 
 Which breathe across the waste of mind 
 The smile of social summers past ; 
 
 In joy and grief, suspense and pain, 
 
 . When prouder things like recreants flee, 
 
 In lonely fondness they remain, 
 
 Not vainly since they speak of thee. 
 
 Tis true, the tempest might descend, 
 
 And tear those flowers of life away, 
 But though their blighted branch it rend, 
 
 The trophy could not all decay : 
 The memory of thy form and worth, 
 
 That mightier column should not diej 
 Unlike those pillars of the earth, 
 
 Which fall when earthquakes pass them by. 
 
 Through all the thunders of the soul, 
 
 Wrath hate wrong -jealousy and pride, 
 
 'Twould stand, unheeding as they roll, 
 And proudly bid them be defied.
 
 POEMS. 131 
 
 Bat shouldst T7iou change I dare not take 
 
 One thought on what thou hadst been then, 
 
 The pile which ages could not shake, 
 No human hands could rear again! 
 
 But o'er the mournful ruins yet 
 
 I'd bid the weeping ivies twine, 
 For though estranged, I could not set 
 
 Oblivion's seal on aught of thine : 
 Twined in the immortal cells of thought, 
 
 Her wizard ivy Grief must be, 
 He only who had seen thee not, 
 
 Could wear no aching heart for thee. 
 
 ijJTjj ****** 
 
 No! not the tress round the mild eye curling 
 
 Of Beauty falls in a sweeter fold, 
 Though dark it droops like a banner furling, 
 
 Or floats like the sun in a sea of gold ; 
 And not the smile on lips descending, 
 
 Bright with mirth, seems so divine, 
 As when, dearest maid, dear Music's lending 
 
 Her soul to beautiful lips like thine.
 
 132 POEMS. 
 
 Tresses fall faded, smiles are fleeting, 
 
 Blue eyes oft shoot us an icy glance, 
 But O ! what spirit can still the beating 
 
 Of pulses that tremble, and hearts that dance! 
 The kindest gift the sweetest token, 
 
 Tress or smile I would resign, 
 Once more but to hear one dear word spoken 
 
 By those so beautiful lips of thine! 
 
 Propertius } Book III. Elegy X. 
 
 tZTo ILeucc. 
 
 I was wondering, my Leuce, when morn was begun, 
 
 What visions the Muses around me might spread, 
 As seen by the first bursting blush of the sun, 
 
 They had left their Parnassus, and stood round my bed ; 
 There stood they in silence, but shortly I knew 
 
 That they brought me the sign of thy natal day, 
 For thrice o'er the sweet lyre their white fingers flew, 
 
 And in joy and in music they vanished away.
 
 POEMS. 133 
 
 And I know by this sign that the skies far and wide 
 
 Shall be cloudless, the day undiscoloured shall pass, 
 That the winds shall be silent, the waves cease to chide, 
 
 Smooth-flowing as Music, and brilliant as glass. 
 In a day so auspicious, an hour so bright, 
 
 Away with the sight and the sound of distress ! 
 On this day even Niobe's heart shall be light, 
 
 And though marble, her sighs and her sorrows suppress. 
 
 The bills of the halcyons no storms shall bespeak, 
 
 But their blue, calming wings flutter over the main, 
 The mother of Itys shall utter no shriek, 
 
 Nor remember past days, and past vigils of pain. 
 And thou, O my love ! on youth's sunniest wings, 
 
 In thy loveliness rise the Celestials address, 
 Haste ! drive away sleep in the clear gush of springs, 
 
 And compose the fine flow of each elegant tress. 
 
 Then the vest which was worn in that whitest of hours, 
 When thy beauty first ravished my eyes thou must wear, 
 
 The garden, thou seest, is not vacant of flowers, 
 
 Then wreathe the white rose in thy delicate hair;
 
 134 POEMS. 
 
 Every grace which can heighten thy beauty design, 
 
 For renewed with the roses such beauty should be 
 
 I would not one charm or one minute resign 
 
 Of the ages I owe to love, beauty, and thee. 
 
 And when we have done with the censer and myrrh, 
 
 And the flames of the altar have shone round the room, 
 Mirth shall sit at our banquet, and Wisdom with her, 
 
 And the night hurry down amid wines and perfume. 
 When the wild flutes their power of pleasing resign, 
 
 We will fly to the strings of the cittern again, 
 And let not, dear Leuce, those sweet lips of thine 
 
 Be tinctured with censure or cruelty then. 
 
 From the sounds of our mirth dulcet slumber shall fly, 
 
 Altar and dome shall resound them together, 
 We will gaily decide, dear ! by casting the die, 
 
 Upon which tyrant Love lays his heaviest feather. 
 And when flowing glasses have passed without number, 
 
 And Vesper has trimmed up his lamp for the night, 
 We will bury our yearly observance in slumber 
 
 And thus shall thy festal pass, by with delight.
 
 POEMS. 135 
 
 Co a fLa&g Jetting* 
 
 Lady! cease the web thou'rt weaving, 
 
 Added spells we well can spare, 
 Eyes alone, our hearts bereaving, 
 
 Sure must prove sufficient snare j 
 Dim will be the web thou weavest, 
 
 Yet- O, yet 
 Pause ! a deeper charm thou givest, 
 
 Eyes should be thy brightest net. 
 
 Lady ! be the thread thou twinest, 
 
 Firm as diamond, thin as air, 
 Tangling tresses are divinest 
 
 Our affections to ensnare, 
 Twined around thy brow by zephyr $ 
 
 Yet O, yet 
 Pause thee in thy young endeavour ! 
 
 Tresses be thy firmest net. 
 
 Lady ! weave thy web no longer, 
 
 Lest we burst so frail a chain, 
 But if thou would' st choose a stronger, 
 
 Give us thy sweet voice again ; 
 
 a
 
 136 POEMS. 
 
 Those Orphean tones enchain me, 
 
 Yet O, yet 
 From thy purposed work refrain thee, 
 
 Song should be thy sweetest net. 
 
 Lady ! though onr hearts oppose thee 
 
 In the spell thy fingers wind, 
 But one smile from lips so rosy, 
 
 Our opposing would unbind, 
 Like a ray o'er winter's river j 
 
 Yet O, yet 
 Drop this arrow from thy quiver, 
 
 Smiles should be thy loveliest net. 
 
 Beaming eyes and twining tresses, 
 
 Sunny smile and kindling song, 
 All the spells that can oppress us, 
 
 Lady ! to thyself belong, 
 And already may we rue them j 
 
 Then O, then- 
 Cease thy meshes, or undo them i 
 
 Beauty be our only chain !
 
 POEMS. 137 
 
 parting* 
 
 Autumn noons were throwing 
 Lights serene and glowing 
 
 On mountain, lake, and tree, 
 And a soft melancholy, 
 Making the day more holy, 
 
 Brooded o'er earth and sea, 
 When first 1 flew to greet thee, 
 Empassioned Zobeide ! 
 And O, so soft and sweetly 
 
 Came thy mild voice to me, 
 It woke to new vibration, 
 This sad heart's long stagnation, 
 
 Which trembled all to thee. 
 
 Sickness her best bloom shrouded, 
 Her young cheek sadness clouded, 
 And dear that cloud to me, 
 Yet would a sudden hectic, 
 Light her wild eye electric,
 
 138 POEMS. 
 
 When wizard Poesy 
 
 In gold her numbers weaving, 
 
 Rejoicing, soothing, grieving, 
 
 Thrilled the fair breast, whose heaving 
 
 Gleamed like white waves at sea ; 
 Till I could deem its splendour 
 So passing bright and tender, 
 
 Was lit alone for me. 
 
 Autumn winds were rending 
 The berries redly bending 
 
 Of one lone sumach tree, 
 When the quick tears half-starting 
 To my dim lids at parting, 
 
 She gave her hand to me ; 
 'Twas like that earlier token 
 With which my heart was broken, 
 Few were the accents spoken, 
 
 Enough that I could see 
 She shrunk away in sorrow, , 
 From thoughts that on the morrow, 
 
 Our hands apart would be.
 
 POEMS. 139 
 
 The year's last rose hung wreathing 
 Around, faint odours breathing 
 
 From its decaying tree 3 
 Unhoping I bereaved it, 
 Unsmiling she received it, 
 
 Stole one swift glance at me, 
 Then in her book disposed it 
 With lingering hand, and closed it, 
 Where sacredly reposed it, 
 
 Pledge of past joys to be 5 
 As though that eye had uttered, 
 To soothe the heart which fluttered, 
 
 " Yes ! I'll remember thee." 
 
 ^0 
 
 ****** 
 
 Hast thou not seen, when summer-eve is fading from the sky, 
 The sullen cloud which tells of storms and darkness that are nigh > 
 As spreads that cloud o'er heaven's blue face eclipsing earth and sea, 
 Such and so heavy is the pang which parts the soul from thee.
 
 140 POEMS. 
 
 i 
 
 I will not say how heaved my heart when first thy eyes met mine, 
 Though coldly did they gaze on me, there was rapture in their shrine, 
 Bright as the smile which left thy lips when we two saw no more 
 The varying aspect, kind or chill, which each to other wore. 
 
 There is, despite ourselves, a Power, when youthful spirits meet 
 Gives bounding motion to the pulse, and makes their presence sweet j 
 Gives words to eyes, and light to smiles, which well they understand, 
 Music to voice, and bliss to each light pressure of the hand. 
 
 And though such two may meet no more permissioned and alone, 
 The sparkling ray, the inward thrill which knit their minds in one; 
 Still beams warm with remembered joy, as sunshine falls on shades, 
 Or the last crimson flush of day which widens as it fades. 
 
 And Memory viewing in her cell an image kind and fair, 
 The friendly fugitive arrests, and stamps it freshly there j 
 Stamps it all glorious as it is, and glowing with delight, 
 A living beauty to the soul an Eden to the sight. 
 
 So dwells remembrance on thy worth, though thou thyself art fled> 
 And though a sterner bar than parts the living and the dead 
 Should rise to bar thee from my sight, in pleasure and in pain, 
 It lives my pride or punishment, my blessing or my bane.
 
 POEMS. 141 
 
 And potent is the talisman which cancels from the mind 
 That deep impression of regret which beauty leaves behind, 
 And powerful must that sigil be, which where her seal is set, 
 Can bring a charm to eyes that weep, and hearts that tremble yet. 
 
 But fare thee well ! the hour is fled and I may think no more 
 On past delights with which my cup of joy was running o'er ; 
 Enough ! that once thy rosy smiles, thy figure I have seen, 
 Enough ! that where thy presence is, my truant steps have been. 
 
 Blest be thy lot in loneliness, or in the peopled scene, 
 Where heart meets heart in festal show, all smiling and serene ; 
 Blest be thy lot ! may angel-shapes lead on thy circling hours, 
 And every pathway lead thee through a paradise of flowers ! 
 
 I would not that one cloud should dim, one sorrow should impair 
 
 A spirit so serene as thine, a form so passing fair ; 
 
 No ! tearless be thine eyes for aye, or sparkle but to cast 
 
 Joy like the rainbow through the storm which tells of trials past. 
 
 Farewell ! but thy mien thy voice in Fancy's ear will come 
 Like music o'er the waves at night, or gale where roses bloom, 
 A summer-breath, divinely sweet, and exquisitely soft, 
 In breathless pleasure heard but once, but O ! remembered oft \
 
 142 POEMS. 
 
 Farewell ! when other hours are past when other years have rolled, 
 If chance again that form I see, that beauty I behold, 
 'Twill be with far intenser bliss than it was pain to part,- 
 'Twill be but what I cannot tell ; O, read it in my heart ! 
 
 IZTfte ITage of VLilitft. 
 
 There's a feeling of deep and of lonely regret 
 
 Will pervade the young heart in the sweetest of hours, 
 If the canker of dark disappointment should fret, 
 
 Or but sully the lightest and least of its flowers ; 
 But e'en at the moment when pleasure falls from us, 
 
 And hope's rich dews are swept from the chaplet of spring, 
 If we see in her scene but a tendril of promise, 
 
 We cling to the shoot, and for ever could cling. 
 
 I came in the silence and odour of noon, 
 
 To the vale of enchantment when childhood was new j 
 On the tall tree the woodbine still hung its festoon, 
 
 But the sunbeam had been there, and robb'd it of dew. 
 I came to the bower of the gentle Verduta, 
 
 To claim but a glance from the eyes of the fair- 
 But a gloom and a loneliness mock'd the intruder, 
 
 I came but no gentle Verduta was there.
 
 POEMS. 143 
 
 Alone, in the delicate whiteness of youth, 
 
 A Vase of sweet Lilies stood flourishing nigh, 
 And I stole from the vase the two fairest, to soothe 
 
 My regret o'er the pleasures for ever gone by. 
 Thy lilies, Verduta, already are faded, 
 
 Ah ! severed from thine could they otherwise be ! 
 But their bells shall be yet in Love's rosary braided, 
 
 And in hours of desertedness whisper of thee. 
 
 Stanjag, 
 
 * 
 
 When Time, who sets his scornful hand 
 
 On all that love and glory rear, 
 Has laid his desolating wand 
 
 On hopes which made our being dear $ 
 We feel that grief, through all the heart 
 
 Passing as with a bolt of thunder, 
 With tears has sapped the infirmer part, 
 
 And rent with fire the proud asunder: 
 All our pride is then to weep, 
 And wish for death's oblivious sleep.
 
 144 POEMS. 
 
 Lorn as an antelope that roves, 
 
 His loved one from his sight exiled, 
 We pace our now deserted groves, 
 
 With step more mad, and eye more wildj 
 And not one spot we loved so much 
 
 Throughout the past can charm us now, 
 We only feel the blasting touch, 
 
 The hand of ruin on our browj 
 All our pride is then despair, 
 And it is agony to bear. 
 
 But if upon that desart spot, 
 
 Another withered heart we meet, 
 In our desertedness of lot, 
 
 The very sound of grief is sweet j 
 For then the accordant spirits know 
 
 In every tear, by every token, 
 There is a balm exists below 
 
 For peace destroyed, and bosoms broken 
 A little music breaks our woe 
 But solemn still the strain, and low.
 
 POEMS. U5 
 
 When breathed the sympathizing sigh, 
 When pity's silent tear is shed, 
 
 A fitful sunshine seeks the eye, 
 
 The weeds of pain are withered; 
 
 We strew the nightshade on the wind, 
 i Look for a flower not quite so sad, 
 
 And if a livelier one we find, 
 
 We praise it, and are inly glad: 
 
 And smde but do not dare to own 
 
 Our mourning hearts are lighter grown. 
 
 Hast thou the spirit-soothing tear 
 
 The settled calm from Sorrow felt? 
 Welcomed that ray from Mercy's sphere, 
 
 To dullness long unused to melt? 
 If Grief thy bosom thus has wrung, 
 
 If thus thy soul the charm has known, 
 Which in thy sky a rainbow hung, 
 
 And bound thy waist with Comfort's zone 
 I for thee, and thou for me, 
 Will deem it still a bliss to be.
 
 146 POEMS. 
 
 As we walked with Zobeide, on the eve of the morrow which wag to ee her 
 departure by the same path, she said " I have many times trod this path, 
 but this is the Latt time but One!" 
 
 When the hoes of delight make brighter 
 
 Our hours, with a feeling pure, 
 And the heaviest heart grows lighter, 
 
 Misdeeming it long to endure; 
 If Grief on our steps advances 
 
 To sully the rays that shone, 
 How heavy the vain eye glances 
 
 To welcome the Last but One ! 
 
 In Love when the breast e'en borrows 
 
 From rapture a shade of grief, 
 Most like to a child, whose sorrows 
 
 Will quarrel with their relief j 
 Though each kiss in its farewell stingeth, 
 
 And wisdom it were to shun 
 The anguish to which the lip clingeth, 
 
 How it lives on the Last' but One !
 
 POEMS. 147 
 
 In Grief when remembrance lingers 
 
 O'er all that she held most dear, i 
 
 And chides the unwelcome fingers 
 
 Would brush from her lids one tear j 
 When drugged are the dregs of her chalice, 
 
 And her fountain hath ceased to run, 
 With what self-tormenting malice, 
 
 Will she drink the Last drop but One ! 
 
 In Hope when the warm heart beateth 
 
 At the first light touch of love, 
 And our vision the wizard cheateth 
 
 With a bliss that seems from above; 
 Though the nightshade of dark denial 
 
 Our flourishing dreams o'errun, 
 How madly we look to her dial, 
 
 To seize the Last minute but One ! 
 
 In Suspense when the smile that fluttered 
 
 On Joy's vain cheek is set, 
 And each accent the Fair One uttered 
 
 Sounds winningly wooing yet 3
 
 148 POEMS. 
 
 How like to a Mermaid singing 
 To a listening heart undone, 
 
 Is fear with that sweet thought bringing 
 Her Last chilling frown but One ! 
 
 In Distress when the wild waves whiten 
 
 Around the tost ship they lash, 
 When the black clouds momently lighten, 
 
 And fast is the signal-flash 5 
 To an ear at a distance from danger, 
 
 How mournfully peals the gun! 
 How a bosom that bleeds for the stranger 
 
 Thrills o'er the Last shriek but One ! 
 
 When Pleasure her light form muffles 
 
 From the least rude wind that blows, 
 Though 'tis only that Zephyr ruffles 
 
 A billow or bends a rose; 
 As she crushes in cups the sweetness 
 
 Of grapes that hang black in the sun, 
 How she feeds on the praise of discreetness, 
 
 In leaving the Last bnt One !
 
 POEMS. 149 
 
 In Autumn ere frosts quite wither 
 
 The flower that loves the hill, 
 When the thistle's beard, hither and thither, 
 
 Flies on at its own gay will ; 
 When sunbeams are brightest, though fewest, 
 
 How far from our path we run, 
 To crop but a harebell, the bluest 
 
 Because 'tis the Last but One! 
 
 In the magical pages of Byron, 
 
 With what passionate voice we hang 
 On the griefs which his being environ, 
 
 And feel with him pang for pang ; 
 When with Manfred we wander, or Harold, 
 
 And think the long tale but begun, 
 Just ceasing the verse to be carolled, 
 
 How we sigh o'er the Last but One ! 
 
 But when Hesper began to glisten, 
 
 Presaging the eve's decline, 
 And we might no longer listen 
 
 To the magic of tones like thine;
 
 150 POEMS. 
 
 And when thou, Zobeide, wert vanished 
 We asked 'of the many that shone, 
 
 'Is there not one joy unbanished?' 
 
 And an Echo replied " Not One ! " 
 
 Situ* on ftofoarfc* * 
 
 Why, when the souls we loved are fled, 
 
 Plant we their turf with flowers, 
 Their blossomed fragrance there to shed 
 
 In sunshine and in showers? 
 Why bid, when these have passed away, 
 The laurel flourish o'er their clay, 
 
 In winter's blighting hours, 
 To spread a leaf, for ever green, 
 Ray of the life that once hath been. 
 
 It is that we would thence create 
 
 Bright memory of the past j 
 And give their imaged form a date 
 
 Eternally to last. 
 
 Originally published in the " Life of Howard," by J. B. Brown, Esq. 
 of the Inner Temple.
 
 POEMS. . 151 
 
 It is, to hallow whilst regret 
 Is busy with their actions yet 
 The sweetnesses they cast j 
 To sanctify upon the earth 
 The glory of departed worth. 
 
 Such, and so fair, in Day's decline 
 
 The hues which Nature gives j 
 Yet yet though suns have ceased to shine, 
 
 Her fair creation lives : 
 With loved remembrances to fill 
 The mind, and tender grief instil, 
 
 Dim radiance still survives ; 
 And lovelier seems that lingering light, 
 When blended with the shades of night. 
 
 Else, why when rifled stands the Tower, 
 
 The column overthrown, 
 And, record of Man's pride or power, 
 
 Crumbles the storying stone ; 
 Why does she give her Ivy-Vine 
 Their ruins livingly to twine, 
 
 If not to grant alone, 
 
 In the soliloquies of man, 
 
 To glory's shade an ampler span ! 
 T
 
 152 POEMS. 
 
 Still o'er thy temples and thy shrines, 
 Loved Greece ! her spirit throws 
 Visions where'er the ivy twines, 
 
 Of beauty in repose : 
 Though all thy Oracles be dumb, 
 Not voiceless shall those piles become, 
 Whilst there one wild-flower blows 
 To claim a fond regretful sigh 
 For triumphs passed, and times gone by. 
 
 Still, Egypt, tower thy sepulchres 
 
 Which hearse the thousand bones 
 
 Of those who grasped, in vanished years, 
 Thy diadems and thrones ! 
 
 Still frowns, by shattering years unrent, 
 
 The Mosque, Mohammed's monument ! 
 And still Pelides owns, 
 
 By monarchs crowned, by shepherds trod, 
 
 His Cenotaph a grassy sod ! 
 
 They were the Mighty of the world, 
 
 The demigods of earth ; 
 Their breath the flag of blood unfurled, 
 
 And gave the battle birth j
 
 POEMS. 153 
 
 They lived to trample on mankind, 
 And in their ravage leave behind 
 The impress of their worth: 
 And wizard rhyme, and hoary song, 
 Hallowed their deeds and hymned their wrong. 
 
 But Thou, mild Benefactor thou, 
 
 To whom on earth were given 
 The sympathy for others' woe, 
 
 The charities of heaven j 
 Pity for grief, a fever-balm 
 Life's ills and agonies to calm ; 
 
 To tell that thou hast striven, 
 Thou hast thy records which surpass 
 Or storying stone, or sculptured brass ! 
 
 TTiey live not in the sepulchre 
 
 In which thy dust is hid, 
 Though there were kindlier hands to rear 
 
 Thy simple Pyramid, 
 Than Egypt's mightiest could command 
 A duteous tribe, a peasant band 
 
 Who mourned the rites they did 
 Mourned that the cold turf should confine 
 A spirit kind and pure as thine.
 
 154 POEMS. 
 
 Tliey are existent in the clime 
 Thy pilgrim-steps have trod, 
 
 Where Justice tracks the feet of Crime, 
 And seals his doom with blood; 
 
 The tower where criminals complain, 
 
 And fettered captives mourn in vain, 
 The pestilent Abode 
 
 Are thy memorials in the skies, 
 
 The portals of thy Paradise. 
 
 Thine was an empire o'er distress, 
 
 Thy triumphs of the mind ! 
 To burst the bonds of wretchedness, 
 
 The friend of human kind ! 
 Thy name, through every future age, 
 By bard, philanthropist, and sage, 
 
 In glory shall be shrined; 
 Whilst other Nields and Clabksons 6how 
 That still thy mantle rests below. 
 
 I know not if there be a sense 
 More sweet, than to impart 
 
 Health to the haunts of pestilence, 
 Balm to the sufferer's smart,
 
 POEMS. 155 
 
 And freedom to Captivity ! 
 
 The pitying tear, the sorrowing sigh 
 
 Might grace an angel's heart; 
 And e'en when Sickness damped thy brow, 
 Such bliss was thine, and snch wert Thou ! 
 
 Serene, unhurt, in wasted lands, 
 
 Amid the general doom, 
 Long stood'st thou as the traveller stands, 
 
 Where breathes the lone Simoom ; 
 One minute, beautiful as brief, 
 Flowers bloom, trees wave the verdant 
 
 Another all is gloom ; 
 He looks the green, the blossomed bough 
 Is blasted into ashes now ! 
 
 But deadlier than the Simoom burns 
 
 The fire of Pestilence, 
 His shadow into darkness turns 
 
 The passing of events ; 
 Where points his finger, lowers the storm j 
 Where his eye fixes, feeds the worm 
 
 On people and on prince ; 
 
 Where treads his step, there Glory lies; 
 
 Where breathes his breath, there Beauty dies! 
 u 
 
 leaf,
 
 156 POEMS. 
 
 And to the beautiful and young 
 
 Thy latest cares were given j 
 How spake thy kind and pitying tongue 
 
 The messages of heaven ! 
 Soothing her grief who, fair and frail, 
 Waned paler yet, and yet more pale, 
 
 Like lily-flowers at even: 
 Smit by the livid Plague, which cast 
 O'er thee his shadow as he passed. 
 
 As danger deeper grew and dark, 
 
 Her hopes could Conscience bring} 
 And Faith, and Mind's immortal spark 
 
 Grew hourly brightening; 
 One pang at parting 'twas the last- 
 Joy for the future! for the past 
 
 But thou art on the wing 
 To track the source from whence it came, 
 And mingle with thy parent flame ! 
 
 The nodding hearse, the sable plume, 
 
 Those attributes of pride, 
 The artificial grief or gloom 
 
 Are pageants which but hide
 
 POEMS. 157 
 
 Hearts, from the weight of anguish free : 
 But there were many wept for thee 
 
 Who wept for none beside j 
 And felt, thus left alone below, 
 The full desertedness of woe. 
 
 And many mourned that thou should' st lie 
 
 Where Dnieper rolls and raves, 
 Glad from barbaric realms to fly 
 
 And blend with Pontic waves ; 
 
 f 
 
 A desart bleak a barren shore, 
 Where Mercy never trod before 
 
 A land whose sons were slaves ; 
 Crouching, and fettered to the soil 
 By feudal chains and thankless toil. 
 
 But oft methinks in future years 
 
 To raise exalted thought, 
 And soften sternest eyes to tears, 
 
 Shall be thy glorious lot 5 
 And oft the rugged Muscovite, 
 As spring prepares the pious rite, 
 
 Shall tread the holy spot, 
 And see her offered roses showered 
 Upon the grave of gentle Howard !
 
 158 POEMS. 
 
 Those roses on their languid stalk 
 
 Will fade ere fades the day, 
 Winter may wither in Jhis walk 
 
 The myrtle and the bay, 
 Which, mingled with the laurel's stem, 
 Her hands may plant, but not with them 
 
 Shall memory pass away, 
 Or pity cease the heart to swell 
 To Thee there can be no Farewell!
 
 POEMS. 159 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 WILLIAM THOMPSON, 
 
 LATE OF 
 
 PENKETH, LANCASHIRE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Muse ! take the sorrowing harp, that long has hung 
 Mute on the drooping cypress, and again 
 Give it a voice of grief a thrilling tongue, 
 Wake the wild chords of ectasy and pain, 
 And bid the plaintive lute betwixt complain ; 
 For weary wear my hours, and I am now 
 Lost to the joys of being: the sad strain 
 May bring perchance a lulling balm to woe, 
 And half unbind the wreath of nightshade from my brow.
 
 160 POEMS. 
 
 My friend ! can I forget thee, whilst the l'ay 
 Of busy memory brightens o'er the past ? 
 Whilst feeling swells, or life's pulsations play, 
 My friend can I forget thee ? to the last 
 Thine image came, and o'er my fancy cast 
 Thoughts such as in the pitying bosoms dwell, 
 Of angels sorrowing o'er distress ; 'tis past 
 And thou art laid within thy silent cell, 
 And darkness wraps the form which many loved so well. 
 
 3. 
 
 All that mortality could claim, is given, 
 A nothing to the coffin and the shroud ; 
 Yet did surviving friendship wail thee riven 
 From her rejoicing sight, a passing cloud 
 Dimmed her sad eye, and murmurs deep, not load 
 Swelled in the gale when earth thy relics hearsed j 
 O'er thee in muteness the pale mourners bowed 
 To catch one parting glance, then freely burst 
 The passionate flow of grief which feeling long had nursed.
 
 POEMS. 161 
 
 4. 
 
 Can they but chuse to weep, when he who shed 
 A radiance o'er their path, and bade them keep 
 Vigils of gladness ; when the voice is fled 
 Whose words were music can they chuse but weep I 
 No ! the sweet flowers in winter' 6 saows that sleep 
 Spring may revisit ; their young blooms may wave 
 Fresh beauty o'er thy head ; her dews may steep 
 Thy turf with greenness, but the hand which gave 
 To death recals not thee from thy chill home, the grave. 
 
 5. 
 
 Spring may revisit us j the doedal earth 
 Put forth her glories floweret, herb, fruit, tree, 
 Suns shine ; all things be happy in their mirth ; 
 The fountain burst its chains, and sparkle free, 
 Rejoicing in its strength j the murmuring bee 
 Hail the creation on delighted wing, 
 And banquet on the bloom she loves ; but we 
 Over thy bright remembrance sorrowing, 
 Can taste no more the bliss which these to others bring.
 
 162 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 But hash ! in that there is a mournful charm, 
 A long-lost feeling, tempering with regret 
 Exalted thought a lenitive, a balm, 
 The memory of thy worth is left us yet : 
 And though our heart gush forth, our cheek be wet, 
 Thine is a name shall free us from the sway 
 Of meaner griefs ; thy star of life is set 
 Silent thy voice the worm is in thy clay, 
 But this for ever lives, triumphant o'er decay. 
 
 7. 
 
 Touched with what generous impulse didst thou thread 
 Each laurelled path in learning's various maze, 
 Journeying from shade to shade, as science spread 
 Fresh vistas from the lamp of vanished days ! 
 But still it was thy pleasure, and thy praise 
 Meekly to tread, and humbly to pursue 
 The light which burst on thy admiring gaze, 
 And guide thy steps by virtue's sacred clue, 
 Till Faith revealed to sight what Reason never knew.
 
 POEMS. ] 63 
 
 8. 
 
 Truth spread her awful page ; what then to thcc 
 Was Roman sweetness, or Athenian grace I 
 A shadow to a sun ! eternally 
 To view the Almighty Being face to face, 
 To rove, a spirit through the peopled space, 
 To dedicate thy energies to Him 
 Who spoke creation into birth, to trace 
 His steps, and worship with the cherubim 
 O, 'twas a thought might make all earthly glories dim 
 
 From the translucent fount of bliss which wells 
 From out the throne of God, the glorious thirst 
 Of knowledge didst thou slake ; the song which swells 
 Around that holy shrine in harpings burst, 
 
 9 
 
 Whispering enchantment in thine ear, and nurst 
 Thy glowing spirit to the high emprize 
 Of self-correction ; gradual Truth dispersed 
 Each mantling film that barred thee from the skies, 
 And oped with Mercy's key the gates of Paradise.
 
 164 POEMS. 
 
 10. 
 
 Then each severer trial, each pure thought 
 Became a lifting pinion j each warm sigh 
 Of penitential sorrow nearer brought 
 ' Thy soul's beatitude, and hovering nigh, 
 What if some guardian seraph of the sky 
 Compassed thee round, as in the wilderness, 
 Shone the bright pillar, heralding on high 
 The pilgrim-host through peril and distress, 
 A visitant from heaven, omnipotent to bless. 
 
 11. 
 
 Then was thy heart a nobler sanctuary 
 Than art could raise, or wisdom fabricate j 
 A sacred temple, which the Deity 
 Might hallow with his presence, consecrate 
 To solemn worship, which can here create 
 A shadow of the joys that soothe the blest 
 In high Elysium, where the bitter weight 
 Of human sorrow flies the unclouded breast, 
 The wicked cease to vex, the weary are at rest.-
 
 POEMS. l$5 
 
 12. 
 
 And, weary of the unsubstantial joy 
 Which fills onr earthly being, thou wert wending 
 Fast to the Land of Spirits when mine eve 
 First gazed on thee, the tempest was descending 
 Which smote thy venial leaf; serenely blending 
 A transient beauty with its darkening shade, 
 I marked the sudden flush of Sickness lending 
 A glow to garnish o'er the wreck she made, 
 Whilst underneath the bloom the insidious canker preyed. 
 
 13. 
 
 A few brief moons in life's serene ecljpse, 
 The stamp of tranquil suffering on thy brow, 
 A sigh a smile upon thy pallid lips, 
 A heaving of the heart, and what wert thou } 
 The denizen of worlds beyond the flow 
 Of change or time ! a limitless delight ! 
 To whom all former hope, dread, pleasure, woe, 
 Were but as fleeting visions of a night, 
 Which vanished leave thy track, eternity, more bright.
 
 166 POEMS. 
 
 14. 
 
 What lovelier garland can affection bring, 
 What nobler tribute admiration pay, 
 What sweeter requiem can the poet sing 
 To hallow man, ' the pilgrim of a day/ 
 Than this " he sorrowed, worshipped, passed away, 
 ** And harmonized," as thou sweet spirit hast, 
 " With those whose life was truth, their name a ray, 
 " A guiding star, a beacon of the past, 
 " Souls in the glorious mould of mental grandeur cast "> 
 
 15. 
 
 Such be thy epitaph, engraven deep 
 In hearts that mourn thee severed from the stem ; 
 In hearts, whose only solace is to weep 
 Not what thou wert and art, but that to them 
 Thou art not ; chide not Reason, nor condemn 
 That vainly flow our tears our bosoms swell 
 Alas ! Affection knows no holier gem 
 Than her own tears no purer type to tell 
 How much we love and mourn.- Sweet Spirit, Fare-thee-well.
 
 167 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 i. 
 
 IVe may discern an antique Library. 
 
 Stanza lxxxix. line 5. 
 
 On the southern side of Wensdon Hill, which overlooks the village 
 of Asplev, the eye traces a row of venerable firs, leading to the library 
 of R. T. How, Esq. containing some illuminated manuscripts, and a 
 choice collection of the early editions of standard writers, as well in 
 fore! ii languages as in our own : but its m st curious and valuable 
 portion is the numerous copies of Scripture translations, formerly as 
 larpe as the collection in the Bodleian Library, and containing some 
 ver I us of which that is not possessed. The great and good Howard 
 visited it more than once. On one occasion, after returning some 
 volume on the Plague, which he had borrowed of the present possessor's 
 father, and after having presented h ; m with his Works on Lazarettos 
 and ou Prisons, the conversation twniag u on a subscription which 
 some admirers of the philanthropist were raising for the erection of a 
 statue to his honour, and to which 'he former declined contributing 
 from sentiments almost peculiar to the Society of Friends, of w! ich he 
 was a member, Mr. Howard exclaimed, with much warmth and 
 vivacity, " Give me your hand, Sir : you are my friend, and I sin- 
 cerely thank you tVe despise such honours!" The statue ever 
 erected ; but it is a coincidence worthy of remark, that at tl c v< ndemy 
 near the scene of this conversation, his biographei Idwin 
 Brown, Esq. was educated, who in illustrating his character, and his
 
 168 NOTES. 
 
 exertions in the cause of humanity has perhaps raised a monument 
 to his virtues, more honourable and enduring than the ornature of 
 marbles. 
 
 2. 
 
 Paused a few sunny hours the Devotee. 
 
 Stanza xciii. line 7. 
 
 Previously to his setting out on the journey which terminated his 
 benevolent life, Mr. Howard called at Aspley. The gentleman before 
 alluded to, commenting on the dangers to which his visits to the pri- 
 sons and lazarettos of foreign climates would necessarily subject him, 
 this devoted Christian nobly replied, in the spirit of the Apostle when 
 going to Jerusalem, " And what is Life,' that it should be highly 
 regarded by a man of sixty. Life should be of little estimation to one 
 engaged as I shall be." 
 
 3. 
 Groves, rallies, warbling hills, and ornamented halls. 
 
 Stanza xcvi. line 9. 
 
 fTensdon-Hill, Jpril23, 1819. 
 No one who has gazed from the slope of VVensdon Hill over this 
 romantic village, can possibly mistake the moral expression of the 
 scene. Its gentle and shadowy eminences, its comfortable cottages, 
 its noble and decorated halls, with their lofty and aged trees, the half- 
 inaudible murmurs from the walks of the ancient Academy, which has 
 qualified successive generations of men to act their part in the drama 
 of life, the expressive colouring, the tenderness and delicacy of the 
 whole picture, all prepare the mind for meditation, and refer it to the
 
 NOTES. 169 
 
 period, and pleasures, and pursuits, of the brightest and dearest of our 
 early days. The same charm which resuscitates memory, animates 
 imagination; and the mind naturally associates the great and good 
 with a scene whose dignity and beauty are so peculiarly characteristic 
 of grace and glory. Those who have here lived and walked are still 
 present with us, and they who have retired from the world in the even- 
 ing of their days, cannot be strangers in a spot consecrated to the 
 edification of future actors, and the philosophy of learned retirement. 
 In such a solitude, after spending the morning and noon of life in a 
 court, amid the policies of Europe, did Petrarch " go down the vale of 
 years;" for such a retreat did the fifth Philip of Spain sigh, when he 
 cursed that royalty to which he was a second time elevated ; in such a 
 place, and at such an hour as that in which I am now writing, came 
 that beautiful Italian Lady to our dreaming Milton, who, in his less 
 romantic years, haunted him with a Vision of beauty which had a 
 visible effept upon the tone and tenderness of his sublime Poetry. 
 
 5. 
 
 The wish o'er which ecstatic Milton smiled. 
 
 Stanza cxi. line 6. 
 
 See his L' Allegro, which was written some years before the Paradise 
 Lost. 
 
 The Walk of happy Spirits. 
 
 Stanza cxvi. line 2. 
 
 The spot here alluded to, is commonly known by the name of 
 Paradise Walk.
 
 170 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO II. 
 
 l. 
 
 And in them and in thy benevolence. 
 
 Stanza xxiv. line G. 
 
 We may with irreat propriety make mention here of a few accredited 
 anecdotes of Lord Byron, furnished by a gentleman personally ac- 
 quainted with him, illustrative of the text, and of some of those amiable 
 qualities which his enemies have been so desirous of suppressing. 
 
 Whilst at college, bis Lordship was distinguished for piculiar 
 liberality ; and after leaving college, and coming to reside in Loudon, 
 he gave frequent indications of a benevolent heart, by meeting various 
 advertisements of distress which appeared in the public papers, after 
 satisfying himself of their truth to an extent known only to the con- 
 fidential servant who was made the secret vehicle of his beneficence, 
 and who is still living to bear testimony to the authenticity of the fact. 
 Passing over repeated instances of generosity, too numerous to be 
 detailed in the compass of a Note, we cannot neglect to relate a few 
 points of his Lordship's conduct during a temporary residence in some 
 of the Greek islands. 
 
 In 1812, he portioned eight young girls, besides supplying them with 
 cotton and silk, fd the manufacture in which they were employed. 
 He gave cows to some horses to others, aud a new boat to a fisherman 
 who had lost his own in a gale. Notwithstanding the malignant zeal
 
 NOTES. 171 
 
 with which many persons have endeavoured to represent him as devoid 
 of religion, it is a fact positively ascertained, that he frequently gave 
 Greek Testaments to the poor children resident at Mytilcne. To the 
 Greek church there he gave forty pounds ; to the hospital, sixty pounds ; 
 and, as we arc informed, distributed in private charity three hundred 
 zechines. He diffused his bounty to many in the island of Scio, in the 
 various rambles which he made round its delightful shores to a farmer 
 who had lost a horse and cart in crossing the stream of Carrcrio, he 
 gave five guineas ; and at a visit received from the master and pupils of 
 the school erected there, fifty pounds for the use of the school, small 
 donations to the scholars, and to the master himself a robe of velvet and 
 satin. An aged Greek woman, residing at a place called Epheseus, 
 where she had occupied a small vineyard and two fields, was distrained 
 for rent. Albana, the Turkish collector, seized her goods and put them 
 up for sale Lord Byron bought and restored them to the widow. To 
 the keeper of the cave called Homer's school, he gave a Greek Testa- 
 ment and some money. At his departure from Scio, he presented the 
 boat which he had purchased for his excursions by water, to the fisher- 
 man who had attended him thereon, and also gave him ten pounds. 
 His departure was marked by much regret on the part of the Greeks, 
 and even by the Turks, who, by an unwonted exertion of gallantry, 
 fired a salute of four guns from the castle, which he returned by eight. 
 Cos, which he afterwards visited, was distinguished by acts of benefi- 
 cence equally numerous.* Since his lordship's residence at Venice, a 
 printer at Malinari had the whole of his premises consumed by fire, 
 which was no sooner made known to Lord Byron, than he generously 
 sent him a present of 150 guineas. 
 
 Tt has, again, been ascertained, that the profits of some of his 
 
 * These intermediate anecdotes are derived from the New Monthly Magazine.
 
 172 NOTES. 
 
 poetical productions have been applied to the uses of literary men, 
 under circumstances of pecuniary difficulty. We are precluded by a 
 delicacy which will be readily understood, from detailing at length a 
 most unprecedented act of literary generosity towards a gentleman well 
 known in the world of letters, who had no further claim upon his 
 notice than as a man of talent and a college acquaintance, in his 
 having advanced a very considerable sum at a peculiar crisis, which, 
 under the name of a loan, had all the value of a gift. We were 
 sufficiently concerned to notice in a Poem recently published by the 
 individual thus indebted to his lordship's lavish benevolence, that he 
 should so far have forgotten the lessons of gratitude which it is his 
 vocation to teach to others, as to have aimed a secret and envenomed 
 shaft at his benefactor, in a studied invective against his poetical 
 characters, and the strain of sentiment which they convey. Another 
 person who has industriously endeavoured to depreciate Lord Byron's 
 character by reports as false as they are feeble, and which have hitherto 
 served only to recoil upon the propagator, in submitting to the editor 
 of a well known periodical work, the sketch of a production intended 
 for insertion in his miscellany, inadvertently inclosed with it the copy 
 of a letter addressed to the noble Lord, replete with tbe most humble 
 acknowledgments of pecuniary assistance to a considerable extent. 
 The original application seemed to have been made under very neces- 
 sitous circumstances. How grateful to our feelings is it to contrast 
 with these acts of "petty perfidy" the conduct of the author of 
 " Bertram" who, with that magnanimity which is the characteristic 
 of true genius, does not hesitate to speak in every society in terms of 
 enthusiastic gratitude for the personal and literary exertions which he 
 has received at the hands of lord Byron I To lord Byron the writer of 
 this note is a perfect stranger, but he feels an exalted pleasure in the 
 recital of acts like these, which must gladden the heart, not alone of
 
 NOTES. J73 
 
 the admirers of his empassioned verse, hut of every one who loves to 
 contemplate human character in its private hours of virtue, when it 
 knows not that the eye of ohservation is upon them, to record their 
 beauty and their fragrance. 
 
 2. 
 
 And gaze once more upon the ancient mound. 
 
 Stanza lxiii. line 7. 
 
 Looking from the eminences in Aspley Wood, over the country 
 towards Bedford, one of the most conspicuous objects in the distance 
 is a square brick edifice, called, by a singular perversion of language, 
 Brogborough Round House. It stands on a considerable hill, and was 
 fortified during the civil wars alternately by both parties, of which it 
 yet bears the marks, in a fosse which irregularly girds it, and in the 
 embrasures which were cut in its walls for the mounting of cannon. 
 Not far distant a battle is said to have been fought, in which the king's 
 forces were victorious. Colonel Okcy, one of the regicides, was long 
 secreted in the building, even at the time it was held by the royalists ; 
 he was at length betrayed by his servant. It is now a farm-house. 
 Tradition speaks of a subterranean apartment, but there are no ves- 
 tiges to be seen which can attest its existence. Upon the hill arc 
 several artificial mounds, which command an extensive range of 
 country, and a fine view over the Vale of Bedford. 
 
 3. 
 
 Unsullied as Alasnams glass. 
 
 Stanza lxxvii. line 3. 
 
 See the tale of Prince Zeyn Alasnam, in the Arabian NighU;
 
 
 174 NOTES. 
 
 4. 
 
 Not now through shade is seen the "Abbot's Tree!' 
 
 Stanza cvi. line 5. 
 
 The oak tree in Woburn Park, standing on a gentle eminence to the 
 left of the Abbey, and surrounded by a palisade ; upon which the last 
 Abbot was hung, on his refusal to obey the edict for the dissolution of 
 monasteries. The author of " The Pleasures of Memory" was a visitor 
 at Woburn Abbey in the autumn of 1818, at which time his elegant 
 poem of " Human Life " was perfected. A person acquainted with 
 the localities of this beautiful domain will recognise as its inspiratioa 
 the following passage, descriptive of its scenery and attributes. 
 
 " He when the sky 
 
 Gleams, and the wood sends up its harmony, 
 
 Up to the hill-top leads their little feet, 
 
 Or by the forest lodge perchance, to meet 
 
 The stag herd on its march, perchance to hear 
 
 The otter rustling in the sedgy mere, 
 
 Or to the echo near the Abbot's tree, 
 
 That gave him back his words of pleasantry, 
 
 When the House stood no merrier man than he. 
 
 And as they wander with a keen delight, 
 
 If but a leveret catch their quicker sight, 
 
 Down a green alley, or a squirrel then 
 
 Climb the gnarled oak, and look, and climb again ; 
 
 If but a moth flit by, or acorn fall, 
 
 He turns their thoughts to him who made them all. 
 
 These with unequal footsteps following fast, 
 
 These clinging to his cloak unwilling to b last." 
 
 Human Life, p. 36.
 
 % 
 
 NOTES. 175 
 
 The little lake spoken of in the text 
 
 sot to Vombra difronde 
 
 Mornwraitdo sen va, gelida e bruna, 
 Ma transparente si che non asconde 
 D tlfi mo let to sun vaghezza alcuna; 
 E sovra le sue rive alta s'estolle 
 L'erbelta, e vifa seggio fresco e molle. 
 
 It is the image of bis own mild and transparent song, of the moral 
 beauty and tenderness which breathe in all his pages. It occupies 
 elevated ground a little more remote than the Abbot's tree from the 
 Abbey, whose domes and temples are admirably contrasted with its 
 placid waters and still shades. To reflect in thek - solitudes, that the 
 steps of the Poet of Memory have been where I now am, is amongst 
 my most pleasing remembrances and happiest associations. 
 
 NOTE TO THE POEMS, 
 
 Hie Greeks, when oer a buried friend, Ssc 
 
 It appears from an Epigram of Callimachus, that it was customary 
 to place pillars upon the monuments of the dead, which the friends of 
 the deceased perfumed with essences, and crowned with flowers. 
 
 Lang house's Plutarch. Life of Avis tides. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 
 S. Manning, Printer, Ncwport-Pagneil.
 
 
 Uw
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 JULIA ALPINULA 
 
 "WITH THE 
 
 CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 In 12ino. price "s. 6<L 
 
 PRINTED 10R JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
 " There is a boldness of thought and fee'.ing and a richness of fancy, mingled with 
 .-tronir poetical sensibility in this Volume, which prove Mr. Wiffen to be a poet of 
 no inconsiderable powers. It U in the descriptive and pathetic scenes, however, 
 that he appears to the greatest advantage; and we are of opinion, that a superior 
 production as 'JULIA ALPINULA' certainly is,~ it is still exceeded in sweetness 
 and beauty by many of the lesser pieces which follow." 
 
 Monthly Magazine. September, 1820. 
 
 "The first Poem of this pleasing Volume is founded on the old and sweet story, 
 to which Lord Myron, in one of his gentler moods, so touchingly alludes, both la 
 the text and notes of the Third Canto of his 'Cliildc Harold.' It is here told 
 very gracefully. The 'CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL,' taken from an anecdote of 
 Olbbon, is i Poem of romantic interest, and deep and serious beauty." 
 
 New Monthly Magazine. October, 1830*
 
 3fera$alem eltberefc.
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OF TASSO. 
 
 BEING THE SPECIMEN OF 
 
 AN INTENDED NEW TRANSLATION 
 
 IN ENGLISH SPENSERIAN VERSE; 
 WITH A PREFATORY DISSERTATION 
 
 ON EXISTING TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 BY J. H. WIFFEN, 
 
 Author of " Aonian Hours," " Julia Alpinula," tfc. 
 
 " There are certain ages in the history of the world, on which the heart dwells with 
 strong interest and aflection ; bat there are none which excite our cariosity, our ad- 
 miration, and our love, more intensely than the days of chivalry." Camfbbll. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND-STREET. 
 
 1821.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by William Clowes, 
 Northumberlaudrcourt.
 
 TO HER GRACE 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF BEDFORD, 
 
 THIS SPECIMEN 
 OF AN INTENDED NEW TRANSLATION OF 
 TASSO 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 By the AUTHOR.
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IN appearing before the tribunal of the Public in 
 the * questionable shape' of a Translator of one of 
 the four grand master spirits of epic song, from whose 
 urn our own beautiful Spenser and divine Milton have 
 not scrupled to steal, like Prometheus, the starry fire 
 which was to animate their creations, the sweetness, 
 elegance, and tenderness of whose writings have en- 
 grossed universal admiration, and given scope to the 
 descanting talents of numbers in this and other na- 
 tions, and whose Muse it has been the attempt of 
 some great names to transport from sunny Tuscany 
 to these chiller and more ungenial shores, I feel that 
 a somewhat extended apology may be due, and in- 
 deed necessary, to exculpate me from the pre- 
 sumption of having dared to attempt a task so onerous, 
 and which would seem to imply in previous trans- 
 
 b
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lators either a comparative failure, or but a partial 
 success. 
 
 The difficulty, we would almost say the impossibility 
 of making an adequate translation of any one long and 
 varied poem into a language different from the original 
 in its idiom, structure, and genius, so as faithfully to 
 embody the expression, the imagery, the vigour, and 
 the animation of the Poet in its transcript, at the 
 same time that it succeeds in preserving the current 
 of passion, and awakens in the mind of the reader the 
 same varied affections, will ever be felt most strongly 
 by minds the most gifted for the task. They will 
 most clearly perceive the difference that subsists be- 
 tween the genius of the two languages, and the modes 
 of thought, the mental associations, the habits, and the 
 manners of the two nations ; they will see the necessity, 
 without enjoying the hope, of transferring them with the 
 same distinctive character and lively effect. Almost 
 equally hopeless is the chance of an individual being 
 found, who though entering into the allusion, genius, and 
 individual turn of mind of the original author, has yet 
 the tact fine, perceptive, and spiritual, to apprehend 
 his beauties, and the skill industrious, curious, and 
 connective, to communicate them with the charm of 
 originality in his own writings to others. Not every
 
 INTRODUCTION. o 
 
 Juvenal in the walk of literature has the rare advan- 
 tage of being personated by a Gifford. Our two most 
 celebrated translators, transcendent as their merits 
 are, cannot be allowed to have executed their task 
 with all that discrimination and felicity which the de- 
 spotic laws of criticism require. We vainly look in 
 the Iliad and Odyssey of Pope for the singular simpli- 
 city and individuality of character which characterize 
 the divine old Greek, recompensed as the general 
 reader may be with the beauty of his versification and 
 the elaborate refinement of his style ; whilst the 
 energy, the ease, and the vivacity distinguishable in 
 the Eneis of Dryden, but blended momentarily with 
 ruder touches and harsher colours of painting, do not 
 all correspond with the uniform magnificence and 
 melody of sou ad, the delicate and scrupulous choice 
 of words and figures, and the pathetic vein of senti- 
 ment and expression in the work of the happy Man- 
 tuan. Such being the nicety, the skill, the genius re- 
 quisite for the execution of a successful translation, it 
 will not be surprising if it should be found that Tasso, 
 though inferior to Homer in simplicity and fire, as to 
 Virgil in tenderness, has not yet received from English 
 readers all the laurels due to his fine perspicuous 
 taste, his splendid and romantic imagination, the fer- 
 
 bi
 
 ^ 
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tility of his invention, the richness of his ornamented 
 style, the exquisite sweetness of his delicious num- 
 bers : it will not be surprising if he should yet remain 
 so, till another age develope in some fortunate indi- 
 vidual the qualities that may not be granted in this, 
 and Tasso, after the poetical transmigration of a thou- 
 sand years, rise to life in England with all the native 
 glory of his first appearance. Meanwhile, till that for- 
 tunate acquisition to our literature, it may be forgiven 
 an enthusiastic admirer, that he endeavours to improve 
 upon those transcripts of his poetry which are na- 
 turalized and existent amongst us. Not that there are 
 not in these golden days of poetry, two, or more spirits, 
 capable of executing, if they were willing to execute, 
 a perfect translation of the Jerusalem Delivered, ca- 
 pable, from their congeniality of taste, their living per- 
 ception of all that is beautiful and exalting, the charm 
 and the inspiration that is in their own enchanting 
 poetry, of even mating the workmanship of the magni- 
 ficent Italian ; but they, and the world in general, may 
 hold them well excused from a task so unoriginal, in 
 the splendid conquests they are daily achieving to en- 
 rich the age, by the light and power of their own un- 
 borrowed talismans. It must ever be regretted that 
 Gray did not accomplish the translation of this great
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 poem which he contemplated, and indeed began. From 
 his felicity of language, the delicacy and even fastidious- 
 ness of his taste, and the power with which, like 
 Sappho in her famous Ode, * Qotmrou /ao xmVo? ?<ro? 
 $io?<7i/ he paints his images, it may be safely declared 
 that it would have been one of our richest treasures. As 
 it is, all that exists for the regards of posterity is a frag- 
 ment of the fourteenth book, that like some solitary 
 marble column, beautified with immortal ivy, speaks 
 eloquently to the imagination, attesting what the 
 finished structure would have been in magnificence 
 and grace. 
 
 The many names which may be instanced of writers 
 that have essayed a version of the Jerusalem Deli- 
 vered, since the elder ones of Carew and Fairfax, are 
 sufficient to show that a new translation has generally 
 been thought necessary, an opinion indeed which has 
 been expressed by many modern writers ; amongst 
 whom may be mentioned the ingenious author of the 
 Curiosities of Literature, the recent translator of Tasso's 
 Amynta, Stewart Rose in his Travels in Italy, and, yet 
 more recently, since the publication of the Rev. J. H. 
 Hunt's translation, the author of an able article in the 
 Retrospective Review for the current month on Carew's 
 " Godfrey of Bulloigne." But little, I fancy, is known of
 
 O INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the whole or fragmentary versions of Hooke or Brooke, 
 Layng, Doyne, or of Miss Susan Watts. Hoole and 
 Fairfax alone have prescriptively divided the public 
 estimation. Of Mr. Hoole's version, popular as it is, 
 (or has been,) and commanding a circulation to which 
 that of the livelier one of Fairfax is very insignificant, I 
 cannot but entertain, after all the attention I have 
 devoted to it, a very indifferent opinion. The reason 
 of his popularity, says a living critic, and I agree in 
 the sentiment " The sole reason is, not that Mr. Hoole 
 translated the work, but that his original was Tasso. 
 It is the name of Tasso solely, that has carried him 
 on from generation to generation, like a corpse at- 
 tached to the immortal spirit of the Italian, and making 
 it dull with the burden." 
 
 Regarded solely as a poetical composition, it will 
 be found fraught with all that commonplace of ex- 
 pression which characterizes a mind conversant indeed 
 with the mechanism of verse, but not with its beauty- 
 breathing nature, and regarding its structure more 
 as a manufacture than a creation. In his pages there 
 are no " thoughts that breathe," no M words that 
 burn," but rather a pulseless inanity, and an apathy 
 that chills. His was not the apprehensive eye which 
 catches, as with the lightning's vivacity, the happiest
 
 INTRODUCTION. ' 
 
 attitude of things, the ear which seizes upon the finer 
 impulses of sound and the play of modulated harmo- 
 nies, or the sensitive heart that echoes naturally 
 back the impressions it receives from what is beautiful 
 and sublime in nature pathetic and exalted in feeling. 
 He had only the general faculties which comprehend 
 objects and situations as they are palpable to the 
 grosser sense of the undistinguishing many. Epi- 
 thet, which as it deals with the essences and qualities 
 of things, most reveals the grand distinction which 
 subsists between poetry and verse, between the poet 
 and the versifier, the gift and the acquisition, may 
 very suitably be adopted as a criterion of the merits of 
 his composition. It will require but a slight poetical 
 sagacity to perceive his poverty in this respect. His 
 pages will be found full of vague, undiscriminating 
 phrases, which have been pressed from time imme- 
 morial into the service of rhyme terms void of the 
 character that should mark the species and the indi- 
 vidual, descriptive only of the order and the man. 
 Of this kind are his " gloomy shades shady groves 
 hateful discord warlike hero streaming blood fell 
 fury insensate hate direful discord," and a multi- 
 tude of others ; in consequence of which, the impres- 
 sion he makes is feeble and dim ; and alike ignorant
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of that secret, and destitute of that spring of pictu- 
 resque description, he ever fails of electrifying the 
 fancy, and of striking on the sensibility of his readers. 
 His versification, modelled, or rather combined, solely 
 from the writers who constructed their verse after the 
 balanced periods of Pope, it is not asserting too much 
 to say, is as methodical and monotonous as can well 
 be conceived of the imitator of a host of imitators : he 
 had but two situations for his cesura, and he rings 
 his changes upon the combinations and alterations of 
 these as well as he may through twenty books. In 
 this nakedness of variation, the pretensions to which 
 in his Preface he lays claim, are singularly unfortunate. 
 " I do not," he says, " flatter myself that I have 
 excelled Fairfax, except in my measure and versification." 
 Without pausing to question how far his abandonment 
 of the ottava rima may be an improvement on the 
 measure of Fairfax *, we may cite the authority of 
 
 * Metastasio, speaking of the innumerable Italian poems written in 
 this measure, says, " It is the effect of the sweetness of its seducing 
 cbant which prevents satiety and deceives the weariness of readers 
 by its periodical regular reposes, which are neither so frequent as to 
 glut by their uniformity, nor so distant as to occasion a loss of the 
 sense of the linked sweetness, nor so unaccommodating as to constrain 
 the writer to interrupt the connected series of his thoughts." Drayton'9 
 admiration of it is expressed more fancifully" This sort of stanza," 
 saith he, " hath in it majesty, perfection, and solidity, resembling the
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 Dryden to prove that it must be no common hand that 
 could excel his versification. In the Preface to his 
 Fables, he observes of Fairfax, " that he was a great 
 master in our language, and saw much farther into 
 the beauties of our numbers than those who imme- 
 diately followed him. Many besides myself have heard 
 our famous Waller own, that he derived the harmony 
 of his numbers from the " Godfrey of Bulloigne." De- 
 cisive as the judgment pronounced by this venerable 
 patriarch of our versification must be, I cannot resist 
 adding the opinion of Collins, so often quoted in fa- 
 vour of the great excellence of Fairfax, of Collins 
 than whom none could have a finer sense of what 
 was beautiful in diction, and melodious in versifica- 
 tion; he says of that which Mr. Hoole flatters him- 
 self to have surpassed: 
 
 Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows ; 
 
 Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and clear, 
 
 And fills the impassion'd heart, and wins the harmonious ear. 
 
 Ode on the Highland Superstitions. 
 
 pillar which in architecture is called the Tuscan, whose shaft is of six 
 diameters, and base of two." Preface to the Barons' Wars. That this, 
 however, is no empty flourish of words all have seen in a composition 
 of the first poet of the age, all at least who have ventured to explore 
 its fatal pages for those exquisitely beautiful passages with which it 
 abounds.
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The greatest admirer of Mr. Hoole's numbers will 
 not venture to say the same of them. 
 
 But what are his merits as a translator? He has 
 melted down Tasso into a compact mass. Yet in doing 
 this, he has been guilty of great and unpardonable 
 omissions, to an extent of which they alone can con- 
 ceive who should compare him book by book with his 
 original. Dryden, whose power of concentration, and 
 energy of thought, rendered him more capable perhaps 
 than any other poet of circumscribing an author within 
 the smallest compass that could be considered con- 
 sistent with his fidelity as a translator, and grace as a 
 writer, has in his Eneis exceeded the lines of Virgil 
 in the first nine books by 2,500 lines : in the like num- 
 ber of books, Hoole has fallen short of Tasso by up- 
 wards of 500 : his deficiency would perhaps be yet 
 more apparent, if the total number of books were com- 
 pared, but in the absence of his second volume, the 
 present exposition will doubtless be thought suffi- 
 ciently conclusive. But, great as these omissions are, 
 it is a yet farther aggravation, that they so often 
 occur where Tasso has the most beautiful figures and 
 picturesque images ; as may be instanced throughout 
 the latter part of the fourth book, where our poet 
 paints the loveliness and the arts of Armida with the
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 most flushing colours of description, in strains of the 
 most insinuating music, in expressions full of life, 
 freshness, and fire. But in Hoole the gorgeousness of 
 this show vanishes, and the reader finds himself in 
 the situation of a hero of Arabian romance, who, long 
 wandering amid palaces, gardens, and refreshing foun- 
 tains, suddenly finds the charm which flattered his 
 senses reversed, and sees around him little less than a 
 bare and a soundless desert. Whatever may be the 
 stir of incident or emotion in the original, the trans- 
 lator's imagination seems never to kindle with the sub- 
 ject, but pursues the same dull and unquickened march. 
 One or two instances of this, taken at random, but 
 which might be produced to an almost infinite series, I 
 here give. 
 
 In the fourth book, after Godfrey has refused suc- 
 cours to the entreating Armida, Eustace exclaims with 
 all the enthusiasm and gallantry of a young Paladin : 
 
 " Oh, by yon bright sun tell it not in France ! 
 
 Publish it not where courtesy is dear ! 
 
 That of our nobles none would break a lance 
 
 In Beauty's quarrel, let not Europe hear ! 
 
 Henceforth, my lords, sword, corslet, helm, and spear, 
 
 I toss aside, and bid farewell to fame ; 
 
 No generous steed shall bear me in career 
 
 With swordless chiefs where chivalry weds shame, 
 I will no longer bear the knight's degraded name !"
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The cavalier's spirited denunciation thus evaporates 
 
 in Mr. Hoole : 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven, that ever France should hear, 
 Or any land where courteous acts are dear, 
 That dangers or fatigues our souls dismay'd, 
 When piety and justice claim'd our aid ! 
 No longer let me then this helmet wear, 
 No longer wield the sword or corslet bear, 
 No more in steed or glittering arms delight, 
 No more usurp the honour'd name of knight ! 
 
 The following picture of Dudon's funeral occurs in 
 the third book : 
 
 But when the sun look'd forth on Jordan's flood, 
 The funeral pageant he lamenting led ; 
 An odoriferous ark of cypress wood, 
 Near a green hill, became Lord Dudon's bed : 
 The hill commands the camp, and overhead 
 Shakes its dark verdurous locks one stately palm ; 
 Last, white-robed priests their requiem o'er the dead, 
 Slow moving, hymn'd ; and many a solemn psalm 
 Stole o'er the sun-bright hills, till Sorrow's self grew calm 
 
 Mr. Hoole thus gives the passage : 
 
 Up with the sun he rose, and left his bed, 
 To attend the funeral rites of Dudon dead ; 
 Near to the camp, beneath a hillock, stood 
 The stately tomb, composed of cypress wood. 
 Above, a palm-tree spread its verdant shade ; 
 To this the mourning troop the corse convey'd ; 
 With these, the holy priests, (a reverend train) 
 A requiem chanted to the warrior slain :
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 in which we may observe the laudable anxiety of the 
 translator to impress us with the fact, deservedly claim- 
 ing our strictest notice, that the hero whom Argantes 
 had some few stanzas before deprived of life, and 
 whose funeral they were then conducting, was, bond 
 Jide, 'dead;' and lest a suspicion to the contrary should 
 yet remain, the priests chant requiems to the warrior 
 f slain:' with the eye of an undertaker moreover he 
 looks, and behold, the tomb is composed of cypress- 
 wood. 
 
 I should not have thought it worth while to indulge 
 in these strictures upon Mr. Hoole's version, but 
 that th public endurance of it, and the patronage of 
 a personal friend extended towards it by Dr. John- 
 son, give it an importance alien to its absolute deserts. 
 The farther exposition of his faults is left to the ge- 
 nerous hostility of the Rev. J. H. Hunt, who has drawn 
 to the light of observation many of his unsunned de- 
 fects, and whose courtesy resembles that of the Black 
 Prince to the king he had conquered ; for assuredly 
 he has far excelled Hoole in fidelity and vigour. As 
 the former made this transcendence his aim and point 
 of honour, I, as an individual, grant him all the merit 
 of such a victory. I do not deem it decorous to cri- 
 ticise the version of this amiable coadjutor in the same
 
 14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cause, nor am I desirous to regard him as a rival, 
 who if he had only looked abroad among the grand 
 masters of song, and exhibited the parallel passages and 
 imitations of thought subsisting between them and 
 his author, would have deserved well of men of let- 
 ters : but to higher praise the bravery of his attempt 
 entitles him. I would neither wish to interrupt, nor 
 to be interrupted by him ; the circus is sufficiently 
 ample for both, without either of us acting the invidious 
 part of Antilochus in the chariot-race of Homer. 
 
 I come lastly to Fairfax, and I approach him with 
 reverence. There was something very noble in his at- 
 tempt to naturalize this glorious poem in England, at 
 a time, not certainly " when our verse was in its rudi- 
 ments*," but before it had arisen in full purity and 
 order from its primeval chaos, in the aurora of that 
 morning which gave so rosy a promise of the splendour 
 which has pursued it. " If," says the critic already 
 alluded to, who by the way is himself a poet of great 
 capabilities, " if he roughened the music of Tasso a 
 little, he still kept it music, and beautiful music ; some 
 of his stanzas indeed give the sweetness of the original 
 with the still softer sweetness of an echo ; and he blew 
 
 * I limit's Preface.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 into the rest some noble organ-like notes which per- 
 haps the original is too deficient in. He can be also 
 quite as stately and solemn in feeling ; he is as fervid 
 in his devotion, as earnest and full of ghastly appre- 
 hension in his supernatural agency, as wrapt up in 
 leanness in his sylvan haunts, as luxuriant and alive to 
 tangible shapes in his voluptuousness. He feels the 
 elements and varieties of his nature like a true poet, 
 and his translation has consequently this special mark 
 of all true poetry, translated or original, that when 
 the circumstances in the story or description alter, it 
 gives us a proper and pervading sense of the alteration." 
 This, and more than this, is the just praise of Fairfax. 
 The following extracts exhibit a few of the beautiful 
 tunes and proud organ-notes spoken of above, all of 
 which I hold to be perfectly unsurpassable. 
 
 And in this legend, all that glorious deed 
 
 Read, whilst you arm you ; arm you, whilst you read. 
 
 Book I. Stanza v. 
 
 The descent of an angel. 
 
 \ 
 On Li b;un<n at first his foot he set, 
 And shook his wings with rory May-dews wet. Stanza xiv. 
 
 And drew him near a silver stream, that play'd 
 
 Among wild herbs, under the greenwood shade. Stanza xlvi. 
 
 Go, shake thy spear, and draw thy flaming blade, 
 
 And try if hunger so he weaker made. Book 2, Stanza Ixxiv. 
 
 (
 
 16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He look'd like huge Typhosus loos'd from hell, 
 Again to shake Heaven's everlasting frame : 
 Or him that built the tower on Shinaar, 
 Which threateneth battle 'gainst the Morning Star! 
 
 Stanza xci. 
 About her shoulders shone her golden locks, 
 Like sunny beams on alabaster rocks. Book 3, Stanza xxi. 
 
 When the fair morn first blusheth from her cell, 
 
 And breatheth balm from opened Paradise. Hook 4, Stanza lxxv. 
 
 The close of the bird's song. Book 16, Stanza xvi. 
 
 He ceas'd, and as approving all he spoke, 
 The quire of birds their heavenly tunes renew ; 
 The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke, 
 The fowls to shades unseen, by pairs withdrew ; 
 It seemed the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak, 
 And all the gentle trees on earth that grew ; 
 It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above, 
 All breath'd out fancy sweet, and sighed out love. 
 
 But with all his frequent graces of expression, and 
 his charm of versification, there are, I think, few leaves 
 undisfigured, not merely with blemishes, but with faults 
 of much greater magnitude. Many of these are un- 
 doubtedly to be attributed to the age in which he 
 lived, many to his mismanagement of the stanza to 
 which he bound himself, but more than either to bad 
 taste, and a fancy spending itself in perpetual conceits, 
 the grand fault of the writers of the Elizabethan age, 
 the love of which frequently betrays him into the
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 most ridiculous absurdities; and as he seems never 
 so happy as when he can conclude his stanza with 
 them, the fine figures with which he often commences 
 render them doubly unfortunate. Throughout his 
 whole version, in fact, there is by far too little keeping ; 
 the whole performance is very unequal, and from his 
 neglect of the manners and costume of the time in which 
 the incidents celebrated in the Poem take place, and 
 from his frequent introduction of Scripture allusions, 
 his Warriors often act, speak, and look, more like the 
 leaders of the Parliamentary army during the civil wars 
 of England, than as chivalrous Crusaders from all 
 parts of Europe during the Middle Ages. His cramp- 
 ness, his obscurity, his license of inversion, and use of 
 quaint words, accentuation, and orthography, tortured 
 to suit his rhyme, have been commented on by others : 
 but yet when the difficulties of translation are consi- 
 dered in combination with the comparative youth of 
 the language, it is less surprising that he should have 
 fallen into these errors, than that he has given us so 
 much noble poetry. 
 
 I am not however writing either a critique, or an 
 apology for Fairfax, but a justification of myself for 
 having made bold to compete with him in the sacred 
 field of Tasso. I am therefore at liberty, without, I 
 
 c
 
 18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 trust, incurring the charge of invidiousness, to instance 
 some of those passages to which my strictures apply, 
 and which have encouraged the hope that in the enthu- 
 siasm which a lover of poetry may be expected to feel 
 for a subject that has kindled his fancy, with purer 
 models of native good writing in view than any that 
 subsisted at the time in which he wrote, and by diligent 
 study a more perfect version might be produced, or 
 that, if I fail, I might fail by his side, and in the words 
 of Tasso 
 
 " Che dira il mondo (e cid fia sommo onore,) 
 " Questi gia con Gernando in gara venne !" 
 
 Passing over a variety of individual couplets, the fol- 
 lowing specimens from his first five books will exhibit, 
 if I do not mistake, not only the absurdities and con- 
 ceits already commented on, but often a total abandon- 
 ment of the sense of the original in pursuit of his favou- 
 rite ideas, and multiplication of trope and figure. The 
 Italian is subjoined, together with the corresponding 
 passages in my version. 
 
 Book 1, Stanza lviii. 
 
 Bat these and all Rinaldo far exceeds, 
 
 Star of this sphere, the diamond of this ring, 
 
 The nest, where courage with sweet mercy breeds ; 
 
 A comet, worthy each eye's wondering ;
 
 INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 His years are fewer than his noble deeds, 
 His fruit is ripe soon as his blossoms spring, 
 Armed, a Mars. might coyest Venus move, 
 And if disarm'd, then God himself of Love. 
 
 In which Rinaldo successively becomes a star a 
 diamond a nest a comet and a fruit-tree. 
 
 Ma il fanciullo Rinaldo e sovra questi, 
 E sovra quant i in mostra eran condutti, 
 Dolcemente feroce alzar vedresti 
 La regal fronte, e in lui mirar sol tutti. 
 L* eta precorse, e la speranza ; e presti 
 Pareano i fior, quando n' usciro i frutti ; 
 Se '1 miri fulminar nell' arme avvolto, 
 Marte lo stimi ; Amor, si scopre il volto. 
 
 But these and all the chiefs Rinaldo far, 
 Oh, far outshines ! regality is thrown 
 Upon his forehead like a sparkling star, 
 And all their merits meet in him alone ; 
 His years are full of hope, and early blown, 
 Like fruitage within blossoms just reveal'd ; 
 So sweetly fierce, that when his face is shown 
 You deem him Love, but Battle when the shield 
 He grasps, array 'd in arms, and lightens o'er the field. 
 
 New Version. 
 
 In the following description, Fairfax does not attempt 
 
 to give the meaning of one word of the beautiful 
 
 original : 
 
 Book 2, Stanza xiv. 
 
 Among them dwelt, her parents' joy and pleasure, 
 A maid whose fruit was ripe, not over-year'd ; 
 
 C 2
 
 20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Her beauty was her not-esteemed treasure, 
 The field of love with plough of virtue ear'd. 
 Her labour goodness, godliness her leisure, 
 Her house the heaven by this full moon aye clear'd ; 
 For there, from lovers' eyes withdrawn, alone, 
 With virgin beams this spotless Cynthia shone. 
 
 * * * 
 And forth she went, a shop for merchandise, 
 Full of rich stuff, Irut none for sale exposed. 
 
 Vergine era fra lor di gia matura 
 Verginita, d' alti pensieri, e regj ; 
 D' alta belta, ma sua belta non cura, 
 O tanto sol quant' onesta sen fregi. 
 E il suo pregio maggior, che tra le mura 
 D' angusta casa asconde i suoi gran pregj : 
 E da' vaggheggiatori ella s' invola, 
 Alle lodi, agli sguardi, inculta e sola. 
 
 * * * 
 La vergine tra '1 volgo usci soletta, 
 Non copri sue bellezze, e non 1' espose. 
 
 Of lofty thoughts and principles sublime, 
 Amongst them in the city was a maid, 
 The flower of virgins, in her ripest prime ; 
 Strikingly beautiful ! but that she made 
 Never her care, or beauty only weigh'd 
 In worth with virtue, and her worth acquired 
 A deeper charm from blooming in the shade ; 
 Lovers she shunn'd, nor loved to be admired, 
 But from their praises turn'd, and lived a life retired. 
 
 * * * 
 Alone she goes, urifended, through the pale 
 Mute crowd, nor hides her beauty, nor discloses. 
 
 N. V.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 This spotless lamb thus offered up her blood 
 To save the rest of Christ's selected fold ; 
 Oh noble lie ! was ever truth so good ? 
 Blest be the lips that such a leasing told : 
 Thoughtful awhile remain'd the tyrant wood, 
 His native wrath he 'gan a space withhold, 
 And said, " that thou discover soon I will, 
 " What aid ? what counsel hadst thou in that ill?" Stanza xxii. 
 
 Cosi at publico fato il capo altera 
 Offeree, e '1 volse in si sola raccorre. 
 Magnanima menzogna ! or quando e il vera 
 Si bello, che si passa a te preporre ? 
 Riman sospeso, e non si tosto il fero 
 Tiranno all' ira, come suol, trascorre. 
 Poi la richiede : Io vuo' che tu mi scopra 
 Chi die consiglio, e chi fu insieme all' opra. 
 
 Thus she prepares a public death to meet, 
 A people's ransom at a tyrant's shrine ; 
 Oh glorious falsehood ! beautiful deceit ! 
 Truth's own pure lustre is eclipsed in thine. 
 Doubting rejoin'd the angry Aladine, 
 In accents foreign to his wonted pride, 
 " To know the prompter of thy bold design 
 " I now require ; who counsell'd ? who thy guide ?" 
 Thus he in short : the maid with dignity replied : N. V. 
 
 Elsewhere Clorinda is called an inn ! 
 
 A savage tigress on her helmet lies, 
 
 The famous badge Clorinda used to bear ; 
 
 That wonts in every warlike stour to win, 
 
 By which bright sign well known teas that fair inn. 
 
 Stanza xxxviii.
 
 22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The following stanzas exhibit the puritanical spirit 
 and forced conceit which I have charged upon him ; 
 for which he sacrifices alike the signification and pathos 
 of the original : 
 
 The king, as wicked thoughts are most suspicious, 
 Supposed too fast this tree of virtue grew ; 
 Oh blessed Lord ! why should this Pharaoh vicious 
 Thus tyrannize upon thy Hebrews true ? 
 Who to perform his will, vile and malicious, 
 Exiled these, and all the faithful crew, 
 All that were strong of body, stout of mind, 
 But kept their wives and children pledge behind. 
 
 A hard division ; when the harmless sheep 
 Must leave their lambs to hungry wolves in charge, 
 But labour's virtue's watching, ease her sleep, 
 Trouble best wind that drives salvation's barge. St. liv, It. 
 
 L1V. 
 
 Ma il sospettoso Re stimo periglio 
 Tanta virtu congiunta aver vicina ; 
 Onde, com' egli voile, ambo in esiglio 
 Oltra i termini andar di Palestina. 
 Ei pur seguendo il suo crudel consiglio, 
 Bandisce altri fideli, altri confina. 
 Oh come lascian mesti i pargoletti 
 Figlj, e gli antichi padri, e i dolci letti! 
 
 LV. 
 
 Dura division ! scaccia sol quelli 
 Di forte corpo, e di svegliato ingegno ; 
 Ma il mansueto sesso, ed gli anni imbelli, 
 Seco ritien, siccome ostaggj in pegno.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 To guilty hearts reliance is a stranger, 
 And too much virtue a consuming care ; 
 The jealous king, suspicious still of danger, 
 Reprieved indeed, but doom'd them both to wear 
 Their life in exile ; with the faithful pair 
 He drove forth others ; sighing they resign'd 
 Their homes, their altars, but in strong despair 
 Wept o'er the sires and infants left behind ; 
 Oh, wrench of clasping ties, by Nature's self entwined ! 
 
 But those alone his jealousy exiled 
 Of vigorous manhood and sagacious wit ; 
 The sex by nature soft, unwarlike, mild, 
 For daring deeds and fearful aims unfit, 
 As pledges he refains. N. V. 
 
 Tasso's fine painting of character is thus sacrificed : 
 
 One was Alethes, born in lowly shed, 
 Of parents base, a rose sprung from a brier 
 That now his branches over Egypt spread, 
 No plant in Pharaoh's garden prosper'd higher. 
 With pleasing tales his lord's vain ears he fed, 
 A flatterer, a pickthank, and a liar ; 
 Cursed be estate got with so many a crime ! 
 Yet this is oft the stair by which men climb. Stanza lviii. 
 
 Alete c 1' un che da principio indegno 
 Tra le brutture della plebe e sorto ; 
 Ma 1' innalzaro ai prinii onor del regno 
 Parlar facondo e lusinghiero e scorto, 
 Pieghevoli costumi, e vario ingegno, 
 Al finger pronto, all' ingannare accorto : 
 Gran fabbro di calunnie, adorne in modi 
 Novi, che son accuse, e pajon lodi.
 
 24 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 One was Alethes, offspring of a race 
 That in plebeian degradation ran ; 
 He rose to all the peerages of place, 
 By soothing, lulling, flattering the Divan ; 
 A supple, crafty, various -witted man, 
 Wary to feign, and watchful to beguile, 
 He had a Satan's malice to trepan ; 
 Artist of slanders, trick'd with such a smile, 
 That they whom most he sapp'd, believed it praise the while. 
 
 N. V. 
 
 Perhaps thy fortune doth control the wind, 
 
 Doth loose or bind their blasts in secret cave ; 
 
 The sea, pardie, cruel and deaf by kind, 
 
 Will hear thy call, and still her raging wave : 
 
 But if our armed galleys be assign'd 
 
 To aid those ships which Turks and Persians have, 
 
 Say then, what hope is left thy slender fleet ? 
 
 Dare flocks of crows a flight of eagles meet ? Stanza lxxvi. 
 
 * * # 
 
 Nor could your ships restore your lost estate ; 
 For steed once stolen, we shut the door too late. Stanza Ixxvii. 
 
 Commanda forsc tua fortuna ai venti, 
 E gli awince a sua voglia, e gli dislega ? 
 II mar eh' ai preghi e sordo, ed ai lamenti, 
 Te solo udendo, al tuo voler si piega ? 
 O non potranno pur le nostre genti, 
 E le Perse e le Turche, unite in lega, 
 Cosi potente armata in un ruccorre, 
 Ch' a questi legni tuoi si possa opporre - 
 
 Perhaps thy genius rules the winds, to be 
 
 Stormy or calm, as it may suit thy will ; 
 
 Though proof to prayers, shrieks, wailings, the deaf sea 
 
 Like a I u I I'd child may hear thy voice, and still 
 
 Its raging waves ; but have tie then no skill,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 Nor our allies, to hew the mountain pine 
 Man the vast navy, to the breezes shrill 
 Spread out the sails, and rushing through the brine, 
 Boldly oppose these strong leviathans of thine ? N. V. 
 
 This said, he took his mantle's foremost part 
 And 'gan the same together fold and wrap ; 
 Then spake again, with fell and spiteful heart, 
 (So lions roar enclosed in train and trap,) 
 Thou proud despiser of inconstant Mart, 
 I bring thee war and peace closed in this lap ; ' 
 Take quickly one, thou hast no time to muse ; 
 If peace, we rest ; we fight, if war thou choose. 
 
 Stanza lxxxix. 
 
 Indi il suo manto per lo lembo prese, 
 Curvollo, e fenne un seno, e '1 seno sporto 
 Cosi pur anco a ragionar riprese, 
 Via pin che prima dispettoso e torto ; 
 O sprezzator delle piu dubbie imprese, 
 guerra, e pace in questo sen t' apporto : 
 Tua sia 1' elezione ; or ti consiglia 
 . Jenz' altro indugio, e qual piu vuoi, ti piglia. 
 
 He took his mantle by the skirt, and turn'd, 
 Round and around in a convolving fold ; 
 Holding it forth on high, his passion burn'd 
 In language scornful, profligate, and bold. 
 Ho, thou contemner of strong Fate ! behold 
 Within this wreathing lie both war and peace ; 
 Choose but bethink thee ere the choice be told 
 War, peace, or war ? assent is left for these, 
 What more thou would'st demand thine own right hand must seize. 
 
 N. V.
 
 26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 His semblant fierce and speeches proud provoke 
 The soldiers all, war! war! at once to cry ; 
 Nor could they tarry till their chieftain spoke ; 
 But, for the knight was more enflamed hereby, 
 His lap he opened, and spread forth his cloak : 
 " To mortal wars," he says, " I you defy ;" 
 And this he uttered with full rage and hate, 
 And seemed of Janus church f undo the gate. Stanza xc. 
 
 L' atto fiero, e '1 parlar tutti commosse 
 A chiamar guerra in un Concorde grido ; 
 Non attendendo che risposto fosse 
 Dal magnanimo lor Duce Goffredo. 
 Spiego quel crudo il seno, e '1 manto scosse, 
 Ed a guerra mortal, disse, vi sfido, 
 E '1 disse in atto si feroce ed empio 
 Che pane aprir di Giano il chiuso tempio. 
 
 At his fierce gesture and denonncing voice, 
 Inflamed from all their seats the peers upsprung ; 
 They waited not to hear their general's choice 
 " War ! war !" they shout with simultaneous tongue. 
 He far abroad his cruel mantle flung, 
 And shook it in their teeth ; " then evermore 
 " Take mortal War!" So wild his accents rung, 
 He seem'd to burst the adamantine door 
 Which awful Janus keeps : Mars listen'd to the roar. N. V. 
 
 Yet immediately after these stanzas, which the 
 warmest eulogists of Fairfax cannot possibly think 
 worthy of Tasso, follows the splendid image already 
 quoted, which surpasses all admiration : so near do his 
 extremes of style meet.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 It seemed fury, discord, madness fell 
 
 Flew from bis lap, when he unfolds the same ; 
 
 His glaring eyes with anger's venom swell, 
 
 And like the brand of foul Alecto flame ; 
 
 He look'd like huge Typhoeus loos'd from hell, 
 
 Again to shake Heaven's everlasting frame ; 
 
 Or him that built the tower on Shinaar, 
 
 Which threatenetb battle 'gainst the Morning Star. 
 
 Stanza xci. 
 Parve ch' aprendo il seno, indi traesse 
 II furor pazzo, e la discordia fera ; 
 E che negli occhi orribili gli ardesse 
 La gran face d' Aletto e di Megera. 
 Quel grande gia, che incontra il cielo eresse 
 L' alta mole d' error, forse tal era ; 
 E in co'tal atto il rimiro Babelle 
 Alzar la fronte, e minacciar le stelle. 
 
 It seem'd that from the shaking of the fold, 
 Gigantic Discord and mad Fury flew ; 
 That in his horrible eyes they might behold 
 Megara and Alecto rise to view. 
 So Nimrod stood when he the nations drew 
 To Shinaar's plain the' Almighty to defy ; 
 When at his voice rebellious Babel grew 
 Upward from earth to heaven ; with such an eye 
 He watch'd it touch the stars, and threat the golden sky. 
 
 N. V. 
 
 The same superlative merit must be conceded to the 
 following exquisite verse : 
 
 Now spread the night her spangled canopy, 
 And summon'd every restless eye to sleep ; 
 On beds of tender grass the beasts down lie, 
 The fishes slumber'd in the silent deep ;
 
 28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Unheard was serpent's hiss, and dragon's cry, 
 
 Birds left to sing, and Philomene to weep, 
 
 Only that noise heaven's rolling circles kest, 
 
 Sung lullaby, to bring the world to rest. Stanza xcvi. 
 
 Era la notte allor ch' alio riposo 
 
 Han 1" onde e i' venti, e parea muto il mondo, 
 
 Gli animai lassi, e quei che '1 mare ondoso, 
 
 O de' liquidi laghi albcrga il fondo, 
 
 E chi si giace in tana, o in mandra ascoso, 
 
 E in pinti augelli nell' oblio giocondo 
 
 Sotto il silenzio de' secreti orrori 
 
 Sopian gli aflanni, e raddolciano i cori. 
 
 It is the Night : a holy quiet broods 
 O'er the mute world, winds, waters, are at peace ; 
 The beasts lie couch'd amid the voiceless woods, 
 The fishes slumber in the sounds and seas ; 
 No brilliant bird sings farewell from the trees, 
 Hush'd is the mermaid's song, the panther's roar ; 
 Beneath her wings, a glad oblivion frees - 
 The heart from pain, its daily sorrows o'er, 
 Soon to awake refreshed, with sweetness at the core. N. V. 
 
 The following are instances of undignified termi- 
 nations, &c, degenerating from the beauty of the be- 
 ginning. 
 
 Book 3, Stanza i. 
 
 The purple morning left her crimson bed, 
 And donn'd her robes of pure vermilion hue ; 
 Her amber locks she crown'd with roses red, 
 In Eden's flowery gardens gather'd new ; 
 When through the camp a murmur shrill was spread ; 
 " Arm, arm," they cried : "arm, arm," the trumpets blew; 
 Their merry noise prevents the joyful blast, 
 So hum small bees, before their swarms they cast.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 Gia 1' aura messagiera erasi desta 
 A nunciar che se ne vien 1' aurora 
 Ella intanto s' adorna, e 1' aurea testa 
 Di rose, colte in Paradiso, infiora ; 
 Quando il campo ch' all' urine omai s' appresta, 
 In voce mormorava alta e sonora, 
 E prevenia le trorabe : e questi poi 
 Dier piu lieti e canori i'segni suoi. 
 
 The odorous air, morn's messenger, had spread 
 Its wings to herald, in vermilion skies, 
 Aurora dancing forth, her sunny head 
 Adorn'd with roses pluck'd in Paradise. 
 When in full panoply the hosts arise, 
 And loud and spreading murmurs upward flew 
 Before the trumpet sang ; its melodies 
 They miss'd not long the merry trumpets blew ; 
 Their shrill sonorous calls the murmurs more renew. N. V. 
 
 Dudon pursued the victory he gain'd, 
 And on Tigranes nobly broke his spear, 
 Then with his sword headless to ground him cast, 
 So gardeners branches lop that spring too fast. Stanza xliii. 
 
 Segue Dudon nella vittoria ardente 
 I fuggitivi, e '1 fer Tigrane opprime 
 Con 1' urto del cavallo ; e con la spada 
 Fa che scemo del capo a terra cad a. 
 
 Still Dudon, flush'd with conquest, gave the rein 
 To his frenetic horse that with a bound 
 Bore down the sour Tigranes ; not in vain 
 The sharp sword struck, he headless fell to ground, 
 And savage ev'n in death the rolling eye-ball frown'd. N. V.
 
 30 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^ Three times he strove to view Heaven's golden ray, 
 
 And raised him on his feeble elbow thrice, 
 
 And thrice he tumbled on the lowly lay, 
 
 And three times closed again his dying eyes ; 
 
 He speaks no word, yet makes he signs to pray ; 
 
 He sighs, he faints, he groans, and then he dies. 
 
 Argantes proud to spoil the corpse disdain'd, 
 But shook his sword with blood of Dudon stain'd. 
 
 Gli apre tre volte, e i dolci rai del Cielo 
 Cerco fruire, e sovra un braccia alzarsi : 
 E tre volte ricadde, e fosco velo 
 Gli occhi adombro, che stanchi alfin serrarsi 
 Si dissolvono i membri, e' 1 mortal gelo 
 Irrigiditi, e di sudor gli ha sparsi. 
 Sovra il corpo gia morto il fero Argante 
 Punto non bada, e via trascorre avante. 
 
 Thrice he unclosed those eyes, on Heaven's sweet light 
 Once more to feed ; thrice on his elbow raised, 
 Fainting, fell back, then the blank veil of night 
 Muffled their balls, that giddy as they gazed 
 Droop'd fix'd and all was o'er ! his limbs unbraced, 
 Rigid with mortal frost, were sprinkled o'er 
 With death's chill dews effacing and effaced ; 
 The' insulting chief, one instant and no more, 
 Smiled on the lifeless corse, then fled fast as before. N. V. 
 
 The following is Fairfax's very singular version of 
 the 34th stanza of the Fourth Book : we may trace in it 
 the same fondness for proverbial conceits : 
 
 This was the fowl that first fell in the snare, 
 He saw her Mr, and hoped to find her kind ; 
 The throne of Cupid hath an easy stair, 
 His bark is fit to sail with every wind ;
 
 INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 The breach he makes no wisdom can repair ; 
 With reverence meet the baron low inclined, 
 And thus his purpose to the virgin told, 
 For youth, use, nature, all had made him bold. 
 
 Come al lume farfalla, ei si rivolse 
 Alio splendor della belui divina ; 
 E rimirar dappresso i lumi volse, 
 Che dolcemente atto modesto inchina ; 
 E ne trasse gran fiamma, e la raccolse 
 Come da foco suole esca vicina : 
 E disse verso lei, ch' audace e baldo 
 II fea degli anni e dell' amore il caldo : 
 
 As the wing'd insect to the lamp, so he 
 Flew to the splendour of her angel face, 
 Too much indulgent of his wish to see 
 Those eyes which pride and modesty abase. 
 And drawn within the fascinating blaze, 
 Gathering, like Semele, celestial fire, 
 O'erpowered with beauty, stupid for a space 
 He stood, till the bold blood of blithe desire 
 Did to his trembling tongue some few wild words inspire. 
 
 N. V. 
 
 But not to weary with a longer enumeration of faults, 
 the 73d Stanza, Book 5th, contains the climax of 
 absurd burlesque. 
 
 Their names were writ, and in a helmet shaken, 
 While each did Fortune's grace and aid implore ; 
 At last they drew them, and the foremost taken 
 The Earl of Pembroke was, Artemidore. 
 Doubtless the County thought his bread well baken : 
 Next Gerard followed :
 
 32 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Such being Fairfax's great inequality, the attempt 
 even in a young writer to improve upon it will be 
 thought probably to savour less of presumption than of 
 an honourable ambition. As respects however the 
 recent translation of the Rev. J. H. Hunt, it may be 
 proper in me to observe, that I had commenced my 
 translation before the appearance of his, and having 
 already made some progress, 1 candidly avow that I saw 
 no reason to withhold my own. In lieu of your own 
 opinion, it is very usual to cite the encouraging senti- 
 ments of friends : Mr. Hunt has done so, and I might 
 derive both gratification and countenance by pursuing 
 a similar mode on the present occasion : but I believe 
 that the approbation of an Author's friends is as much 
 to be mistrusted as his own: it is often as nudist in- 
 guishingly partial, as flatteringly fond, and after all, an 
 author, unless he be a very vain or a disappointed man, 
 seems to me as suitable a judge of his own productions 
 as the many who may read him, or the many to whom 
 he may fly for advice; for, as the author of La con 
 sagaciously tells us : " we ask advice, but we mean 
 approbation." 
 
 I have chosen the stanza of Spenser, as the happiest 
 measure in my opinion, and the best adapted to the 
 romantic spirit that pervades the Jerusalem Delivered.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 33 
 
 The heroic couplet would undoubtedly have been more 
 easily written, but it would have been infinitely more 
 monotonous. Notwithstanding what some writers have 
 advanced relative to the monotony of Spenser's stanza, 
 I believe with Beattie, whose proud eulogy of it is in 
 every one's remembrance, that it is only so to the 
 reader when the poet is dull ; and that it is more likely 
 to appear fatiguing in a poem like The Fairie Queene, 
 where the events and plan are so inextricably entangled, 
 than in the service of a poet, who never once loses sight 
 of his subject, who leads the attention undistracted along, 
 with a gentle ease to the termination, shifting the scenes 
 however with a rare felicity of invention, now from the 
 conflicts of war to the intrigues of love, and now from 
 the splendour of courts and camps to green pastures 
 and still waters, to religious groves and secluded foun- 
 tains, to the ominous cells of the, enchanter, and the 
 fairy palaces of enchantment. Much more variety of 
 pause, much greater diversity of cadence, and a more 
 sustained melody may be thrown into this stanza than 
 into any other, whilst the resounding Alexandrine 
 which shuts it up, like a golden door closing on some 
 building of magnificent and various architecture, is 
 gloriously epic in its music and its majesty, and charms 
 equally the ear, whether it expresses the low murmurs 
 
 d
 
 &\f INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of melancholy love, or the sonorous march, the embla- 
 zonry and bray of battle. 
 
 The Spenserian stanza is to the ottava rima, in the 
 architecture of verse, what the Corinthian column is to 
 Drayton's Tuscan. It has again this advantage over 
 that of Fairfax, that it gives greater space for the 
 translator to express the author's meaning. It was cer- 
 tainly a grand difficulty to him to be obliged to com- 
 press the stanza of Tasso into one of smaller compass, 
 for Tasso's is syllabically longer even than Spenser's, 
 much more so therefore than the English octave ; the 
 skill with which Fairfax, generally speaking, has done 
 this, is not the least of his achievements. The super- 
 added Alexandrine gives just sufficient scope to the 
 Spenserian stanza for all the purposes of transla- 
 tion. The many rhymes of one class for which it 
 is necessary to look out, must in a long poem ren- 
 der composition laborious, but this very labour of 
 thought has a re-action of its own, and will often 
 preserve a writer from looseness of expression, as the 
 limits of the stanza will from diffuseness. Mr. Hunt, 
 in the uncircumscribed range which he enjoys of the 
 heroic couplet, often takes ten and even twelve lines to 
 render the eight of Tasso. This his license tends 
 necessarily to dilation and verbiage ; and thus the stanza
 
 INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 of Spenser derives a fresh claim to the recommendation 
 of the translator. 
 
 With respect to the rules by which translation should 
 be directed, much difference of opinion must be allowed 
 to exist. Some critics are for binding a translator 
 down to a slavish, and almost verbal fidelity, and yet 
 have the audacity to expect in his version the vigour 
 and spirit of an original poem. Upon this plan was 
 Carew's Godfrey of Bulloigne conducted, and the con- 
 sequence is, that though written but twelve years before 
 Fairfax's, it is ten times more quaint, more rugged, and 
 tuneless : one instance will suffice. It is the beautiful 
 stanza in the opening of the poem, where the poet forms 
 his fine apology for poesy. 
 
 The world, thou know'st, to loved Parnassus flies, 
 Where most sweet Music ravishes the winds ; 
 Thou know'st that Truth in melody's disguise 
 Allures the coyest, charms the lightest minds : 
 Ev'n as a mother her sick infant blinds, 
 Touching the edges of the vase she gives 
 With honey : pleased in sipping, he inclines 
 To the full draught, the bitter he receives, 
 And fitly thus beguiled restored her infant lives. N. V. 
 
 Thou know'st where luring Parnasse most poures out 
 His sweetnesse, all the world doth after runne, 
 And that truth season'd with smooth verse, from doubt 
 The way ward'st (flocking) to believe hath wonne ; 
 
 d2
 
 36 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 So cup, his briinmea earst liquorisht about 
 With sweet, we give to our diseased sonne ; 
 Beguilde he drinkes some bitter juice the while; 
 And doth his life receive from such a guile. Carew. 
 
 Thither thou know'st the world is best inclinde 
 Where luring Parnasse most his sweet imparts, 
 And truth convay'd in verse of gentle kinde 
 To reade, perhaps, will move the dullest hearts ; 
 So we, if children young diseas'd we finde, 
 Annoint with sweets the vessel's foremost parts, 
 To make them taste the potion sharpe we give, 
 They drink deceiv'd, and so deceiv'd they live. Fairfax. 
 
 Other critics grant almost unbounded license to the 
 translator, who with such permission will often lose 
 all similarity to his prototype. The golden mean is 
 undoubtedly the best, though not the most indulgent. 
 Without considerable license, ease is unattainable in a 
 translation, and no poem can please long in which this 
 is not a predominant quality. A translation should be 
 less a copy than a twin. Fairfax's version has often been 
 pronounced most exact and faithful, but I have taken far 
 less liberties than Fairfax. The manner in which I 
 have deemed it best to attempt to execute it, cannot be 
 better expressed than in the dictum of the author of the 
 Curiosities of Literature, which however I did not meet 
 with till I had completed the first five books ; I was not 
 a little strengthened in my plan by opinions so closely 
 in unison with those which I had previously formed.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 37 
 
 " A Translator must 'be exact, not only in giving the 
 " thoughts of his Author, but even his own words, 
 " when they become essential and necessary. He must 
 " preserve the spirit and peculiar genius of his author. 
 " He must distinguish every character by its manners 
 " and its nature, by unfolding the sense and the words 
 " with suitable phrases and parallel expressions. He 
 " must yield beauties by other beauties, and figures by 
 " other figures, whenever the idiom of language does 
 " not admit of a close version. He must attempt a 
 " neatness in his manner; and to effect this, he must 
 " know skilfully to contract or enlarge his periods. He 
 " must not only sedulously attempt precision, and purity 
 " of diction, but he must strive also to embellish his 
 " version with those graces and images which frequently 
 " lie so closely hidden, that nothing but the being fami- 
 " liarly conversant with his author can discover them, 
 " and, lastly, he must present us with the sentiments of 
 " his author, without a servile attachment to his words 
 " or phrases, but rather, according to his spirit and his 
 " genius." Vol. I. p. 262. 
 
 My reason for giving the Fourth Book as a specimen 
 rather than any other, is that, of the early books, it is 
 the best fitted for becoming such, not only from its 
 greater singleness of action, but because it exhibits some-
 
 38 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 what both of the grandeur of Tasso, and that amorous 
 sweetness for which he is peculiarly distinguished ; 
 and as it will thus show how far the Spenserian stanza 
 is designed from its nature to be impressed into such a 
 service. It is not till our poet has launched into the 
 Sixth Book, that like a gallant vessel freed from its 
 moorings, he glides through the deep waters of feeling, 
 and with full press of sail, bounds abroad upon his 
 high and beautiful adventure. The present book must 
 consequently yield in interest to the succeeding ones, 
 but it can for the same reason be more dispassionately 
 considered. 
 
 To the periodical critics who may think proper to 
 notice this attempt, I have a few words to say. That a 
 writer who starts in a course like this, should expect 
 to reach his goal without running the gauntlet through 
 much that is severe, would argue either a great igno- 
 rance of things, or no little self-estimation. I cherish no 
 such expectations ; but I have such respect for the 
 generosity of the great body of the censors of our 
 poetry as to believe, that the nobility of my aim 
 will secure me from such purely personal observations 
 as have heretofore been indulged in by one, whose 
 honourable situation in what is called the republic of 
 letters ought to have restrained him from the littleness
 
 INTRODUCTION. 39 
 
 of such a proceeding. Of what consequence is it to 
 the interests of literature by whom the sphere of taste 
 and of enjoyment is attempted to be enlarged? If 
 any one should yet question what congeniality a Friend 
 could find in Tasso, I reply the same that Cowper 
 discovered in Homer. I have no reason to be other- 
 wise than grateful for the justice or the indulgence of 
 the critics ; I have profited by their strictures ; and I 
 now dismiss these leaves the product of those golden 
 hours of leisure which one engaged in severer pursuits, 
 is compelled to coin to himself, certainly without pre- 
 sumption, and as certainly without fear : because I 
 know that the intellect and curiosity of the age will 
 not suffer any writings to die that may deserve to live, 
 whilst those which have little or no desert, will merit 
 the oblivion they meet. 
 
 Woburn, 2nd Month 13th, 1821.
 
 3$rop00al& 
 
 SHOULD the present Specimen be received with 
 such encouragement as would satisfy the Translator 
 that a complete version of the Jerusalem Delivered in 
 the same measure would be regarded with a favourable 
 eye, it will be prosecuted with as much promptness as 
 may be consistent with the importance of such a work, 
 and the first volume will be put to press with little 
 delay, containing the first Six Books, with a Life of 
 Tasso. The whole will be completed in three volumes 
 octavo, elegantly printed and embellished. 
 
 Price to Subscribers Sfoo (Kttmeas. 
 
 Subscribers' Names and Address will be received by 
 the Author, and at John Warren's, Old Bond-Street.
 
 %tvu$zkm mitbtta. 
 
 BOOK IV.
 
 OTje argument 
 
 Lucifer, indignant at the progress of the Christian arms in Palestine, 
 calls to synod all his angels, and in a passionate harangue reminding 
 them of their expulsion from Heaven, of the dignity which in conse- 
 quence of their fall was bestowed upon man, and of the attempts which 
 were making to overthrow their worship by the powers of Christendom, 
 lets them loose from the abyss to wreak their malice on the armies around 
 Jerusalem, and by every art to oppose their enterprise. At the inspira- 
 tion of one of these, Hidrabtes, Prince of Damascus, a powerful magi- 
 cian, sends his beautiful niece Armida to the camp with the design of 
 captivating the Christian knights, and of thwarting their designs by her 
 enchantments. She is introduced by Eustace to the chief, and in a 
 fictitious story of her misfortunes, tries to move his pity, and requests 
 ten champions may be granted to redress her wrongs. Godfrey at first 
 refuses, but at length at the earnest solicitations of his brother Eustace, 
 and of his barons, reluctantly consents. During her stay in the camp, 
 Armida succeeds in captivating by her blandishments most of the Chris- 
 tian knights. 
 
 The scene at the beginning of the book lies in Tartarus, whence it shifts to 
 Damascus, and the camp before Jerusalem. Time about seven days. 
 
 11 2
 
 J
 
 \ 
 
 
 3feru$alem ZteH&mB. 
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 I 
 
 WHILST thus in fervent toil the artisan 
 Gave his magnificent enginry to rise 
 For instant service, the grand foe of man 
 Turned on the Christian hosts his livid eyes , 
 He saw them ranged in glad societies, 
 Blest with success, and jealous of their good, 
 Bit both his lips for rage ; in groans and sighs 
 His grief found voice, as in his savage mood, 
 Pierced by some hunter, roars the bison of the wood.
 
 46 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then, having run through every mode of thought h 
 To work them fiercest ills, he gave command 
 That all his angels should make swift resort f 
 To his imperial court, a horrid band ! 
 As though it were a trifling thing to stand & 
 (Oh fool !) the antagonist of God, and spite O 
 His divine will, forgetful of the hand ( 
 Which thundering through all space, from heaven's blue heigi 
 Hurled him of yore down down to Tartarus and night. I 
 
 III. 
 
 Its hoarse alarm the Stygian trumpet blew 
 To the immortal tribes of night ; aghast, 
 Into the boundless gloom roaring it flew, f 
 Blind air rebellowing to the dreary blast, 
 Which made all Orcus tremble ; never cast 
 The black skies so insufferable a sound, 
 When the harsh thunder's groaning car rolled past ; 
 Nor ever in such motion rocked the ground, 
 When in its quivering heart conflicting fires were bound.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Gods of the Abyss in various swarms 
 From all sides to the yawning portals throng, 
 Swift, at the shrieking signal horrible forms, 
 Strange to the sight, unspeakable in song ! 
 Death shone in all their eyes ; some passed along 
 With animal tramp ; some, as the Sirens fair, 
 Whose human faces bore the viper's tongue, 
 And hissing snakes for ornamental hair, 
 Rode forth on dragon folds that lashed the raven air. 
 
 V. 
 
 There might you hear the Harpy's clangorous brood, 
 The Python's hiss, the Hydra's wailing yell, 
 Mad Scylla barking in her greedy mood, 
 And roaring Polypheme, the pride of hell ; 
 Pale Gorgons, savage Sphinxes, Centaurs fell, 
 Geiyons, Chimeras breathing flakes of fire, 
 Figures conceptionless, innumerable, 
 Multiform visages in one, all dire, 
 To the vast halls of Dis in hideous speed aspire.
 
 48 
 
 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They took their station right and left around 
 The grisly king ; he, cruel of command, 
 Sate in the midst of them, and sourly frowned, 
 The huge, rough sceptre in his brandished hand. 
 No Alpine crag magnificently grand, 
 No rock of the' sea in size with him might vie ; 
 Calpe, and Atlas soaring from the sand, 
 Seemed to his stature little hills : so high 
 Reared he his horned front in that stupendous sky. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There was a majesty in his fierce face 
 That deepening others' fears, increased his pride ; 
 His eyes were bloodshot, and instinct with rays 
 That like a baleful comet, far and wide, 
 Diffused a venomous splendour which outvied 
 The fascinating snake's ; barbarous and hoar 
 His grand beard swept his breast, and, gaping wide 
 As deep Charybdis on the Sicil shore, 
 Yawned his terrific jaws, besmeared with foaming gore.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 49 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His breath was like those sulphurous vapours born 
 In thunder, stench, and the live shotstar's light, 
 When red Vesuvius showers, by earthquakes torn, 
 O'er sleeping Naples in the dead of night 
 Funereal ashes ! whilst he spoke, affright 
 Hushed howling Cerberus, Celceno's shriek ; 
 Cocytus paused in his lamenting flight ; 
 The abysses trembled ; horror chilled each cheek ; 
 And these the words they heard the shouting giant speak. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Princes of Hell ! but worthier far to fill 
 " In Heaven, whence each one sprang, his diamond throne, 
 " Ye ! who with me were hurled from the blest hill, 
 " Where glorious as the morning-star we shone, 
 " To range these frightful dungeons ye have known 
 " The ancient jealousies and fierce disdains 
 " Which goaded us to battle, overthrown 
 " We are judged rebels, and besieged with pains, 
 " Whilst o'er his starry droves the happy victor reigns.
 
 50 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV 
 
 " And for the' ethereal air, serene and pure, 
 " The golden sun, and starry spheres, his hate 
 " Has locked us in this bottomless obscure, 
 " Forbidding bold ambition to translate 
 " Our spirits to their first divine estate. 
 " Then, ah the bitter thought ! 'tis this which aye 
 " Stings me to madness , did he not create 
 " The vile worm man, that thing of reptile clay, 
 " To fill our vacant seats in those blue fields of day ? 
 
 XL 
 
 " Nor this sufficed ; to spite us more, he gave 
 " His only son, his darling to the dead. 
 " He came ; he burst the portals of the grave ; 
 " Compassed our kingdoms with audacious tread ; 
 " The spirits in torment doomed to us, he led 
 " Back to the skies his richly-ransomed throng ; 
 " And, in our teeth, Hell's conquered ensigns spread, 
 " Abroad on Heaven's bright battlements uphung, 
 " The whilst ten thousand saints loud alleluiahs sung.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 51 
 
 XII. 
 
 " But why renew afflictions too severe 
 " By numbering up the wrongs already known ! 
 " When, and on what occasion did ye hear 
 " He paused in wrath, and left his works undone ? 
 " No more o'er past indignities I run, 
 " But present injuries and future shame 
 " Must we slight these ? Alas ! we cannot shun 
 " The consciousness that now his hated aim 
 " Is the wide nations round from darkness to reclaim. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " What ! shall we pass in sloth the days and hours, 
 " Cherish no wrath-bom lightnings in our veins, 
 " But leave his principalities and powers 
 " To reap fresh laurels on the Asian plains ? 
 " To lead Judea in their servile chains, 
 " And spread his worshipped name from clime to clime? 
 " Sound it in other tongues, in other strains ? 
 " And on fresh columns sculpture it sublime, 
 " To teach a future age, and mock almighty Time ?
 
 52 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " And must our glorious idols be o'erthrown ? 
 " Our altars change to his ? our temples nod ? 
 " Gold, incense, vows, be paid to him alone ? 
 " And Baal bow before the shrine of God ? 
 " In the high Groves where erst we made abode 
 " Must priest, nor charm, nor oracle remain ? 
 " And shall the myriad spirits who bestowed 
 " Tribute on us that tribute now disdain, 
 " And o'er dispeopled realms abandoned Pluto reign? 
 
 XV. 
 
 " No ! for our essences are yet the same, 
 " The same our pride, our prowess, and our power, 
 " As when with sharp steel and engirding flame, 
 " In godlike battle we withstood the flower 
 " Of heaven's archangels ; we in evil hour 
 " Were foiled, I grant, but smiling chance, not skill 
 " Made them victorious still we scorned to cower ; 
 " The fire of glory tamelessness of will, 
 " Burnt it not in our hearts ? does it not burn there still?
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 53 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Then longer why delay ! arise, take wing, 
 " My hope, my strength, my sweet familiars, fly ; 
 " Plagues and swift ruin on these Christians bring, 
 " Ere reinforced by any fresh ally ; 
 " Haste ! quench the spreading flame of chivalry, 
 " Ere in its blaze Judea all unites ; 
 " Your arts exert, your upas-arrows ply ; 
 " Enter at will among their armed knights, 
 " Now practise open force, and now use secret sleights. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Let what I will be fate ! give some to rove 
 " In exile, some in battle to be slain ; 
 " Let some abandoned to a lawless love, 
 " Make woman's smiles and frowns their joy and pain, 
 " And brilliant eyes their idols ; let some stain 
 " Their swords in civil strife ; let some engage 
 " In crimes against their king ; let murder reign 
 " With treason, rage with murder, hate with rage ; 
 " So perish all priest, king, page, noble, serf, and sage !"
 
 5i JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Before the Anarch closed his fierce harangue, 
 His rebel angels in loud mirth were flown, 
 Glad to revisit the pure light ; a clang 
 Of pinions passed, and he was left alone. 
 As in their limitary grottos moan 
 The genii of the storm as forth they sweep, 
 Or ere the signal of the winds is blown, 
 With howling sound, their carnival to keep, 
 And in grand strife embroil the kingdoms of the deep ; 
 
 XIX. 
 
 So they, o'er every valley, wave, and hill, 
 Spreading their nimble wings, themselves dispersed, 
 Intent to frame with more than demon-skill 
 New-fancied snares, and use their arts accursed. 
 But say, sweet Muse ! of mighty ills, what first 
 Their malice wrought, and by what agents, say ; 
 Thou know'st it ; Fame the tidings has rehearsed, 
 But in the gloom remote of times grown grey, 
 Long ere. it reach our ear, the weak voice melts away.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 55 
 
 XX. 
 
 In rich Damascus Hidrabtes reign'd, 
 A mighty wizard, who from childhood pored 
 O'er deep divining volumes, till he gained 
 The knowledge which he pined for, and adored. 
 But what availed his vast and priceless hoard 
 Ofsigns and charms, if he could not foretell 
 The war's uncertain issues 1 his search soared 
 To heaven no star, no planet owned the spell, 
 Nor would one parleying ghost divulge the truth from hell. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And yet he thought (blind human wit, how vain 
 And crooked are thy thoughts !) that God had blessed 
 The Paynim arms, and surely would ordain 
 Death to the' unconquered armies of the West ; 
 He judged that Egypt from their grasp would wrest 
 The palm of war, and from the dazzling game 
 Depart a winning victor, and impressed 
 With this one image, he resolved to claim 
 Part in the grand award of conquest, wealth, and fame.
 
 50 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK iv, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But since their prowess drew his highe'st esteem, 
 The war's red chances he forbore to dare, 
 And long revolved by what superior scheme 
 The Christian princes he might first ensnare, 
 And sap their power, and to his aims prepare 
 The aid of Egypt, till with ruin rife 
 His hosts the conquering sword abroad should bear ; 
 His evil angel marked the mental strife, 
 Made quick the embryo thought, and pushed it into life. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The fraud he framed, the counsel he inspired, 
 And made his purpose easy to pursue ; 
 He had a niece whose beauty all admired ; 
 The Helen of the East, she daily grew 
 More loved, caressed, and worshipped ; well she knew 
 Each fine discretion, each beguiling art 
 Of virgin and enchantress ; her he drew 
 To his divan, and thus to her apart, 
 In nectarous words made known the wishes of his heart.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 57 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Dear girl ! that underneath these locks of gold, 
 " And that fair face we well may deem divine, 
 " Dost hide a heart, wise, masculine, and bold, 
 " And magic skill transcendent over mine, 
 " I nurse a glorious thought : the brave design 
 u But needs thy happy guidance to commend 
 " My hopes to sure success ; the thread I twine, 
 " Weave thou the web, the lively colours blend ; 
 " What cautious Age begins must dauntless Beauty end. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Go to the camp ; there tremble, weep, and sigh, 
 " Each female charm that lures to love employ ; 
 " Let the lips aid the witchcraft of the eye, 
 " Smiles flash through tears, and grief despond in joy : 
 " Now shrink from notice, now with prayers annoy ; 
 " In weeping beauty o'er the wise prevail ; 
 " Go ! storm the' obdurate bosom, win the coy, 
 " In seeming truth clothe fiction's fairy tale, 
 " And draw o'er warm desire reserve's attractive veil. 
 
 c
 
 58 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Take if thou canst Lord Godfrey in the thrall 
 ' Of thy sweet looks and amiable address, 
 " Till his soul sickens at the trumpet's call, 
 " And the world's war dissolves in a caress ; 
 " But if this feat surpass thy skill, possess 
 " His bravest nobles, and in friendship's guise 
 " Transport them to some boundless wilderness, 
 " Ne'er to return :" then opens his device, 
 And adds " these means our faith -our country sanctifies." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The beautiful Armida in her pride 
 Assumed the adventure, and in twilight gray, 
 Eve's grateful star her solitary guide, 
 Alone, untended, took her secret way. 
 In clustering locks and feminine array, 
 Armed but with loveliness and frolic youth, 
 She trusts to conquer mighty kings, and slay 
 Embattled hosts ; meanwhile false rumours soothe 
 The light censorious crowd, sagacious of the truth.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 59 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 When the third morning showered its roseate dew, 
 She saw the Latins' white pavilions rise ; 
 The camp she reached, her wondrous beauty drew 
 The gaze and admiration of all eyes ; 
 Not less than if some strange star in the skies, 
 Or sparkling comet's more resplendent tiar 
 Shone forth ; a murmur far before her flies, 
 And crowds press round, to listen or inquire 
 Who the fair pilgrim is, and soothe their eyes' desire. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Never did Greece or Italy behold 
 A form to fancy and to taste more dear ! 
 At times, the white veil dims her locks of gold, 
 At times, in bright relief they re-appear : 
 Thus, when the stormy skies begin to clear, 
 Now through transparent clouds the sunshine gleams, 
 Now, issuing from its shrine, the gorgeous Sphere 
 Lights up the vales, flowers, mountains, leaves, and streams, 
 With a diviner day the spirit of bright beams. 
 
 C 2
 
 60 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 New ringlets form the flowing winds amid 
 The natural curls of her resplendent hair ; 
 Her blue eye, rolled beneath its shadowing lid, 
 Locks up its wealth with more than miser care ; 
 The rival roses upon cheeks more fair 
 Than Morning Light, each other's claims oppose, 
 But on her lips, whose breath the lovesick air 
 Wooes for its violet scent, the crimson rose, 
 Its whole voluptuous bloom in crowned dominion throws. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Ripe as the grape just mellowing into wine, 
 Her bosom swells to sight; its lily breasts, 
 Smooth, soft, and sweet, like alabaster shine, 
 Part bare, part hid by her embroidered vests ; 
 Whose jealous fringe the greedy eye arrests, 
 But leaves its fond imaginations free, 
 To sport, like doves, in those delicious nests, 
 And their most shadowed secrecies to see ; 
 Peopling with beautiful dreams the lively phantasy. 

 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. CI 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 As through the waters of a crystal spring, 
 Blue with excessive depth, the sunbeam darts, 
 Cleaving the still glass with its gorgeous wing, 
 It leaves no wrinkle on the wave it parts : 
 So, noiseless, Fancy dives in virgins' hearts 
 Through vestures as unruffled, to explore 
 Their amiable deceits, their shining arts, 
 And the mind's cells, whence Love his golden ore 
 Draws to illume desire, and charm us more and more. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Praised and admired Armida passed amid 
 The wishful crowd, and did not seem to spy 
 The interest raised, but in her deep heart hid 
 The syren smile just darting to her eye, 
 In prelude of foretasted victory : 
 Whilst in the mute suspense of troubled pride 
 She sought with look solicitous yet shy, 
 For her uncertain feet an ushering guide 
 To Godfrey's royal tent, young Eustace pressed her side.
 
 6* 
 
 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 As the winged insect to the lamp, so he 
 Flew to the splendour of her angel face, 
 Too much indulgent of his wish to see 
 Those eyes which pride and modesty abase ; 
 And drawn within the fascinating blaze, 
 Gathering, like Semele, celestial fire, 
 O'erpowered with beauty, stupid for a space 
 He stood till the bold blood of blithe desire 
 Did to his trembling tongue some few wild words inspire. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Oh Lady ! if thy rank that name allow, 
 " If shapes of spiritual mould confess the call, 
 " For never yet did partial Heaven endow 
 " With its own light a daughter of the Fall, 
 " Say on what inquest, from what happy hall 
 " Seek'st thou our fortunate tents? But if we greet 
 " In thee one of the tribes angelical, 
 " Cause us to know that we, as were most meet, 
 " May bend to thee unblamed, and kiss thy saintly feet."
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 63 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Signior," she said, " thy praises shame a worth 
 " Too poor to warrant such a bold belief, 
 " Thou seest before thee one of mortal birth, 
 " One dead to joy, and vital but with grief; 
 " My fierce afflictions scourge me to your chief ; 
 " An outraged virgin in a timeless flight, 
 " I speed to him for safety and relief, 
 " Assured that he will re-assert my right ; 
 " So wide resounds his fame for graciousness and might. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " But if indulgent courtesy be thine, 
 " Now to your sultan grant me strait access !" 
 " Yes, lovely pilgrim," he replied, " be mine 
 " The task to guide thee in thy young distress. 
 " Nor is my interest with Lord Godfrey less 
 " Than what a brother may presume to vaunt ; 
 " Thy suit shall not be naked of success ; 
 " All that lus sceptre or my sword can grant, 
 " Shall in thy power be placed, to punish or supplant."
 
 fit JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK iv. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 He brought her where, retiring from the crowd 
 With captains, princes, and magnific peers, 
 Duke Godfrey sate ; she reverently bowed, 
 Shame burning on her cheek, and rising tears 
 Stifling her speech : he reassured her fears, 
 Chid back the blush so beautifully bright, 
 Till, sweeter than the music of the spheres, 
 Binding their ravished senses in delight, 
 Her syren voice broke forth, and all were mute as Night. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Brave Prince ! whose grand name is a starry theme 
 " For the applauses of all time, to whom 
 " Kings nations tamed in battle kneel, and deem 
 " Their deed of vassalage a glorious doom, 
 " To realms far wider than thy martial plume 
 " Will wave, thy valour by the winds is blown, 
 " Till ev'n thy foes adore thee, and presume 
 " In meek assurance to approach thy throne, 
 " And respite ask from ills with which they vainly groan.
 
 book iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 65 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Thus I, though nourished in the faith you hate, 
 " And strive to cancel from the world's wide page, 
 " Hope to acquire through thee my lost estate, 
 " My sceptre, and ancestral heritage ; 
 " Others, oppressed by foreign force, engage 
 " The succours of their kindred ; I, alas, 
 " Defrauded of their pity at an age 
 " Which claims it most, the bounds of kindred pass, 
 " And hostile arms invoke the ghost of what I was ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " On thee I call, on thee depend, for thou 
 " Alone canst conquer back mine ancient crown ; 
 " 'Twere more divine in thee to raise the low, 
 " Than on the proud to call destruction down ; 
 " Lovelier is mercy's smile than valour's frown, 
 " A suppliant cherished than a foe undone : 
 " And far less beautiful were thy renown, 
 " (Attest it with thy truth, thou glorious Sun!) 
 " To lay whole realms in dust, than thus relumine one.
 
 66 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 XLI1. 
 
 " But if our varying faiths my Gentile creed 
 " Influence thy judgment to despise my prayer, 
 " Let this my faith in thine indulgence plead 
 " For me, nor prove an illusory snare. 
 " Lo ! before universal Jove I swear, 
 " God over all, from whom all empire flows, 
 " A juster quarrel never claimed thy care ; 
 " Then listen ! frauds, conspiracies, and foes, 
 " Of these my story treats, a tale of many woes. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " The daughter I of Arbilan who reigned 
 " In fair Damascus mean by birth, made great 
 " By fortune ; Queen Cariclea he obtained 
 " In marriage, and with her possessed the state. 
 " Her death, alas, did almost antedate 
 " My worthless life ! I issued from the womb 
 " As she expired, the self-same hour of fate, 
 " (Oh birth too dearly bought ! oh ill-starred doom !) 
 " Me to the cradle gave, her to the voiceless tomb.
 
 hook IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 67 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Five summer-suns had scarcely spent their fire 
 " Since Death's pale Angel called her to the skies, 
 " Than, yielding to the lot of all, my sire 
 " Rejoined her sainted shade in Paradise. 
 " He left his brother by his last devise 
 " Sole regent of the kingdom and of me, 
 " Thinking that if the natural pieties 
 " In mortal breasts had mansion, they must be 
 " Locked in his heart of hearts with virtue's strictest key. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Thus then he played the tutor to my youth, 
 " And with such show of kindness, that each wind 
 " Voiced far and near his uncorrupted truth, 
 a Paternal love, and bounty unconfined. 
 " Whether the guilty movements of his mind 
 " Beneath a flattering face he thought to hide, 
 " Or that he then sincerely was inclined 
 " To work me good by making me the bride 
 " Of his ungracious son, 'twere idle to decide.
 
 68 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " I grew in years, and with me grew his son, 
 " But by no brave accomplishments, no store 
 " Of sciences or arts could he be won, 
 " He hated knightly deeds and princely lore. 
 " Beneath a hideous countenance he bore 
 " A baser heart, where pride and avarice 
 " Shot their dark roots down to the deepest core ; 
 " Savage in manners, slave to dress and dice, 
 " None but himself could be his paragon in vice. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " And now it was that my kind guardian strove 
 " To wed me with this ill-assorted thing, 
 " A goodly gallant for a lady's love,' 
 " To charm as bridegroom, and to reign as king ! 
 " Rhetoric he used he used address to bring 
 " The ardent hopes with which his fancy swelled 
 " To their vowed end, but never could he wring 
 " From me the fatal promise, I rebelled, 
 " And all his golden bribes disdainfully repelled.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 69 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " At last he left me with a gloomy face, 
 " His elvish heart transpicuous in his look ; 
 " Too well my future story could I trace 
 " In the dark leaves of that prophetic book. 
 " Thenceforth each night alarming visions shook 
 ** My slumbers ; in my ears strange outcries shrilled, 
 " Ghosts glared and shadows frowned, till my soul took 
 " The selfsame ashiness of hue, and thrilled 
 " With ghastly fears, since oh how fatally, fulfilled ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " And thrice my mother's piteous ghost appeared ; 
 " Ah ! how unlike her smiling face pourtrayed 
 " In picture, loving, lovely, and endeared, 
 " Now all illusion, and a pallid shade ! 
 " < Fly ! fly ! my child, fly ! fly !' the figure said, 
 " ' Instant death threats thee, and more swift than Light 
 " Will the stroke fall ; the traitor's toils are laid ; 
 " The poison in its gay glass sparkles bright ;' 
 " This said, it glided by, and melted into night.
 
 70 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK I v. 
 
 L. 
 
 " But what, alas, availed it that my heart 
 " Received a presage of the perils near, 
 " When, unresolved to act the counselled part, 
 " My sex and tender age gave way to fear ! 
 " To rove through deserts, woods, and mountains drear 
 " In willing exile, undefenced to go 
 " From my paternal realms, seem'd more severe 
 " Than to yield up the struggle to my foe, 
 " And there to close mine eyes where first they woke in woe. 
 
 LI. 
 
 u I dreaded death, yet, (will it be believed ?) 
 " With death at hand, I durst not flee away; 
 " I feared ev'n lest my fear should be perceived, 
 u And thus accelerate the fatal day. 
 " Thus restless, thus disturbed, without one ray 
 " Of comfort, I dragged on my wretched life, 
 " In a perpetual fever of dismay, 
 
 " Wound on the wheel of doubt, with thought at strife 
 " Like him o'er whose bared neck the assassin points his knife.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 71 
 
 LII. 
 
 " But whether my good Genius ruled, or Fate 
 " Preserved me yet for days of thicker gloom, 
 " One of the noblest ministers of state 
 " Whose youth my father fostered, sought my room ; 
 " In brief disclosing that the hour of doom, 
 " Fixed by the fiend, was now upon the wing ; 
 " That he himself had promised to assume 
 " The murderous office, and strong poisons wring, 
 " That night, in the sherbet my page was wont to bring. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Flight he assured me was my sole resource 
 " In this last crisis of despair, and prayed 
 " That since bereft of every other force, 
 " I would accept his own effective aid 
 " His counsels, full of comfort, soon persuade 
 " My undetermined spirit ; to the wind 
 " I gave my fears, and only now delayed 
 " Till eve's grey veil the telltale light should blind, 
 " To leave all that I loved and hated far behind.
 
 7*2 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 u Night fell ; a raven darkness, more obscure 
 " Than usual, its kind shadows round us spread, 
 " When with two favourite maids I passed secure 
 " The guarded palace, mounted horse, and fled. 
 " But through the trembling tears I ceaseless shed, 
 " Long I looked back on the receding towers, 
 
 * Insatiate with the sight ; all objects fed 
 
 " My sorrow, each one spoke of happier hours, 
 " The hills, the lamp-lit mosques, and silent-scenting flowers* 
 
 LV. 
 
 " To them my looks, my thoughts, my sighs were given, 
 
 " Whilst my strong steed flew forward fast and free ; 
 
 " I fared like an unanchored pinnace driven 
 
 " From its loved port by whirlwinds far to sea. 
 
 " That night, and the successive day we flee 
 
 " By paths no passenger before had pressed, 
 
 " Till on the confines of my realm we see 
 
 * Its last baronial seat, there tired we rest, 
 
 " Just as the sun's slow orb forsook the fulgent west.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 73 
 
 LVl. 
 
 " It was the castle of the generous knight 
 " (Arontes), who had made my life his care ; 
 " But when the baffled traitor by our flight 
 f Perceived I had escaped the mortal snare, 
 " His rage flamed forth against us both ; and ere 
 u I could arraign him, intricate in ill, 
 " Gathering a fresh presumption from despair, 
 " He charged on us his own all-evil will, 
 " And the same crimes which he was studious to fulfil. 
 
 LVIl. 
 
 " He swore I had the false Arontes bribed 
 " To mix destroying poisons in his bowl, 
 " Impatient of the maxims he prescribed 
 " To curb my lust, that free of all control, 
 " I might pursue the bias of my soul, 
 " And with voluptuous blandishments commend 
 " My beauty to a thousand youths. Skies ! roll 
 " Your thunders, let revenging fires descend, 
 " Ere I thy sacred laws, dear Chastity, offend ! 
 
 D
 
 74 
 
 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " That avarice and ambition, pride and pique 
 " Urge him to shed mine innocent blood, must claim 
 " Grief and alarm, but that the wretch should seek 
 " To fix dishonour on my spotless name, 
 " Goes to my heart : he, fearful of the flame 
 " Of popular rage, with smooth tongued eloquence, 
 " Forges a thousand falsehoods to my shame, 
 " So that the city fluctuates in suspense 
 " Betwixt the guilt of both, nor arms in my defence. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " Yet though he sits on mine authentic throne, 
 " Though my tiara sparkles on his brow, 
 " Possession spurs him but more fiercely on 
 " To work me deeper injury, shame, and woe. 
 " With fire and sword he threatens to o'erthrow 
 " Arontes in his fortress, if in chains 
 " He yield not, and on me denounces now 
 " Not merely war, but stripes and exquisite pains, 
 " Whilst flows one rosy drop in my voluptuous veins.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " This under colour of a lively zeal 
 " To purge away the stains of my disgrace, 
 " And to its primal purity anneal 
 " The golden sceptre which my crimes debase ! 
 " But the true motive is a wish to place 
 " His claim beyond contest ; whilst I remain 
 " Heir to the crown, he fears no plea can grace 
 " His kingly usurpation, so is fain 
 " To build upon my death the basis of his reign. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " And let the savage have his fell desire, 
 " Let him enjoy what he is fixt to gain, 
 " And in my heart's blood quench the boundless ire 
 " Which all my tears were powerless to restrain ! 
 " This will he do if thou my suit disdain ; 
 " To thee a wretched girl, weak, innocent, 
 " Orphaned I fly ; and must the tears be vain 
 " Shed on thy holy robes ? relent ! relent ! 
 " .Oh, by the knees I grasp, forbid his fierce intent. 
 
 D 2 
 
 7.5
 
 76 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK I v. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " By these thy feet, that on the proud and strong 
 " Triumphantly have trod ; by thy right hand ; 
 " By thy grand victories, a choral throng ! 
 " By the pure temples of this glorious land 
 " Freed by thy sword, or to be freed, withstand, 
 " Thou canst withstand his profligate decree ; 
 " My crown my life preserve, secure, command, 
 " Merciful Sire ! but vain is mercy's plea, 
 " If that religious right and justice move not thee. 
 
 LXII1. 
 
 " Beloved of Heaven! thou destined to desire 
 " That which is just, and thy desires achieve, 
 " In saving me my kingdom thou 'It acquire, 
 " Which but in fief of thee I will receive ; 
 " Let ten thy bravest from these myriads leave 
 " The camp beneath my conduct ; their renown 
 " Voiced through the senate will my cause retrieve, 
 " Will win my faithful Commons to strike down, 
 H Crimeless the man of crime, and repossess my crown.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 
 
 LX1V. 
 
 " One of my nobles, to whose keeping falls 
 
 " A secret gate, has promised me access, 
 
 " At dead of night, to my paternal halls, 
 
 " This suit he only counselled me to press. 
 
 " The smallest aids thou grantest to redress 
 
 " The many wrongs I suffer, will inflame 
 
 " His hopes with brighter prospects of success, 
 
 " Than if from other kings whole armies came, 
 " So highly he respects thy banners and thy name !" 
 
 LXV. 
 
 She ceased ; but still the gestures of her eye 
 Spoke eloquence beyond the reach of prayer; 
 Doubtful alike to grant as to deny, 
 A thousand changeful thoughts, absorbing care, 
 Godfrey revolved ; he feared some Gentile snare 
 Couched in her tears, some ambuscade of art ; 
 He knew who kept not faith with God, would dare 
 Break league with man : still pity pleads her part, 
 Pity which slumbers not within a noble heart. 
 
 77
 
 78 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 His native ruth inspired the wish that she 
 Deserved his grace, and policy on ruth 
 Succeeding, whispered it were wise to free, 
 And fix in strong Damascus one whose truth, 
 Enforced by the dependencies of youth, 
 Might much avail him with her feudal arms 
 The course of his sublime designs to smoothe, 
 To minister supplies against the' alarms 
 Of Egypt's locust tribes and subsidary swarms. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Whilst thus from wavering thought to thought he flies, 
 Revolves, and re-revolves, the eager maid 
 Fixed on his downcast face her feeding eyes, 
 And its least workings breathlessly surveyed ; 
 And when his answer longer was delayed 
 Than she had hoped, she trembled, drooped, and sighed, 
 Her quivering lips the heart's alarm betrayed, 
 Pale grew her face : at length the Prince replied, 
 And in these gentle words mildly her suit denied.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 79 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 "If God's own quarrel had not claimed these swords, 
 " Now oath-bound to his cause, thy hopes might rest 
 " On them in perfect trust, not pitying words 
 " But valid actions had thy wrongs redressed ; 
 " But whilst his heritage is thus oppressed 
 u Beneath the harsh rod of a bigot king, 
 " How can we grant, sweet Lady, this request? 
 ** Diminished hosts declining fortunes bring, 
 " And check the flowing tide of Victory in its spring. 
 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " But I do promise firmly may'st thou trust 
 " My princely word, and live secure from fear 
 " If e'er we conquer from a yoke unjust 
 " These towers, to Heaven and piety so dear, 
 " To pity's voice 1 will incline mine ear 
 " Thee on thy lost throne to exalt ; but now, 
 " Pity nor Piety can interfere 
 " To cancel what to the Most High we owe, 
 " And for a mortal's sake annul our solemn vow.'
 
 80 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 At this the mournful Princess drooped her head, 
 And stirless stood as Niobe of yore, 
 Then raised her eyes impearled to heaven, and said 
 Whilst all the woman at their founts ran o'er 
 " Lost ! lost ! oh sun ! skies ! stars ! what evils more 
 " Do ye rain down ? did ever one fulfil 
 " A doom so harsh and merciless before ? 
 " Woe's me ! all natures change ; the world grows chill ; 
 " I only vary not, immutable in ill ! 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 " Now farewell hope ! now welcome misery ! 
 " All prayer in human breasts has lost its force ; 
 " Am I to hope the tears that touched not thee 
 " Will move the guilty tyrant with remorse ? 
 " Yet, though denied this pitiful resource, 
 " With no reproach thy rigour shall be paid ; 
 " It is my Genius I accuse the source 
 " Of all my ills, my Genius who has made 
 " Godfrey's an icy heart, 'tis him that I upbraid.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 81 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " Not to thee, gracious Sultan ! not to thee 
 " Lay I this crime, but to imperious Fate ; 
 " Oh, that her active tyranny would free 
 " My weary spirit from a world I hate ! 
 " Was't not enough, stern Power, to dedicate 
 " Mother and sire in their unblossom'd life 
 " To the dark grave, that from my high estate 
 " Thou hast now tossed me on this sea of strife, 
 " And given thy victim bound and blinded to the knife ! 
 
 LXXUI. 
 
 " Now holy sanctitude and maiden shame 
 " Urge me to go, but whither shall I fly ? 
 " There is no refuge for a blighted name ; 
 " Earth holds no spot beneath the infinite sky 
 " So secret, but the tyrant's basilisk eye 
 " Will enter, and transfix me ; but I go ; 
 " The Angel of Death approaching I descry ; 
 " Nought now is left but to prevent his blow ; 
 *' None but Armida's arm shall lay Armida low !"
 
 82 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 She ceased ; a generous and majestic scorn 
 Fired all her features to a rose-like red, 
 And then she made as she would have withdrawn, 
 With grief and anger in her farewell tread. 
 Her eyes, 'twixt passion and resentment, shed 
 Tears thick as summer's heat-drops tears, that shine, 
 With the sun's golden rays athwart them spread, 
 Like falling pearls, like crystals argentine, 
 Or sparkling opal-drops from some far Indian mine. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Her fresh cheeks, sprinkled with those living showers, 
 Which to her vesture's hem, down gliding, cling, 
 Appear like jasmine and carnation flowers 
 Humid with May-dews, when romantic Spring 
 In shadow of the green leaves whispering 
 Spreads their shut bosoms to the laughing air ; 
 Flowers to which sweet Aurora oft takes wing, 
 Which with gay hand she culls with such fond care 
 In morn's melodious prime, to bind her vagrant hair.
 
 book IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 83 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But the clear drops that thick as stars of night 
 On those fresh cheeks and that embellished breast 
 Sparkle, have all the effect of fire, and light 
 A melancholy flame in every breast ; 
 Oh Love ! the marvellous rod by thee possessed 
 For ever powerful over Nature, draws 
 Lightning from tears, and gives to grief a zest 
 Beyond the bliss of smiles, but nature's laws 
 Its magic more than quells in this thy darling's cause. 
 
 LXXVil. 
 
 Her feigned laments from roughest warriors call 
 Sincerest tears ; their hearts to her incline ; 
 Each shares some part of her distress, and all 
 At Godfrey's sternness whisperingly repine : 
 " Surely he made the vext sea-roaring brine 
 " His nursing cradle, and wild wolves that rave 
 " On the bald crags of some rude Apennine 
 " Gave his youth suck. Oh, cruel as the grave, 
 " Who could view charms like hers, and not consent to save !"
 
 84 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXXVIII. M 
 
 But Eustace, in whose young rebellious blood 
 Pity and love flowed strongest, whilst the rest 
 But murmured and were silent, forward stood, 
 And fearlessly his brother thus address'd : 
 " Oh Prince ! far too inflexibly thy breast 
 " Keeps to the firmness of its first design, 
 " If to the popular voice which would obtest 
 " Thy clemency, thou dost not now incline ; 
 " Reverent of mercy's claims and quality divine. 
 
 LXX1X. 
 
 " Think not I urge the princedoms and the powers 
 " Who rank dependant tribes beneath their care, 
 " To turn their arms from these assieged towers, 
 " And the first duties of the camp forswear ; 
 " But warriors of adventure we, who bear 
 " Nor feudal flag nor delegated trust, 
 " Who act without restriction, well may spare 
 " At thy discreet choice, in a cause most just, 
 P Ten guardian knights to one so helpless, so august.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 85 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Know, he assists the cause of God who toils 
 " The rights of outraged virgins to maintain, 
 " And precious in Heaven's sight must be the spoils 
 " Which freemen hang in freedom's holy fane, 
 " The glorious trophies of a tyrant slain. 
 " Though no advantage counselled to the deed, 
 " Duty would urge, and knighthood would constrain 
 " Me to assist the damsel in her need, 
 " And without scruple go where'er her voice may lead. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " Oh, by yon bright sun, tell it not in France ! 
 " Publish it not where courtesy is dear ! 
 " That of our nobles none would break a lance 
 " In beauty's quarrel, let not Europe hear ! 
 " Henceforth, my lords, sword, corslet, helm, and spear, 
 " I toss aside, and bid farewell to fame ; 
 " No generous steed shall bear me in career 
 " With swordless chiefs, where Chivalry weds Shame, 
 " I will no longer bear the knight's degraded name !"
 
 86 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Thus spoke the youth, and all his Order there 
 Applausive murmured in loud unison ; 
 Praised his good counsel, and with urgent prayer 
 Circled their captain oh his golden throne. 
 " I yield," at length he said, " but yield alone 
 " To the desire of numbers ; let the thing 
 " Be as you wish, the counsel is your own ; 
 " A well-train'd tarsel on the winds you fling, 
 " Look to the lure, nor trust too far her wildering wing : 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " And, far as Godfrey's counsel can persuade, 
 " Temper your sympathies, be closely wise :" 
 He said no more, nor needed, they repaid 
 The kind concession with delighted cries. 
 What cannot Beauty when her pleading eyes 
 From their blue fountains shower down tears of pain, 
 And to her amorous tongue sweet speeches rise ? 
 From her divine lips glides a golden chain, 
 That winds to her dear will who most those tears disdain.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 87 
 
 Eustace recalled her, took her passive hand, 
 And said, " Cease, lovely Lady, to repine ; 
 " The utmost succours that thy fears demand, 
 " (Weep not) shall all, and speedily be thine." 
 Then the dark aspect of her face grew fine, 
 With her white veil she dashed the tears away, 
 And gave a smile so brilliant and benign, 
 You would have thought the enamoured God of Day 
 In sunshine kissed her lips whose sparkling shamed his ray. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 And in her sweet voice and pathetic tone, 
 She gave them thanks for their exceeding grace ; 
 Saying it should to the wide world be known, 
 And ever and for ever have a place 
 In the' kernel of her heart : her working face, 
 And gestures with impassioned meanings fraught, 
 Told what her tongue was powerless to express j 
 Thus masking with false smiles the end she sought 
 Her varied web of guile she unsuspected wrought.
 
 88 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK IV. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Who but Armida now exults to see 
 How fortune and how fate the fraud befriend ? 
 Who o'er each dark suggestion broods but she 
 To bring the plot to a successful end ? 
 With beauty and rich flatteries to transcend 
 Whate'er Medea's witchcraft e'er design'd, 
 Or Circe's incantations wrought, to blend 
 Mischief with mirth, and the most watchful mind 
 As in Elysian sleep with warbled songs to bind ? 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 All arts the' enchantress practised to beguile 
 Some new admirer in her well-spread snare, 
 Nor used with all, nor always the same wile, 
 But shaped to eveiy taste her grace and air : 
 Here cloistered is her eye's dark pupil, there 
 In full voluptuous languishment is rolled ; 
 Now these her kindness, those her anger bear, 
 Spurred on or checked by bearing frank or cold, 
 As she perceived her slave was scrupulous or bold.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 89 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 If she marked some too bashful to advance, 
 Sick if unnoticed, diffident if seen, 
 Forth flew her beautiful smile, her thrilling glance, 
 Sunny as summer and as spring serene : 
 Thus reassured, their dying hopes grew keen ; 
 The faint mistrust, the languishing desire 
 Reviving brighten in their eager mien ; 
 Those looks a thousand amorous thoughts inspire, 
 And Fear's pale frost-work melts in Fancy's lively fire. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 If some made bold to press her virgin palm, 
 Too rashly building on her former cheer, 
 She grew a miser of her eye's blue charm, 
 Spared her fond smile, and frowned them into fear ; 
 But through the wrath that fired her front austere, 
 And ruffled her sweet cheek, they might discern 
 Rays of forgiving pity reappear ; 
 Thus do they droop, but not despair, and yearn 
 Towards her in deepest love when she appears most stern. 
 
 E
 
 90 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. book iv. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Sometimes in lonely places she dissembled 
 Deep grief the voice, the action, and the tread ; 
 And oft when in her eye the loose tear trembled, 
 Crushed, or reclaimed it to the fountain-head. 
 Soon as those tragic gestures were aread, 
 A thousand striplings, vanquished by her art, 
 Would come and weep around her ; envy fed 
 Their frenzy, and Love, tempering his keen dart 
 In Pity's scalding tears, shot torture through the heart. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Anon she starts from her abstraction, wakes 
 With hope's fresh whispers to her spirit, seeks 
 Her many lovers, talks to them, and shakes 
 The bright locks on her brow for joy that speaks 
 Life to her lips, and to her crimsoning cheeks 
 Rapture : her fine eyes sparkle as in scorn 
 Of their late griefs ; as when Apollo streaks 
 With fire the opening eyelids of the morn, 
 And not a cloud disturbs the blue ethereal lawn.
 
 BOOK iv. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. M 
 
 XCIl. 
 
 But she, whilst sweetly speaking, sweetly smiling 
 On hearts unused to joyaunce so intense, 
 The spirit from its blissful cage exiling, 
 Steeps in rich lunacy each frantic sense ; 
 Ah cruel Love ! whether thy hand dispense, 
 Crowned with the cypress or the lotos-leaf, 
 Thy gall or nectar-cup, its quintessence 
 Maddens with ecstasy, or blights with grief; 
 Fatal the sickness is, and fatal the relief! 
 
 XCIIl. 
 
 Through all these shifting tempers whilst each knight 
 Fluctuates disturbed, uncertain of her choice, 
 Through fire and frost, smiles, tears, fear, hope, delight, 
 The beauteous witch their agony enjoys : 
 If any e'er presumes with trembling voice 
 To tell his secret pain, her guilefulness 
 The glorious vision of his soul destroys ; 
 She nor perceives* his meaning, nor can guess, 
 The very fool of Love and girlish simpleness. 
 
 E 2
 
 92 JERUSALEM DELIVERED. BOOK iv. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Or sliding down her eyes, the blood's warm brightness 
 In rushing crimson o'er her features flowed, 
 Irradiating with fire their ivory whiteness, 
 That all her visage like Aurora's showed, 
 When in the fresh dawn on her eastern road 
 She flies the' embrace of Titan, and in shame 
 Extinguishes the stars, whilst anger glowed 
 Yet deeper on her cheek, a flower of flame, 
 Beside whose rosy hue, all rosiness looks tame. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 If she perceives one hastening to avow 
 His mournful flame, she stops her charmed ears ; 
 Now shuns his converse, grants an audience now, 
 Then flies, returns, smiles, frowns, and disappears. 
 Thus in a war of wishes, sighs, and tears, 
 In vain pursuit he wastes his life away ; 
 And with deluding hopes, afflicting fears, 
 Fares like the hunter who at dying day 
 Has lost in pathless woods all traces of his prey.
 
 BOOK IV. JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 93 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 These were the arts by which Armida took 
 A thousand spirits captive to her sleight, 
 Or rather these the arms, with which she strook, 
 And made them bondslaves in their own despite. 
 What marvel elder Love subdued the might 
 Of Theseus fierce, and Hercules the strong, 
 When those who drew the sword in Jesu's right, 
 Thrall to a wanton's tears a syren's song, 
 Wore his enfeebling chains, and gloried in the wrong ! 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.
 
 Lutein published, in 12mo., price 7s. 6d. 
 JULIA ALPINULA; 
 
 WITH 
 
 THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY J. H W IFF EN. 
 
 " Never did we perform the selecting duties of a critic with more regret, 
 for never was a poem which deserved a fuller exposition of its beauties ; 
 and the great difficulty has been which to prefer. In the author of ' Julia 
 AlpInula' we hail a poet, whose powers of pathetic description are of 
 the first order, and whose taste is as eminently conspicuous in the simpli- 
 city of the subject he has chosen, as in the consummate skill with which 
 he has managed it. In his hands none of the interest of this affecting story 
 has been lost, and the names of Julia and Alpinm are immortalized in song. 1 ' 
 European Magazine, November, 1820. 
 
 " Although our author's former volume led us to believe that the de- 
 scription of natural scenery was more particularly his forte, yet the poems 
 before us have convinced us that he can also touch 
 
 " The chords of the deep heart 
 To feeling's tenderest issues ;" 
 
 and that his powers of delineation are by no means confined to inanimate 
 objects, but extend to the innermost recesses of the human breast. In ad- 
 dition to the commendation we have already bestowed upon Mr. Wiffen, 
 we may remark, that the purest tone of morality and religion is kept up 
 throughout the whole of his writings ; and, that no sentiment which the 
 most fastidious votary of virtue could object to, has ever 4 sullied the 
 lightest or least of his flowers :' This of itself is no small praise ; but 
 coupled as it is with a vigorous understanding, and a fine and delicate per- 
 ception of real beauty, it ought to procure for him the poet's best reward : 
 
 " To be entombed in men's hearts and eyes, 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead." 
 
 Gentleman's Magazine, November 1620. 
 
 " There is a boldness of thought and feeling and a richness of fancy, 
 mingled with strong poetical sensibility, in this volume, which prove Mr. W. 
 to be a poet of no inconsiderable powers. It is in the descriptive and pa- 
 thetic scenes, however, that he appears to the greatest advantage ; and 
 we arc of opinion, that a superior production as ' Julia Alpinula' cer-
 
 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 tainly is, it is exceeded in sweetness and beauty by many of the lesser 
 pieces which follow". Monthly' m Magazine, September, 1820. 
 
 " The first poem of this pleasing volume is founded on the old and sweet 
 story, to which Lord Byron, in one of his gentler moods, so touchingly 
 alludes, both in the text and notes of the Third Canto of his Chiide Harold. 
 Itis here told very gracefully. The ' Captive of Stamboul,' taken from an 
 anecdote of Gibbon, is a poem of romantic interest, and deep and serious 
 beauty. New Monthly Magazine, October, 1820. 
 
 " The appeal of Julia on behalf of her father at the feet of Cecina, his 
 reply, her inexpressive joy at his fraudful mercy, and the sad cata- 
 strophe, are related in language exquisitely beautiful, such as we can con- 
 fidently recommend to our readers as containing the tenderness, spirit, and 
 pathos of genuine poetry. It is evident that Mr. W. possesses an increasing 
 power of description, and a superior facility of versification, with concep- 
 tions in the true spirit of poetry, combined with considerable historical 
 and classical information, and a mind capable of properly appreciating 
 and giving effect to the fond, the beautiful, and the sublime of feeling." 
 Investigator, January, 1821. 
 
 " ' Julia Alpinula' has found a poet worthy to tell her story, and to 
 consecrate her virtues and her fate. It is such interesting and lovely cha- 
 racters who ought to be perpetuated to after ages ; and we cannot applaud 
 Mr Wiffen less for his discrimination in selecting, than his felicity in fill- 
 ing up with only an imperfect outline from history so enchanting a pic- 
 ture. The minor pieces which close the volume, are all of them in the best 
 taste and feeling, they could only emanate from a pen of the first powers, 
 and a heart that does honour to human nature. The Bedford family has 
 reason to be proud of his ' Russell ;' and his Sonnet on " Newstead 
 Abbey" is one of the finest compliments which genius ever paid to 
 genius." Independent, No. 9, 1821. 
 
 By the same Author, 
 
 AONIAN HOURS; 
 
 Second Edition, in 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 London: Prinltd by W. CLOWKS, Northumberland-court, Strand.
 
 WORKS 
 
 PREPARING FOR IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION. 
 
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