m ili\ ,■> *. v, -k ■wi^ JAIN1I-3UV ^.!/Odl % ^.OFC; ^,1 r^ > =o •21 # '""yi 3DN\ JAIN1I-3UV ''^.i/Odi :0inV3-:|O^' < =0 -r", V * u- ."S ■^ y/7.^I^nIqI■|.^^^ <^J^30^A^^n■|^^ "^''SaaAINd'^v.- fiMiv'Por/. ..intAKTFrrj- < ^*^^^' ^> ^UIBRARY^/- ^^^ ^\. . ^'^•^^ -s. < g 1 ir ^ .v^^-llBRARYCk, ,\W[UUIVER5//^ ^vSclOS'ANCElfj^ >- \ T^^^"! -P O S-- ^ — ^ <5,*3 ^$. ^.OFCAtlF0;?4^ ^^\\EUNIVER%. .^WS-ANCElfj^ - >- -n S - ' > ^ — • ' ■' ■'■• rtj ^,^^ ^5 i'-^-^J t-^ '" ^-5 X3 < Y-l S 1 irr s 1 1 ir: I POEMS AND Cranslations. BY EDWARD VAUGHAN KENEALY, LL.D. To (f)5)s iv rfi tjKOTia (f)aiv£i, Koi rj (TKoria avTo ov KareXa^fV There came a Knight upon a steede of brass ; And in his hande a brode niin-oiir of glass ; Upon his thombe he had of gold a ring, And by his side a naked sword hanging. And up he rideth to the hiS bord ; In at the halle, ne was there spoke a word, For marveile of this Knight hini to behold. Chaucer. ajctb aSickS bringt rairb jnoncficm ct maS bcingcn, Un& jcCcc gc^t jufiicCcn ou8 bcm ^au6. GOETHK. LONDON: REEVES AND TURNER, 238, STRAND. 1864. TO THE RIGHT HONOUEABLE SIR ALEXANDER EDMUND COCKBURN, BART., LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAJSTD, ETC. ETC. ETC. ^Iris ^[^ijlum^ IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY ONE, WHO SHARES IN THE FERVENT ADMIRATION, HONOUR ANT) REGARD, WHICH THE WHOLE BAR FEEL. FOR THE JUDGE, THE JURIST, ANT) THE SCHOLAR. K221 53 PREFACE. 'O/iota icTTiv (Tayyrjvrf ISXrjdeiCTrj els rrjv daXacraav, Koi €K navTos yevovs crvvayayoixTr}. The Poems and Translations that follow were originally intended to precede the publication of my New Pantomime; but circumstances, to which it is not necessary here to advert, interfered with that design. Now, however, that they are in print, 1 wish them to be considered the Pirst Volume, and the New Pantomime as the second, in this depart- ment of my writings. It is right, indeed, that it should be so ; for the larger number of the compo- sitions that follow, were written when I was a Student at the University, and a great proportion of them have been in print about twenty years; resembling thus, in some sort, the viginti annorum lucuhrationes of Lord Coke. I have now collected them, with several others, for which I have no space, from a variety of periodicals, but have made few alterations ; preferring to let them appear in their VI. PREFACE. primal sliape, such as it was, to remodelling them ; nor indeed, since I first began to hunt after them, for the purposes of this compilation, have I had leisure time either for their revision or improvement. This, I am aware, is no excuse for their faults ; but the reader must take them as they are. They are not, however, all reprints : there are many which it will be at once seen, are of recent composition, and which are now published for the first time. This observation applies not merely to the poems, but to the translations. I knew but little of the Orient when the earlier versions into foreign languages first appeared. But from a very youthful age, I was an admirer of SiE William Jones, and thought I should like to follo\t in his footsteps. I know no man, indeed, to whom we are more indebted ; for he first in modern times, demonstrated, to the great disgust of all dullards and pedants, that the acquisition of varied and elegant knowledge was not inconsistent with the cultivation of those far different faculties, which make up a lawyer or a judge. Nor has the exam- ple which he set been without its fruits or fol- lowers ; for at no period in our legal annals has the judicial Bench of this country been so eminently illustrated by great scholars, masters of language. PREFACE. Vll. and proficients in science, as in the present century. Small men there always will be in great places; but as a rule the roll of our Judges proves what I have said. And now, having rescued these productions from that species of oblivion to which nearly all maga- zine literature is subject, and having been graciously permitted to send them forth on their adventures, under the auspices of a Name universally loved and honoured, I bid a final farewell to the Muse, to whom for so many years I have played truant. Vale Camcena blanda, ciiltrix ingenl, Virtutis altrix, mater eloquentiag, Linqiienda aliinino est laiunis et clielys tiio.* E. V. K Goldsmith Building, Temple. * Sir W. Jones, A d Micsam. CONTENTS. POEMS. Sonnet ....... FACE 1 Latin Version ..... 2 German Version . . . . . 2 HiNDOSTANEE ..... 3 Hindostanee ...... 4 Irish ...... 4 Hindostanee . . . . . 5 Poets ...... 6 Stanzas on revisiting Trinity College 7 The Voice op Heaven in the Poet's Soul 14 A Morning Walk . . . . . . 15 The Story of the Fair Blanaid . 43 LOKMAN ....... . 66 uEschylus ...... 68 The Children of Lir . . . . . . 69 On the Zand-a-Vesta .... 78 FlONN ...... . 80 The Legend of King Lewy 85 Saadi ....... . 91 The Princess Seinin .... 93 The Knight of Inchiquin . . . , . 96 Castle O'Kenealy ..... 100 To A Fountain in Hymettus . . lOG To ...... 109 Song ....... . 109 To ...... 110 X. COXTENTS. A Love Thought On the Sea . Anecdote Etes .... Beauteous thou art Let me kiss those shining eyes Hafez . The Lion of Florence Ladye Digna Sabinus and Eponina Gertrude Von der "Wart Count Confalioneri Letter to The Tomb of Hafez Walton-on-Thames Churchyard, August 29, 1843 On thy brow the rose-like light . A Reverie ..... Sing me those sweet and sacred strains . The Crystal Fountains of those eyes A Fragment .... On a favourite Walk called St. Mary's Aisle Firdausi ..... The Poet's Home. A Vision of the Past Sunset on the Beach . A Love Dream . . Lady Fanshawe Letter to . A Petition to Lord Themis To .... Inscription for the Prince Consort Withered Flowers dearly loved A Farewell You tell me that tou love me Smile not upon me Fata Morgana PAGE 113 CONTENTS. XL Ak Aspiration . A Dirge Three Sonnets . Plato Byron . Swift Smollett Lord Chief Justice Denman Sir John Patteson Sir Hugh Hill Sir C. Creswell Advice to a Judge . S. T. Coleridge To Madonna Felicia Hemans Paul de la Roche . Shelley . Night A Hymn . Hymn The Poet's Dying Wish Advice to Bad Poets Anacreontique . Anacreontique A Sketch A Ballade . The Three Wolves Nursery Rhymes PAGE 220 221 222 224 224 225 226 226 227 227 228 229 231 232 233 233 234 235 247 250 252 254 258 259 260 261 264 265 TRANSLATIONS. Greek. — Burd Ellen . Castle Hyde King of the Cannibal Islands 271 272 276 xu. CONTENTS. Geeek. — Barney Brallaghan's Courtship Teddy Roe Brian O'Linn Idem Latine Redditum Homer's Hymn to Hermes Latin. — Catullus to Camerius AusoNius .... Swedish, — Lindeblad . The Birds of Passage . SvEN Svanehvit Little Tofva . Sir Carl, or the Cloister Robbery Sir Tynne Herr Redevall Sir Ulfver The Proof . The Enchanted Princess Here Bald . The Two Sisters Sir Malmsten's Dream Prodd Hilla Lilla The Lindworm The Power of the Harp The Necken Sir Magnus and the Sea Witch Sir Holkin and Little Kerstin King Magnus . Rune the Raven . Young Hillerstrom Walther von der Vogelweide Danish. — The Phantom Ship The Red Cross Knight Knight Edward . Sir Aage and Maid Else . Spanish. — To the Flower of Qnide A Miracle of the Virgin . CONTENTS. xni. Spanish. — Sonnet by G. de la Vega PACE 415 A Hymn in praise op Blessed Mary . 415 Idyl by Mendoza 417 Magyar.— Under a Forest Tree . 418 The Cuckoo , . . 419 The Deserted . 419 The Beautiful Inconstant 420 The Nosegay . 421 The Lark .... 422 Italian.— Barcarole .... . 423 Fable by Bertola 424 Madrigal by Chiabrera . 425 Sonnets by Zappi . 426 Zappi ..... 427 FXLICAJA .... . 428 I^renzo de Medici 429 Boiardo .... . 429 Parini ..... 430 Boiardo .... . 431 Lorenzo de Medici 431 BuoNACORSi de Montemagno . 432 Bolabdo ..... 433 Petraecha .... . 433 Petrarcha .... 434 Petrarcha .... . 435 French. — To Iris ..... 435 Victor Hugo . 436 To Aglae .... 438 German. — Luther's Hymn . 439 The Nun. — Uhland 440 Christmas Eve Hymn . 441 Student Song by Goethe 442 Idyl by H. Voss . . 444 Portuguese.— Luis de Camoens . 445 Irish.— Drinking Song by Carot.an . . 447 XIV, CONTENTS. PACE QuiPUzcoAN Bacchanalian Chorus . . . 448 Love Ballad ..... 449 Breton. — A Love Song ..... 450 Arabic. — Maoauls ...... 452 Bengali. — A Love Song. ..... 455 Persian.— Translation of Sonnet in page 1 . . 457 Hafez ...... 453 Gelaleddin . . . . . 459 NiZAMi ...... 459 P E M S. My Slimmer task is ended — tlie sweet labour Thou oft hast heard me speak of, is comj^lete : — Songs rudely cast for rustic pipe and tabor, Wild quips, and sportive thoughts, and fancies, meet Here in this little book, that at thy feet Like some meek suppliant lies. O Ladye fail* ! If there be aught mthin this varied tome Worthy to win one passing thought of thine. Thou art the cause — thy songs of beauty rare, The i:)leasant days passed in our happy home Of roses, myrtle, and green eglantine. Thy smiles — thy sweet fond talk, and angel heart, And loveliness, and goodness all di\'ine : — These have inspired thy Poet's gentle art. * Prefixed to a small volume of prose published some years since, and which contained a few of the Greek translations that are in this. B POEMS. LATINE. Tandem igitur venit lapsis gratissima rehus, Et toties votis hora j)etita meis ; Acc'ipe quod multi mitto tibi pignus amoris, Carmina perpetwi pignus amoris hahe. Carmina inissa tibi quce carmina, quceque ]wetas, Diligis, et celebri carmine dignafads. Musarum, sttidiis, studiis operata Minervm, Md,e tud colitur Phcehus amatque coli. Ecce timet, doctctjSque fores pulsar e recusat, Tincta verecundas Musa riibore genas. Me cantare tuasjuvat, pidcherrima, laudes, Nympha nee Aoniis dignior ulla modiSy Quod si quid m,erui de te hem, si quid amxtvi, Vive memor nostri, lux mea, vive memw. GERMANICE. 3cipt i]! mein 25erf gctf)an, bag \\\^t 2>^t{ t)'\x nid)t gatij unbefannt, ifi nun DoUenbet, 9]uv 8pQ§, unb 6d)evj, QCrinQcS 9}{ufenfpiel, 3)er Xiicf)tet X)ir mit biefcm 53ud)lcin fcnbet, iu'rad)t' eg nid)t, bu ix)unber[d)one 3^anie, 5)Qg t)or ben ^5U§en X)ir al^ Opfev liegt 2Benn nur cin ©lanj Don Ijeller ©eifle^flammc, !5)einer 5tnmerfung mertb barin fid) jeigt. ^u f)a|i fie angejiinbet — beincr June SiebUd^ev .^lang, bie S>obnung and; fo t^euer 5^ebccft mit Olofen, Cilicn unb DU^ben, !Dein bolbecs I'adKln, (SngcIS .C^evj, unb [d)bne i^reunblid}c ®V'rad)c — biefc [;aben j^eucr ©luljenbet !Did;tcrt'un[l mir oft gcgcben. SONNTTT. ■■c HIXDOSTAXICE. o CJ/^ i-^v.. us^ Lii ,A^sr* ^^.^ ^_5^" ^? J ^ c^-/ ^ C'^ i i^<^y^. ^-xlx ^j_j uJj ^y& ^^ (^^ c:J'^ S ■^ c'j -^. 'r^ LT*''^ i cU ^5^ ^^ -^ t^^" ^ ^^ ' f^"^ <^^-^ 1 5-^ ^-a^; "-^WJ lJj^' liT^^ ti^ •— !r" i' pU aJJ ^^-^^ ^^.^^ c:^.^ ^ ^" ^_yjJ' Li^^j -00^*^00- ij' ^ POEilS, ALTERA VERSIO HINDOSTANICE. j^jj^. 6^ y ^' ^ ^Z'^) ^^-^^ ,j^ ^ J^ ^f^ ^j- jt ^^^^ ^-^ ^.^ ^j^ J'> ^^- ->* ^ (^ ^^ ^ ^^ HIBERNICE. 2t)itiJc bo clor led-c raiin— -c^ Hojr t^^j5 Ijotti CdT)t:dni a ttiicloo, -DO tjr^ir-piob ir ^^^oix 2lT) r^il itlbes ledBd]x ro^ l^Jo"! "^^^ -ctxoisrj-o 5o rnidl d5 edcdJii-c o|it;;-0 K'i3edt) sle SONNET. ^S r:S. dot) -cedTD-Tii-D ed.-6-ti)eit^, "v?Ue 'Djd'D-d. 2l)*)d'D "DO beo-6 t^^fj ^IJO e^Uj"6 dr) b^)|iD. TERTIA VERSIO HIXDOSTANICfe, 9 9 ci' t^>^ ^ S. dr"^* U"^ *-^ ^ ^; '-r''-^ (^'.^^ '-^•'^ \ ^j^ ^ J-^ u^j -^ jliis^l ^. j^ e;;^ ^j y ^ » ^/^J J ^— »!; -s-^ t^ il>«^ c;^* cT^ U-* ^'' ^ ^ ^^^ POEMS. fcets. Poets are Phaethons, with burning dreams Of beauty, such as blooms not on this earth ; Of music, such as breathes not, but in heaven ; Of sunbright splendours, clothed in fadeless light ; Of virgins moulded from the rainbow rays, All purity, and loveliness, and cahn. And in these dreams they live in other spheres, And fly on wings from star to golden star, And float suspended over seas of pearl. Or, wrapt in thought, by lonely mountain streams, Hear, in the spirit, echoes of such songs As only those in Paradise can wake ; So, with these grand imaginings inspired, They go among mankind, and seek to guide Their fiery steeds and chai'iot flashing through The Empyi'ean of their thoughts sublime ; But, dazzled by their own exalted visions, They err — they wandex* — they despair — are lost. Are hurled in thunder from theii* way august, And die of broken hearts, unwept, unpitied, Save only by the children of the sun. t^tanjas on xcbisiting Si'tnitir Collcac. after long l^b'sena. I. Once more witliiii tliese olden storied walls, So dearly loved from boyhood's liappy days, Witli eager bound my glowing footstep falls, With eyes suffused in joy around I gaze; — Once more I live, and move, and walk, and breathe Within the dear remembered cloistered aisles. Whose warm though silent welcomiugs enwreathe My heart with raptures and my face with smiles; — Once more I pause o'er each remembered scene. In my soul's soul in brightest hues enshrined, — The pillared porch — the smooth and dewy green — The stately halls — the trees with ivy twined — The breatliing busts — the books — the silence — all Back to my heart its best and happiest hours recall. n. Here in the sunny summer of my youth My soul grew up, and di*ank the sacred streams Of Wisdom, Knowledge, Virtue, Thought, and Tmth.- Here my heart lived on bright and glorious dreams Caught from the Poet's or the Historian's page ; Homer and Horace, and the Mantuan lyre, Plato's deep thoughts, and Pindar's epic rage, The Ascraean bard, and Lucan's words of fire — From morn till night, from night till moraing came, These and the stars my sole companions were, 8 POEMS. Still burned my lamp with clear and vestal flame, Still my mind fed on visions grand and rare ; The Past was still before me, and its soul Shone with the splendour of some heaven-descended scroll, III. And wooed me on to scale the starry steep Where Poesy — sweet Faerie Queen — sits throned ; Beneath her feet the fiery lightnings leap, But her fair brows with rainbows shine enzoned ; Round her the Muses sport the livelong day, The Graces, young and laughing, dance and sing, The bright-eyed Nymphs with rosy Cupids play ; Music wells forth from reed and shell and string ; Phantoms of sunshine formed — the Bards of old. Whose vernal thoughts make heaven of earth are there, While songs and hymns in strains of wonder told. Pill as with fragrance all the echoing air : These are thy glories — these. Immortal Past ! On these my heart was fixed, my longing looks were cast. IV. The Wild, the Grand, the Beautiful, the True, Each an Enchantress mth enchanted wand, Plung o'er my soul their spells, until it grew Entirely theirs, and sought no bliss beyond. Its only world became a world unknown, Of dreams fantasque and visions strange and quaint, Within whose skies eternal summer shone, And scenes that liveliest fancy scarce could paint ; ON REVISITING TRINITY COLLEGE. 9 A wondrous wild embodiment it seemed Of tilings transformed to beauty — Titan shapes, And Grecian deities, and seas that streamed Through silver isles, and foamed on golden capes ; Forests and Nymphs, and Fauns and Sylvans blent, With Gothic scenes and spells, tilt, magic tower, and tent. V. And fabling Ovid, with soft eyes of fire, Was by my side and coloured many a thought; And many a gay and many a fond desire Unto my soul Verona's minstrel brought. And Ariosto sang me curious strains Of magic castles built on marble heights. And gallant soldiers pricking o'er the plains, And mail-clad steeds and antique-armoured knights, And ladyes chaste that roamed through forests wild, Pui'sued by giants and in dire despair, Until some brave and angel-guided Childe, Wafted perchance ten thousand miles through air, Appeared before their wondering eyes to prove His valorous arm in fight, and straightway fall in love. VI. The magic of these old delicious songs. The hours of silent reverie and thought, The paradise-light that to past time belongs. Dreams of Romance and Beauty all enwrought, The early sunshine streaming o'er the glade. The song of birds, the voice of some sweet fiiite, 1 POEMS. The ancient trees with broad and leafy shade, The moon that clothed the halls in silver suit, The fire-winged stars, the solemn silent night, The lamps through many a latticed window seen, The deep-toned bell for mom and evening rite, The reverend gloom relieved by the moon's sheen — All these come back upon my soul, like strains Of native music heard on far and foreign plains ; VII. Filling it deep with sadness and with gloom. Alas ! where are ye, dear past innocent hours 1 The scythe of Time hath swept ye to the tomb ; Yet in my soul ye still survive, like flowers Round some sad mouldering shrine ; I sit and think Of sweet old times, familiar faces passed Away for ever ; friends, link after link, Methinks move on, in faithful memory glassed. Where are they now ? Some sleep in distant lands, Some slumber in the ocean ; some remain ; But the fond ties once twined by Friendship's hands Are snapped, and ne'er may re-unite again. Oh ! that once more I were a careless Boy, As when I first beheld these halls with pride and joy, VIII. And wandered wild through portico and park, Emparadised in Fancy's purple clouds ; Heedless and happy ; dreaming not of dark Tartarean cloud, like that which now enshrouds ox REVISITING TRI^^TY COLLEGE. 11 This visible orb ; — ^to boyhood's laughing eyes The earth seems Eden ; evei-ytloing looks bright ; Life, a glad journey to the golden skies : To manhood, all seems black as blackest night. Why are we here ? What power hath peopled earth 1 Why wend we in our pilgi'image of woe 1 Whence have our souls derived their fiery birth ? Unto what bourne is fated man to go ? Wliy clings he still to life ? Why hug the chain That eats into his heart, and turns his joy to pain ? IX. Alas ! we know not — must not hope to know. The Future looms far off in mystery veiled : Present and Past are ours — but like the bow Of heaven, still far the future Ues concealed, Robed in enchanting coloiu-s, formed to fade As the quick hour moves on. We live and die ; In the same hour, cradle and grave are made ; Monarch and slave in the same black earth lie ; And is this life ? For this was man designed ? Was it for this the All-Powerful gave him store Of hopes and thoughts subHme, and filled his mind With longings after high and heavenly lore ? A wise fine soul, a glory-loving heart 1 — No — 'twas for mighty ends that thou shouldst play thy part. For mighty ends thy soul to earth was sent — A mission grand and liigh, O Man, is thine ! — 1 2 POEMS. Work in the spirit of that great intent ; Walk like an angel in the path divine. Here, in these sacred walls, old, world-renowned, The seat of learning, shall thy young heart swell, Fired by the glories of the classic ground, By the great memories that around thee dwell ; Here shalt thou train thee for thy pure career ; Wisdom and Knowledge like twin orbs of light. Shrined in these hallowed temples, greet thee here, And point the way to Virtue's star-crowned height ; Onward, still onward from glad youth to age, Here shall thy sonl learn strength for every changing stage. XI. Thoughts of gi-eat deeds and lofty acts be thine. The mighty dead, the shadowy shapes of old. Heroes and Bards — a starry gleaming line Of souls celestial, still before thee hold Their glorious course, and beckon on thy soul To tread the shining footpaths that they trod ; Onward they marched, until they reached the goal For minds of light like theirs prepared by God ; Sages and Bards and Statesmen, on whose forms Pictured on canvass, let thine emulous eyes Still gaze with rapture. What though winds and storms Break round his head who to Fame's Palace flies. The attempt is grand and noble, though he fall — Conquer thyself, brave heart, and thou shalt conquer all. ON REVISITING TRINITY COLLEGE. 13 XII. Look on the pictured epics throned around — Go to thy books, and study their cai'eer — So shalt thou feel thy swelling spirit bound, And cast aside, like chains, despaii* and fear ; Leani from their thoughtful eyes and resolute brows To nerve thy soul with stem resolve for fame ; Heaven to the heart that works, due strength allows, And crowns her toil with an undying name. Burke, Berkeley, Flood, Burgh, Avonmore, and Swift,—* Behold the men who shook or charmed their woi'ld : Behold — revere — aspii-e — toil on — and lift Thy soul to thoughts like theii's ; if haply hurled From thine imnioi'tal flight by chance or fate. Well hast thou clothed thy soul with noble thoughts and great. Trinity College, Shrove Tuesday, JS-W. * Their portraits are in the Theatre and Dining-hall. ' -oOj^O-o- li POEMS. hp rQ* A Voice of Mystic Beauty ever singetli, In gentle cadences of silver music, Througli the enchanted caverns of my being. Is it a Siren from the sunny waters That glides into those splendour-tinted caverns, On billows green, transparent, sun-reflecting 1 Is it a Spirit from the starry circles Of fire, and light, and harmony, descending, That in those echoing aisles her lute awaketh ? I see, methinks, a gleam of eyelids flashing Hues softer than the evening star's sweet lustre — Fair golden glimpses, breathing love and beauty. I feel, methinks, the touch of snowy fingers. Softly — like moonbeams — passing o'er my temples. And the warm air of fi-agrant virgin breathings. Silence enwraps my Spii'it like a garment ; The starry Yeil of Paradise enfolds it ; It is alone, and yet it is not lonely. For faint and shadowy, like far distant echoes Of song divine, with lyres and lutes entwining. Is the loved ^jresence of this Mystic Beauty. * Bet-ql, commonly called Bath-Kol, the Daiighter of Voice ; mystically, the Daughter of Wisdom, who is the Voice of God. Cat, in Shanscreet, means Wisdom ; hence koKos and the Saxon call, Greek and Saxon being lineally derived from the Shanscreet. The Chal-dc-eaus and Cal-, or Cul-dees, were worshippers of Wisdom. Call is an Indian Divinity, synonymous with Eternity, but by the ignorant called the Goddess of Death. 15 Come — let us mount the Downs, and breatlie the air That murmurs o'er their slopes of fern and thyme ; And in the silent wastes of spreading green, Give ourselves up to thoiights too pure for earth, Conversing there with Nature and her works, Beautiful, ever-living, ever new. The sun is on the waters ; in the heaven There is no cloud to speck the sapphire arch That, like God's bright and guardian angel eye, Beams over all his children ; here and there, At distant intervals, a white bird flits Over the violet sea : but peace divine Is the prevailing feature of the hour, That, crowned with sunshine, typifies Repose, Lulled in a Paradise-dream of deepest bliss. Waste not a moment looking in the glass — Dally not over ribbands, lace, or gloves ; But with thy hat, and scarlet cloak, and hair Flowing as loose as woodbines on the breeze, Or the wild hyacinth on Attic fields, Let us ascend the winding way that leads Into the depths of their sweet solitude ; And bring no ])ook with thee but Sacontala, That orient jewel of most perfect song. How pure this morning perfume ! — the soft wind Is laden with sweet odours ; like a breeze Wafted from Paradise, it breathes its music Into our being, and I long for wings 16 POEilS. To bear me from tlie earth, and, like yon lark, Soar upward, pouring out my prayer to God. Stay for a moment — listen to his song : How. rich, how clear, how melting with delight. The cheerful carol of a happy nature ! Over green fields and cottages he soars, With eyes turned sunward, till aloft, aloft, And out of sight he passes ; but his lay Is still borne down to us, who stand and listen, Warmed with the symj^athy that from tl>e bird Passes into ourselves, as if we twain Were one with him, his elders in the scale Of being ; but in all things else aKke — In spirit, so\il, and heart, the great trivamz That constitute the all of organized life. Look on this hedge-row, rich with many a bloom — With star-like flowers, more delicate than snow. How full of life the wonder-work of God ! What strange variety of being ! — some With wdngs as beautiful as eastern gems, Others in armour, like the glittering emerald ; Some golden-burnished, some of silvery beam, And some of opal hues, enshrining light — The many-coloured flashing rainbow light That from the neck of qvieens bursts forth and awes The empty crowd to silence. These small lives, Which the base bumpkin crushes with a laugh. Are images of the Father ; they, too, have The same desires as man ; and some are pure In their clear sphere of thought, and live on flowers ; A MORNING WALK. 17 And some are fierce and cruel ; some are found To dwell alone like monks ; some place their bliss In love and innocent sport ; and some there be Who mthlessly regard their own dear selves, And sacrifice all others to their passion, Like any common statesman of our time. This hedge-row is a microcosm, and if We two could read, interpret, and well know Its inner history, we should find but little That differs from the daily life that runs Its course amid our village and its flies, Except that those are not so finely dressed As the poor mites that populate the wild. O Mab, thou Faerie Queen, that thou wert here, To change us for an instant by thy spells To insects in this wilderness of plants ! What glories should we see ; what groves and gardens — What sweet parterres — what fragrant nooks and bowers, More beautiful than Alladiu ever raised, Or Arab fancy painted in bright dream ; Or, since that mighty Queen hath not appeared Since gay Mercutio sang her dsedal art. And Shelley summoned her in splendid song. Had we but a small lens to aid the eye. What wonders we should see in every branch : Glands brimming o'er like cups with golden juice, Goblets of sun bright hue from which to quaff"; Rafters of gold and silver ; pillars fair As ivory carved ; and tents that spread their wings Of ruby and of topaz, underneath 18 POEMS. Whose cooling dome fountains of honey flow ; Dove-coloured davra, with white and gold yflowered, "Wakens those insects from their bowers of dream ; And when the Evening Star, with golden i-ay, Faintly illumes the gray of heaven, they sink Into their leafy beds as soft as down. And there are forests in whose wilds they stray And sun themselves into delightful trance, And chiysolite columns under dazzling thrones ; And in these flowers of thyme are flagons filled With amethystine dews, and cups that shine Transparent as with diamond and pearl. And here these happy mortals aU day long Banquet, and think God made the world for them. Why should they not ? — To God's omnipotent eye, The bee, the butterfly, the gold-winged moth, — Nay, the poor earthworm dehdng tln-ough the mould,- Are objects not uncared for : See how well Their wants and pleasures are regarded by Him. WTiy, I have looked upon a speck of life , No larger than the point upon a pin, Have scanned it curiously and marked its beauty, Its rapid motion, its pulsating heai-t, Its quick perception of the things about it. Its readiness to avoid what it should shun. Its evident relish in its sense of being, Its every faculty perfect to the end For which the creature lived ; and I have asked Myself this question : — In the Final Day, When Caesar stands before the thrones of Light A MORXING WALK. 19 And points to oceans of red blood, let forth To float him proudly to the Capitol, Will not the Father of all Life exclaim ; More beauteous in my sight is yon poor insect, Which passed its days wdthin a leaf, than thou Whose title to renown is based on death. Ruin, and miseiy, and fires, and graves 1 Here let us stand beside these cottages, Blooming with climbers, and before we reach The quiet village, let us cast our eyes Back to the sea, the ever-royal sea, Now flashing with a green transparent light More lovely than the delicate emerald tint That fringes round the rainbow. See the lines Of deep and dark leaf-gi-een that streak its surface, Making the brighter colours shine more bright By contrast. On the shore the waves advance. Like warriors tossing high their snowy plumes. That glitter in the sunlight ; the sea breeze Is wafted hither, softened by the sun, And the sea boom is echoed in our ears. But on the waters not a sail is seen ; All is as lonely as the wilderness In Araby the desert ; but the solitude. Though vast and grand, is instinct with quick life. That shows itself in motion and in voice. Yea, and in soul ; for who that ever gazed Upon the sea, did not in thought confess And feel its mighty living influence, — Feel that it viewed him with majestic front, 20 POEMS. As tlaougli a god it wei-e with, crown and tlirone Imperial, till liis spirit bowed before The grandeur and divinity that effused Themselves from the great Presence ; — let us on, Or I shall look for ever on this Sea, Which interpenetrates mine inmost essence With spells that fix me as in magic dream. But ere we pass, delay a little moment ; Inhale the j)erfLime of these rustic gardens, That with a paradise of sweets su.n'ounds These humble homes of labour; how they breathe Their gentle harmonies into the heart. The birds have here a colony of nests, And sooth, they show their taste ; for here are flowers In front and all around of brilliant dyes, And fragrant odours, and a hive of bees Humming for ever, as from cup to cup They pass, like those gay drinkers of old time, Who ^vitli Anacreon crowned their brows with rose And myi-tle, and on leafy beds reclined. Tasted a score of purple vintages To the' health of the fair nympts who handed round The brimming sUver in more silveiy hands. Yes — those indeed were days of high romance ; The world was in its youth, and all was fair. And life was purpled o'er with classic thoughts ; And there were Nymphs, and Goddesses, and Sprites Of beauty and of love in every vale. And Naiads purple-zoned, with full black eyes Paling the splendour of the brightest stars. Greece, and its pearl-like isles of lute and song. A MORyiNG WALK. 21 Were very epics, siicli as Homer hymned. Could "w-e but live among tliem ! — but the hope Is hopeless ; though indeed we may in fancy Wander amid those green enchanted bowers, And see its soldiers and its women fair, Whose lives and loves are writ in chronicles ; And as we saunter up this gentle hill, Crowned with its fane, I'll tell thee an old tale Which has this moment flashed across my mind — A tale of love and faithfulness, and death. When the Milesians took the isle of Naxos, And heaped all cruelties upon the people, A fair young Virgin named Polyciita Fled to Apollo's altar in despair. The general of the victors, Diognetus, Saw her and loved, but did not dare pollute The sanctuary. Oft he sent the Maid A loving message, but she would not hear. At last he forced his way into the shrine. The Virgin said, Mij heart F II freely give To thee for ever, ifthoiClt vow a vow To do as I desire. The general sware. So great the might of love. Then spake the Maid : Betray the city to my hrothers, who Encamp outside the walls, and I will be Thy loving wife. Amazement struck him dumb ; But he consented, and the plot was laid. And messages were sent unto her brothers, To charge upon the city when they saw A blazing torch uplifted from the Temple. 99 POEMS. lu feast and wine the conquering soldiers passed The riotous day. At night, when all was still, The torch was raised. The brothers saw, and went Against the city, and with vengeance burning Boi'e all before them the unconscious foe. In the confusion, Diognetus fell. Polycrita, who loved him for his faith To her, expired upon his corpse, and both Were buried in one tomb ; apart in life, In death they were conjoined. So ends the story. Now pause we here a moment, ere we pass Along yon rising road, and lap our souls In meditation under this old tower With reverend ivy mantled, which has seen So many generations glide beneath Its Gothic portal : cliildhood, manhood, age. The happy-hearted virgin, the bright babe, The strong of limb, the feeble, gi'ay-haired sii'e, Called by the Sabbath bell to kneel and pray, And offer vip their simple thoughts to God. Over its flower-sprent turf the bees revolve ; The sunbeams play above the lowly graves ; And from yon garden breaks the sweet wild note Of birds, the innocent choristers of the dead. The place is solemn with a voiceless beauty ; A gentle melancholy wraps it round — A stillness, a repose, that like the Preacher, Ever and ever sayeth. All is vanity. And when I wander througli it in the evening, When twilight WTaps it in a silvery haze, A MORNING WALK. 23 And only one faint star of light is seen High in the heaven, I feel as if the Shade Of Gray were near me, and that in my ear It whispered the sad Elegy of old, Whose plaintive music hath in many a heart Left snch deep imprints, that where'er we roam. We still remember the loved lines of song, Which in our schoolboy days we learned by rote. Until they were a portion of ourselves. Here, or in some sequestered wild churchyard. As lone, as lowly, and as far from towns, We also shall repose when all is done, And life's bright lamp hath suddenly gone out ; And over us, as now above these sleepers, The winds shall blow and summer sunbeams fall. And winter ice the grass with star-like gems. And wild flowers bud, and bees with buzzing wing Pui"sue their pleasant toil. The birds shall sing ; But we who sleep shall hear not their sweet song ; Nor shall the lightning dazzle, nor the voice Of thundei's wake us. By our lone green beds The stranger and the villager shall stand. And look, and go his way ; nor think perchance That we once stood in life and strength and hope, TJpon the very spot where his foot traced Its print upon the grass. Upon his brain No image shall there rest of you or me ; And these frail frames in which our spirits live Shall be as though they had not ever been, Blended with all the elements, — infused In air, in eai-th, in water, and in fire, 24 POEMS. Never to reunite ; — for the briglit soul, Wliich is a lucid spark frora God himself, Will not again pollute itself with dust. What homilies are in these mouldering stones ! What sermons in these gray time-worn records ! Wliat psalms, more speaking to the sensitive mind Than ever harpist sang, are in these frail Memorials reared by love or pious reverence, Over the remnants of their sires or sons ; Over the wife who shared "with them their toils ; Over the babe whose eyes were their delight. This mound of turf, this rude and simple rail, Sj^eaks to the heart more feelingly than brass Or marble, or the rich nian's gaudy pomp, Blazoned with coats and crests and pedigrees, For Mephistopheles to mock at. Here, Or in some humble field like this, would I Myself desire to be consigned to dust. Beneath a hillock with the daisy fretted, A simple villager 'mid village folks. With only these, my name and time of death ; All else is foolishness; all else is vain. Yet would I not be grieved to think that some, Warmed with the feeling for a dreamer dead, Such as in blessed youth I too have felt For the sun-soaring spirits of sweet song. Some high-aspiring boy, some gentle gii'l. Would come and sprinkle flowers o'er my grave, Would fling a rose or violet on the tvirf, And say, Upon thy breast I cast this gem Of spring or summer, in a fond remembrance, A MORNING WALK. 25 In token that tliou liast a little place Within my heart and dwellest in my thoughts. Even as I muse, methinks I hear a voice Speak to my soul from yonder simple grave, While the far-distant wave that on the shore Breaks into fragments, symphonies the words ; Thou shaltyhe even as we : thy strength, thy life, Shall fade, as fade fair rainbows in the even, And the glad thoughts in which thou dost indulge Shall pass like autumn leaves ; no more for thee, Wlien thou shalt have crossed der the gloomy stream, Shall hapfy sunbeams smile, nor on thine eyes The starry lights that gild the arch of morn Shall gleam, nor thy sweet sorrowing look, moon ! ■ The haunted forest, the flower-sprinkled 'plains Thou shalt not tread again, nor look aloft On the crystalline clouds that veil from sight Of human eye the paradise-thrones of God. Son! bea/r this in mdnd, nor let the earth, From which so speedily thy foot shall pass, Be aught to thee than what it is — a shadow That ever teems with unsubstantial shadows. Farewell, old tower ! fare ye well, ye graves ! Ye have awakened thoughts within my soul That are as balm to wounded wayfarers. Gone are the hands that reared your holy walls, And planted ivy round them ; gone the brain c 2G P0E3IS. That first planned out tliis modest shrine to God : Their bones, their ashes, nay, their very names Have perished from the earth ; but thou art liere, A venerable record, bosomed deep 'Mid trees, and standing in a tranquil beauty, Shedding a venerable grace and shadow Over the sleepei-s. Long mayst thou abide In storm and sunshine, in revolving years, To open wide thy sabbath doors of peace. And house the villagers who flock to hear The lessons of theii- pastor, while they raise Their untaught, simple hymns of hope and trust To the Great Father, who disdains not any. But heai's the voice of faith, whether it comes From temples garnished rich with gold and gems, Or lowly altars such as thine pi'esents ; — Hears it with equal ear, nor gives to one That audience which it yields not unto all. How softly breathes the wind amid these trees, That overshade in parts this gentle hamlet. We shall not meet with any on the Downs. How sacred is their pi'esence ! Never falls My gaze upon a Tree that o'er the sward Rises in blooming vigour, but I feel Religious peace wrapping my soul around, As if it were a living priest of Nature, That spake to me of beauty and repose. How picture-like yon sycamore ! With what strength Yon mighty elm puts forth his brawny boughs ! How graceful is that lilac ! Solemn awe A MORXIXG WALK. 27 Seems clustered round yon yew, that now lias stood, Percliance, for centuries, and lias seen so many Pass and repass in life's quick panorama. How lustrously, in sunlight, shine their leaves, "With vai*ying tints and many-twinkling lights ! How soft theii" musical wliisjaer ! Eound their trunks Spring ma^y wild flowers, gemming the thick grass ; And unseen lyiists, warbling through the spray, Make the air musical with silver sounds : The dove bells forth her sweet and ringing coo — The blackbird sings his rich and musical note — The tlirush and linnet waft their honey tones Over the clear and crystalline expanse Of morn's transparent, sunny, spai'kling air. In such a solitude of merry birds, Amid phantasmal pictures born of the sun. Lay Shakspere when he dreamed of Ardennes' wood And melancholy Jaques — that muser quaint. In such a foliaged nook of shade and sun, Lulled by the heavenly tone of lyres and lutes, Spenser reclined at length ; and day by day. From Sibyl trees and sylvan Delpliic dreams, And strains and hymns by Poets only heard, Encircled also by those mystic Shapes Of light and splendour, loveliness and youth, Such as Bards see in sovran thought inspired. Drew the sweet lore that lives i' the Faerie Queene. O poet-dreams, how dull and dark were life On earth if ye were absent ! — Man were then A kind of beast, but one degree removed 38 POEMS. From the four-footed creatures of the field, In which the light of fancy burns not. Love, With its high-coloui-ed s-plendours, were unknown, Or would be animal only. Ye upraise The sons of mortals into far-off spheres. And make them happy in ideal scenes. They drain the diamond goblet of Djemsheed,* And wander in the halls of Chil-Minar ; They wear the magic ring of Suleyman, And see the sparkling light of Samarcand ; They gaze upon Iskander's fated mirror, Keading therein the Present, Past, and Future ; And from the cup, the crystal, and the ring, Evoke such glorious pictures, visions, clouds, As neither conqueroi', nor sage, nor shah. Ever beheld in fair reality. And now we pace along the cart-road path. Rough with shai-p flints, and breathe the fragrant breath Of M^oodbine ; now we enter on the Downs — S[)reading before us like an ocean vast. With waves gigantic ; swelling hills, deep vales. In which are cottages that seem the home Of mild content ; yet could we scan the souls Of those who tenant them, what wild desires. What vague ambitions, i-estless hopes and wishes, As varying as the surface of the sea, Should we discern. Such is mankind — a being * The golilet of Djemsheed, the ring of Solomon, the mirror of Alexander, are the three renowned and magical ti'easures of Oriental legend. A MORNING WALK. 29 Whom Alexander's conquests cannot fill ; Whom all the wealth and power of all the world Never can satiate — for his infinite nature Desires the Infinite. So hath God ordained, When first He formed the spirit, and so willed That only He should satisfy its needs. How the free breeze blows freshly on our brows — How our minds revel in the boundless sense Of liberty that circles us. Father, • Gladly I thank Thee that my thoughts are free As this pure mountain air ; that I have bathed My spirit in the Truth revealed by Heaven, Renewing its virginity, and flinging Away for ever from its sliining limbs The chains corroding which dull Custom binds About the splendid wanderer from the skies, Seeking to make it one with earth and night. O ye svirrounding hills, how beautiful, How full of pastoral loveliness ye are ! The sky seems purer o'er your silent crests. That sleep in purple ; but your winding depths Bear many-coloui'ed hues. The sheep and lambs. And meditative kine that on your heath Browse in luxurious ease ; the singing birds And humming bees that flash through silver aii-. Cany me far away, o'er land and wave, To ancient A ready and bygone days — Hybla, Hymettus, Pindus, Enna's vale. When poets were but shepherds with their crooks, And Muses sought them In their sylvan haunts, 30 POEMS. And breathed into their pipes the songs of heaven ; And the fair Moon herself came down to Latmos, To kiss Endymion's month of rosy flowers. Hence, also, am I wafted, as I gaze On yonder steep and heaven-kissing hill, Basking beneath the rosy-pvirple sky. To Taimus and the golden-coloured Rhine, And Drachenfels, and Bingen — that fair nook Embosomed in green hills of vines and trees. 'Twas in a mood like this which now I feel — In such a moment, too, long years ago. When I had never tasted aught but bliss, I left gTeen Bacharach, and climbed on high. Amid the warm and kindling roseate air. And stood upon the ruined tower, that like An eagle in his eyrie proudly stands Aloft, in high disdain of all below. Round me were many reliques of old time, Peopled with legend and the phantom host : Fairies, and gnomes, and spectres of the past ; And mighty shades that still cling round the shores : Csesar, and Attila, and Charlemagne. Beneath me flowed the Rhine — a thread of gold, On which the sunbeams played ; the mountains round Were vernant with the vine, and wheresoe'er I cast my eye, were churches, castles, cots. Gardens and children, and the distant hum Of labour, vintage, laughter, and sweet song. But fairer than all these were thronejing thoucjlits That round me curled in rosy, beaming clouds. And lent their life to all the landscape there, A MORNING WALK. 31 Making a Tempe in my raptured brain. Thus fled the hours, unnoticed, even as now ; But I was all alone, with no fair form To share the Elysium of that happy hour, Or echo the wild music of my soul, As it is ecl>oed now by thee, love, thee. What have we here 1 — A bird's nest from its bower Plucked by some wayward urchin : mark how well The winged little architect had made Its woven chamber, lined with moss, and hair. And down, so softly blended — a bird-boudoir, Such as my Lady Fashion — who, of all things, Studies her comfort most — might well have ordered Her sleek, sly cabinet-maker to inspect. And take a lesson from the country bii'd. And here's a broken egg, of pale sea-green, Flung on the road remorselessly — a life Wantonly sacrificed that might have made The forest musical, and charmed the ear Of many a villager, when underneath The spreading tree he rested from liis toil, Or breathed his love-tale to the wiUins heart Of some young hajmiaker in ribbands trim — Love-secrets sweeter to the happy thought Than golden honey to the schoolboy's mouth. Poor mother-bird, I pity thee : this mom How rich in hope thou wert, and thou didst flutter. With all a mother's pride, over thy nest. And didst indulge in dreams ; but in a moment Thine airy castles were dissolved in air, 32 POEMS, And all thy love and labours were for nought. Where art thou now, thou little desolate one ? Would I could find thee, and with gentle love Console thee in thy sadness and despair. Yonder's a flock of sheep and bleating lambs ; Their shepherds marshal them with dogs and crook, And drive them to their watering-place — a pond Of chalk and lime, battened to hold the rains, And form a fountain in this waste of heath. The black-faced simpletons, with anxious eyes, Gaze on us as we stay to view them pass. With what fond love they look upon their young, Whose tottering feet can scarcely help them on ! How gravely do these dogs with shaggy hair Watch o'er the troop like captains : quick of eye And foot they are, and with their arduous duty, Methinks they blend a sort of rough regard. As if they looked upon the silly sheep As wayward children — to be rather pitied Than blamed or barked at ; for they mean no ill, Howe'er they wander from the well-ranged troop, But do so in mere female thoughtlessness. A flock like this it was Don Quixote saw, When in the leading ram his errant brain Beheld the puissant Ali-Fanfaron, Lord of vast Taprobana and its people ; And in the opposite troop, that valiant chief, The Garamantian king, Pentapolin, Wending to deadly battle, for the love Of that jnost beautiful and graceful lady A MORNING WALK. 33 (Her name discreet Cervantes hatli suppressed) To whom Lord ALL offered throne and hand ; But he a worshipper was of false Mahound ; And so Pentapolin, with Christian faith, Refused his proffered love ; and therefore they Rushed like tw(> lions into deadly fight. « There is an ancient legend of fair Greece, Of one who met a flock of sheep and lambs In this wise, and who perished. I will tell it, If thou canst think of aught besides that glow Of dazzling pictures in this splendid scene — If thou canst summon back thy raptured thought From the all-sparkling radiance of this hour, To an old story of the antique times ; And thus, in simple phrase, methinks it ran : Young Hipparinus loved Leucippe, who Disdained his suit. He courted her a year. But could not win one sweet, approving smile : Go forth, she says, and prove your strength of love, — Slay the fierce lion that the forest haunts. He went, and slew the lion ; then Leucippe Loved Hipparinus. Blest, indeed, are they Who love and are beloved. The tyrant-king Who ruled the island where this happy pair Dwelt in delight, the virgin saw, and fired With passion, sought her modesty to spoil. Then Hipparinus rose and watched the king, And stabbed him to the heart. The monarch's guarda Pursued the youth, who might have 'sca})ed their rage, But on the road he met a troop of shephtrds, 34 POEMS. Driving their lambkins, Vt^liicli were tied together, And thus his progress stayed. The sokliers came, And killed the youth. Leucippe died that day, But the good people of the island, freed From the despotic rule of that old king, Raised t^ two golden statues to the lovers. And passed a stern decree, that, from that time, No shepherds should their lambkins tie and drive Upon the public highways of that realm. Mark yonder cluster of green faerie rings : Methinks they held wild revels here last night, Under the silver circlet of the moon. How vivid is this emerald turf ! — as if The little people, with their magic feet, Impressed it with new verdure as they trijjped. Here we can fancy Obei'on reclined — Here Queen Titania, with that pretty minx Cowslip, and Master Cobweb, and Peasblossom, And sprightly Robin Goodfellow, called Puck. What sports, what quips, what jollity and love. These silver-crested mushrooms witnessed then ! They are the sole fair records of the feast ; And so I counsel thee to bring them home. And from their fragrant stems and glistening orbs Extract the juice, which, in the winter-time, Shall make us roam in fancy here once more, And I shall see thee, as I see thee now, Stooping to gather them with snow-white hand. Like a pomegranate flower, in scarlet leaf, Bending above the green. These magic rings, A MORNING WALK. 35 How dear to me they are ! — and how they breathe Of poets past, and the wild minstrel notes That charmed our forefathers in merrie England : Drummond and Drayton, Daniel, Jonson, Greene ! They bear me bStck to Sherwood, and the sports, And lays, and legends, and chivalric games, That with the memory of our glorious isle. Are intertwined for ever ; and I live Another and a happier sort of life In the brief moment of that waking dream. Boundless and fair the prospect opens still. Here are no splendid flowers to form a wreath For high-born dames that flaunt in tapestried rooms, But humble blossoms, not so finely bred As those in lordly gardens, yet not less The exquisite image of wise Nature's art : Cowslip and primrose, purple creeping-Jenny, Briony, pimpernel, white bindweed, fox-glove, Buglos and harebell, and the periwinkle. With dark blue eye, like some young laughing babe's. And wild forget-me-not. With buds like these, Curiously intertwined in richer flowers, As Pliny tells us, Glycera of Sicyon, The beauteous nosegay-girl, sat all day long Enwi'eathing fancy chaplets for the fair, Blending their colovirs in a thousand lights, Each difierent from the other, with rare skill. And by her side young Pausias the painter Learned the true harmony of varied tints, And on his canvass copied her fresh wreaths, 3G POEMS. With such a fervent love of art and Glycera — Blent into one great passion, — that no other Could flower-paint like him, as no one else Could harmonise their opposite hues like her. And so they lived and loved, amid fresh flowers As fragrant as their hearts ; and life flowed on, Calmly and sweetly, like a stream that glides. With gentle pace, through sylvan solitudes. Passing from sunshine into quiet shade, And so from shade again to sunny light, Through drooping willows, roses, and wild thyme, And silver water-lilies ; hearing ever The lay of birds, the shepherd's plaintive pipe. The song and chorus of the evening feast, When all their labour ended for the day. The youths and maidens meet upon the mead. And sport beneath the mellow harvest-moon. And lo ! another feature in the scene ! Recalling, still, Cervantes to the mind : A windmill perched upon the hill. 'Tis well The melancholy Don is far away, Or we might see another desperate duel With yonder giant of extended arms. Hapless Cervantes ! doomed to eat thine heart Away, in ling'ring round the gates of courts. Feeding on airy promises, as false As those who made them ; fitly didst thou pass Thy days, like thine own Quixote, in high dreams Of chivalry, and knighthood, and fair dames, That soothed thy soldier-soul, when else it might A MORNING WALK. 37 Have changed to gall, rememb'ring what it was, And what it gained from Spain. True cavalier ! Brave as the bravest ! — so Lepanto proved — To thee and Ci^oens, that fine gentleman, Poet, and scholar, would my pen accord Whatever praise it can ; and yet how idle Ai"e laurel wreaths around the dead man's brows ! How vain the posthumous glory which earth gives To heroic hearts like thine ! But thus it is — The Sons of Splendour win not crowns of gold, But crowns of glory that for ever gleam. How fail-, how rich, how honey-like these clumps Of golden gorse ! The bee finds here the wealth Of Hybla's self within their flashing cells ; The throstle sings amid their safii-on shade ; The lark soars out of sight, as if he longed To bear his song close to the gates of heaven. These heather tufts are altars of perfume, That waft theii- fragrant breath, like prayers, aruuntl. Hark to the cuckoo's sweet and hidden note. Welling upon the enchanted lawns of air ! Varied the lights on hill, and dale, and glen — From brightest emerald to the rich dark brown Of yonder field new ploughed. I never gaze Upon this spreading scene of sloping peaks And dark ravines, and Nature's holy presence, Without a thought of Palestine, and Him Who, in the softest, yet the grandest tones That ever Man used to pi-opound the Truth, Came from the Mountain, and, in heavenly speech, 38 poEJis. Taught tlie disciples words tlaat to tlie heai"ts Of millions have borne peace, and which to earth Are glintings of the sacred light of God. Oh ! that the wand of Merlin now were mine, How suddenly I should people these broad Downs With pictures of the byegone classic days. I'd crown the hills that circle yonder vale With oak, and elm, and olive ; on the sides Should thickets, formed of beech, and rose, and woodbine. In green luxuriance twine, beneath tliis sky. Lustrous with starry blue and silver-specked With cloudlets brighter than Olympus' snows. And it should be a forest far and lone, For wood-delighting Fauns and Sylvans arch ; And there should be a world of dreamy bowers, Fanned by soft winds that rustled through their leaves. Blending their delicate whispers with the voice Of bell-like music from a singing rill. There would I lie and muse, and from beneath The velvet shadows, see young Cupid triji. With rosy cheeks and laughing, bright blue eyes, Joy, like a sunbeam, brightening his fair brow ; And gentle winds kissing his floating locks ; His snowy pinions sparkle in the sun ; His quiver, filled with beauty-wounding arrows. Shines on his polisht shoulders, while his bow, As delicately rounded as the breasts Of Cytherea, is entwined with wi'eaths Fresh woven by Aglai'a's fair white hands. And now a shout of Bacchant revelry A MORMXG WALK. 39 Is heard -vritli laugliter and delighted cries, And sounding cymbals, lapsing on the aii*. And see ! a X^Tuphal train whose presence breathes Beauty, and love, and summer, with its flowers, Into the soul, and gives it heavenly youth ; Their chaplets, wreathed with ivy, vine, and rose, Glisten amid their bright ambrosial locks ; A fawn skin robe with careless grace is thi'own Loosely across their ivoiy shoulders, and In theii' white hands a leafy thyrsus each Beai's, which she waves delightedly on high. From their glad eyes flash splendour and desire ; Their rosy lips seem rosier still with wine. Where am I ? oh ! where am I ? Do I di'eam ? Is old Anacreon in my wand'ring thought. With his tall flagons crowned with mantling grape ? Is it the music of some golden harp, Evoked by angels, or the faerie host. That swells along this heath I How sweet, how soft Its billowy whisi^ei's float upon the eai', Like the fond love of virgins first confest In woodland bowere beneath the evening stai'. I look upon the sea, that far away Sleeps in sunlighted splendours, still and calm. As some young Eastern biide, all youth and beauty, In a loose violet robe of gems and silver ; But from the sea that sweet sound cometh not : I^o fair mermaiden breathes it from her cave Of glittering emerald, or fi-om the crest Of some blue wave, while combing her dark locks, Warbles the love within her passionate soul. 40 POEMS. I look across these liills, but look in vain, To trace tlie source of tliat enchanting hymn : No fountain gushes forth in silvery stream, To tempt the Naiads to come here and sing To lyres or lutes ; no forest trees are here, Beneath whose foliage, on the moss or stone, A Dryad might recline, and, with sweet harpings. Lure the fair Sun-God to i-epress his steeds, Mistaking her for Daphn^, ere transformed. No crystal brook wafts melody as it flows — The melody which is its psalm to God, In thankfulness for its being. Whence then comes This music of the spheres 1 I pause, and muse, And listen still, with eye and ear attent. Like one who, tremblingly alive with love That throbs in every vein, awaits the footstep Of her who is the Egeria of his heart. The spell is gone ! I find I did but dream ! — It was not music, 'twas no harp of gold, But a divine and heaven-born echo heard Within the winding galleries of my soul. That in this moment feels imparadised By the delicious beauty that breathes round — The fragrant air, the perfume-wafting thyme. The song of wild birds dancing in the air, The light of sunbeams, the bright flashing sea, The sweet transparent arch of blue above. The boundless prospect, the serene repose. The solitude — ^the majesty of nature, And, last of all, by thee, my spirit's soul. Who givest life, and melody, and thought. A MORNING WALK. 41 And every charm to the surrounding scene. > Tender's the Dyke, and o'er the vast expanse The fruitful Weald of Sussex, crowned with spires, And villages, and church towers, and cots Embedded deep in woods, and vales, and gardens. The eye delighted, moves its glistening sphere. How splendid is the prospect ! with what love, And awe, and gi-atitude, and thoughts sublime, It beautifies the soul. We gi-ow too great For earth as we behold, and fling aside The miserable sense and care of self. And are exalted into gi-eater breadth And grandeur, such as spii-its feel when first They wing tlieir way into the heavenly zones, And then, for the first moment, think and know Themselves to be indeed a part of God — So lofty, so august, their new-bom splendour. Now glide we gently by this -winding path, Into yon dingle, thick with shady boughs. And musical with birds of varied note ; Down by the curving stream, so cool, so clear, With rushes, cuckoo flowers, and hart's-tongue fem, And water-mint, and Robin-nin-i'-the-hedge ; And stealing round this smooth and silver mere. On which two stately Swans of brightest snow Move like king's daughters changed by magic spells. We stop and watch them. In then- arching necks, Curved as a steed's of purest Arab blood, Tlie Hne of beauty gleams ; their eyes are dark With fire suppressed ; their wings, like amm flowers. 42 POEMS. Are open to the wind, and as two galleys From marble Venice, with majestic pace They float upon the crystal. Here's their nest, And in 't five eggs. Lo ! even wliile we look Upon its osier woof, the mother Swan Hath sailed to land, and now she faces us, With Amazon front and swelling neck and plume. Let us away, and free her anxious heart From further care ; and leave her to her bright And happy dreamings in this sunlit scene. Leave her to her demesne of waters, nooked In perfumed hills and by the verdant bank, And roofed by the blue heaven that shines o'er all. And now, reclining on this covich of thyme, Read to me of that virgin of the East, The gentlest maid that ever shone in stars On poet's dazzled fancy — Sacontala. Carry me in tranced thought to Orient skies. And forests grander than the halls of kings. In which, amid the hermit-priests of heaven, That maiden pure as snows, or flowers, or light. Dwelled in the music of her thovights divine. O loveliest vision of the Poet's soul. How often hast thou made me blest in fancy ! How often has thine image soothed my heart, Wearied with all the littleness of the world, And borne it backward to that golden age, When Calidasa saw in Indian maidens The living type from which he painted thee, Thou fair ideal of all female beauty. THE STOKY OF THE FAIR BLANAID. 43 So flies the hour in happiness away, And so our morning-walk is fitly crowned With music at the end, and reveries Rising like perfumes from the poet's page, And wafted in thy soft and lute-Hke voice. Clje c^torg oi tin im §liinaib. The princely chief, Ctichallain, Our chief renowned of old. From frowning tower and fortress, He calls his warriors bold : From frowTiing tower and fortress, With bi'oadsword blue and shield, And lance and spear, athirst for blood. They march into the field. Many a hawk-eyed bowman, And many a swordsman brave, Thronged where his flapping standards Along the leasowes wave. His stai'-bright, flapping standards, Like pillars tall were seen, The Yellow Lion rampant Upon his field of green. And with these stout-limbed archers, A cloud of spearmen came, With tufted beards and shaggy brows, And deep dark eyes of flame. 44 POEMS. Then outspake brave Cuchullain — " Ye Red-Branch Chieftains, hear, We've shared in many a battle-field, And conquered far and near ; We've humbled many a haughty fort, And many a captive led ; And side by side, o'er land and tide, We've stoutly fought and sped. But now our spirit slumbers, Our broadswords sleep in rust, Our polished spears are blunted, Our war-shirts mould in dust. The antlered deer and brown wolf Too long have been our game ; Once on a time the Red-Branch Knights Were fired with nobler aim. The game of war with foemen. The strife with gallant men, These be our ends ; — then up with me, And share such game agen." He spake — and from his stout thigh His broadsword blue he draws, Outbursts from all those chieftains rdund One shout of wild applause ; The listening vales re-echo The loud and glad hurraws ; And on their blades those chieftains A hiu'ried oath devise. To follow still their leader To deeds of great emprise. THE STORY OF THE FAIR ELAN AID. 45 From raab to rank, like ligktuing, Flaslied on one fierce accord ; They clashed upon their iron shields With brazen spear and sword. Then spake once more Cuchullain : " In Alba's isle there stands A fortress strong and mighty, With spoil from many lands. Piled up with Asian plunder, And Afric's choicest wealth, From olden times collected, By labour, force, or stealth ; With bright and priceless jewels From Orient empires brought, And store of sparkling wonders By magic hands enwrought : Large drinking-cups of silver, And golden cauldrons bright, With shining rings, and linen coats, Of scarlet and snow-white ; Sleek dark-gi-ay steeds of swiftness, With aureate housings stoled ; Bucklers, with equal portions mixed Of silver and red gold ; Broad-bladed spears and standards, And swords for knightly thighs. With daggers and war-axes. Of tempei', strength, and size. But brighter still, and brighter. And destined for our prize. 46 POEMS. There dwells witMn tliis Castle's walls, A maid of soft blue eyes — Blauaid, tlie rarest Ladye That heaven did e'er behold ; — Be mine that rarest Ladye, Be yours the wealth untold," Loud shouted all those cliieftains, With fierce and glad assent ; And soon the news was spread about, Like fire fi-om tent to tent. And all those stout-limbed soldiers Swoi'e to the bargain made — For them the wealthy fortress, For him the fair Blanaid. Now there was one — false Conrigh — A knight renowned was he. In battle-plain and ladye's bower Gallant as knight could be. Fierce in the flaming conflict. With martial strength of nine ; His swelling soul of battle Shewed in his haughty eyne. But skilled in arts of magic, And mzard schemes of hell, He swoi'e to win that Ladye fair By sorcery and spell. He rose and left his Castle walls, And domied his robe of gray — THE STORY OP THE FAIR BLANAID. 47 A robejwliose miglit, the stars of light Must bow to and obey. In his gi'ay magic mantle, The Red-Branch camp he sought, In garb a common soldier, A conquering prince in thought. The Red-Bi'anch troop he found them. Upon the white sea-beach ; They hailed the stranger-soldier With welcome looks and speech. They launched their hollow galleys, Their bending oars they plied, And night and day, with might and main, Rowed o'er the waters wide. The waves rushed round their black prows, The winds blew loud and long, And over the boiling billows, They passed with shovit and song. And now they reached that Fortress, With mighty walls and towers ; Dark o'er its brows a tln-eatening cloud Of mist and tempest lowers. And in that rock-built fortress, The Lox'd of that lone isle, Stood stoutly girt with wizard aid, " And serried rank and file. His Magi stood around him,' His armoured guards before. His flag waved stern defiance To those who thronged his shore. 48 POEMS. Riglit in the fiery gateway Whirls an enchanted wheel, Ten thousand dusk and shadowy shapes Were round it seen to reel ; Ten thousand dusk and shadoWy shapes, Of shapeless fire and cloud, And blazing fronts and flickering heads, That hissed and screamed aloud. With jestings lewd and jeerings. They taunt the Red-Branch Knights ; With peals of hideous laughter. Sore mock the grinning sprites. The sun looked black and bloody Down on the mailed array. And like fierce wolves, the waters. Seemed gaping for their prey. In front the mocking Fortress, The swollen seas behind. Around them storm and darkness — What succour shall they find ? Tlien outspake wily Conrigh, Disguised in robe of gray — " Methinks it were a deep disgrace From hence to turn away. Shame on the valiant warriors. If recreants from the fight ; Shame on the Eed-Bi-anch Cliieftains, If hence they take their flight.'' Then outspake brave CuchuUuin — - " Sir Churl, thy tongue is rude : THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLAXAID. 49 How canst thou dare on valiant knishts Thy tauntings vile intrude ? Get hence, get hence, thou brawlei', Nor dare our deeds to scan ; Canst thou surprise this Fortress ? Wilt thou lead on the van ? " Then answered wily Conrigh — " All this I swear to do ; The fort, though girt with fire and cloud, I'll lead our soldiers through ; The wheel that whirls with spectres Shall fall before my hand ; The frowning cloud of darkness Shall fly at my command ; The tower and all its treasures Shall be — I swear it — thine ; The choice of all the jewels Shall be — but swear it — mine." He swore by his Hand of Valour, By liis Arm of Might he swore ; He swore by the Winds of Heaven, That sweep the mountains hoar ; By the silver Shield of the Moon, By the Sun and the Sacred Fire, By the Ghosts of the Mighty Dead, By the Ashes of his Sire, Then outspake brave Cuchullain, A mighty Oath he swore : 50 POEMS. " By the viewless "Winds and foaming Waves, That dash on Alba's shore ; By the circling Sun, and Moon, and Dew, And all that men adore — The choice of all the jewels In yon proud tower shall be. When taken by thy skilful hand, Reserved alone for thee ! " And all these valiant warriors Assented to that oath Thus sworn, with due solemnity. Of Heaven and Earth, by both. Then up rose wily Conrigh, He donned his robe of gray, And like a Spirit of Evil, Full loud he laughed that day. He raised his magic clarion, And blew one mighty blast. Whereat the fierce and frowning towers Recoil with fear aghast — A rending blast like thunder. That sounded far and wide ; And the black clouds that veiled the heaven, In thunder-peals replied. Straight from the Fort the pale ghosts Passed like affrighted things, Away, and away, for ever and aye. They sailed on the tempest's wings. The wheel of fire no longer Revolved the gates before ; TH© STORY OF THE FAIR BLAXAID. 51 It screamed like a ghost in torture, And vanished for evermore. Then outspake wily Conrigh — " Ye Red-Branch Knights, advance ! Give to the breeze your sunburst * bright, And charge with sword and lance." And onward still and onward. Right tlirough the open gate, False Conrigh thundered onward, With pride and hope elate. Like a hawk on a troop of small birds, False Conrigh led the van — Of all that bold and battailous troop, There flinched no single man ; And the deadly fight seemed over, Ere it had well began. They met on the lofty ramparts. With shield, and sword, and spear, Those strong-armed men, with bull-like hearts, That knew no thought of fear. Loud clashed their brazen bucklers. Bright shone their broadswords blue. They heard no cries, they spared no man. But still they slew and slew. Like the fierce and rapid sledging Of smiths on the an-\dl broad, * " Sunburst " — the name of a war-banuer. 52 P0E3IS. When blows descend like tliimderbolts, Hurled by some angry god, Were the quick and heavy crashes Of sword on mail and bone — Were the shrill and hollow blendings Of war-shout and death-groan, Till, as the dark-red tempest Some fores-t oak lays low, The Chief of all was seen to fall, 'Neath Conrigh's slaughteiing hlow. Then rose the shriek of women. Their arms the men threw down, And the babe grew white with shivering fright In the nook of its mother's gown. The young and old they gave them Up to the ravenous blade ; For two whole hours those Chieftains A deadly slaughter made, They only spared one captive — The lieautLful Blanaid. Like a bright rainbow shining Aloft in southern skies ; Like a rich garden painted With flowers of softest dyes ; Like music in sweet Logh Lene, By skilful minstrel played — So looked that white-armed captive. The beautiful Blanaid. THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLANAID. 53 Her branching gold-bright ringlets, Fell to her feet of snow, Her eyes shed tears of crystal. Her cheeks were wet with, woe ; And over her lieaving bosom, Her Hly-wliite hands she placed, And gently, like a spirit of air, Before the Knights she paced. Bent was her moon-like forehead, Her rosy lips close set, She panted like a blackbird Toiled in a fowler's net. Sadly she gazed around her, Nor saw one friendly face ; Ah, me ! for the modest maid, — Gods sliield her by their grace. Oh ! weep, white-bosomed Ladye, Weep for thy lonely fate — A captive in a foi-eign land, Fallen from a high estate ; Weep for thy loving kindred. That slumber round thee cold ; Weep for the sweet days passed and gone, The innocent days of old ; WeejD for the loving music ; Weep for the dear old songs ; Weep for thy little fawn slaughtered ; Weep for thine own sad wrongs ; 54 POEMS. Weep for tlie liatmts of diildhood, Where tliy tiny footsteps strayed. Ah, me ! ah, me ! I pity thee, Thou lonely-hearted maid. Away, and over the ocean. The Red-Branch Champions speed ; A glorious capture theirs, I ween — A bold and gallant deed ! And they bore away in their galleys The ransom of ten kings. Siiccess attend their galleys, That float on the wind's black wings ! "G- Three hundred painted chariots. Three hundred steeds of size. Two chests of jewels, gathered all, Beneath fair Orient skies ; Breast-plates, all rough with garnets, And glittering like bright stars. With well-stitched leathern helmets, Enwrought with golden bars ; Six hundred scai'let mantles. Of hunting spears ten score, Stout hatchets of black basalt, Full fifty pair and more ; Two himdred silver bucklers, With red gold edged all roimd, And gems for ear and finger In white bright silver bound ; THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLANAID. 55 Bracelets, and torques, and tunicks. Lances with sharp stone heads, Blue-coloured swords, with ivory knobs, And robes with golden threads ; Long ashen pikes that glittered, Like moonbeams on the snows, And thin swan-feathered arrows, "With quivers and bent bows ; A hundred fire-eyed falcons. Well trained to cleave the air ; A hundred mares for breeding, And rams with fleeces fair ; Spear-heads of dark gray granite, Two hundred full they found, With flint heads for long arrows. And many a deep-mouthed hound ; A hundred gold-fringed cassocks. Ten brazen chandeliers. With five score strong and shining reins, And five score shai*p blue spears ; And vast uncounted treasure, The wealth of many lands, Piled up within the Castle's walls By strong and skilful hands : The mighty Red-Branch Chieftains, The flower of Innisfoyle, Bore in their ships from Alba's isle To Erie rich in spoil. But brighter stUl, and brighter Than gold or jewelled prize. 56 POEMS. TLe fair Blanaid, tlie stolen maid. With heaven in her soft eyes. Away and over the ocean The cvirved black galleys sped, While wind and wave their thin keels dittve. And fast as hawks they fled. And now they range the prizes, To choose as each one may, When outspake wily Conrigh, Clothed in his robe of gray. " Hear me, ye Red-Branch Chieftains, Ye valiant warriors, hear ; And you, great Cuchnllain, Who sware an Oath of fear, Fallen is the mighty Fortress, And by my hand it fell ; Here stand the gorgeous treasures, — JSere / who broke the spell. " And now, ye noble Chieftains, Remember what ye sware — The richest jewel of my choice. Is destined for 7ny share. By the Sun and Moon ye sware it, By many an Awful Name, By the viewless Winds and solemn Waves, And by the Sacred Flame ; And here, ye Red-Branch Chieftains, The richest gem I claim." THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLAMAID. ^7 Out spake the Reel-Branch Chieftains, Out spake CuchuHain wise — " Choose as thou wilt, stranger Kniglit, Be thine the choicest prize." Loud laughed the wily Conrigh, He touched the blushing maid — " This is the rarest jewel, The beautiful Blanaid ! " Red flushed the brave CuchuUain, With still and stem surprise, His fiery soul, like lightning forked. Flashed from his midnight eyes. And all his valiant warriors Stood round about amazed ; But silent stood false Conrigh, As on the maid he gazed. Robed in the light of beauty. And red and white by turns, Her blushes seemed like roses, Budcb'ng o'er cold death-urns. She stood like some sad marble. By sculptor hands portrayed ; — Ah, me ! ah, me ! I fear for thee, Thou beautiful Blanaid. And still beside the maiden. False Conrigh, gazing, stands, In his gray magic mantle, With stUl and folded hands. D 2 58 POEMS. It was a sight of sadness, To see that silent pair — She like a spirit come from heaven, He like a fiend of air. Then from the brave CnchuUain, These words like thunder bvirst — " Avaunt, and quit the maiden — Avaunt, thou vile accurst ! Take all my richest treasures — Gold — jewels — armour, take ; All that thy false heart chooses : The maid thou shalt not take." Then outspake wily Conrigh — " O perjured prince, beware. Before these Red-Bi-anch Chieftains An oath of dread vou sware. And here I claim the maiden, To be my lawful prize ; Accurst of gods and men be he, Who now my claim denies. And I will take the maiden From thee, false chief, perforce," He said, and placed the maiden, Right on his coal-black horse. Away — away — CiichuUain Rushed from hi^j lofty throne. But ere he reached the greensward, The fair Blanaid was gone. THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLANAIB. 59 East and west, and north and south, The Red-Branch Knights pursued, Through hill and vale, and lawn and dell, And sylvan solitude ; Through shadowy glens they wandered, And by the sounding shore ; Through the leafy gloom of the forests, In vales and caverns hoar. Night and day, and day and night, In sunshine, storm, and shade ; But never more those Cliieftains brave Beheld the fau* Blanaid. Twelve birds fly over the ocean — Twelve birds with coal-black wiiass — From the wild North Sea they are flying Hither like ominous things : Hoarse and harsh are their screamines. Sharp and shrill they shriek. They mutter and croak like guilty souls, As they perch on a mountain's peak. Then uprose brave Cuchullain, He drew his elk-horn bow. And the string whirred loud as the arrow Leapt at its winged foe. And the twelve strange birds screeched wildly, As up in the air they rose ; But home to the heart went the arrow. And thick the life-blood flows. 60 POEMS. Dowii to the eartli the arrow, Fell with the stricken bird ; Never a single groan he gave, Never a wing he stii*red. Horribly shrieked liis comrades As they saw him tumble dead ; — Up in the dark deep glens of the sky, With screams of woe they fled. Then laughed the brave Ciichullain, As the strange birds took their flight, Clanked on liis back his quiver, While he followed them day and night- Day and night without ceasing, Wherever the strange birds flew, Till he passed twelve fertile counties, And in each a bird he slew. And he, rested in Momonia, In a forest of old Srabh Bhreen ; For three whole days the hero dwelt Alone in the wild wood green. On the fourth day Cuchullain * Rose from hLs sylvan lair, And whither and whither shall he go, In search of the absent fail- 1 For twelve long months had he journeyed, Yet never the nymph had found : Oh ! lives she still on the happy earth ? Or sleeps in the cold black ground ? THE STORY OP THE FAIR BLANAID. Gl By the sweet Fionghlas he wandered — That river as crystal cleai' — When he was aware of a soft sad voice, That rose from an arbour near — A voice that like heavenly music, Stole on his anxious ear : — And a harp's low gentle breathings Were wafted upon the wind ; And the song was a song of sorrow— The plaint of a moaning mind. And it was a song of sorrow, The lay of a broken heart. Murmured to weeping music. Artless and void of art. Murmured to weeping music, And blent with tears and sighs ; Murmured to weeping music. That di'owned in grief the eyes. Oh ! who is the gentle damselle, That sings such a moving song ? Oh ! who is the craven traitoi- Hath done such damselle wrong ? Out with thy brand, Cuchidlain ! T'lesh well thy biting blade ! The traitor he is false Conrigh, The dame is the fair Blanaid. Then outspake brave Cuchullain, As he fell on his bended knee : 62 POEMS. " Ladye ! I am tliine own ti'ue lord, Smile gently down on me, And fly witli me from this traitor — And fly with me from tkrall — And tliou shalt sit in my palace. And rule my cliieftains aU !" Then spake the startled damselle : " Grant Heaven, thou dearest knight, That I were with thee on the saddle-tree, Equipped for a speedy flight ! That I wex'e away from false Conrigh, Whose love my soid detests " — The teai's they fell from her sweet eyes Into her roseate breasts, " Oh ! where is now my father ? My mother that tended me, When I was a little innocent babe. And nursed upon her knee ? And where are all my brothers — My brothers that loved me well ? And where are my gentle sisters ? — All — all in the naiTow cell !" Down on the gi-ass the damselle fail-, In swoon of sadness fell. Then outspake brave Cuchullain : " Mine own beloved Blanaid, Fly hence with me this moment, Nor stand thou thus dismayed." THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLANAID, 63 " No, no," quoth the damselle, weeping, " Not now bethink of flight, 'Twere vain to 'scape false Conrigh, Clothed in his magic misht. But hearken, dear Cuchullain, Heed well the words I say — Gather thy forces far and wide, And, on the thirtieth day, Encamjjed in yonder forest. Watch well the river clear, When its stream runs white, with main and niitrht. Charge, as thou hold'st me dear, For I will lull false Com-igh To sleep in that same hour ; And I will hide his mantle gray, And sword of demon power. Ten thousand of thy cldeftains Were vain against liis charm ; Ten thousand of thy chieftains Would melt before his arm." She said — and then stood silent ; He kissed her lily-white hand. And went his way rejoicing To the king of all the land. '■a Thirty days have passed and gone, And brave Cuchullain lies. With a band of chosen Cliieftains, Concealed from prying eyes. He lies in the oaken forest. In the trees and tall thick grass 64 POEMS. That grows in emerald richness, Beside the clear Fionghlas. Thirty days have passed and gone, False Conrigh lies in sleep, And by his side the fair Blanaid Doth anxious vigil keep. She hath stolen his magic mantle, She hath stolen his magic sword, She pants for the happy moment That will bring her soul's adored. A little footj)age then enters Softly on tiptoe ; And he gives her a golden token, — " Thine errand well I know." She spake, and swiftly gliding, On the waters' brink she stood, And over its banks she poured the milk, Till it whitened the clear cold flood ; And the Knight and his anxious Chieftains Leapt from the shaggy wood. On, like the inish of a temj)est, The miglity warriors came — On, like the sweep of a tempest dark. With thunder girt and flame ; Into the sleeping palace Like some wild sea they roll ; Cuchullain took false Conrigh's life, The demons took his soul. And now the brave Cuchullain, Hath carried his fair Blanaid THE STORY OF THE FAIR BLANAID. G5 To his own good moated fortress, And there the lovers stayed. In a rosy dream of gladness, Their happy moments flow — They heed not the coming evil, The dark impending blow. Farcartne, Conrigh's minstrel, An oath of dread he swore. That he would seek the damselle Twelve times the island o'er. And if he fonnd the damselle, He swore that she should die ; Then muttered he low a wonch'ous spell, And there were sounds of joy in hell, And tears in heaven on high. Six times o'er the green-faced island, The fierce Farcartn^ passed ; Sharp and sure, wherever he went. His vengeful looks were cast. Six times he missed the damselle, Yet never he felt despair — He followed her like a vulture That snufis the blood in the air. Till, on a summer evening. In the rich and golden light, • A gallant companie he spied, On Rincliin Beara's height ; 66 POEMS. A troop of faii^est ladyes, With many a princely knight, And, shining midst these ladies, As shines the qneen-like moon, Stood fair Blanaid — the minstrel, FarcarntS, marked her soon. Like a fair courteous minstrel, Farcartne clomb the height — Like a fair courteous minstrel. He played for dame and knight. Slowly he moved to the damselle, And lowly still he bowed — So moves to a star of splendour A thunder-laden cloud. And now he stands beside her, And now he clasps her tight ; The damselle screamed as the minstrel Leapt from the dizzy height. The damselle and the minstrel. They perished in that day; Their bodies are dashed to pieces. Their souls are passed away ! f0hmitn. There is a tale in Arab chronicles. Which, were I king, I would have carved on gold. And set upon a pillar in my city, To cure the ambitious of his hot disease. LOKMAN. 67 And thus it nxns : As Lokman sate one day And worked at carpentiy, the trade he lived by, A host of Angels entered, and in words Celestial blessed him, but he saw them not ; And so he made no answer. Then arose An Angel like a sunbeam, and thus spake : We are the Messengers of God on high, Who made the Universe and formed all creatures ; And He hath sent us nnth this message hither, To tell thee to lay hy thy plane and saw. And chisel, and go forth and govern men, And he a king — God's viceroy upon earth. Then ceased the Angel, and the other Angels Murmured divine assent, and filled the place With heavenly radiance from their virgin eyes. Lokman made answer then in words of crold : If God commands that I shall be a king, Bis high command must be indeed ful filed, And He will give me grace to he a ruler Not all unioorthy of the will of God ; And He vnll Iielp me when I need his helj?, Andj He will give me vnsdom, justice, strength. But if the liberty of choice be given To me to choose between a crown and plane, I would abide within this humble cell, And earn my bread by labour of my hands. This ordy do I ask of God, my Lord, To guide and guard me from all thought of sin ; For if I should offend Him, all the state And pomp of earth would be to me as nought. So Lokman spake, and all the Angels heard 68 POEMS. And were delighted with the goodly speech, God also heard its music high in heaven, And smiled upon his throne, and bowed the head, And gave to Lokman two celestial crowns, Outdazzling all the diamond crowns on earth. Knowledge and Wisdom, which so graced his soul, That no man ever spake more beauteously Than Lokman, son of Baour, in his day. Oh ! for a glimpse of that great lion soiil That fought at Marathon, that flashed its fii'e At Salamis, and Platsea ! Glorious Greek, How shall I speak thy praise ? how shall my pen Put forth a picture of thy godlike nature ? We who, in this material age of Mammon, Find ourselves in the vortex, and are borne Along the whirlpool with surrounding straws, Machine-made mortals, with our fiery spirits Quenched into nothingness by creeds and shams, And lying mysteries, and glozing priests. And riddles called religions — how shall we Conceive an image of thine inner essence, Wliich, Hghted by celestial flame, put forth Its great oracular wisdom, raising man From the corruption of an idol-faith Wliich dragged him hell-ward, to the clear pure heights Of true divinity, such as Zeus or God THE CHILDREK OF LIK. 69 (I care not how ye name Him) meant that man Alone should pace, until he reached the goal Olympic, where his soul should ever live ; Or, if I could in words portray his picture, How should I hope this puny, peddling age Would recognize its kingliness and might 1 Or see in him aught else than Athens saw, When, nose-led by her priests, she dared to call This worshipper of God a God-denier 1 Well — well — so be it. So it ever is : The hero-hearted by the stones are stoned. And so ascend to God, and leave to man His horrid fanes and falsehoods ; while the base Who truckle to the madness of the crowd. And make the many' their right willing tools, Are borne along on thrones of ivory, In clouds of incense, and applauding cheers, Until they drop into the dread Abyss — Their bodies in Westminster or St. Paul's, Their souls immoi-tal with the Father of Lies. ooj^o-o %^z CbUbvcu of fit. In the King's Ancient Palace, Are nuptial-feast and rite, The princes, lords, and chieftains, Fair dame and fiery knight. High swells the harp's proud music, And high the voice of song ; 70 POEMS. And pass the silver beakers tall, From hand to hand along. A hundred sweet-voiced minstrels, That strike the harp, sit round ; A hundred white-haired Magi, In sable garments gowned ; With men-at-arms and esquires, And mimes and pages gay, And stout siu'coated heralds, In green and gold array. And many a gladsome greeting. Salutes the well-matched pair — Lir and the Ladye Eva, The monarch's daughter fail-. Lir and the Ladye Eva — Six years are passed and gone, And with them Ladye Eva — Her days, alas ! are done. She died in the prime of beauty, As dies a summer flower ; She died, like the fleeting rainbow. The child of sun and shower. But ere, like flower and rainbow, The Lady Eva died. Four gentle babes of beauty Were born from her fan* side ; And as upon her death-bed, With heart that well nigh brake, She lay, she called her sister, And sadly thus she spake : THE CHILDREX OF LIR. 71 " sLstei', sweetest sister mine, A mournful death I die, My breatli is wasting fast and fast, Take thou my latest sigh. I feel the long grass growing, In dews above my breast ; I feel my limbs descending down To earth, to take their rest. To-moiTow's dawn may see me. As cold as coldest clay, From thee and from my cMldreu dear. My spirit far away. " But sister, sweetest sister, My babes I leave to thee, Be thou to them a mother kind, And treat them tenderly. As I, if thou wert dying. And those thy children were. Would for thy sake defend them. So hold them in thy care." Fail' Eva kissed her children, With lips as cold as stone. She tui'ned her face unto the wall, And made her dying moan. And Aifie in that moment. Made many a solemn vow, Of love and sweet affection, And pressed that clay-cold brow. Lii- and the Ladye Aifie, 72 POEMS. ■A year being passed and gone, They sit in the Ancient Palace, That shines as once it shone : Princes, and knights, and minstrels, Magi and ladyes fair, And glittering robe and tunick. And nuptial feast are there ; Wine in the silver beakers. And light from golden lamj^s, And mail-clad men, and banners bright, The spoil of hostile camps ; And festive mirth and gladness, And the pnrple-blushmg bowl, And soft stolen looks of fondness, That spake the inmost soul. And from his throne the monarch Descends and joins their hands, And every heart with gladsomeness. And happy hope expands. Ah, me, for the Ladye Aifie ! The sad and solemn vow, She made that dying mother, Is all foi'gotten now. The mother she lies sleeping, All in the cold black earth, The sister she sits smiling, All in her nuptial mirth ; The mother is dead and buried, Her soul is with her sires. The sister sits exulting, THE CHILDREN OF LIR. 73 In songs from golden Ijrres. And little she heeds that midnight. When at the dying bed, She vowed her promise solemn, and sad, Before the still and dead. And often, yea, and often The thin and weeping shade Of Ladye Eva rose ft'om earth, Her sister to upbraid. " Thou heedest not my cliildren, Thou heedest not thy vow," — And Ladye Aifie's envious heart Is filled with madness now. And still they grew in beauty. Like fail' young forest trees. Which open their bright and vemant leaves, - To dew and sun and breeze. They grew in strength and beauty As day succeeded day. Like stars shining out of heaven, / As twilight fades away. Away in her magic chariot The Ladye Aifie flew, — Away, away on the rustling witids Like waves that round her blew. And with her she bare those gentle babes Far off from mortal view; — O'er vales, in hills sequestered, Through forests dark and deep, 74 POEMS. To lone Lough Derg she bare the babes, Wrapped in a mystic sleep. She stood by the shining waters ; And -waved her enchanted wand ; And her stole of dai-kest sorceiy The Ladye Aifie donned. She stood by the shining waters, That trembled beneath her spell; For the waters of earth and the shapeless winds Knew Ladye Aifie well. And she stinick the sleeping children Each with her wand of might ; Four Swans she saw before her. Stately and purely white. Four Swans of snow-white beauty, That waved their musical wings ; Each with a sweet soft human voice, That, oh so sadly sings! Like the wild and mournful soughing Of winds through churchyard graves, — Like the deep and solemn moaning That bursts from the midnight waves, — Like the sad and sorrowful sighing. Of gusts that force their way Through the long and echoing cloisters, Of mouldering abbeys gi'ay, — Like the voice of watei's falling Throvigh lonely glens at night, — Like the keene of the wailing women That search the field of fight. THE CHILDEEN OF LIR. 75 Alas for tlie Ladye Eva! In the narrow bed. she sleeps; And the sad and drooping cypress tree Over her dark gi-ave weeps. The lonely birds of the woodland, Around it whirl in flight ; The winds with theii* sorrowful voices, WaU over her tomb at night. The clouds drop their dews above her, The thistle bends his head, And these are the sole companions That cling roxind the cold and dead. Alas for the Ladye Eva ! Her babes she loved so well. Transformed to Swans by magical art — Alas ! where shall they dwell ? And will not God rise up, and break The chain of that feailul spell ? And still their musical weepings Pour through the echoing aii', A world of the saddest sorrows. Of deep and dark despair. O Swans of the snow-white pinions ! . I weep your sad mischance; My soul is dark and soiTowful, Like one in a deadly trance. Now years have passed nine hundred, Since that eventful dav, 76 POEMS. And the Swans have fled from Moyle's brown stream, To the shores of the clear Lough Neagh, And plaintive are their weepings, And wildly sweet their songs ; And men repeat with sorrowful lips The story of their wrongs. And Lir and the aged monarch Have gone to the narrow bed ; And thirty generations Of that old race are dead. The place in which they prided. It knoweth them no more ; They passed away like forest leaves, Or the waves on the ocean shore — The leaf that last year sprouted — The wave that swelled to day, In beauty and light alike are gone, And passed for ever and aye. So pass the generations Of peasants and of kings ; So fades away from this dream-like earth The light of mortal tilings. Oil ! who is this white-haired Stranger, With solemn step and slow, With golden cross and mitre. And vestments pure as snow. And boys with bells of silver. And candles in the hand. THE CHILDREN OP LIR. 77 With reverend tread advancing Along the pebbly strand ? By the clear Lough Neagh he paces, — That tall and white-haired man, And closely still those weeping Swans His eyes were seen to scan. And he raised his hands to heaven, And long devoutly prayed ; And thus to the Swans, with angel smile, Tlie holy Stranger said : " O Swans of the snow-white pinions ! Fly hither unto this place, For I have prayed to heaven for aid, To give ye the sign of gi-ace. O Swans of the snow-white pinions Your hour of joy is nigh; Then hither imto this altar, I, Patrick, bid ye fly." They came to the blessed altar, And safely nestled there, And the Holy Man four ci-osses of gold • Hung over their necks so fair. And he prayed to the Lord of Heaven To bless them evermore : — Their plumes fall ofi" — their staiTy souls Thi'ough the crystal setlier soar ; The Gates of Heaven are opened, — The Children enter in, 78 POEMS. To sit with tlie good for ever iu bliss, Unstained by earthly sin. God grant that I, and all who hear, A like retreat may win. Within this Sacred Book, by Heaven inspired, And given to Zaratusht, the Holy Messenger Of God to man in ages far remote, Are lessons, prayers, truths, and laws divine. Such as the Spirit of Light itself reveals But to the Chosen Twelve who are the mouth Of perfect wisdom to the sons of earth. In the fair Orient was its advent bright ; It shone on man as sliines the Morning Star ; It called him from the idols, at whose shrines Impiire he bowed his soul of majesty, Adoring images, ignoring God. It spake in words of thiuider-flame, it flashed In dazzling lightnings on his troubled mind. And by its own supreme and sovereign presence Proved its divinity and heavenly birth. Moimtain and forest, river, lake, and grove, In those far distant days, had each their god, Or tutelary goddess, at whose altar * A copy of tliis Script\ire, very different from the spurious one foisted on Ancpietil dii Perron, is among my papers. Zand- a- Vesta means The Everlasting Fire- Word. ON THE ZAND-A- VESTA. 79 The priests attended and the people bowed. The planets, too, were -worshipped, and the snn And stars, and all the other visible features Which indicate God's niighty handiwork. And man knew nothing of the Supreme Father, But lavished all religion upon symbols, Sunshine, and fii-e, and beasts. Thex^efore was sent To Zaratusht tliis Volume of pure light, That he might summon man from fraud to Truth, And lead him from the mesh of priests to God. And so it came to pass. Therefore do thou Who wouldst in wisdom gai-ment thy clear soul. And school it for the splendid after-life Which followeth this, as surely as the day Succeeds the night, seek in this sacred Book The lessons that shall make thee pure and wise. Think not that to this narrow western world The Father gave true knowledge of Himself, And hid it from the East and orient men, But know that all true light proceedeth thence — Ex Oriente Lux ; and that this Light Is God's religion freely given to all ; For are not all mankind the sons of God ? And feels He not as Father unto all 1 Therefore, my brother, read, and for thyself Judge if it be not a true Word of Tiiith ; And if thou find in it such speech sublime, Such doctrine fragrant with the flowers of Heaven, Such love celestial as the East hath found, Bow down before it reverently, and believe That God is not so partial or unjust 80 POEMS. As to restrict the knowledge of Himself To tribes or sects, but that He gives it freely To all mankind, albeit in different ways. ooj^oo [Miluachra and Ain^, the two fair daughters of GuilliD Cualgne, of the magic race of the Danaans, once saw and fell in love with Fionn, or Fingal, the beauteous son of Comhall. MUuachra was Jealous of her sister's charms ; and hearing her one day take an oath that she would never marry any man whose hair was gray, she determined, if possible, to make this rash vow a bar to her union with Fionn. She assembled her friends of the Tuatha-de-Danaans, and by the power of their enchantments they called forth a magic lake at the side of Slieve Guillin, which had the property of rendering old and gray-headed any person who should enter its waters. This done, she assumed the form of a beautiful Doe, and af)peared to Fionn as related in the Ballad. Then followed the chace and transformation, which ended in the destruction of the Enchantress's cave. The magical cup which restored his youth to Fionn, endowed him, at the same time, with additional wisdom and knowledge.] Liglitly through the forest glancing. Like an arrow sharjj and fleet, Flies a Doe of milk-white beauty, With black eyes and twinkling feet. O'er the glades that laugh in sxmshine, Through the dells that sleep in shade, Darts the Doe of milk-white beauty, Trembling like some frighted maid. Quickly rose the Son of Comhall, Calling loud his faithful hounds. Bran and Sgcelan, and they hurried When they heard the well-known sounds ; * Pronounced. Ftin, rhyming to June. PIOKN. Through the forest, far outspreading, In pursuit the monarch hies, While the milk-white Doe of beavity StiU before him onward flies. Oh ! the morning sun shone sweetly, When the wond'rous chase began, Yet the evening sun descended, While still followed dogs and man ; Thi'ough the many woodland windings, O'er the forest's grassy floor. While the milk-white Doe of beauty, Flashed before them evermore. Till they came to old Slieve Guillin, The white Doe before them flew ; When they came to old Slieve Guilhn, Then she vanished from their view. East and west looked Fionn all anxious, North and south the monarch gazed. Sweet and broken was the baying By his sad hounds wildly raised. From the deep heart of a valley, By a silver-bosomed lake. Strains of plaintive sorrow wander, And the forest echoes wake ; Wild and mournful was the music As it struck the monarch's ears. And the voice to which he listened Seemed a voice of sobs and tears. E 2 81 82 POEMS. By the still and gentle watei'S, Where the weeping willows twined, He beheld a beauteous Ladye On the lonely bank reclined ; From her wild blue eyes of sweetness Fell the big tears of despair, And adown her neck of lilies Swept her long dishevelled hair. And, " Oh, say, thou beauteous Ladye," Thus outspake the noble chief, " Whence pi-oceeds thy great affliction ? And whence comes thy song of grief ? Hast thou wandered in this wild wood — Hast thou wandered from thy way ] Or can knightly succour aid thee, enchanting Ladye, say 1 " Then outspake the lovely Ladye, Smiling through her tears of woe, " Gentle chieftain, noble chieftain, Since my sorrows thou would'st know, In the deep well of yon river, Lies a jewel rich and rare, — A gold ring of brightest lustre, Which this morn my finger ware. And this jewel, rich with diamonds, 1 do love more than mine eyes. More than all mine other jewels Do my foolish wishes j)rize. Fioiw. S3 Since rose the morning sunliglit I have wept this lake beside, Gazing like a maid distracted » O'er its waters deep and wide. Gentle chieftain, valiant chieftain. Wilt thou find my ring for me ? Wilt thou dive beneath the sleeping waves, And search them curiouslie ? " Scarcely spake the beauteous Ladye, When the brave and noble kins Plunged beneath the shining watei-s Of the lake to find the ring. And alas, alas ! what languor Seizes on the monarch's limbs ; His brawny shoulders shrivel In the moment that he swims. He crawls into the valley green With footsteps faint and slow, His eyes grow dim and glassy, And his hairs as white as snow. In the Hall of Spears at Alwiu There is festal joy and mirth. The wine-cup sparkles brightly. Brightly shines the blazing heartli. Oh ! where tarries our brave monarch, From the feast of cups and shells ? And why stands his gold chair vacant While the harp's proud music swells. 84 POEMS. Sadly rise his noble chieftains, — To the wild wood forth they wend, Where the green and drooping willows With the lake's blue waters blend. Deeply sighed the stricken monarch As he saw his chieftains bold. To their wondering ears his story With slow faltering tongue he told. For three whole nights they laboured, Till they burst the Witch's cell : For three whole days they clamoured, Till they found that imp of hell. From her throne of magic terror She descended, trembUng, pale, Shivering Hke a frighted spectre On the gloomy northern gale. Then she moved unto the monarch, Bearing in her snowy hand A Cup of strange Enchantment, Which he drank at her command ; The spell passed off like darkness, And the monarch stood confessed. In the light of all his beauty And his former splendour dressed. THE LEGEND OF LEWY, KING OF IRELAND. 85 King Lewy he was the noblest knight That ever in Erie's isle was seen, And blight as the sun on that morning fair, When wenchng foi-th to the forest green. Ah/ those were faerie days. The birds they sang in the rustling leaves. The streams they leapt from the sparkling hills, And the purjjle blushes of bonnie May Fell softly over the sylvan rills. Ah! those were faerie days. Then up arose the Faerie Qiieene ; — " Bring hither my harp of gold," quoth she, And into the woodland thick she rode, On her palfrey white as the moonlit sea. Ah! those were faerie days. She stnick the strings of her golden harp. And so divine was the hymn they spake. That the harts and hinds in the forest gi-een Ran down to listen from bush and brake. Ah! tJiose were faerie days. King Lewy he rode thi'ough the woodland green, And followed the soimd of that harp di\-ine ; He saw but the ti'ees and the dancing leaves, And the streams that laughed in the bright sunshine. Ah! those were faerie days. 8G POEMS. King Lewy lie rode on the velvet turf, And oh ! his eyes they shone to see The beautiful Ladye with harp of gold Beneath the shade of the old oak tree. Ah! those were faerie days. The birds they sang in the nistling leaves The streams they leapt from the sparkling hills, And the crimson smile of the virgin May Fell softly over the sylvan rills. Ah! those were faerie days. Her shining hair and her snow-white hands Flashed far and wide o'er the grassy dell ; And whether she was from heaven or earth, That noble Knight he could not tell. Ah! those were faerie days. The bean-field's bloom lit up her cheek, Like movmtain snow her glossy skin ; She looked a beautiful faerie bii-d On a leafy spray so lithe and thin. Ah! those were faerie days. Her palfrey white frisked by her side. The saddle with precious stones was set. The bridle was made of the ruddy gold, The housings bright of silken net. Ah! those were faerie days. THE LEGEND OF LEWY, KIXG OF IRELAND. 87 King Lewy he leapt from his slender steed, And leant down on his knightly knee ; " Oh, never before such a Ladye fair In cottage or hall 'twas mine to see." Ah! those were/ccerie days. " Sii' Knight, I am the Faerie Queene — The Faerie Queene, Sir Knight, am I. And wilt thou dwell in my golden halls, And thine own palace of mai'ble fly ? " Ah! those vjere faerie days. " Faerie Queene, I will gladly leave My palace of marble with thee to stay ; And better it were than the proudest throne To feel the spell of thy gentle sway." AK! those were faerie days. " Sir Knight, I am the Faerie Queene, And mine are the spells of the magic might ; And wilt thou leave thy ladye love To dwell for ever with me. Sir Knight ? " Ah! those were faerie days. " O Faerie Queene, I will gladly leave My ladye love to dwell with thee ; For better than thousand years of life One hour beneath thy smile to be. Ah! those were faerie days. 88 POEMS. She pressed tlie Knight to her heaviug breast, The birds they sang, and the purple smile Of evening glistened as Cleena* clasped The noble King of the Ocean Isle. Ah! those were faerie days. The stars are in the gleaming skies. The cuckoo coos in the leafy boughs. And thi"ough the forest alone they rode. King Lewy and Cleena his fairy spouse. Ah! those were faerie days. Away and away to her golden halls. Away on their steeds of light they go ; And Erie's knights they search in vain For their king, whom they shall see no moe. Ah! those were faerie days. And golden bright are those magic homes. And silver clear are those lovely lakes. And like the voice of heaven the songs Wliich the Faerie Queene from her gold harp wakes. Ah! tliose were faerie days. The trees are jewels of sparkling beam ; And when the winds are breatliing low Through their rustling leaves, no music on earth Is like the sti'ains from their boughs that flow. Ah! those were faerie days. * The Faerie Queen of Irish mythology. THE LEGEND OF LEWY, KING OF IRELAND. 89 Two hundred years in this dream of bliss — Two hundred years that seemed a day; — King Lewy he goes to the Faerie Queene : " A boon, ladye sweet, I pray. Ah! those were faerie days. I dreamed last night I was once again In my Ocean Isle enthroned in state ; And may I go back for an houi", O Queene, And sit in the halls where once I sate ?" Ah! those were faerie days. " For an hour, sweet love, to thine Ocean Isle Go back thou shalt, but oh beware. As thou prizest thy gift of immortal youth, Set not thy foot on earth while there." Ah! those were faerie days. They brought King Lewy a magic steed : — " While tliis thou ridest, gentle knight. The glory of youth shall stUl be thine j But never, King, on earth alight." Ah! those were faerie days. King Lewy he came to his Ocean Isle, And through the forest green he rode ; And he was aware of six champions fierce, Who paced in front of the King's abode. Ah! those ivere faerie days. 90 POEMS. The cliampions fierce they saw the knight, But knew not the face of the noble King ; They mounted upon their stately steeds, And cii'cled him round in hostile ring. Ah! those were faerie days. " Ho, ho, Sir Knight, what brings thee here, Thou ridest well on thy slender steed : " King Lewy he smiled a scornful smile. Nor checked his magic courser's speed. Ah! those loere faerie days. " Ho, ho, Sir Knight, now halt, we pray ; Six champions bold and brave are we ; And none shall enter these palace walls." " By my Ladye faire will I," quoth he. Ah! those were faerie days. King Lewy he drew his trenchant blade. And charged and smote those champions round ; He gave six thrusts of that broadsword green, — The champions dead were on the ground. Ah! those were faerie days. The King came foi-th from the palace walls ; On foot by the golden gate he stood. And saw his champions bite the dust, And roll in the stream of their own red blood. Ah! those were faerie days. SAADl. " Ho, ho, Sii' Kniglit, dismount, dismount, And fight with thy King a-foot," quoth he, " Or else thou art but a craven knave Of base descent and of low degree." Ah! those were faerie days. King Lewy he leapt from his magic steed. The magic steed he neighed aloud ; King Lewy he touched the eai'tli, alas ! He falls down dead in that gory crowd. Ah! tliose loere faerie days. The King came near that noble knight, And saw on his neck the collar of gold : Alas, and alas ! 'tis that monarch brave Who vanished unseen in days of old. Ah! those werefaene days. 91 -oojagt^'^'^ Yes ! — I can well believe the Eastern legend That Djami tells us of this Sheikh inspired, Whose sacred apologues seem angel-songs. But who, to common men, was only man, Who had not tasted of the Spi-ings of God, The ever-flowing crystal wells of light. " One night," he says, " I lay in dream, and saw The Gates of Heaven open : forth there came A host of angels, shining Sons of Alia, 92 POEMS. With golden, glorious beakers in their hands, Filled from the paradise-fountains of the stars ; And all the place "was luminous with splendours. I rose and spake with one, and asked him why He bare the beaker 1 and received for answei' — ' / bea/r them to Sheikh Saadi, of Shir dz, Who, while I speak, is jjenning words divine, That are as music even to God Himself J ' Sir,' said I, ' wilt thou tell me this great verse ? ' The angel answered — ' Hearken and bow down : To him who understatids, the grove of trees Is a great Voltmie, which in every leaf Disjilays the wisdom of the Lord our Fatlier.^ And having spake, he vanished ; quick as thought I sought Sheikh Saadi's cell, and by his lamp Beheld the sacred Poet : all was still And beautiful, and breathing heavenly calm ; And round him were the glittering angel-choirs, With the star-waters from the paradise-wells ; And in that moment heard I him chant forth, In tones of sweetness issuing from his soul, The very words the gloiious Angel spake : . ' to him who understajstds, the grove of trees is a great volume, which in every leaf Displays the wisdom of the Lord our Father.' And having heard, I bent myself before liim, Confessing Saadi for a priest of Heaven." Go, reader, and do likewise : so shalt thou Rise from the grovelling rank of men of clay, Who have no poet-mvisic in their being, But are the soulless rabble of this earth, THE PRINCESS SEININ. 93 And in communion wdtli the great inspired, Thy soul and spii-it shall ascend on high, And bathe them in the starry paradise founts. %\iz f rintcss 0>^CK>- Shemseddin Hafez, in his early youth, Loved Shakhi Neb^t,* fairer than the Star Zohair, and graceful as the bending branch That in the silver stream its foliage dips. • Branch of sugar-cane. HAFEZ. 137 Her also loved the Prince of proud Shii-az ; And many wondered how the Maid would give Her heart, and whether youth or power would win. Now hear ye, how this gentle Virgin did. Outside Shiraz is Piii-Sebz, so called Because at certain times resorted there A Sage Immortal of the hyegone days, Who, on the true that watched for forty nights, Bestowed celestial ^ifts — the sifts of sons. These gifts Shemseddin Hafez longed to hold ; And so he sought the sacred mystic spot. Yet on his way he cast a loving eye Upon the house where Shakhi ISTebat dwelled, And sighed, but sighed in vain ; for no fond glance From lattice or balcony strewed his path With flowers or gems. But still he sought the place, And hoped, when Hope herself might well despair. So for the nine-and-thirtieth time he went, When like a sunburst on his dazzled eye, The beaming Virgin shone, and beckoned soft With delicate white hand, and called him in, And covered him with roses : long he stayed, Until the night approached ; and then with will Of iron, but with heart that struggled much, He tore himself away, and ran and ran Until he found himself at Piii-Sebz. So when the splendent stars and moon shone bright O'er tree and stream, and in the floweiing trees The nightingale sang songs as sweet, as soft As Israfil's— that Angel fair of God, The Immortal Sage appeared in emerald robes 138 POEMS. More flashing than the sea-reflected moon, And gave him a gold cup that sparkled high With heavenly nectar. Quick Shemseddin drained The draught celestial, and with it acquired The paradise gift of poesy divine. So to the Virgin's house he hack returned ; And then in speech all lustrous with the light Of melody and love and hope, revealed The secret reason why he fled away From her, in whom his heart of hearts was placed. She hearkened and forgave, and gave her hand To him who was to be the Prince of Song. And so she left the Prince of proud Shiraz To mope in melancholy like an owl Amid his courtiers, chamberlains, and slaves. Now tell me if this Virgin did not well 1 %^z f ion oi f Ifftente. love! wondi'ous love, how wonderful, How lovely, and how terrible is thy force ! Thou givest to the gentlest heart a power As great as that which moves the mightiest soul. Thou art God's energy in toil and trial. Inspiring strength that breathes of heaven, not earth. This saw I proved in Florence. On a day, It happed a lion fierce with Nubian flame Burst from the Grand Duke's gardens, where he caged. And tlirough the stately streets he bent his march, LAD YE DIGNA. 139 Lashing liis flanks. His eyes breathed terroi' round ; Fire flashed from out their pupils ; and he roared Like a low muttering thunder ; at the gi'owl Quailed every heart, and every wayfarer Fled in dismay. But there was one, a Woman, Who in her terror dropt her baby down. The lion seized him, when she too with heart Courageous turned — a lioness at bay. She faced the tawny savage ; on her knees She fell before him, and with a mother's love Prayed fiercely, earnestly, with tears and words And passionate gesti;re, that would move a stone. To spare her child. The lion stopped, surveyed The weeping frantic woman with fixed eye ; His ravenous nature melted was by love ; And so he laid the infant at her feet. And like a monarch in his pride passed on. When Attila the Hun, the Sword of God, Had taken Aquileia, it chanced He saw the Ladye Digna, the most fail" And lovely woman in the captured city. Her beauty fired his heart ; her sunbright eyes Shot flame resistless through his stubborn soul ; And so he sought her, but she would not hearken, / cannot he thy wife : I ivill not be 140 POEMS. Thy mistress : thus she spake, and cast her eyes Upon him with a fixed and noble pride. But he, the lord of millions, scorned repulse, And said, Thou must he that which I may loill. If love cannot 'persuade thee, force may do it. Knowest thou, not I hear the sword of Mars, And that no living power on earth can cojoe With Attila : he mine, or thou shalt he. The Ladye Digna heard ; a moment's thought Opened before her the safe starry road To honour, safety, purity, and God. And thus she spake to Attila : King ! Great is thy strength indeed; and if thou sayest The word, I know that I must needs ohey. Follow m,e to yon tower, far remote From eye and ear, and then — no more she spake. But led the way. The impatient monarch strode Quick by her side ; they reached the lofty roof, From which the rolling river underneath Was seen — a line of silver. On the heaven The Ladye Digna fixed her soft blue eyes. Shining with faith sublime in heaven's God. Follow me now, she said, if tliou woiddst have me ; And so she cast herself in headlong death. The river bare her body ; but the winds Wafted her spirit into Paradise. Ul (iiibinus anij (tponina. Past are the horrors of the fight ; the troops Of Prince Sabinus have been cmshed ; Vespasian Is once again an emperor with no foe. His Roman eagles have swept o'er the plains, And borne liis triumph on their- outspread wings. Sabinus flies, but large rewards are offered To him who shall betray that hapless prince. So in a cave remote fi'om stately Rome He hid himself, but not alone. His wife The noble Eponina, fail" and bright As the young Morning Star, was by his side, — A glory in his darkness ; days rolled on, And months, and years, and still they loved and lived In that stone cavern, deep amid the woods, With howling wolves around them, and but scant Participation of the light of heaven. But she was sunbeams to him, — stars and flowers, Music and birds, and iivu.lets, and air. Nature herself in all her golden hues. And in her presence peace and love were seen, And beauty, and sereneness, and content. So nine years rolled ; but in the end betrayed. The two were brought in chains before Vespasian, Who, pitying not that matchless love, condemned Sabinus and his wife to death. No tear Escaped her ; no weak prayer for mercy flowed From those firm lips that despot force disdained. But looking on her husband with a smile 142 POEMS. Of pride and love and constancy, she spake : Happier we both have lived, though utiderground, Than yon proud monarch on his guilty throne. Let his assassins come and strike the blow ; Together, hand in hand and side by side, We'll die, and pjass from earth to God's free heaven. And so it was. And in a few short years, Vespasian and his race were seen no more. -oOjag^O-o- They bound him living on the wheel ; they bared His beautiful limbs upon its savage beams ; And left him in the sun to pine and die. Or own the guilt in which he had no hand. And one by one the crowd departed home. And in the night I found myself alone Before that cruel cross. The stars came out Like angels from their dark blue gates in heaven, Serenely calm, gentle, and beautiful, As if no sin or suftering could come near Their holy atmosphere of silver light. Oh ! how I longed to fly away with him. And Ijc alone in some sweet starry sphere, Where only happiness and peace abode ; And we should sit beside green ocean streams, Or from blue caves of crystal watch the moon, Or in the woodlands lying, hear the birds. GERTRUDE VON DER WART. 143 And witli these longings, tears were in my eyes, And in my heart deep agonies and pangs. That sought relief in prayer. Then I rose. And with tliick logs of wood piled up a stair, On which I mounted to him, laid myself Ul^on Ills quivering limbs and bursting head. And stroked the hau" which the night -wind had blov\ai Over his face and in his bleeding eyes. leave me, dearest, leave me to my fate. The day will break, and they shall find thee liere, How will they then wreak vengeance on thee ; fly. Nor add new misery to thy wretched husband, Seeing thee sink beneath their cruel stripes. Thus spake he ; but I answered : / will die Before thee, with thee, and beside thee, dearest. Unto that end thy faithful wife is here, Nor shall they separate us but by death. And spreading out mine arms, I clasped him round To my heai*t's centre, and I prayed to God To take us both from life. The day broke slowly ; The stars departed one by one ; the moon Had long since veiled herself in darkness ; cold And night dews wi"apped us. As the sounds of life Began to rise around us, I replaced The logs where I had found them, and descended : The guard shrunk scared as they had seen a ghost, And so did they report ; and thus it happed A mighty multitude of men and women Flocked to the place of torture. Foi-emost came 144 POEMS. The wife of bailiff Wintertliur, wlioni I Had known and fondly loved in better day^. So I implored her to entreat her husband To ease my Rudolph's sufferings by death : Alas, she said, and mom^nfully she wept, He dare not do it ; hy the Queen herself The sentenci vms iwonounced, and he nivst die This linyering death of torture. Then they brought Me bread and wine, but nothing could I taste : Their sorrowing sympathies were food to me : These cheered me in my anguish more than meat. The executioner stood nigh ; he spake, Ifay God have mercy on this suffering man. The priest felt no compassion, but cried out, Unhajjjyy Rudolf h ! wilt thou not confess ? To which my husband answered, Lamiirecht, well Thou, knowest I am not guilty of this deed. I had no hand in Em2oeror Alberts death. The priest stood silent. Then I heard a cry. Make way! make way ! and lo ! a troop of horse With their steel vizors down ; fiercely they rode, And one cried out with harsh and vulture voice, Whither have flown the crows, that the knave's eyes Are still in his head ? I knew the horrid sound That spake the bad heart of Duke Leopold. Then said another of those scornful knights : Long let him writhe in bloody 2>ciin and sweat; But these vain crowds must he dispersed, and taugJit To laugh, be still, be silent — hut not weej), GERTRUDE VON DER WART. 145 Or I shall rage against tliem; here no pity Must he displayed. Remove this howling wretch — This woman, who so moves them; who is she ? Away with Iter. I will not have her here. And then I knew it was tlie Queen herself, Disguised in knightly arms — the Queen whose tongue Had given my dearest lord unto this wheel. Then spake a third, It is the wife of Wart. We thought site had drowned herself in yonder moat. Let her alone; for hers is faithful love. Let Iver alone; we can do nought with her. This was the mild soft voice of Landenberg. How well, how sweetly did he S23eak. I could Have fallen before him, and have kissed his feet. Then said a fourth, Gertrude, be calm, he still, Die not of grief , hut live; live and rejoice. Whose was this voice ? Alas, it smote mine heart. I could have felled him, killed liim, then and there. 'Twas his, who when ray husband was condemned, Hissed in mine ear his serpent hiss of love, Saying, Away with me, — leave him to death. And pass thine hours in happiness and love. I only turned and said, Be silent, wretch ! Then the Queen signed unto a man-at-arms To raise me iTp, and tear me from the wheel, For prostrate at its foot I lay. He came And strove to bear me from it ; but I clasped The wooden monster firmly, calling loud For instant death, so that I died near him ; But yet they would not give the boon I asked. H 146 POEMS. So two more men were sent, and I was dragged Like a wild beast away from all I loved. Then went the Queen with all her knights away. And day passed on — a long, dark, dreadful day. And as the night fell, down again I crawled To the fierce wheel, where still my Rudolph writhed. The rain fell down in rivers ; and a soldier Flung o'er my dripping limbs his cloak. I climbed Once more to my dear lord, and flung it round His frozen, naked, broken, dying limbs ; The night wind whistled through his hair and beard ; His lips were dry ; his eyes had lost their fire ; But still in sweetness on me beamed his love. I fetched him water in my shoe. The cool Refreshing liquid gave him strength, and so I laid myself once more against that fonu Which was my all,^^ my world of light and love. His sighs were fast and thick, and like a sword They pierced my heart. I died a thousand deaths In that long night of misery. At length The moment came when his bright soul, released From earth, should re-ascend the spheres of light, And be with God, of whom he was an image In every virtue that befits a man. He moved or sought to move his dying head, And with a rosy smile of love that lit His dying face, he spake — he murmured forth, Gertrude ! this is fidelity to death. And so he died ; and I was left alone Without a friend in the whole world, but God. u; donfixlmxtxl When Count Confalioneri was condemned To death, because he, an Italian born, Moved and seduced by Satan, wickedly Preferred his owni fair land to Austria, And had conspired against the Double Eagle, His wife, on wings of love, fled to Vienna ; And though 'twas midnight, through gates, guards, and doors She burst, until she stood before the Empress, Who was a woman though she ware a crown ; And in an agony of grief that melted The hardest into l)ity, she besought Her husband's life ; — she asked not for aught else. The Empress begged the Emperor, who gave The thing, as though 'twere but a fly's poor life. 'Twas all the world to her — to him a word. But being a pleasant man, he thought it right To tell her that the hangman had set out For Milan, that fair city of dead men, And ghosts who've passed away from rack and axe. So the Contessa hurried night and day, And day and night, and never slept, nor tasted Food or sweet sleep, but still upon a j^illow Rested her throbbing temples, and with tears Moistened its silky texture, till 'twas wet As though 'twere bathed in some hot running stream. She came in time — dear love so hurried her, And horse and man, that in the very hour 148 POEMS. When the accursed officer of Austria, Was gloating o'er the blood of that brave Count In cruel thought, his wife arrived, and thrust That most Txnwelcome of all royal missives. The Emperor's reprieve, into his hand. He scanned it, and with sighs surrendered up The Count from death, but bound him in hard chains ; And so he sent liim — as the Emperor wished — To Spielberg's wholesome dungeons for his life — Wholesome for rogues that love their native land. But the Contessa died ; she had a heart. As women sometimes have, — and it was broken. But what are women's hearts to Emperors 1 And so they brought him all she had to leave — The silken pillow ; and for many a day, The hapless widower pressed it to his heart. And bare it with him in his lonely walks, And sj)ake to it, and waited its reply ; And in his solitary hours of night, When through the iron bars the moonlight shone. And made him think that she had come from God And homes celestial, on that silver ray, He clasped it as though it had Life and thought, And could instil into his soul a message Direct from heaven, from her he fondly loved. And lie would weep to it in midnight hours, With tears and words that God himself wrote down ; For the behoof of Austrian Emperors, And He will read them through on the Last Day. So 'twas the only comfort the Count had ; And there were times when even he was happy, LETTER TO . 149 Remembering that heart, which had been his, And still watched o'er him from its starry climes And Paradise bowers. Thus the days passed on — Those long, monotonous, cold, heart-breaking days. And even the sternest felt a touch of sorrow And human sympathy for that lone man. At last Count Vogel came, and said, " the thing Was most irregular," and took it from him, And with it took Confalioneri's life. 'gitttX to . I would not have thee think my heai-t is dead To the divine soft influence hourly shed Upon my soul and spirit, love, by thee, Who art all-blooming — Kght and melody, Beauteously intertwined, even as a star Which, while it shines, makes music from afar. I would not have thee deem, because no vow Escapes my lip, or smirk illumes my brow. Or courtier-speech, more often false than true. Swears to a fondness that it never knew. That therefore I, as marble, hard and cold. Burn not with love intense, although untold — Glow not within with those bright lava fires, Which every look and word of thine inspires ; Or that a moment passes in the day, Wlaerein I feel not that thou art away, 150 POEMS, And "vvish thee near me, round me, like the sun, And long to hear thy music-accents ran, Like silver brooks into mine inner heart. And through my brain, and so through every part Of that strange piece of organism, the frame. It is not so — ^to me thou art the same, Lovely and loving one, as in that hour When first I won thee, in thy beauty's flower, And gave thee all my being — soul, thought, Ufe, Claiming thee for mine own, my bride, my wife ; Whose presence was as though some heaven-sent beam Came straight from God to light my life's dark stream, Making it flow in beauty for a space. Sun-brightened by thine innocence and grace ; Or moving o'er its billows and along Their troubled depths, as 'twere a seraph-song, Wafted upon the echoes to our sphere. Into some wanderer's delighted eai' — Some sad, some sorrowing one, some stricken deer. Never shall pass from my soul's soul the dream Of that ecstatic moment, when a stream Of light shot through me from thy gentle voice, Making mine inmost being so rejoice, That beauty still on earth with man abode. Shone from thy face, and in thy movements glowed. The sun was sinking in the west ; his ray Beamed o'er the ivied tower with ruin gi'ay ; The dark green wood lay basking in his light ; The massive keep frowned grandly from its height ; Autumn had softly tinged the yellow leaves ; LETTER TO . 151 The distant com, piled high in golden sheaves, Sparkled in saffron richness. All was still : No light spi-ay rustled through the sylvan hill ; And as I mused, in that mild vesper hour, Beneath a clump of trees that formed a bower, Behold I heard thee speak ! — 'twas but a word, And yet I felt my very life-springs stirred By that sweet melting, thrilling accent sent Into my sovil, that straightway rose and went. On wing electric, into thine, and there Hath still abided, and will ever share With thee its vital essence. Forth I came From my green shrine — but need I further name What passed ? or is it not traced deep in light On both our souls, as on some snowy white And virgin page thou'st seen letters of gold, Whose splendour shines more rich as they grow old 1 There let it rest in loveliness, in trance Elysian, coloured o'er by wild romance — Tinted with all the charming faerie hues Of youth and passion, and that heavenly Muse Who best of all loves songs that speak of love, And wafts them earthward from her realms above. Since then ten circling years have come and gone, Since we were first in soul and spirit one — Ten wandering years have o'er our lives ypassed, The first in no wise happier than the last : For time hath lightly flitted o'er thy brow, Thou art as dearly loved as ever now ; Nay, I know not, if thou'rt not loved the more. As years pass by, and I view o'er and o'er. ^02 POEMS. The many matchless graces that, enshrined Within thee, make thee perfect, form and mind. Here, while I sit and count the hours go by, Or gaze upon the stars that roll on high, Raining their soft light o'er the lonely grave Of one to whom the world but little gave, Except vain disappointments in his days. Reserving for liis tomb its bai-ren praise,* My thoughts fly back to home, to babes, to thee, To the wild echoings of our dear loved sea ; To the sweet memories that must ever twine Roimd that dark ocean that seems mine and thine : The billows beating on the mournful beach, In solemn tones that more than sermons teach ; Now soft as childliood's lispiugs, now as loud As if God spake in them through storm and cloud ; The moon aloft that sheds her silver beam. O'er the lagune's sequestered silent stream ; The distant lights that glitter o'er the deep, The winds that lull to, or awake from sleep ; — All these are now before me as I write, Clothed in a far-off" and a faerie light ; While thou, the Queen of Dreamland, shinest fair Through each and all, in light beyond compare, Tlu-oned in calm gentleness that wraps thee round. In youth, in beauty, and in sweetness ci'owned. I see thee draw thy lamp to that dear nook, Which still thou lov'st so well ; and o'er a book — • Goldsmith. LETTER TO . 153 Sliakspere or Shelley, Homer, or the page Of that arch Greek, half-mocker and half-sage, Lucian, or tender Virgil — muse alone, Making their lore or poetry thine own ; Drinking into thine heart and fine-wrought brain. The golden wine that flows in every strain Of those divine ones ; or the wisdom shrined In the quaint page that gave eyes to the blind, And, more than sword or homily, drove out The gods of Greece and all their rabble rout Of pontiffs, mystics, sibyls, galli, priests. Who changed the Deity to birds and beasts. The fixe burns up — the lamp sheds splendour soft Over those pages read and learned so oft ; The oleander breathes its pei'fumed soul. From yonder window through the crimson roll Of folding curtains. Flowex's and books are there. And pictures limned in colours rich and rare : Knights and fair women, landscapes, portraits old Of those whose deeds or thoughts Fame hath enrolled In her historic page, and linked their name With genius, valour, learning, war's great game ; But still amid them all, I feel — I see But one bright flower and picture — thee, love, thee. Hushed are the voices that the live-long day Rang through each room in happy childhood's play ; Stilled are the pattering feet that would not rest Until the sun was hidden in the west ; And questionless those little tongues that sought Oracular answer to each prying thought. H 2 1 54 POEMS. Deep in repose they lie — a gamesome band, On whom no sorrow yet has laid the hand.- Happy, did they but know it, in these days, When, far removed from men and the world's ways, With only those light loving tasks which thou Imposest on them, as their years allow. Has Ahmed learned his Homer ? has that arch Young wag through Latin made his daily march ? Has Henrietta learned to herring-bone ? And Arabella tiny patchwork sewn 1 I ask not of the rest — too young as yet To touch the task that's for their seniors set 1 But all are now at rest, in childhood's deep, Kefreshing, dreamless, silent, gi'aceful sleep. Kiss them — I know thou wilt, love, — one by one, Ere thou retirest, when the day is done ; And breathe a blessing over each fair brow ; — What prayer so sacred as a mother's vow ? Then fold the baby in tliine arms, and pray For him whom fate keeps lonely and away, Now meditating beneath star and moon, — And, oh ! that I may join thee, dearest, soon ! Now to my books I turn — those musty tomes : A lawyer's ghost from each black folio gloams. Here's one with Page's name and crested coat ; Methinks I see his shade rise up and gloat, With fiery glee, as Savage stands before His glowering eye, and hears his wolf-like roar. So I've seen * * * and * * * in my time- Denizens now in Satan's rankest slime. LETTER TO . 155 Here is another, writ with. Jeffreyes' name : I wonder in what Hell he hides his shame. And lo ! a third, which * * * used and read : I see his notes on all its pages spread ; The Devil's own finger-prints they seem to me ; Yet have I seen even good men bend the knee To this old caitiff, deeming what they saw Was not incarnate hell, but truth and law. These are the records of chicane and fraud, Quips which your special pleaders much applaud : Heirs plundered by their guardians, orphans spoiled Of the prized pelf for which their fathers toiled ; Lawyers perverting justice into wrong — Villains with viperish heaii; and adder tongue. Well, I must e'en toil at them — God forfend, However, that I work for evil end. Or learn therein aught that may soil my soul, Or bring me wealth accursed, and future dole, Dragging me with its load to deepest hell. No, let me use them only to do well : To make the time and righteous cause appear Bright as the sun ; to dry the widow's tear, When outraged by some power she seeks my aid ; To speak my mind — of no man's wrath afraid ; To seai'ch with keen, clear spirit through the net Woven by guilt in darkness, and to let A blaze of light shine in, that all may see In its true phase the dread impurity ; To stand up boldly for the poor opprest. Making myself a shield before his breast. To stand as firmly 'gainst the tyrant's frown, 156 POEMS. And still oppose until I smite him down ; Bent to unfold tlie wisdom of the law, Strong in my strength, and not one quirk or flaw, Or those poor quibbles which have brought disgrace On justice, till abashed she liides her face, And scarcely ventures to walk out abroad. Lest she may be confounded with base Fraud. Somers and Denman, Holt and Erskine, be The starry lights of my idolatry ; And Curran, with his soul of flame and tongue. On whose wild melody a nation hung. Lo ! as I write, their splendid Phantoms rise. In clouds of glory on my dazzled eyes ; My room is lit by sunbeams, rainbows ; hymns Seem wafted from God's courts ; the grandeur dims My vision, and I only feel and hear That something most divine and jjure is near — That some faint images of heaven pass on Like meteors — ah ! the gorgeous vision's gone : Gone from my view, but from my heart — oh, no ! Ne'er shall its memory from that temple go — Their forms majestic in that fane shall stand, While beats this brain, or moves this busy hand. Whiter than marble, white as their own souls. When they passed on, and over Heaven's goals, Until God gave them thrones of light, and said — " Here take your seats," and crowned with rays each head. Come, I have had enough, methinks, of these — Xet me now turn to Aristophanes ; LETTER TO . 157 For four long hours I've muddled o'er reports, Noting the wisdom of the various courts. O prince of jesters, welcome ! would that thou, For our behoof wert here and living now ; More splendid food for thy satiric mirth. Grew not of old from rank Athenian earth. Than round us gi'ows ; nor sprang it more profuse. We, too, like Soci'ates, swear by the Goose : The loudest cackler, the most long-drawn bray, Leads on wise people straight from wisdom's way. Whom have we in this pulpit 1 — a fat fool. Who makes the multitude his pliant tool ; Buflfoon and bully, gUb of tongue, but void Of brain and thought ; by vanity upbuoyed — A second Chrysostom he thinks himself. And puts all past apostles on the shelf. Turn now to Parliament, and see it filled With blatant coxcombs, by the whipper drilled. To vote that black is white, and white is black, And keep iu place some most outrageous quack — Some harlequin with fifty thousand coats ; — Wliat care they if he pays them for their votes 1 Our bards are mere dull scribblers — poor fifth-rates. With nought but fustian in their windy pates : Once we drank wine, but now 'tis base small beer We taste instead, and sooth 'tis sorry cheer. Shakspere and Shelley drew from Hippoci'ene, And gave it us, but did not give the spleen ; Whereas, the horrid slop that now we drink, Comes from a Castalie that's but a sink ; It turns our stomach, but, by trick and puflf^ 158 POEMS. We take it, till half poisoned by the stuff. thou great Greek, would that some wizard spell Were mine thy flashing spirit to compel Here for a space, that with thy pen of flame, Thou mightst bring back the age to sense of shame, And crush with ridicule, contempt, and scorn, The pigmy creatures who raise Mgh their horn, And think themselves the heii'S of that bright band. Whose songs have glorified our glorious land. Thus have I hobbled through these idle strains — The fruit, methinks^ is scarcely worth the pains Of cudgelling the Muse out of my brains. But as they are, I send them ; thou'lt not play The critic o'er them, as but t'other day. That tenible fellow, writing in Tlie Times, Swore I could nothing make but " eloquent rhymes," Which had no spark of poetry — no fine And purple phrases in each laboured line. 1 leave such word-hunting to those small wits Whom I have named — I class them bxit with nits, That nestle somehow in Apollo's hair, And make that God of Song profanely swear : Creatures who, if you rob them of their phrase Enamelled, melt away in misty haze. Mine be the plain, clear English, which, like light, Shines before all ; which Shakspere loved to wi-ite. Which bums with splendour full in Dryden's page, Jonson's and Byron's ; free from fiiLse mii-age, Or curious adjectives, or spangled words, Such as the tinkling Fanuius affords. THE TOMB OF HAFEZ. 159 Let him, and bai'cls like him, waste days and weeks, While some strange, dainty, compound word he seeks With pain incredible ; and when 'tis got, Another Eiiphues he is, God wot ! And so, in sooth, he may be — I'U not budge Out of my path to strip the harmless chiidge, Of that which he has raked with awful toil, And reckless squandering of midnight oil. Pretty it is, and makes a pretty chime — Pretty it looks, but costs a world of time, And, after all, 'tis not the true sublime. The Temple. Cbe Ccrmbf of tnit\. When Hafez left the earth, and gave his soul To Azrael, the Angel dark of Death, A contest fierce arose among the people. Who loved and hated the lost child of song. And they who hated, swore by all their saints That Bard profane like him, who sang of love, And wine, and pleasui-e, and fail", yielding maids. Should never lie in consecrated earth ; And they who loved, declared, by God Himself, He should repose within the veiy fane, For that his lays were beautiful as truth, And pure and vii'gin to the virgin pure. At length arose a Judge, who spake them thus : 1 60 POEMS. " Bring the Ba/rd's writings hither; let us take Far guide the first clumce stanza tJiat we meet." And it was so decreed. Now, when they oped The gold-illiimined Volume, there was seen This gem-like stanza, which came first to hand : " Refuse not honour to tlie Ba/rd's remains : In sin lie died, but he will rise in Heaven." So they adjudged him honour in his death, And to this very day his marble tomb, Outside Shiraz, is visited, and receives Due reverence from all : the old, the young, The wise, the mighty, and the lowly man. -00>«<0 AUGUST 29, 1843. I. The dead-bells were tolling. The thunders were rolling, The big clouds were clashing, The fierce lightning flashing. In mirth. But yet from the heaven The sun was not diiven ; Its beams glittered o'er him, As slowly we bore him To earth. WALTON-ON-THAMES CHURCHYARD. IGl II. The svmliglit so splendid, With thunder thus blended, The red eyes of lightning, The atmosphere bright'ning, Made those Who wept there and trembled, But think it resembled The giant mind broken By sorrows unspoken, And woes. III. For strong as the thunder That rends rocks asimder. Was he, when God-gifted His bright mind uplifted Her crest ; And gentle and beaming, Like sunshine in seeming. His spirit was moulded ; And fondness enfolded His breast. IV. The prayers they were miittered. The answers half stuttered. The parson off stai-ted, The clerk, too, departed To bed ;— 162 POEMS. But the Spii'it of Thunder Stood there in his wonder, With Lightning his Brother, To guard one and t'other, The Dead.* ®0 On thy brow the rose-like light Of youth is seen no more, And those ringlets now are white, That flashed with gold before. Faint those limbs, and dim those eyes, Which, in days gone by. Were as gleams of Paradise, Glinting through the sky. Yet I love thee, love thee yet. With a fire-bright flame. In my heart thou hast not set. But art still the same. Like a lute that still repeats. Some olden dear-loved air ; Wliile brain throbs, or bosom beats. Thou alone art there. * William Maginn, LL.D. 163 The sky is overcast, a misty haze Of cloud obscures the blue, save where at times A bi'oken rift of azure bvu-sts in light, Like Hope upon a death-bed ; long and loud The wind awakes its melancholy tnimp O'er land and water ; and the waves arise, Like sleuth-hounds breathing rage, fiiry, and death, And rush in troops on the broad crumbling beach. A swelling ridge of ever-flashing foam Whirls on my gaze, as on the line of sti'and Stretclaing away afar, I turn the eye, Peeling into the faint and shadowy distance Of tossing waters, and unceasing heaving Of the Sea-Giant, who now, dark in light. Puts forth Ms strength, and shrieks his battle-cry. But here, in my broad window, all is calm And lettered silence : winds and waves contend Outside, and land and water seem at strife ; But books and pictures, busts and flowei's surroimd My table, where I sit, and think, and write, And look abroad upon the tossing ocean, Like the blest gods in the old Lixcretian verse. What shall I do, or how employ the hour ? I feel as idle as a fish i' the pool, — A lazy, dreaming, droning, ponderous fish. That rests suspended in the dark green shade Beneath a rock or tree, and never stirs 164 POEMS. For the whole day, but ruminates vnth. groxe look, As if the weight of worlds were on his back. And empires balancing in his thought profound. Yet, at the bottom of his working bmin There's scarce more thought than dweUs in yonder skvdl, Which from its comer fronts me with dai'k brow, And hollow eyes, and jaw well fenced with teeth. So I, o'erwearied by a week's hard toil, Feel aU my energies depressed or lulled Into inaction, which the war without Of mighty elements, can scai'cely fii-e Into a transient effort ; and methinks These dull dead lines daguerrotype myself, In the stagnation of exhau.sted thought ; And I, too, am no better than that relique Of what was erst a man in vigorous life. O thou quick Spuit, who didst tenant once This dome of bone, and didst inspire its di*eams, Wliither art thou departed 1 To what sphere Has thy strong pinion borne thee from this earth ? Now thou dost know more than all li\Tng men, Though all their science were combined in one. The portals of the mystic life to come, Thou hast passed through. Thou knowest on what zones Of spirit-spheres that wandeiing thing called Man First lights, when he hath left his robe of flesh, — Through what wild seas or skies he is ordained To pass in pilgrimage, — through what vallies dark Or mountain gorges he wends on his way, Before he reaches that most aweful Gate, A REVERIE. 165 That leads him to his destiny. Thou hast crossed That trackless wild that lies between our world And the far distant unseen world to come ; And hast experienced all its weird and dim And shadowy features, and its starless glooms, And paradise flashes. Thou hast seen what forms Dwell in its wilderness wastes, and couldst reveal If love or horror met thee on thy road, — If angels welcomed thee with songs of love, Or lost and outcast demons hurled the blasts Of hell upon thee, shrinking back in terror, — What phantasms crossed thy soul in that dark hour ! What memories of thy days and deeds on earth ! What blended thoughts of sorrow, and remorse, And vain repentance, and of self-contempt For all thy follies past, upon thy being Lay like a pyramid of solid stone, Weighing thee downward, pressing thee and crushing, While yawned beneath the terrible Abyss : — These — yea, and more than these, thou knowest. Spirit. Oh ! that I could compel thee to my side. And by a mighty effort of the will. Command thee to disclose thy secret lore, — Bmd thee in chains till thou didst all reveal That like a history dwells within thy soul, Of things that mortal man shall never know, UntU he too has voyage made with Death. What wert thou in thy days ? Thy brow is broad. Wert thou a scholar, musing o'er thy books 1 — A di'eamer lost in phantasies ? — a trader 166 POEMS. Wlio only lived for gold and cent, per cent., And left thy treasvire to some spendthrift heir 1 Wei-t thoii a father ? did thine eyes of love MiiTor within them childhood's paradise smile ? Wert thou a lover ? dost thou still retain Her image who was once thv soul's deliorht 1 O I/O Art thou and she united in the spheres 1 Or dost thou seek her ever in despair ? Or didst thou swear to love that never dwelt "Within thee; and for a moment's thrill of joy, Didst thou deceive and lure to utter niin 1 There be strange mysteries in all men's lives ; And thine no doubt hath been as other men's Existences, and hath brought life or death. Gladness or misery. Wliat unto thee now Are all the schemes of that most cunning brain, In wliich thou didst delight 1 — the toils, the thoughts, Tliat formed thy world, concentred all to win Some paltry prize, now changed to dust and ashes. Oh ! couldst thou answer me, what lore, what lessons More weighty than were ever taught by Seer Or Sibyl, should we learn in one brief hour, From thee, thou dweller in mysterious depths. Speak, I adjure thee ! — speak, I say ! — declare The thing thou art, or I will deem thy history To be so dark and dread, thou darest not utter That which thou wert, and that wliich now thou art. Vain hope ! vain effort ! all is still and silent : I must abide in ignorance : no voice Kesponds to mine : the dead will speak no word. A REVERIE. 167 And wisely hatli the lieaven ordained in this ; For if the sons of men could know the secrets That are to be ; — the splendid crowns that wait To bind the brows of those who walk in light, The palaces of glory that are built For the fair spirits who abide in truth, This were to give incentives to the soul To follow Viii;ue, not for Virtue's sake But for the hii'e that was already fixed, The stated price which it would have with God ; Therefore the Father wisely hath emva^apped In mysteries the Future, so that none Shall come to Him lured by the hope of gain, As they must do if He had all revealed. But they must seek Him for His sake alone, — For the enchanting beauty of His natvire, — For the surpassing majesty of His rule, — And not as hirelings, feeling only this : That they who follow Purity on earth, Must in another life with Purity dwell; And Purity is but one name for God. Now the storm rises ; drizzling mist and rain And wind in one vast chaos ; hark the hiss, The skrill, sharp whistling, as though fiends were out Rejoicing in the havoc ; — roar the waves Loud as the peals of distant muttering thunder, And lightning flashes o'er the leaden skies. Yon ship ! how fearfully she rolls and labours : The terrible gale will blow her straight ashore ; The horrent noise confuses eye and ear ; 168 POEMS. The nerves distracted, and the clouded brain Abdicate all their functions ; judgment topples From her firm seat ; the fury of the stomi Palsies the soul ; alas ! ye mariners, I fear for ye. Come, let us up and out, And face the battle of the elements. I see the ship is almost stranded now ; No boat can live in this wild tossing sea. Gods ! what a flash — hark to that terrible peal. Tlie coast-guards hurry onward; let us join them. With ropes, and coats, and cordials for these men. I feel new vigour animate my soul : Quick, quick, for every minute's worth a life. %o Piss I b. Sing me those sweet and sacred strains once more, Which the religious psalmist of old time Linked to divinest music ; waken, too, With gentle touch the silver-sounding string. That blends so hapjjily with thy soft voice ; And while the harmony enwraps my soul. As if in clouds of rosy-flashing light, I'll lay me back and look upon the sky, And blooming trees, and the far-distant wood, Just silvered by the beauteous Evening Star, And think that in the spirit I ascend TO . 169 To other spheres, celestial lands and cii-cles, Where music is the atmosphere, and love The only feeling of the ethereal host. -oo>*;c U The crj^stal fountains of those eyes, Whei'ein Love wadeth ; Those cheeks, before whose flowering dyes The red rose fadeth ; Those smiles, wherein the blush of dawn Seems opening brightly ; All the sweet airs that round thee fawn, Like Graces lightly ; — These only could not move My soul to love. What are they but a radiant veil O'er the shrine's gloiy 1 — What do they, if they not detail Thy heart's bright story ? Oh ! dearer far than sunny look, Or blush of rosas ; The heart more ptu-e than purest brook. That veil encloses. Ask ye, then, Avhat doth move My soul to love ? I 170 POEMS. That wentle heart where Anrtiie dwells And meekness shmeth, Round which her faii'est, loveliest spells- Religion, twineth ; Which seems like storied Pai'adise, Always attended, By biightest angels from the skies, Newly descended ; — That heart it is doth move My soul to love. -oo?Sso<^ 1^ fracjiiunt I had a Dream of Beaiity as I lay In sunsliine, on the solitaiy beach, While winds and waters soothed me to repose ; And like a thousand echoes of wild lutes, Heard amid forests, lakes, and winding hUls, When ia the piu'plirig west the Star of Eve First shews her sUvery form, that musical Dream Wandered deliciously tlu-ough soul and sense, And wafted me from earth into the spheres Where dwell the splendid Spirits of the Past. M^■ thoujrhts were then all radiant with delight ; They rose within the arch of my rapt soul Like stars in the blue heaven. I was alone, And yet not solitary, for I saw Phantoms more lovely than the forms of fii-e, Or the bright meteors of a summer niixht ; A FBAGME^TT. 171 Aiid SO tliey came around me, and witli eyes Tliat breathed the beauty of a Paradise-land, Shone sweetly on my heart. And then I heard A Voice of deep ^olian minstrelsy, Which to my ear sang sweetly. Thus it said : " Write Oil thy soul this Vision of Delight, And when thy sjiirit is again on earth, Reveal it to the peojjle." Then I saw An Iiis-palace in a garden sweet. With flowers that charmed the eye with their fine hues, And breathed the fragrance of a thousand odours, Through the sun-Hghted aii- ; and from the gate Gleamed many a form of female loveliness, In the fresh brightness of a morn in spring : — These were the Phantoms of fair Women past, Who, in the annals of our queenly land. Shine out in stately or in charming Ught, The gloiy of the earth and of their kind. And fii'st I saw the fair and clinging Shape Of Margaret Poper, as her sire condemned Passed to that Tower, which still o'er the Thames Looks like an aged giant, from whose arms The horrid strength is gone away for ever. How beautiful was the love with which she clung To that old man : how holy was the beam That shone from her full eye, as bursting through The steel-clad soldiers, she embraced him still, With love that would not sufler rough repulse. And saw no terror in their flashing swords. So iu a silver urn claspt to her breast 172 POEMS. She bare tlie head of him who gave her life, And was borne by me in a veil of stars. And then I saw grave Lxicy Hutchinson, With royal mien and high imperial ste^D — The very star her mother di^eamed she held* Her eyes were fountains deep of truest love ; Her glorious spirit glittered througli her looks ; Courage and prudence, gentleness and strength, Combined as in a chaplet rich and rare. Her pathway seemed a milky- way of lustre, So shining were her words, her acts, her thoughts, t * "My mother, while she was with child of me, dreamed that she was walking in the garden with my father, and that a star came down into her hand, — with other circiimstances which, though I often heard, I minded not enough to remember per- fectly ; only my father told her, her dream signified she should have a daughter of some extraordinary eminency ; which thing like such vain prophecies, wrought, as far as it could, its own accomplishment, for my father and mother, fancying me then lieautiful, and more than ordinarily apprehensive, applied all their cares, and spared no cost to improve me in my education," — Lift of Mrs. Hutchhimn. t The grand patriotic spirit which animated this noble woman is well pictured in her own earnest language : — " Whoever considers England will find it no small favour of God to have been made one of its natives, both upon spiritual and outward accounts. The happiness of the soil and air contribute all things that are necessary to the use or delight of man's life. The cele- brated glory of tbis Isle's inhabitants, ever since they received a mention in histoi-y, confers some honour upon every one of her children, and with it an obligation to coutiime in that magna- nimity and \'ii-tue which hath famed this Island, and raised her liead in glory higher than the great kingdoms of the neighbouring Continent. Britain hath been as a garden enclosed, wherein all things that man can wish to make a pleasant life are planted and grow in her own soil ; and whatsoever foreign countries yield, to A FRAGMENT. 173 And by her side a Shape ambrosial moved — Sweet Eachel Russell, clothed in virgin white ; A saint-like piuitj was on her brow, And like the heavenly Queen of Stars she walked. Next, like a calm and lovely summer-night. When moon and stars serenely shine in heaven, And all is holiness, and peace, and beauty, Dorothy Temple came.* Upon her brow, Beamed like a crown the royal seal of wisdom ; And in her kindly smile, love softly burned, With vestal purity. At Moor Park, beneath A sun-dial, is shrined her husband's heart ; But had I been Sir William, in her grave I would have had it placed, and there alone — And with them was another : soft of eyes, The fairest, fondest, gentlest woman-heart That ever lighted on our Isle beloved — Anne Eanshawe, wife to Richard of that name. Her ringlets fell in tangled vine-like curls, Over her bosom pure of purest white ; And in her full bright eyes such glory burst. As lights the stars that burn o'er Orient isles. So beamed she as she beamed in that dark Jiour, encrease admiration and delight, are^brought in by licr Heets. The people, by the plenty of their country, not being forced to toil for bread, have ever addicted themselves to more generous employments, and been reckoned almost in all ages as valiant warriors as any part of the world sent fortli, insomuch tliat tlie greatest Roman captains thought it not unworthy nf their ex- peditions," * See Courtenay's Life of Sir W. Temple, for a deliglitful picture of this exemplary woman. 174 POEMS. When as they sailed upon the Spanish main, A roving coi"sair, with his flag of death, Bore down upon then- ship, and all prepared To meet the Alsierine with shot and sword. So when the fight was near, she would not bide With the' other women, but was found on deck, In strange disguise, beside her husband dear, Who never loved her more than in that moment.* Then like a rainbow seen amid green trees, With lustre faint and indistinct, arose A youthful form, o'er which her piirple stole Science had drawn. ; and in her soul-lit eye, High contemplation upon things afar * "This," says Lady Fanshawe, "was sad for us passengers, but my liusbaud bid us to be sure to keej) in the cabin, and not appear, which woidd make the Tiu'ks think we were a man-of- wa,r ; but if they saw women, they woidd take us for merchants, and board the vessel. He went upon deck, and took a giui, a bandalier, and a sword, erpectiug the arrival of the Tiu-kish man-of-war. The captain had locked me up in the cabin. I knocked and called to no purjjose, until the cabin-boy came and opened the door. I, all in tears, desired him to 1 )e so good as to give me his thrimi cap and tarred coat, which he did, and I gave liim half-a-crown ; and putting them on, and flinging away my II ight-clothes, I crept up softly, and stood upon the deck, by my husband's side, as free from sickness and fear as, I confess, of discretion ; but it was the^ffect of a passion, which I could never master. By this time, the two vessels were engaged in parley, and so well satisfied with speech and sight of each other's force, that the Turks' man-of-war tacked about, and we continued our coiu-se. But when yoiir father saw it convenient to retreat, look- ing upon me, he blessed himself, and snatched me up in his anns, saying, "Good God, that love can make this change!' and, though lie seemingly chid me, he woidd laugh at it as t>ftcn as he re- membered that voyage." — Memoirs, p. 98. A FRAGMENT. 175 Sat like a hermit old. So looked she then, As in that instant, hallowed to all time, When Roger Ascham found her in her chamber, Musing o'er Plato's Phsedon, while abroad, In the green park, with hound and merry horn. The lords and ladies of the household rode A-hunting ; but this gentle girl — Jane Grey — Found more true pleasure with that Greek inspired, Than in the woocUand, or in chasing harts. sacred Phantom, with what rapt delight 1 gazed upon thee then, thou emblem pure Of English Avomanhood ! And when I pen This phrase, I mean that which comprises all — Of love, of faith, of duty, trust, an.d truth. In their most lovely aspects, which the earth Hath ever held to make it image heaven. And yet again I looked, and there was One, A sweet white opening rose, biit on her head She bare a helmet, glittering like a crown — Young Agnes Hotot, who, when her dear sii'e. On the appointed day of combat, failed To meet liis adversary in the field, And so must forfeit his ancesti'al lands To furious Ringsdale, donned a coat of mail. And in Northampton county met her foe. They fought — she conquered, and was summoned quick To the king's presence, who confinned her title To the disputed manors ; — ^then, indeed, Her sex was first revealed, and her fail' ringlets 5ijiirst from beneath her helmet to her breast. 176 POEMS. And so the Dudleys of Northampton beai* Even to this day, upon their crested coat, A record of the feat : a woman's bust. With snow-wliit^ bosom and dishevelled hair, Under a helmet, on a ducal crown. How beautiful wa.s the light in which she moved ! What exquisite firmness in her mouth and step ! And in her eyes sweet faerieland seemed set. Of such true women hex'o-sons are bom. May such true women gem our land for aye, Keeping her crowned upon that jewel throne. From wliich she waves her sceptre o'er the earth. -ooJ^Qi^OO- WHICH I HAVE CALLED " SAINT MARY'S AISLE. It is a lone and gentle walk, O'er-arched by moss-gi"own woodland ti-ees. Beneath whose shade we laugh and talk. And live in soft luxurious ease ; Our thovights as bright as Indian seas A-sleeping in the golden sun. And rich as that enchanted breeze That blows o'er woods of cinnamon. Such thoughts our happy hours beguile, With thee in sweet Saint Mary's Aisle. ON A FAVOURITE WALK. 177 The asli-trees wi-eathe their graceful boughs Aloft, to form an arch of green, So closely twined, it scarce allows A wandering beam of sun between ; A dim religious vesper light This walk of trees and flowers pervades, Save only where thine eyes so bright Shed morning radiance through the shades. Though dark as night, one witching smile From thee illumes Saint Mary's Aisle. Along tliis silent wild retreat The yellow cowslips thickly gi'ow, Wliile airs with many an odour sweet, From yonder beds of roses blow. Give me thy hand as white as snow, But warm as sunshine, and we'll stray Through the green paths, with footsteps slow, Till evening veils the face of Day. Oh ! what so sweet as thus to while The hours in lone Saint Mary's Aisle ? I see thee, like some nymph of old. Some Grecian nymph with wild flowers tressed, Thy silken ringlets all unrolled, • Loose on thy swan-like neck and breast. I hear thee, and thy language breathes Delicious raptiire in mine ears, Like the bright breath of rosy wi'eaths. Like the i-ich music of the spheres ; 178 P0E3IS. For Angels talk, and Angels smile, Like thee in sweet Saint Mary's Aisle. How oft by moonKght have we strayed Beneath this Gothic roof of leaves, And gazed upon the distant glade, With frequent ti'ees and saffron sheaves ; How oft in mellow nights in June We've I'ambled through the sleeping shade, While the soft i-ays of stai" and moon Round us like showers of silver played — It seemed some old cathedral pile. And thou the Saint of Mary's Aisle. At times some flute's melodious sound Broke through the silence of the night, Careering round, and round, and round. Like a yoimg seraph's airy flight, Filling our hearts with new delight ; Lending new visions to the scene Of Fauns and Nymphs in festal rite, And dancing o'er the moonlit green — Such antique di-eams our hearts beguUe, At night in sweet Saint Maiy's Aisle. O beauteous (h-eams of faerie time. Of tilt and tournay, knight and dame ! Fain would I build the lofty rhyme, And give yoiu' praise to deathless fame. Fain would I chant the olden days Of Nymph and Oread, Bard and Faun ; ox A FAVOURITE WALK. 179 But other themes demand my lays, From purple night till blushing dawn — My songs are hers alone, whose smile Makes heaven of dear Saint Mary's Aisle, Bring forth the lute, whose speaking strings Have oft Ijeguiled the summer hours, And while the wild bird yonder sings, Recline within the acacia bowers ; And wake once more its wond'rous chords With airs as fond as airs can be ; Nor yet disdain the quaint old words Of song that once I wrote for thee, Received with many a gracious smile Of thanks in dear Saint Mary's Aisle. Or, if thou wilt, sit still and hear The classic tales we love so well, To noble hearts like thine, how dear The great heroic ti"uths they tell. Spenser and Shakespere, wild Rousseau, The Wandering Bard whose heart gi-ew hell, Or lonely Dante born to woe, Or stern Fen-ara's shadowy ceU ; — Ah ! these will win thy tears awhile. When musing in Saint Mary's Aisle. Thus pass our joyous hours away, With flowers and music, songs and books. The bright and gladdening light of day, The beauty of thy brighter looks. 180 POEMS. Wliy need we sigh for marble halls, Or Eastern pomp, or stately domes ? More dear to me one word that falls, And one love-look from her who roams. With happy heart, and song and smile, Through thy gi-een shades. Saint Mary's Aisle. fitbiutsl* They laid him by the paradise stream that flows Outside of Toos, beneath the cypress trees, And in the roses, to whose eai's at night The bulbul sings his melting note of love.f There by the music of that silver river, Whose rippling oft had lulled his weary soul, In fragrance and in light, his loved remaius Rejoined the elements. And many Pilgrims Came, and poured forth their prayers at his tomb ; But Sheikh Aboul-Kassim alone refused. Because he praised the Magi in his songs. So the next night God sent the Sheikh a dream. And in that trance of light he saw the Gates Of Paradise, and was invited in * Firdausi means Paradisiacal. t Tho nightingale is called the Bird of a Thousand Songs. So great is his passion for the rose, that when he sees any person pull one of the flowers, he utters loud cries and lamentations. FIRDAUSI. 181 By angels ; — on a throne of splendent gems He saw Firdausi sitting, in a blaze Of gloiy, snch as earthly king ne'er owned. The Sheikh bent low before the throne, and sought Pennission from the Poet to address him. Firdausi bowed, and thus the Sheikh enquired : '■'■How hast thou readied this glorious height of bliss?" Firdausi answered, in a beam of light, "When I was on the earth, I sang of God, His gi'eatness, unity, and justice thus : TJtoti art wliatever is of great and good Throughout tlie Universe : I know thee not ; But this I know, Thou art tlie Only One." So the Sheikh's spirit was again on earth ; And from that hoiu* Fiixlausi had his prayers. W f Oct's tmu. I place not my heart in pomp or power. In palace of marble or pillared hall ; Such pleasures as these are the toys of an hour ; But treasures more exquisite far than all, Shcdl he ours if thou wilt he 7nine, love ! A iiistic garden of roses fail", A silver stream that glasses the sky. The music of birds in the sunny air, And bosoms that beat to their minstrelsy, Shall be ov/rs iftlvou wilt he viine, love! 182 POEMS. And the mui'murecl music of crystal floods, And hillocks of verdure and valleys sweet, And bowers of jasmine and shady woods. Whose echoes thy songs of love repeat, Shall he ours if thou wilt he mine, love/ And hopes and thoughts of most pure delight. And the smUe divine that beams in those eyes, And the fragi'ant dawn and star-robed Night, And bliss like a picture of Paradise, ' Shall he ours if thou wilt he mine, love/ % Wmon ot tijje fast. Bear me, bright Fancy, backward to the days Wlien o'er our world the sun shed fairer rays, Than any now that from his centre fall ; Wlien great Haroun al Raschid, like a God, Beheld the Orient bend befoi'e his nod. And Powers divine obeyed the Magi's call. Then was the radiant reign of Queen Romance, When Ind and Araby their spells outpoured, — When learning conquered more than shaft or lance; And mystic art did more than law or sword. Then were the golden days of Bard and Seer, When knowledge raised its owner up to thrones. But they are gone ; and in tlieir place appear In diadems, dull asses — stocks and stones. A VISION OF THE PAST. 183 In that enchanted era, he whose mind Wisdom, as in some royal fane, enshrined, Needed not favour from this lord or kinsr, — Stooped not to win the popular applause, — Made not the worse appear the better cause ; But mounted gloriously on freedom's wing. Yes — his gi-eat monarch soul, too proud to crawl To any, found a sceptre in herself. Compelled the Powers of Nature to her call. Bound to her chariot Afrit, Jiun, and Elf; Soai-ed in the Sun, and from the Moon drew spells, Pierced the deep Ocean, charmed the Stars on high. Sought and found out and drank the Immortal Wells That deep in Natiu-e's darkest caverns lie. The rare, the priceless science which God gave To Suleyman, ere he bowed down as slave To nautches, idols, priests, and aU that's base, — With which that monarch moved the earth, and bound The Sprites of Darkness in their caves profound. And chained the Elements through boundless Space, — Was the great heritage of every Sage Who wedded his bright soul to wonch'ous lore. And o'er the deep and starry-written page Of Truth enchained her, day and night to i)ore, — Who scorned the sensual, loathed the eai-thly chains With which the common race of men tie down The heaven-aspiring spirit to the drains, And in earth's filth its fii-es celestial drown. 184 POEMS. Earth, Air, and Ocean, Etlier, — yea, and Fire, Yielded dominion to that glittering choir ; — The Wise Man breathed, and all was as he willed ; — He waved his wand of magic, or he spake — A city straight became a mountain lake, With golden fishes, for its people, filled. He flashed his Lamp — the Jinns obedient came, Heard his command, and straight a palace raised. Glorious in beanty, through whose marble frame Diamond, opal, emerald, beryl blazed. Again he spake — ^the Palace rose in air, Its thousand pennons fluttering on the breeze ; Where'er he willed, submissive Sjoirits bare The gorgeous mansion over lands and seas. The all-conquering Caliph to the Man of Mind, Stretched forth the hand, nay, even the knee inclined ; He placed him on the throne himself beside : But he, who knew the Mystic Name* that awes The strongest, — subjects all things to its laws, — Might well the hollow sultan pomp deride. Within his burning soul a secret lay That mailed him round in majesty and might, — A mine of wisdom brighter far than day ; Past, Present, Future beamed before his sight. * The mystic name of God, wliich whoso knows, all Natnre is obedient to his command. The knowledge of this name consti- tutes the power of the Archangelic, and enables them to soar from world to world. Its forgetfulness is the pimishmeut of erring spirits, who instantly sink down to darkness and the earth. It is alluded to indistinctly iu the Jewish Shibboleth, A VISION OF THE PAST. 185 He knew all languages ; he learned all lore ; His will could bind and loosen ; — at his word A garden bloomed where deserts frowned before ; The ocean came, and his commandments heard. « If beauty moved his soul to love, — if eyes That flashed a starry heaven, inflamed the wise To dally in the rosy bowers of bliss, — If virgin loveliness more sweetly bright Than ever shone upon our modern night. Made him a moment thoughts aiistere dismiss ; — Though desert sands and mountains intervene, — Thoiigh towers and battlements the Maid confine, Though furious oceans roll and rave between, No bar they ofler to his firm design. A winged enchanted steed is at his call ; He mounts to heaven and leads the Nymph away; He bathes him in the lake, — his gray hairs fall, — And lo! he glitters beautiful as May. For him the wine in cups of ruby flowed. And self-replenished like red amethyst glowed ; He quafied it under trees of gold and gems. The fairest slaves in cloth of rich brocade. Danced, sang, or on the lute of ivory played. Or graced his path with rose-bright anadems. On thrones of gold with costly carpets strewed He lay, and sunned his soul in loveliest eyes. Through magic telescopes he looked and viewed The cabinets of kin£;s without disf^uise. 186 POEMS. He roamed through gardens more delicious far Than Shedad's lilied bowers of delight ; He yoked fierce eagles to his sunbright car, And s-udfter than the winds he passed in flight. If wandering itUy throiigh the woodlands deej?, Some mnnmiring fountain woos his bi'ain to sleep, What glorious visions s,parkle in his dreams : A palace lustrous as the sun at noon, A virgin Peri lovelier than the moon, A garden lamp-illumed with mp-iad gleams. He wakes ; he stands beneath that blazing dome ; Upon a throne of stars its queen reclines ; Welcome, she cries, to this thy native home : The Seer, enchanted, all her soul divines. She woos him there in sweet and winning tones ; A thousand virgins raise the hymn of love ; In music-words her ardent thoughts she owns. And crowns his heart with bKss in yon alcove. O ye delicious scenes of byegone time, Of Indian, Persian, and Ai-abian clime. Before my memoiy in sweet light ye glide, — So vivid all, that while I view, I start. As if among ye once I played my part, As if my own tme life I there descried. Have I not mingled in those scenes and spells ? Have I not strayed through those bewitching lands? Feel I not some mysterious power, that tells My soul, as o'er the Past her dream expands, A VISION OF THE PAST. 187 Thou too wert there ; thou too in those bright days Didst dwell with the fail' phantoms wliich but now Flashed o'er thy fancy, dazzled thy rapt gaze, Shone like an iris round thy throbbing brow/' (Sunset on tlje §£iit^. 'Tis sunset ; yonder in the flashing West Is the gold portal to the House of God. How lustrously it shines ; how rich ^ath light, Dazzling the eye and soul. Here let us sit. And watch that king of splendour as he sets, And see him imaged in this glass-like sea, That opens out her bosom fair and broad. Speak not, but watch in silence ; give thy spirit To God the Father, in whose sight this sim — Yea, all those visible spheres of light and beauty, Are but the merest specks. See how he sinks, In liillows streaming forth ten thousand colours ;- And now he is departed ; all the sky Is bridal-di-essed in glory ; earth and heaven * The Metempsychosis, or perpetual transmigration of spirit- life into organized forms in harmony with its true nature, is here alluded to. There are very few thinkers who do not feel that they have Uved before in other scenes and forms, antl that the present phase of their existence is but one of many. The ani- mating spirit and soiU are indeed almost co-existent with the Uni- verse itself, and in point of time posterior only to God. 188 POEMS. And ocean seem to miss liim. Thou and I Feel lonely now lie's gone ; so wovild we all If God were not abiding witli ns still, And if He gave us not his priceless blessings. And here is one — the greatest — tliis broad sea, On which can no man gaze and feel himself Without a soul and spirit formed by God, To taste and share the Infinite with Him. sea ! I worship God in loving thee ; Thou aii; a Temple to my praying soul; Thou art a Scripture to my awe-bound heart ; In thee I trace His majesty and strength ; 1 see no feature that is not divine ; I feel no thought, when thus I gaze on thee, That is not pure and sacred, and enlarged Beyond the confines of this visible eaiiih, That is not consonant with that infinite essence Which I feel iu me ever in my thought, Linking me with archangels, yea, with gods : The very Splendours that surround the Thrones, Whereon the Almighty Father ever sits, SuiTOunded by the rainbow Spirit of Love, And Light and Wisdom, whom we Holy call. mighty Ocean, how I feel thy spells ; How often have they called my soul from earth. And summoned it to spheres of shining light ; I[ow often hast thou purified my heart From worldly thoughts, that ever come and tempt Mortals from Beauty to the False and Base, With which the earth is filled ; but when I came And stood beside thy shores, and gave my nature SUNSET ON THE BEACH. 189 Up to thine influence, my thoughts were freed From selfishness, and I felt pui'e in mind, As Plato or Pythagoms might have felt. Therefore thou art a passion and a joy Unto my soul for ever ; and I feel That I, without thee, were but half myself. Yonder's a boat, with nets and fishermen. Anxiously gazing on the darkening wave, Hoping a porpoise may drive in a shoal Of mackerel ere the dawn. Their nets are piled Full in the stern, which almost lifts the prow Out of the wave ; and one stands high in front, Casting his glance far forward. Who can look Upon these men, and not in thought fly back To Galilee and Tiberias, and the days When Jesus came in beauty from the hills, And with his soul-dissolving eloquence Spake to the multitude, and called fi-om nets And boats, the watchers by that tossing sea, And made them fishers of men ? or by the beach Wandex-ed, and in the music of the wave, That symphonied his sweet and earnest speech, Propounded sacred tnith, in simple words That even childliood's heart may understand Or who can wonder that in scene like this, The soul he uttered caught a grander glow, A more majestic, solemn, holy light. From the great element by which he preached 1 Muse-haimted ever have ye been, O Waves ! 190 ■ POEMS. Since Homer sang of Thetis by tlie sea, Rising in silver mist to soothe her son, Swift-foot Pelides, brooding by liis tent ; And Jason sailed across yonr billowy wastes, And Aphrodite burst in flowery light From your deep azure palaces ; how rich With memories beloved ye are ! how graced With all the exqiiLsite legends of the past, Ocean and Amphitrite, aud sea-green Tiitou, With wreathed shell ; and Arethusa fair. And bright Andromeda, by Perseus saved. Lo ! as I muse a Dolphin surges near. Upon the blue and white foam-crested ridge, And basks a moment in the light ; and now He plunges down and seeks his finny prey. Friend of the Poet, hail ! thou lover of song And dulcet music, would that I could wake Such minstrelsy as old Ar'ion played. When from fair Corinth he to Lesbos sailed, With many a golden dai'ic from the king ; But the piratical crew conspired to seize The prize, and hurl its owner to the waves. Whereat the lyrist of Methimna planned A subtle trick, and begged them ere he died To waken once agaiu upon his harp, One of the heavenly melodies of old — One of the songs the Muses fair inspired ; And so he sat upon the prow, aud struck The silver strings, whereat the gods ai'ose From their green gardens, and the Nereids ran, With locks dishevelled, dripping with sea-gems. SUNSET ON THE BEACH. ISl Proteus and Nereus, drawn by their blue steeds, And the wild Phorkyads ; next the Dolphins flocked Enchanted by that song, and thronging round The gliding barque, and looking -with soft eyes Upon the Minstrel ; — so he sweetly chanted And hurled himself into the sparkling wave, And borne by Dolpliins, got to Tsenaros, "Whence to the royal court of Periander He made all speed ; and when the pirates landed, They found their crosses ready on the beach, And so were crucified. But his were hymns Such as the sons of modern time in vain Essay to rival. Oh ! that I had seen Those storied days of Greece, when grove and fountain Were filled with Dryads, and the Naiad nymphs, And the young Gi*aces danced along the beach. Entwined in flowers : and Hermes skimmed through air. With graceful form ; and I could gaze aloft And see the Sun-God in his beaming car, Drawn by fire-snorting steeds ; and hear the Fauns Waken their sylvan music in the noon. When the blithe Oreads rested in the shade, And they stole on their slumbers ! But those days Are gone for ever, never to return ; And in this leaden century, gold is god. And Fancy is an outcast, with no couch Whereon to rest her weary beautiful limbs — No roof to shelter her enchantina; form. And yet once more I send ye forth, thoughts, Upon the waters. Come ye back in gladness. 192 POEMS. Like birds of Paradise, on sunny plumes, As ye so often have returned, wlien I Upon tMs voyage have dismissed ye free, And opened out my heart to fancy-ch'eams, And flown away from earth unto the stars And gorgeous Visionland, as I do now, Seeing upon the infinite waste of sea A boimdless desert, silent, vast, and strange, On which arose bright pictures — stately towers Like marble Tadmor, gUttering through the mist ; Columns, and fanes, and arches ; di-eamy tents. Green waving palms, and steeds with lightning eyes, And arching neck, and proudly-pawing hoof; And star-eyed men, with turbans and white robes ; And maidens, drawing water from the wells : All these I saw, and shall for ever see. In that enchanted world wherein I reign A king supreme, for God hath given it To me for ever, when He gave me being, And crowned me with the diadem of thought. And I can hear the tinkling camel-bells, And I can hear the softened song that comes From yonder merry group ; and I can list, In fair imagination's purple cloud, (Which wraps me round, as Venus wrapt her son, When amid Dido's painted halls he stood) To the dark story-teller, as he speaks Of byegone heroes, all as lions fierce. Courting the battle, torqued with golden chains. Urging theii* raven-coloured steeds to fight ; Men of the tribe of Reejan or of Abs, SUNSET OX THE BEACH. 193 At whose great roar the mountains shook with fear. And I can see the beautiful young maids Of Yemen, blooming as the morning sun, With brows as lustrous as the crystal stars. And cheeks that pale the roses ; their loose hair Dishevelled into grace, and dark as night. O Earth ! what wert thou to me, if I had not These dreams divine ? Life ! how dull, how poor, Thy tedious moments, if I could not call These living pictures from my ocean-heart ? If I could not in fiery chariot soar Beyond this actual present, into zones That are illimitable, where a sky Of radiant beauty sliines without a cloud 1 And to feel life, is as though love, and music, And sunshine, all combined to make the blood That flows from the glad heart thi-ough every vein A current of joy. Give me those glorious dreams For ever and for ever, fair Spirit, Who art the Muse and Melody of Heaven, And I will not my throne exchange with kings. Thus, fr'om my boyhood, have I ever lived In purple phantasies, Elysian fields And sweet Adonis-Gardens of delight ; And thus I pray that I may always live — A dreamer, dreaming ever. Since those days Wherein I soared delightedly oia clouds. What revolutions in my brain and heart ! What panoramic changes darkly-bright ! And I have gone through phases strange and sad, K 194: POEMS. Have breasted threatening waters, have been cast On lonely deserts where the tempests fought, And have drained many a cup of bitterness. So be it : now my soul is trebly armed — Cased in a golden mail, proof against all ; And I can look upon my son-ows past With patience, though with utter scorn of those Who mshed against me with Alecto hearts. And while I have thee by my side, and gaze Upon thee, and can feel thy May-like presence. And can enjoy, with eye and visioned-soul. This majesty, and beauty, and repose — The infinite sea — the pi'oudly-swelling hills — The grand and melancholy hymn of waves — The modest peace that wraps our hamlet round — And our grape-vine-clad cottage on the cliff, — I cannot be unhappy, nor can want The melody of content within my heart. Nor do I envy those who sit in state, And couch in pui-ple : I would rather be A villager with my books, and thoughts unchained, Than him who, for a palace, makes himself The footman of the many. See ! where soars In clouds of light yon Bird, and as I scan Him more acutely, and with lengthened look. His broad strong wing and lofty vigorous flight, Declares his royal race — the golden eagle ; Even as that bird, I wish in thought to be — A spurner of the earth — a dweller high In woods and mountains, solitudes sublime ; My eyes upon the sun and beaming stars ; A LOVE-DREAM. 195 "My proud lone journey, far away from man, Fixed in the spotless, luminous zone of heaven. Oh ! that I were with thee, Olympian bird, Borne on the wing of tempest, with the speed Of lightning, and with thunders fierce, that I Might, from the clouds aloft, behold the scene, And view the crystal brightness of God's arch, Undimmed by mists and vapours. Thou art gone, And though we gaze far into distant space, We cannot see thee. Fare thee well for ever ! We shall not look upon thee any more. So vanish all our visions of the great : They shine before us and are lost in night. Soon we shall be in darkness : see, the sea Grows indistinct — we scarce can trace the line In which it meets and mingles with the sky. Give me thine arm, and let us wander home ; Metliinks we have been in a House of Prayer, And have been lookijig on the face of God, And hearkening to his deep and sea-Uke voice ; And opening out our spirits to embrace His form celestial. Come, thou Evening Star. -o-oj:^00- Last night I had a Vision in a dream : I wandered by a silvery-sapphire stream, 196 POEMS. Flowing along serenely, softly, slow, And making music with a cadence low — Sweet as the echo of some far-ofi" flute, Dying amid the hills, when winds are mute, And there is nought on earth, in heaven, or air, To break the sacred silence spell-bound there. And as in melody I seemed to move, Encinctxired by an atmosphere of love, That round me fell like sunshine in the prime Of summer, when the lily, rose, and thyme Blend all their sweetness into one rich breath. That, Oqiheus-like, might even recall from death, - I heard a Voice, and saw a golden boat. Sans oar or sail, upon that water float. And thus the Voice in heavenly accents spake, Into mine ear, as soft as the snow-flake That falls upon the sea, and melts in mist, The moment it the azure vast hath kist : " Beloved, enter — -fear not — come with me, Till from this stream we reach a boundless sea; Till from that sea we 2yass, and hand in hand. Soar like two hapjjy doves to Faerie Land." I stopped — I looked — no form could I behold ; No Queen I saw her starry plumes unfold ; No fail' celestial Splendour brightly shone Before my eyes ; but I was all alone ; Yet still I felt the music of her spells Pervade my essence, bi^eathing through the wells A LOVE-DREAM. 197 Of my most inner life, till heart and brain Trembled all o'er with the delicious strain. I went into the golden boat, and straight I felt its magic life with mine pulsate ; I knew it lived , and had a soul and sense, A breathing, vital, high intelligence. So with a slow, majestic pace we sailed Through caves o'er-arching, and through trees that trailed Their beauteous bending branches in the tide. Amid whose soft embrace we seemed to slide. Swans on that river oared with stately pace, Bending the snow-white neck with qiieenlike grace ; And on its flowery banks, and by its coves, Bu-ds of bright plumage sunned themselves in droves, Shining with iris splendours, red and gold. Silver and purple, each a song ensouled, Chanting in melody divinely sweet, The rapturous thoughts that in their bosoms beat. And so we moved, but whether for a day. Or for a thousand years I cannot say, My soul was so imparadised and lost, As though it mingled with the heavenly host ; So to the spirit mounting God's bright spheres, The starry flight of ecstasy appears : Time flies unheeded, eveiy sense is drowned In. the deep ocean of delights all round. 198 POEMS. What living Vision bums before me now 1 — A marble Temple beetling o'er the brow Of a high rock, which frowns above the sea, That spreads beneath its purple tapestry Of ocean-flashes and the sun-born beams — A thousand colours mingling as in dreams Of rainbow-raying thought, when Poets leave The earth, and with the heaven their souls enweave. And o'er this Temple roses twine and climb, Tended by Virgins in theii' peach-like prime. Their wliite robes waving on the wind, their eyes Darting the splendour of starred Orient skies. And now they dance to flute, to lute, to song, A gay engarlanded and blissful throng ; And now in choirs they sing, and cymbals clash, To the waves' melodies beneath that dash. And still the heavenly Voice which first I heard, Spake to me sweetlier than any bird : " Fea/r not, mine own Beloved, but with me Go where I go — through air, thro^ngh fire, through sea ; I anil the Music hidden in thy soul ; I a/m the Light that glitters round thy goal; I a/m thine Echo, Symphony, and Flame; I a/m thyself — yet am I not the same." Oh ! how I longed to see her, for I knew From female lip this voice celestial flew. How my heart panted ! — every vein was fire ; My soul strings vibrated with wild desire. A LOVE-DREAJI. 199 I moved in aii' — I felt a god all o'er ; Could I but gaze upon her and adore ! O virgin. Voice, so beautiful, so dear, Be not a Voice alone — aj^pear ! appear ! Reveal thyself unto me in thy light — Divinely dazzle spirit, soul, and sight. If thou shine not upon me, what have I To do with life, or aught beneath the sky. If on my lip thou press not thy sweet lips. Let my frame feel death's cold and dark eclipse : Better it were in the black earth to be. Than know thou art, and yet be without tJiee. And still, and still, that Voice divine and low Breathed through my soul in music, even as though The lute from which it came were shrouded deep Within my heart, and would not, could not sleep : " Beloved, still with me pursue thy way, In this dear boat, and dream of Love and May ; Lap thee in Paradise-thought, and feel me fold Thee thus vnth milk-ivhite arm and wings of gold." So to the ever-moving emerald Sea, Flashing with sunbeam-sparkles, glided we ; Beauteously oped its bosom, sajjphire-green ; A thousand Nereids on its waves were seen — A thousand Cupids, all with flower-tipt darts, Shot, pierced, or seemed to pierce, their joyous hearts ; Then in the dance intwiued, with warbUngs sweet, They moved majestic, all with silvery feet. 200 POEMS. See from the wave fair ApliroditS rise, A golden heaven of beauty in her eyes ; An opal-gleaming sea-shell is her boat, And in her hand she beai-s her ivory rote. On which such charming minstrelsy she wakes, Melodious Pan his woodland wild forsakes, And hastening to the sea, entranced with joy, Sighs for the arrows of the Idalian boy. " Daughter of Heaven and Light, approach and bear Me in thy shell aloft through purple air. Into that lustrous Star that hath thy name ;" — Scarce had I spoke, when lo ! stiffused with shame I felt, for in my spirit's heart there thrilled That exquisite Voice, whose plaintive whispers stilled Me quick as magic, and I felt that She Alone was Love, and Heaven, and Light to me. " tJiOU mhie ovm Beloved, dearer far To me than to the Earth is Sun or Star, More grateful to mine eyes thanfloioers in May, Wouldst thou, then, leave tiie 1 loouldst thou thus betray ? No — no — thou wouldst not, canst not, loilt not go I Thou wouldst not xoed thine own one to this woe; Thou wouldst not part ivith Iter who lives in thee, Aiul still shall live through long eternity." As on we floated o'er those; silver waves. The Nymphs revealed themselves from crystal caves. That shone like icebergs in the stariy sheen, Or snowy mountain-peaks, when the serene A LOVE-DREAM. Vestal of Heaven, Dian, in tlie night Bathes them in her own fair aerial light — Nymphs as enchanting as the choric train With -which, like fire, she sped o'er hill and plain. And glittering rainbows flashed, like fountains high, Out of the stream, and spanned the luminous sky ; And from the flowery, fragrant arhours wreathed, With starlike blossoms, softest music breathed. And all the air was odorous with jiei-fume. And dalUed round as if on silver plume. Wafting its exquisite soul through every sense, Until it thrilled and throbbed with bliss intense. And Naiads rose beside — before — around. Their golden hair with pearls and corals bound ; And those white flowers, that underneath the wave, Their palaces with living carpets pave ; And as they waved these coronals, and sprent The beryl gems within theii' petals pent. Like rain transformed to jewels, so it seemed As if the air itself with emeralds teemed. So o'er the waters glid the boat of gold, Encircled by the storied train of old — Cupid and Psyche, modest as the morn, Whom the Three Graces with new lights adorn ; Cama, the star-crowned Indian God of Love ; Pracciti, from the realms of bliss above : All the enchanted Essences that be, In air or fire, on earth, or in the sea. K 2 201 202 ■ POEMS. And from that ocean into air we rose, "We saw the waves our golden barque enclose, A thousand Nymphs descended where it sank, And heavenly Cama waved his shiuing chank ■; But high in silver ether I was raised, A sunlit nimbus round me, o'er me blazed. That seemed to move, to breathe, to live, to twine Itself about me, like a Soul diviue. Wliat can describe my rapture ? what can paint That breathless ecstasy 1 — all words wei-e faint To syllable in song that blissful flight Beyond the eai-th to realms of purest light. The nimbus ceased to be my sunbright car — The Voice took form and shone a living Star, Both blended beauteously to one, and lo ! — 'Twas She to whom alone my thoughts now flow. As I wander about, thi'ough the rabble rout, That ever rolls doAvn through Chancery Lane, With faces and eyes looking pillage and lies, With their quirks of law and its deep chicane, FHts before me a Phantom of Light, As fair as the Star which the Maci saw. Moving enshrined in a rainbow briglit, Through that serpentine lane of the men of law. LADY FANSHAWE. 203 Rattle the cabs o'er its stones as hard As the lawyers that rush in their wigs and gowns ; You may read of each client evil-starred In their deep-pent eyebrows and parchment frowns. Hundreds this way, and hundi'eds that, Hurry along in a whiiipool tide — Ferret and wolf, and fox and rat. Into shapes of men transmogrified. But I see, or I heed not, that villainous crowd, With their fiery thirst for gain and gold. The Phantom of Light, in her rainbow-cloud, Flitting along I alone behold. And oh ! her smile, how divinely sweet ! And oh ! what poetry in her eyes ! Such spirits as she one hopes to meet, When reaching the portals of Paradise. Now my fanciful thought flies back and back, Through a couple of hundred years and more, And I see a Woman mantled in black, Enter the lane as the clock strikes four. The moon is gone, and the stars are gone. And the morn is dark, and raw, and bleak, But no fear draws back that Woman wan. Though tears roll down her beautiful cheek. 'C3" Bearing a lantern in her white hand, That casts weird glimpses along the wall ; The woman walks lightly along to the Strand, And so she wends onward to proud Whitehall. 204 POEMS. Under a window, then, she stays, And calls with a voice bewitchingly soft, And she trembles and looks a hundred ways, As she hears a casement open aloft. Sweet, yet hushed, is the voice that glides From that prison dim to her anxious ear ; So till dawn she hides and bides In that music, oh ! how dear ! So she wends her wearisome walk, Back once more to Chancery Lane, Dreaming over that stolen talk. In her heart of hearts again, again. Plashes the rain on her beautiful head. Flashes the lightning, bursts the cloud ; — Wet and shivering, but love-led. Still she hastens along as proud In her love, her hope, and her faith divine, As if she were gi-eat England's queen. Moving amid her waiTior line. With beaming eye and lion-Kke mien. This is tlie Phantom of stany Light, With shining lamp, and with loving eyes. That flits before me day and night. When through Chancery Lane my pathway Hes. Away from the mob and the covetous throng, My thoughts fly back to that moment of yore, LETTER TO . 205 When this gentle Woman passes along, On her errand of love, as the clock strikes four.* 'gdUx to . Thy letter reached me, and the flowers it bare, Whirled me in dream away, on wings of air, To the dear greenhouse, where those flowerets grew, Beneath thy fostering hand, whose silvery dew Methought was o'er them, as I culled them out. And ranged them on my papers all about, Shedding a transient gleam of light upon The grim remains of Coke and Littleton. And now thou askest me to send thee " news " — Request of thine my heart cannot refuse ; But there is little stirring worth thy while To hear throughout our hyj^ped and humdrum isle. Fashion thou heedest not: what sort of dress, Shawl, floimce, or lace is newest, to impress * When Sh- Richard Fanshawe was taken prisoner, during the civil war, and was confined in a little room in Whitehall, the fidelity of his beautiful wife was displa3'ed. " During the time of his imprisonment," she says, "I failed not constantly when the clock struck four in the morning, to go, with a dark lantern in my hand, all alone and on foot, from my lodgings in Chancery Lane, at my cousin Yoimg's, to \\1iitehiin. There I would go under his window, and call him softly. He, excepting the first time, never failed to put out his head at the first call. Thus, we talked together, and sometimes I was so wet ^\^th rain, that it went in at my neck, and out at my heels." 206 POEMS. The fools and fops witli love of each fair doll, Who in the park, or at the play, may loll. News of this nature would not please thee aught Were I to send it : it would go for nought. For balls or parties I so little care, I'd rather have a book than all their glare. Their stupid, meaningless, and hollow prate, Their tattle, scandal, smiles that mask but hate, Or envy of each other ; their vain beaux. Their belles deceitful — all with tongues that gloze, But speak not truth, for truth and they are foes. As to the theatre, 'tis now ten years Since last I sat behind its gilded tiers. And laughed at Desdemona's melting grief. Or mad Ophelia — for 'tis my belief There's no burlesque so funny, as to see The painted jade and staggering debauchee Mouthing fine sentiments, when all the while You know them to be reckless, drunk, and vile. No news of this kind, therefore, can I send, Nor, if I did, would you attention lend To what you look upon with the same eyes As I do — namely, that they're living lies. And so it is of all the other traps. Which Folly baits for London, while she flaps All sorts of hazy colours that mislead. And make her dupes believe her bliss indeed. Concerts, dull lectures, preachers, Ex'ter Hall, Vainly upon my ears they squeak or bawl : I go not near them, but in easy chair Reclined, with books and fancies, still forswear LETTER TO . 207 All their temptations, and have more content Than if wdth the wild sensual crowd I went In search of pleasure — goddess seldom found Except within one's own domestic ground, And there, and there alone, I seek her smile : She beams on me from Shakspere's Magic Isle, In sweet Miranda ; from the sunbright spheres Of Aiiosto, like a star she peers ; Summoned by Spenser's and by Shelley's wand. She rises bright, all orient gems beyond. And fills my soul with beauty ; crowned with rose And violet fair, from Tasso's page she glows. Or bears me back on rainbow-flashing wings, To olive groves where old Anacreon sings ; Or Horace, half in love, and half in wine, Crowns some young Bacchante with a wi'eath of vine. Thus thou perceivest I am void of news. That some five lagging minutes might amuse ; For 'twere no novelty were I to say. Our women still are burnt from* day to day, Sooner than toss their crinolines away. Our parliament has met and flashed no sense From its dark dismal clouds of eloquence ; Our pulpits ring with brayings long and hoarse, Exciting laughter rather than remorse. The North and South are fighting like wild cats ; The Emperor still nets salmon with mere sprats ; The Prussian King is aping Charles the First, (I fear his majesty will fare the worst.) 208 POEMS. There's no fresh scandal of the Queen of Spain, We're longing all to see our lovely Dane, Whose sweet, clear, earnest eyes might well convince Even Chartists, that 'tis good to be a Prince. The Pope 's not yet at Malta, but at home ; Victor Emmanuel sighs in vain for Rome. Such is my budget, lean enough, you'll say ; But you command, and I must needs obey. Yet how can you want news, whose thoughts soar high Beyond tliis earth to yonder seraph sky. Whose spirit mingles with the stars that roll On wheels of light across the glittering pole : Whose eyes are resting on the ocean broad, And raise themselves from it aloft to God ? What can the petty nonsense of the town, The tumblings of this wizard or that clown, Bring to thee in thy glorious solitude But their own dulness % do they not intnide Upon that hallowed loneliness which fills Tliine heart with songs that sea or sky instils, Making thee one with Nature, as if she And thou wert blent in heavenly hannony, Raining her calm, her silver light into Thine inmost essence with an ever new And blooming youth, till thou in every pai-t A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Dryad art. Immortal in thy soul — ambrosial in thine heart. Would that 'twere mine for ever thus to dwell — A happy child-like spirit in a speil, With the bright ocean for my daily friend. With the gi-and psalms that from its waves ascend, LETTER TO . 209 With its immortal life and strength and light, — Its never silent music day and night, — Its shifting colours, blue, green, silver, gold, As if a carpet for the gods unrolled, — Its far-off line soft blending with the sky, Seeming an image of eternity ; — This, this thou hast, and it has made thee great, Majestic as a monarch thi'oned in state, Hath amplified thy nature, hath enlarged Thy soul that at the first was grandeur-chai'ged. Till thou art nobler, wiser, and more strong In strength di\TLne than millions of the throng, — Till thou art more a Queen than any now Who wears the diadem upon her brow. Dost thou remember that all hallowed eve ? Will it not ever to thy memory cleave ? We wandered on the music-rippling beach. Our thoughts too deep, too mystical for speech, We wandered silently, but hand in hand. The rosy warmth of summer steeped the strand, The whisjDering ripples ran to kiss our feet ; The far-off fields were ripe with yellow wheat. No sound was in the air ; no murmur brake The sUence of that still and silver lake. For such the ocean seemed, and shining o'er With splendours from the horizon to tlie shore. Then we sat down upon the sands, and gazed With hearts delighted and with glance upraised Upon the sun, as hastening to the West, His snowy steeds, rose-trapped, he fleetly pressed. 210 POEMS. Lo ! his pavilion opens ; lie is gone ; Yet still the golden mountains burn, shine on ; — But now what lustre meets our dazzled eyes ? What scene presents itself in yonder skies 1 Oh ! can we e'er forget it ? brightly beams A castle forth, aloft o'er crystal streams, — A castle perfect all with gates and towers, With ramparts vast, and distant shadowy bowers, A donjon keep extending far and broad, Frowning in strength and majesty that awed. Troy's tower it seemed, wliich Neptune's royal hands Raised to resist the might of Grecian bands. And yonder stream is Simois; — thus we went In fancy back, and saw each bannered tent. Now moves a cloud of pui'ple from beliind ; Another comes, but this is golden-lined. They march like two contending desperate foes ; Before the donjon keep at length they close. We saw no more — the fight was done — the scene Melted away into the blue serene ; Tower and garden, river, tent, and fray. Like man's own projects, mingle — fade away, Leaving behind but airy spectral gleams. The phantom palaces that gild our dreams. These are the faerie scenes that round thee dwell, More beautiful than words of mine can tell ; And who can wonder that with these to charm Thy fancy, and thy soul with love to warm. Thou carest not for such poor trifling toys As London gives its dotards, dames, and boys. A MOST HUMBLE PETITION. 211 Expect me soon, Beloved One, at home ; Again beside th' inspiring sea we'll roam, And think of Chryses when he went apart To pray to him who bare the mighty dart, Or the self-exiled Childe who mused alone, In his heart echoing the ocean's moan. The Temple. % Post imnble f etiti0n FOR THE REMOVAL OF FOUR FL0MT:R STANDS, WHICH HIDE THE DIVINITIES AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE FROM THE DEVOTEES AT THE END OF IT. When I dine with Loixl Themis, his table is tilled With flowers, most tastefully wi-eathed by the skilled, In floral arrangement ; but owning theii' gi-ace, I venture to think that they're in the wrong place. For they wo'nt let us see the two beauties who sit At each side of Lord Themis, entranced by his wit. There's a fail- at his light like a goddess of old ; Not a glimpse of her features 'tis mine to behold : There's a nymph at his left ; but in vain I essay To see her bright eyes, for the flowers block the way ; And however I twist or I turn 'tis the same — These honible plateaux hide each lovely dame. And Lord Themis alone keeps the fair to himself, Shutting out ft-om this Eden each envying elf. Now to lovers of beauty like me, 'tis a bore. To be cut off" from heaven in sight of its shore ; 212 POEMS. And in longing to get but one look at these ladies, I wish every flower in England in Hades. Most respectfully therefoi-e I beg to petition My Lord, that those plateaux receive their dismission. And certain I am that there's no one will care For their loss, since each lady's a living parterre, With more fragrance and light and delight to the eye, Than all Covent Garden can ever supply. -oo>!^o LO May's sweet roses deck her face, Angels listen when she sings ; Roiuid her flits each winning grace ; Youth its charms about her flings. Gentle are her starry eyes, Rich and soft her dark brown hair ; Olden Greece had no such prize, Venus was not half so fair. Every soft attractive spell Finds within her heart a goal ; Loveliness and goodness dwell Orb-like in her heavenly soul. Oh, divine enchantress bright ! Dare I love thy looks of light ? 213 lusatptioit. Here lies lie, o'ei' whose sacred loved remains We bow with reverence, softened by regret. O noble spirit ! — Prince, but more tlian Prince In every royal attribute of man, Ai't thou indeed departed 1 — shall we never Again l^ehold that brightly-beaming eye ? That smile that shed its sweetness round like light 1 That genial, dignified presence, in which all Who moved confessed thy pure and hallowing nature 1 Yes, thou art gone — and we who stand before This sculptured marble, can but weep our loss. And pour an unavailing tear above Tliine ashes, in their cold and silent urn, Wailing in thee the Husband, Father, Chief, Whose generous soul and intellect profound, Rayed joy and beauty on thy daily course, Making thee pattern for all men to mould Their manners by. Farewell, illustrious Prince ! Long shall thy memory shine above our land, In calm and star-like splendour : long shall we, The sires, the sons, the daughters of this Isle, Bless thee and thank thee for thy matcliless life Of honour, duty, loyalty, and truth. And fixed devotion to the public weal. Still may thy spirit from its happy sphere SmUe do^vn upon our Queen and her loved home. Giving her strength and hope in darkest hours. And fortitude to endure a loss that fell Not upon her alone, but all the realm. 214 POEMS. I liave a wreath — a withered wreath, More dearly prized than gems or gold ; Methinks the flowers still sweetly breathe Of her who gave me them of old. This faded i-ose was on her breast, This in her soft white hand she bore ; And this was with her bright hairs tressed — Ten thousand times I've kissed them o'er. They bring to mind fair summer days, And rosy eves, and starry nights ; Sweet music, old delicious lays, Fond words, fond dreams, serene delights ; Enchanting smiles, and eyes that gleamed Like mirrored stars upon the sea, — How blest my fate, had they but beamed With any ray of love on me ! O wreath 1 beloved for her fair sake, Dear record of my happiest hours. How many a golden thought you wake, How many a hope entwined in flow'rs ! And yet how oft my spirit sighs To think its fate like yours should be — Reft of the heaven of her dear eyes, Whose light gave life to you and me. 215 Take back tliis i\y-leaf Wliich once thy gentle bosom bore — My S0U.1 is filled witb gi'ief ; Its rosy dream of bliss is o'er. Yet as this leaf shall be, Though sere and broken, green for aye, Thine image shall to me Be always clothed i' the light of May. If e'er thou tread'st again Those cloistered halls and pictured cells. As once beside me, when Thy smUes threw o'er my soul her spells ; Tliink of my spiiit's bliss While thy sweet nymj^h-like form beside ;- Ah ! did I dream of this, That fate such heai-ts should soon divide 1 Think while these simple lines. Traced by affection's hand, thou'lt see, Of one who still enshrines In his heart's temple, only thee. Think — though no more to meet — How thou didst gi'ow unto his heart ; In all his visions sweet, The loveliest, dearest, purest pai-t. 216 POEMS. Farewell — alas ! farewell — That word of sorrow must be breatlied ! — Every bright pleasure dwell Round thee, and with thy life be wreathed ! Give me a passing thought At times — I ask no more. But thou So with my soul art wrought, I'll love thee always, even as now ! %a f lib]) . You tell me that you love me. Yaiu protest ! — You love me not : your heart hath no such guest — Love finds no dwelling in that marble breast. o You swear to me, that like some image shrined In golden fane, I fill your soul, your mind : Such oaths pass by me like the idle wind. If you did love me, why, when on the strand, I seized that soft, that beautiful white hand. Did you repel me with a curt command 1 Why, when I longed to press you to my heart, Did you grow pale ? why backward shuddering start ? Why did the big tears to yoiU' eyelids start ? TO LADY . 217 I know you, read you not : I scan your soul As though some dark and hieroglyphic scroll It were : in vain I peer into that roll. Sometimes I look into your eyes and dream You are what you aver ; — the loving gleam Goes in a moment : cold and dead you seem. You write to me — ^the tears roll o'er the page : Now love intense, now scorn, now causeless rage : How can I such wild, varying passions guage ? You kneel before me ; in your fondest clasp You press me, bless me, kiss me ; straight your grasp Relaxes, and you fly me like an asp. Farewell ! — I will not be thy fool or slave — A straw, a feather on the fickle wave Of thy caprice : my love is in its grave. %Q laiK Smile not upon me from those eyes. Which are as sphered stars in heaven ; They are not mine — the fond, fond ties That bound us once are burst and riven: L 218 POEMS. The hand beloved, the golden prize I sought, is to a stranger given, And my sad lieart is lone. Oh ! how I loved thee ! — spirit, soul, Heart, brain, were thine, and only thine. I gave thee all ; the stars that roll Aloft beheld not love like mine. Thou wert my God — ^the glorious goal For which I pined, alas ! still pine. With heart so sad and lone. Moments there ai*e, and this is one, "When madness fills and fires my brain : I look aloft ; I curse the sun ; I rave in wild despairing pain. Farewell ! — my race of life is inin ; Thou shalt not cross my path again. To blight this heart so lone. Farewell ! sweet eyes, not sweet to me ; Sweet looks, that now another's are. Yonder high rock frowns o'er a sea. On which there gleams afar, afar, A flashing form of light like thee. Thou fair, false-shining, treacherous star, Tliat calls this heart so lone. 219 A Palace on the purple sea, In flashing light it gleams, Its battlements are brightest gold, And from its tuiTets streams A banner waving beauteously. As aught beheld in dreams. I sailed into that purple sea, With hopeful heart and gay — I sailed and sought that Palace fair. That shone so far away. I rowed, and rowed, and yet I rowed. Until the death of day. The moon arose in silver light. That trembled o'er the wave, The Palace shone with fire as clear As at the dawn it e:ave. I followed it — still followed it. But found a yawning grave. The moon went down, and with the moon, The Palace faded too ; The black clouds came, the thunder-flame Fell on my light canoe ; There was no weejiing heart to hear The lost one's ululu. 220 POEMS. ^n Inspiration. star of light ! O star so bright ! Serenely shining through the night ; Would that 'twere mine from earth to soar, And reach thy far, yet splendid shore, To muse beside thy waters fair ; To breathe thy pure and purple air ; To hear tliine harmonies enchanted ; — But wish like this can ne'er be gi'anted. Green are thy bowers, soft thy shades, The sunlight ever gilds thy glades ; Virgins and youths in glorious choirs. Sing to the spells of shawmes and lyres ; Flowers of immortal radiance bloom ; There is no death — there is no tomb. Within thy cii'cle j sphere enchanted. Oh ! that my wild, wild wish were gi-anted ! 1 prayed, and lo ! an angel came : He bare me up on wings of flame ; Through seas of odours, realms of light. We made our rapid, silent flight. I heard the music, breathed the air, And mingled with the Splendours there ; Yet am on eai^th. O star enchanted ! W^hy was my wild, wild longing granted 1 221 1 Emt Over the ocean The red stars glimmer ; O'er the bleak rocks, Is the moon's cold shimmer. There she sits alone, alone : In her ear the ocean's moan ; In her heart as dead as stone, The music of a long lost tone. I see her white robe shine and shine, Like a spirit's, thin and fine ; Down her neck her long dark tresses, Float in tangled wildernesses ; And her tears are falling fast, As she sees the roseate past Rise and change from light to ashes, In one sudden thunder-blast ; Yea, her soul's itself in ashes. Now she wanders on the shore. Heeding not the water's roar ; One loved face and shadowy form. Shoots across that fearful storm Of despair, remorse, and woe. Which impels her to and fro, Since that hapless day of yore. When the Tempter stood before. And she fell — to rise no more. 222 POEMS. thou liapless Child of Sorrow ! Pause, I pray thee, in thy madness, Save thy soul fi'om endless sadness ; Think where thou shalt stand to-morrow ; Gather hope from moon and star, Shining briglitly, though afar. Vainly forth my words were tost — She was in that ocean-river, Screaming, straggling, sinking, lost ; In the demon whirlpool hidden — Rushing to her God, unbidden. Father ! Father ! oh, forgive her ! SUGGESTED BY THUCYDIDES, Lib. I. O matchless portrait of the Man of Old, Oljonpian Pericles, in whose high soul, Trained to philosophy's divine control. Virtue's sublimest image we behold. Bright as the star of mom in clouds of gold. Statesman and Orator, whose wondrous mind Shajied for heix)ic ends by heaven's own hand, To teach, to rouse, to save his native land — The bright, the true, the beautiful combined. Hear him but speak : the thunder of the sphei^es Hath lesser force — the lightnings have less fire. Lo ! at a word, ten thousand glittering spears SONNETS. 223 Start forth for Athens — maiden, son, and sire, Fhished with the thoughts sublime, his burning word.- inspire. 2. SUGGESTED BY THUCYDIDBS, Lib. IT. A year hath sunk into the sea of Time, The deadly havoc of the fight is o'er, The Giant of the Battle, drunk with gore. Hath reeled to sleep, to dream new deeds of crime. Lo ! where the warriors stand around the bier Of the loved slain, who for their Athens died ; Drop to their memory the solemn tear. Nor yet despair, their death evokes but pride. They perished gloriously — are heirs to fame — Immortal honour crowns each deathless name. Behold the great tribunal of their grave ; As if with Glory's trumpet see him rise ; With words that weep he consecrates the brave. Blest is his fate who thus for Greece and Freedom dies. 3. While I thus mused, the Spirit of Ancient days Methought arose ; a veil of stars was thrown O'er her bright form, and round her brows a zone Of dazzling splendours, like Thaumantian rays. Onward, in thought, she led me, till we stood In the great Palace of our own loved Isle, Wliere I saw One from whose oracular tongue Truth, knowledge, wisdom, in one radiant flood Of language poured, till the renowned old pile 224 POEMS. With bui-sts of loud applause and wonder rung ; — There stood the Statesman-Orator, whose sage, Shrewd counsel, winged with wit, shall ever sliine As great as any in the historian's page, Or in the Senate's bright and ever-living line. i later. Oh ! that my heart were of clear crystal made, There shouldst thou see as in a shrine displayed An Image of thyself, to which I turn, Wlien with high hopes I feel my spirit bum ; When my heart swells, and I would fain aspire To rival those dead masters of the lyre, Wliom Greece, Rome, England, and fair Italy, Have set before the world its lights to be. A Poet filled with heaven's divinest fire — An Orator whose lightest words inspire — A Scholar trained in all that books can teach — A Statesman wise and just — ^the first in each. Behold the Image in my bosom shrined, That fires my thoughts, and renders pure my mind. Like an Archangel exiled for dark crimes, His spirit walked the earth in scorn and gloom, And where it smote, it smote like the Simoom — Deadly, though beautiful. Yet there were times ON swift's portbait. 225 When his great soul shone out upon the world In all the primal glory of her Ught, Ere from, her starry throne to darkness hurled. His songs were sweet remembrances of heaven, Dashed with the scoffing spirit of Sin. and Night, In which he sate, and lived, and moved ; yet even In his most mocking moments you could trace The beauty of the seraph, and the grace Which once beamed round him. Ruin could not blight, Nor Sin the original marks of angel-bii*th efface. ©It ^bift's fovtmit IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY AT OXFORD. See the bright earnest look — the eye of fire Fixed with imperial gaze; the dome-like brow, Shiine of that spirit lulled for ever now ; The full firm mouth and chin. A sacred choir Of memories hangs around this image old Of him, who first his country's sorrows told. In words that yet their own fierce strength inspire Even in the coldest hearts. I gaze, and gaze, Nor can I willingly my view withdraw From this most speaking likeness of the dead,* That bears me back in phantsie to past days, I When England, proud indeed, delighted saw The greenest laurels twined around her head By Churchill, Somers, Swift, and shone in Glory's blaze. * It is put away in a dark corner, where half its excellencies are hidden. This fault should be amended. 226 POEMS. (On cpmoKctt's lovtviiit PAINTED BY HOGARTH, IN THE AUTHOR's GALLERY. He sits and points to the gi'een lieatheiy hills That crown his native land with beauties wild ; And from a rock, firm as his own brave soiil. Looks like an emblem of that sturdy strength Of will and Hon courage, which have made Scotland a blazing Hght to all the earth. What vigorous independence burns like flame From every feature ; but in vain I search For that arch humour which in Random's page And waggish Peregiine Pickle flashes full Its ray gi-otesqixe and fanciful, unless It dwells indeed in that rich sensuous mouth, And in the gleam lurking in his large eye. And in the smile that dimples o'er his cheek. f ovi> Cljicf Iwsi'm icnmait. Firm as the Voice of God and nobly true To all in ^, his chivalrous spirit lived On earth, to testify to every man Who doubted of the Just, that there was One Before them in their daily walk through life, Who, though a thunder-bolt should strike his path, Would blench not from the fine straightforward way, But walk erect with ej^es aloft to heaven, Guided by light celestial — light alone, Without one thought of self, or earth, or aught But the fan- majesty of Right and Tnith. SIR HUGH HILL. 227 3ix lojjn iatte50n. Most just of men — most true, on wliose bright soul God's liand in lieaven inscribed, as on a scroll : Within this sacred shrine let honour reign, And hold it ever for her fair demesne ; Lighted with sunbeams, like some starry sphere, Earth shall behold it, but its home is here. 3xx iug^ iill. Around this Man, as round the Throne in Heaven Described in the Apocalypse, Justice shone In rainbow brightness, purity, and calm. His mind serene, his temper mild but firm, His patience perfect, and his judgment deep, He weighed each cause with gi*avity, nor ever Was swayed by temper from the path of right. Honest in all things, learned, but with the modesty That like a stole of beauty wrajDS the wise ; To no man harsh or rude, — at no time shewing That cur-dog petulance which in others barks With most discordant jarring on the sense, Revealing their unfitness for that seat Where dignity alone should ever dwell. 228 POEMS, 3ix C. CwsslDCll. With brain as clear as crystal, and -with manner As cold and chilling, Ci-esswell seemed to stand In isolation from his fellow men, As if he scorned the herd, disdaining kinship With those who moved around him. Was his temper So from the first ? Nay ; but his life was soui'ed By one keen disappointment of the soul, Wliich turned his days to bitterness. The story Is commonplace, but not less true, — of love. And pride that overmastered that strong love. And a stolen flight, and then a desolate hearth, And an o'erwhelming sorrow and distrust : And so his life thenceforwai'd was a desert. Yet, let his name be honoured, — all forgotten That sharp sarcastic tone and cui'l of lip And scornful eye, that seldom smote but when Pei-t folly called them forth ; for Tnith and Justice, Arrayed in Learning's gi-and impeiial robe. Were ever by his side upon the bench, Guiding his judgment when he spake the Law. And there was something royal in his nature. And lofty loathiag of that petty spite. Which I have seen in others, start and sting, Reducing them from men to worms and wasps. Moments there were in which his smile was music, And in his voice a melody, that to me Revealed the inner spirit of the man, Before that chilling blight fell on his heart, ADVICE TO A JUDGE. 229 And changed the garden to a cheerless waste. Therefore I giieved with grief deep and sincere, That he should pass away ere yet his days Were all completed, and while yet the niind Was in its vigour. O'er his tomb I cast This flower, and with its fleeting fragrance crown The urn that bears his ashes. Peace be with him. Kensal Green, August 6, 1863. -OOjjgcJo*- %Wxct to It luige. When on the regal seat of justice throned, Bear this in mind : thou hast not been advanced Beyond thy fellows to give loose to temper. Or prove thyself capricious, weak, or spiteful ; But to administer the law with truth, And to be honest, just, and fair to all. Sully not thy gi-ave place with jests and jokes, Or low buffoonery, ever on the watch To win the thoughtless laughter of the crowd ; But be at all times, decent, grave, resei-ved, Dwelling alone upon the matter in hand. Take not a cunning subtle view of a cause. Such as a sopliist would; but let thy mind Contemplate it in all its bearings, broadly, Ever regarding equity as the star By ,which thou shouldst be guided through the maze. For equity is true law; and they do wi'ong 230 POEMS. Who strive to separate those heavenly twins, — And both are as the Voice divine of God. Lean not to rank and wealth, for these themselves Are naturally strong ; but rather bend To him who is weighed down by poverty, Yet not so as to win that base applause Which rises from the rabble when they see A judge who tramples right to catch a cheer. Give each man hearing with an ear attent. Whether he be most excellent or most mean ; And talk not ever about public time, That hackneyed phrase which hasty magistrates use, When they prejudge a cause, are tired, or wish To go to lunch, or dinner, or are moved To vent some petty spleen upon the pleader. Who, after all, seeks but to do his duty. Think no time lost that gives thy mind new facts ; For even the humblest man may haply place His argument before thee, in a form That may clear up the doubt within thy mind ; But if he sees scorn in thine eye or lip. How can he hope his mocker to persuade ? Perhaps thou dost not like him. Good, my lord ! Thou wert not made a judge to let thy likings Bias thy judgment, but to minister right To all who come before thee in thy court. A judge should be like God — far, far removed From all the petty failings of a man. And he should have a reverence most august For his high office, fearing to pollute That kingly dignity by aught debased. S. T. COLERIDGE. 231 And he should watch himself with wary eye, Lest he should do some grievous giant wrong, Because he loved this man, or hated that. Guard thyself also from unseemly haste ; There is no virtue more becomes a judge Than patience — the chief jewel in his crown. What rank injustice have I known committed, Because the judge would huriy on a cause, And snub some wretched counsel into silence. Be kind ; be courteous as a king should be To all who come before thee. I have seen A court where aU were scorned and snapped at daily, And self respect was wounded every moment. And every man was moved with hate or pity. To see the Seat of Justice so defiled. And I have seen a court whei'e every man Felt himself in the presence of a gentleman, Whose genial courtesy made all things genial. Whose exquisite bearing captived all men's love, Whose sunbright justice lightened every cause, And sent even him who lost away content. A mystic Dreamer, blinded by the light That flashed around from his own sunlike soul, Like a seeled dove, his great thoughts bent their flight To heavenly spheres — on, on from pole to pole, 232 POEMS. Until he fell exhausted, faint, confused, By the deep schemes whereon his spirit mused ; Or like some Ancient Mariner, alone, Sailing at night o'er ocean wilds unknown ; His eyes full fixed on heaven and its bright stars, As if he longed to peer through those thick bars Of clouds that hide God's glories from our eyes ; — Careless to what dark gulf his galley flies ; Dazzled by fiery splendours, heavenly gleams. He sails and sinks — nor yet wakes from Olympian dreams. %o Itaknna The spells divine of beauty that enfold thee, Like rosy Hght in summer time ; the grace. Like music, in thine eyes ; the eloquent face. That win to worship those who still behold thee ; No — nor the hyacinth tresses, nor the voice. Sweet as the rippling of the star-lit rills. That break the silence of nymph-haunted hUls ; Nor thy glad smiles, or talk, could bid rejoice That mystic, myriad-stringed lute, my heart ; But when I knew thee, and could see enshrined, Within that shape of loveliness, a mind Shedding around thee a perpetual youth. Of purity, sweet innocence, and truth, Tlien was my soul near heaven, of which thou art. Even while on earth with us, a bright immortal part. PAUL DE LA ROCHE. 233 O'er the -white ui'n that held the sacred heart Of great Isocrates of old, was placed The marble image of a Siren, graced With all the loveliness of Grecian art. Emblem of eloquence, whose music sweet Won the whole world by its enchanting spells, — Oh ! with what type shall we our Hemans greet ? What image shall portray the sjDiiit that dwells Within her soul ? An angel from the skies, Beaming celestial light from lips and eyes ? The olden Siren sang but to deceive, — To lure mankind to death her voice was sfiven : But thine, Felicia, thy bright words enweave Immortal truths that guide to God and Heaven. Heir to the glories of the glorious Past, Raphael, Guido, Titian, live and shine Methinks once more on earth — the starry trine In whose bright moulds thy poet-soul was cast. See fire-eyed fancy guide thy glowing hand, And Beauty soften, and young gi-ace refine, Wliile near thee Truth and Skill and Genius stand. 234 POEMS. Brightning thy golden path to rank and fame. Bright be the garlands that enwreath thy name, That with thine own Napoleon's shall go down To fature ages, and thy memory crown With staiTy diadem, like that which gleams O'er the sweet martyred Christian maid who beams And floats suspended as in heavenly dreams. I saw a star-beam imaged on the sea : A cloud came o'er it, and its light was gone. I saw the meteor-fires of heaven gleam forth In beauty, but their glory was a flash : They shone divinely, and then vanished straight. I saw a rainbow spanning the blue hills; A moment like the Throne of God it glittered : Another moment darkness took its place, And tempest wrapped the land in night. Even so Was thy brief splendour, Shelley. On our earth Thou didst descend like Hermes, the bright winged And heavenly Messenger from gods to men j But scarcely hadst thou lighted on our orb — Scarce had the beauty of thy coming shone, Ere thou wert borne away in clouds and lightnings To the immortal homes of the Divine ; Yet shall the message which thou didst bring down From liigh Olympus, be with man for ever, NIGHT. 235 A melody of the spheres, a song sublime, Taught thee on high by the gi'eat Poet — God. Night, with her flaming stars, is o'er the world ; The distant waters gleam in shimmering light ; The downs, like far-oflf moimtains, blend their brows With the deep ocean-blue of sky and air ; There is no sound — there is no breath abroad ; But all is peaceful as sweet childhood's sleep, When watched by angels guarding its repose. Foith from my Eastern books, in whose deep page Is shrined a beauty, wisdom, and perception Of God — the Future and immortal Truth, — Such as no others offer to the mind, I- (For Plato seems a cliild employed in toys, Playing with sea-shells by the shores of Time, When with the Orient sages read or weighed), I steal into the covert dark of night. And breathe its cool refreshing air, and pace. With thoughtful footstep, by the lone sea-beach That stretches out before me. All my heart Opens to soothing influences ; my soul Throbs with magnetic rapture ; and my spirit, Which is the living mind within that soul — Its ruler, essence, god — feels as if plumed With star-bright pinions, it could rise fi'om earth. And blend itself with Yenus, or Orion, Or golden-belted Jupiter. Stars ! 236 POEMS. Why are ye sphered so far and far away ? Why can we not commingle with your beams, And see your vales, and mountains, and deep lakes, And ancient forests, and great waterfalls. And all the shining peoples that ye hold ? Why can we not from them learn wisest lore. And the philosophy of other tongues, And other beings, raised beyond ourselves In vast Creation's scale of organized life ? For who, but some dull dotard, on whose mind The broad and liberal beam of light ne'er shone, Can hold the monstrous doctrine that these worlds, Transcendent in theii' organism and vast, Are empty bubbles, uninhabited orbs. Wherein no soul makes music to its Cod, Or any eye beholds the boundless beauty. Magnificence, and law, that rule his spheres ? Does not the Universe, that daily opes Its pages to the eye, and in each atom Holds life and being, give reply to those Who preach from pulpits that there is no world But one alone — this present — which hath men Or rational creatures — that all else is void ? Vain 'twere to argue with such narrow thinkers, Or hope the bigotted brain could comprehend The imiversal glories of the One, Whom they would drag to their own wretched level By likening Him in all things to themselves.* . i 1, * I have alluded here to that strange madness which set so many scientific sages, a few years ago, by the ears, some of the most noted among them pouring forth volumes to prove, that of KIGHT. 237 A iiight like this it was, when first I sailed Adown the bosom of the mystic Nile ; The clear, purpureal darkness wrapped me round In au- transparent ; softly sighed the breeze ; The silver moon, the sparkling trembling stars, In maiden beauty, through the limpid sky, Glittered like royal virgins, when behind Their golden lattices they flash sweet liglit Upon the outward world ; within the stream Tlie glittering heaven was mirrored, forming there A second sky of moon and beaming stars. Slow, like a swan, and with a pace as proud, Floated our dahabie, and like a dream. Or like a misty picture seen in dream, The land of solemn Memnon gleamed afar — The holy land of Pyramid and Sphynx, While sang our sailors their monotonous chant To Arab music, softly, low, and plaintive : " dove, why weepest thou ? Thou hringest hack Thoughts of mine own beloved one. Dost thou think We shall return to home, or shall we die In foreign land ? The bough inclined, and bare A golden cup ; but as I reached the hand To take it, I was dazzled by the light : A virgin bright as roses stood before me : ' brother, thou hast waked me from my rest By thy fond loving eyes — and sleep is gone' I said to her — ' Why weejiest thou beloved ? the countless millions of splendid worlds iu the universe, this tiny little planet of ours was the only one that was inhabited. 238 POEMS. WJiy dost thou weep, Rose ? — why dost thou iveep ?" * And so we floated onward in a spell, As if tlie Water-fays of yore were near. Land of mysterious wonders — Ancient Nile ! With silent, deep, imperial, solemn flow, As though the River knew itself a Dream Of the Past Sacred Ages, when the Voice Of God was heard out of the parent heaven, And mighty secrets then were first revealed On the smaragdine table of pure Thoth, Of Sphynx, the Phoenix, and the Labyrinth, Wliose gleams even yet shine on our wondering eyes, Dimly, divinely pictured by the Dead In hues that live for ever — could I send Forth, through this sparkling sea of night and stars, My spirit back into the shadowy Past, To read the Mysteries — the deep, dark- veiled lore That shrouds the byegone, even as the great brow Of the Saitic Isis was enwi-apped ; Then would I, like some Archimage of eld. Summon before me, from his dreamless sleep, The sovereign Architect of cunning hand Who first designed the Pyramid, and raised Its magic structure o'er the sandy wastes. And I would ask him unto what gi-eat end He framed their forms stuj)endous ? Was he one Of the primeval race of men who, saved * This is an actual Egyptian river-song — wild and mystical enough. NIGHT. 239 From great Atlantis,* di'eaded other "wrecks And miglity continents submerged by seas — Temple and tower, palace, city, hamlet, Whelmed in a moment in the yawning hell Of waters opening from the fell abyss 1 Or did he raise those vast and awrful piles To be as watch-towers for the wandering stars, Where the wise hierophants of olden time Made mighty calculations, and observed The rise and fall of each particular orb ; And from their phases drew strange prophecy Of that which was to come in future days, Reading the new-bom age by ages past. Which form the analogues of things to be 1 Was he a pontiff who desired to raise A fane to Isis which should never fall — A fire-shaped emblem of the Eternal Fire — An altar indestructible as Time, And so a fitting symbol of its God 1 Or a proud king, who for liis mummied corpse Designed this tomb imperial ? Come, thou Shape That beckonest to me with thy shadowy hand Of dun Egyptian gloom, solve me this riddle — Flash it in lightning utterance to my heart — Come in thy clouds. The Phantasm answers not : * The vast continent which connected Europe with America, and whose submersion, in a far distant age, gave birth to the various mythosses of the Ogygian Deluge, &c. The Arabs call the Atlantic, The Sea of Darkness, though without knowing that it received that name from the devastation which its out- burst caiised. In the bottom of this great Ocean are submerged the reliques of some of the greatest cities of primeval men. 240 POEMS. Silent it looms, even as the Pillar of Sand That walks the deserts like a thing of life ; And yet methinks I see his spectral form Peering from yon dusk cavern in the skies, Behind whose frowning darkness sinks the Moon, ****** And now the Queen of Night comes forth again, In robe of silver, o'er the piu-ple fields Of li\dug air, and on the rippling wave She casts her calm and virgin smile of love ; And the dim Phantom of Egyptian days Is gone, with the dark cloud that veiled his fox-m. Gone to his Pyramid, to dream beside The rifled chamber where they laid him dead, Nor feared that any sacrilegious hand Would biu'st his cerements. But the stars revealed not The Babylonian Caliph, dark Al-Maimon, When, with mailed soldier, sheikh, and shaven piiest, He bui'st the Pyi-amid, and proudly scaled The upper chamber : there a coffin lay Of finest basalt, which enclosed a Man,* Whose golden corselet, all with jewels set, Difiused a light like day ; across his breast A sword of keenest temper, darting flame. So radiant was its brightness ; at his head A carbuncle, that glittered like the eye Of some fierce Kon in his darkling lair, Or fire far ofi* at night on sea-beat rock ; And on his brow a circlet of red gold, * This anecdote is related by Ibn Abd Alkohin, an Arabian author in his Discourse of the Wonders of Eijijpt. KIGHT. 241 On wliicli were gi'aven letters that no man Of all the doctors in the Caliph's ti-ain Could aught decypher. Who, and what was he Thus, after ages, suddenly disclosed. After his sleep of many thousand years ? The fabricator, or the royal priest. For whom this Pyi-amid was raised ? I know not, But thou indeed, Phantom of the Past, Couldst all reveal, if thou wouldst stoop to earth. And from thy glimmering gloom, and cave of cloud, Wouldst straight lay bare the bosom of thy lore. * * » * * Beautiful through yon violet veil of clouds, The moon, in queenlike splendour, lifts her head. Silvering the scene -wdth poesie and love. And breathing holy peace into the heart. If sjiirits ever visit earth, methinks They would select a moonlit hour like this, When all is radiant, still, serene, and sacred. And so most like their owm fair spirit-spheres. But do they \'isit it 1 The heart receives Almost without denial, what the brain Refuses to accept ; and yet the records Of airy visitants from the Land of Shades Are all so many, and have had such witnesses, That he, indeed, must be locked up in doubts Who would deny them. I would rather err With those who hold it for a truth, than take My place beside the scoffers or the sceptics ; For I, too, have had dreams, and thoughts, and visions. That are not of the common stock of tliinsjs, M •2i2 POEMS. • But savour of anotlier land and lore Than that in which I mingle : whispers soft Have glided through mine ear in forest haunts, And aiiy strains and songs have steeped my soul In music that belonged not to this earth ; And I have heard the Sea itself put forth Sounds that were not of mortal bii-th or tone, But had a melody and solenm speech Peculiar to themselves ; and on mine eyes Have glinted in the vesper hour of stars. Ethereal forms, that flashed in beauty's light, But spake not, and yet lived, and moved, and breathed ; And I hsLYB /elt their presence round and through me, With a strange awe, and chilling of the blood, And palpable rippling of the startled heart, That knew not why its pu.lses beat and beat, "With that mysterious motion. Can I bury In deep forgetfulness these mystic memories, Oi^ say they have no meaning t Henry tells A strange, romantic ^nsion which befel A friend of his in Canada.* She sat One evening in her garden, richly filled With apple, i:)each, and cheny-trees ; the sun Had set, and purple twilight gleamed ax'ound, And shed its smile subdued on an oak paling Which fenced the garden; it was old and bi'oken. Beautified here and there with shining ivy, And sloping on until it circled round * See Strange Things among us, a siugulaiiy interesting vohune, by H. Spicer, Esq. NIGHT. 243 A large and fair-branched clierry-tree, the sire And flower of all the rest ; and here at noon She loved to sit, and shelter from the sun, And bury her heart in some old favourite book Of fiction. Thus it happed she sate, when quick As though a lance of light shot through her soul, A sudden impulse made her raise her eyes From the book she held, and sudden, then, she saw A gentle girl of seventeen summers, come With light, but hurried tread, along the paling : Her robe was loose and rich ; her golden hair Lay, like a fall of sunbeams through a rift. Upon her snowy neck and shoulders smooth ; And in her hand she held her waving dress. Slightly upraised, which gave a passing glimpse Of little feet, in red morocco slippers, Such as were worn some centur-y ago. And so with rapid foot she reached the tree, And hastily untwining a blue scarf Which hung across her shoulders, on a bough She tied one end, and slipping round her neck A loop at the other, leaped into the air, And swang suspended from the fatal branch. The dazed spectator shrieked and fainted ; fast As feet could bear them, rushed the household forth, And so with water from the well, and all The kindly lovingness of kindred hearts. They wooed her back to consciousness : she called Aloud for help, and bade them run with speed, And from tlie cherry-tree unbind the girl Who had thus rashly sought to leap from life 244 POEMS. Into tlie dark oblivion of the dead. All heard her words, but deemed her senses gone, For no fair girl was on the bough, to which. With eye and finger still she turned, and turned. As one distraught with grief and sore affright. And so they bare her gently in their arms, And laid her on her couch to welcome sleep ; Yet oft and oft she asked, with pitying speech, After the poor fair suicide, but in vain j They knew not of her, nor of what she spake, But hoped that rest would bring her senses back, Or would awaken her from this nervous dream. Thus passed a week, and all was well again ; But still she vouched the truth of what she saw ; — So they enquired among the country folk, If any such fair phantom had been seen ? But none had heard or witnessed, — till at last An aged negress, ninety years or so. Remembered what had happened in her youth : A tale — a sorrowful tale of love and death, And a young girl betrothed to a French lord. Who swore he loved her dearly ; so she trusted. And he set sail for France, to win consent From haughty su'e, and still more haughty dame, To bless their nuptials ; so she looked, and looked, And longed for his return, but yet he came not. Nor did he send ; but tidings came at length That he had wedded in fair France another, Ana maae a mockery of his past vows. She spake no word — she shed no tear, but went From the old lichen covered hall alone NIGHT. 245 Into the garden ; on her sacred grief Her gray-haired father bade them not intrude ; But when they sought her next, they found her dead — Suspended by her silk blue scarf upon The cherry-tree ; her small feet almost touched The sward — and well the negress treasured up The little incident of the scarlet slippers, In which those pretty dehcate feet were cased. And underneath this tree they buried her. Without the rites which holy Mother Church Religiously bestows on all the wicked, Save those who rush unbidden before God ; Yet let us hope her spii-it is in heaven. Though why her Phantom thus was seen that eve, Hiu'iying, with wild footstep, to that spot, Can no man guess ; yet seen, indeed, it was. If there be truth in woman. Strange 1 that now This tale should flash upon me with quick life. Out of the chaos past of many years, In fair, but spectral vividness and beauty. But who can solve the mysteries of our being, Or do aught else but echo the old saw, That "we are wondrously and fearfully made ?" Throne of our Lord and Father ! — starry -gemmed, Stupendous temple, shrined with gi-andeur round. Boundless and fai'-extending ! for what sin Is mortal man chained down to lowly earth, When in his swelling spirit he would rise And traverse all thy worlds, and view the wonders 246 POEMS. Which God profusely scatters ? Why does he Wliose aspirations are so like a god's, Walk amid mire, when in his soul divine He feels liimself a part of the Infinite, With wishes, feelings, thoughts, exulting di'eams, As boundless as Infijiity itself? How oft this question rushes on my soul — How weightily it presses. All I see Of God reveals benevolence to all ; Yet man is not a happy creature : man Alone, among all others, restless ever, Longs for a state which he cannot attain, So long as he is man : in vain he seeks In courts, or camps, or stately halls, or cells Lined with the learning of a thousand minds, To satisfy the want within him ; never Can the great chasm be filled : it is as vast, Nay, it is vaster than this sapphire arch Of splendoure ; and though all the stains themselves Were set within it, in their infinite zones, To guide them as it pleased, it still v/oiild sigh For other stars to fill its void immense. Night, thou art holier, gi*ander far than Day. Then the sun shines, indeed, and all is beauty, O'er plain and mountain, garden, and deep sea ; But this is all ; 'tis Night alone reveals To man how boundless ai-e the works of God, — How infinite are the worlds He forms and rules, — With what immutable law He guides, presei-ves, And clothes them in immortal fire and light. A HYMN. 247 And could we soai' beyond those shining zones, What heights we should attain ! what mighty homes ! — Perchance the very Thrones of God himself, Where He sits circled hj the paradise gods. There the divine archangels ever sing Amid the choir of stars, to heavenly harps, Whose voice is harmony all pure and perfect. There where the light outshines the fairest splendour Of moon and star and sun, though all were blent Into one gold and silver shedding whole. Mid flowers celestial, bowers and happy vales. And pastures blooming ever with rose trees. And waters hymning sweetly as his voice. The Heavenly Shepherd to his listening flock Chants melodies sublime, and pours around On each and all the loveliness and light Of everlasting spring with chaplets crowned, And leads them to the Temple where the Spirit Of Beautifiilness abideth to all time. O thou great Being, high enthroned On thunder, star, and cloud, To whom, through every ill my soul In childlike reverence bowed, I've seen thee in the lightning's flash, And in the tempest's wrath. 248 POEMS. And o'er the foaminc: ocean's sursfe Have traced thy fiery path ; I've heard thy voice in wliii-lwinds swift, And in the cataract's boom, And from the starlit domes of night Have watched Thee grandly loom : Yet winged with wonder as thou wert, Great Spirit, wheresoe'er I turned and found thee, still I knew My soul was all thy cai-e. I fed my thoughts on human things, I bowed in earthly fanes. On mortal idols fixed my heart, And walked in gilded chains; Yet even in hours when worlds of joy Seemed grasped within my hand, I turned to thee, and saw my wealth So bright — was dust or sand. I trod the schools, and bathed my soul In sunshine of the Past, And treasures rare of olden lore With mighty toil amassed ; I paced beneath thy heaven and looked Aloft from earth with pride. But found that all that led from Thee Led only to misguide. In pleasure's rosy bowers I strayed, And banquetted at will. A HYMN. 249 And drained the diamond cups of joy, That charm the while they kill. I soiled my star-bright soul with sin, And plunged in wild excess ; Yet stm I turned to Thee, whose smile Seemed formed to love and bless. In proud ambition's lists I rode, And tilted there with kings, Yet felt how worthless are the toys The crowd's applauding brings. The earthly pomp that round me shone, The rapturous shout of fame ; — I looked aloft — one glance at heaven Deposed them all with shame. Yet while I owned thy goodness rare. And even at times would weep For wanderings past, my headstrong soul Held all thy mercies cheap. Blindly and wickedly I walked, And Earth prefeiTed to Thee, Nor ever at thy pardoning feet Bowed down my stubborn knee. And now when on my soul I gaze, And turn within my view. In sadness and remorse I shrink. Nor dare the glance renew. Hell boils beneath my troubled breast ; I tremble and fall down. And dare not say. Forgive me, Lord ! Nor meet a Father's frown. M 2 250 ' POEMS. Lord, I Iiave sinned, nor worthy am To call myself thy child ; The snow-white soul tlioii gavest me I yield Thee back defiled. The spirit blessed by thy right hand, And formed through heaven to soar, Is stained with sin, and scarcely dai'es Thy mercy, Lord, implore. Cleanse me in fire ; embathe my soul In suffei'ing keen and long, — Till every pi'int be thence effaced. Of human crime and wrong. But Father, Father, hurl me not For ever from thy breast ; But lift once more thine erring child To see Thee — and be blest. Yet when, Lord, o'er earth I look, And all thy mercies see. My fainting soul takes strength and hope, And fondly trusts in Thee. Thy sunshine clothes the sphei'e with flowers To glad man's aching eyes ; Thy love beams down on him at night Fi'om fond and starry skies. HYMN. 251 The golden liglit of day illumes His labouring heaii; with smiles ; The lark's gay carol cheers his toil, And weariest thought beguiles. The forests filled with joyous life, The ocean vast, the air, Show that thy wide and boundless love Is busy eveiy where. The tiny wren his bliss proclaims In chirpings short and sweet ; The lark soars upward to thy thrones Thy morning smile to greet. The summer insects sing all day Amid their leafy homes ; The fishes gambol gladly through The ocean's silver foams. This world of ours — those worlds around. Where'er our eyes extend, — Proclaim that wondi^ous love of thine, That knows no bound or end. And oh ! shall Man, thy last and best Creation, only be Exempt from that embracing love That ever flows from Thee ? 252 POEMS. Bury me by tlie sea — tlie sounding sea, Whose blue bright waters I so loved on earth, — Beside whose rijjpling waves at early morn, When the white plumed steeds whose eyes flashed light Bore the fair Goddess of the Dawn on high, I loved to wander and to muse in silence, — Beside whose purpling billow, when the West Was all ablaze with gold, with rosy pictures, W^ith scenes more beautiful than Claiide e'er saw, I lay outstretched with the Apocalypse, That map of mysteries sublime and avvefiil. And soared with it into ethereal realms ; And watched the first fair gleaming of the stars. Or the thin crescent moon, when she came forth In virgin light and beauty, like a child Of God who walked amid the heavenly plains, So pure, so mild, so beautiful, so calm. Yes — by these watei-s I would fain repose. Far from the noise of towns. To me it were No gladness in my dying di'eam to think That I should rest amid the rank black dust Of old Westminster, though that dust is formed Of the famed dead who lie beneath its towers ; Nor would I have those atoms which have made Mine earthly tenement to dissolve away Amid the damp, the cobwebs, the pent up And prison-like cloister of that storied pile ; No — let me lie alone, near those great waves. THE poet's dying WISH. 253 That are the voice of God, — near those gi'een downs, On which the sunlight and the shadow falls In beauty intermingled, like the grave And lively melodies of some gi"and song By the musician framed, — on wliich the lark Soars high to heaven, and sings his raptiu'ous lay, While the free winds that are as free as freedom, And therein like my soul, sweep o'er the heath Of piu'pling bud, and thyme, and golden gorse. And harebell, and anemone, and violet, Cowslip and primrose, and the sweet blue bell. Over my lowly grave with thick short gi-ass. Let the thrush wake his kiscious note at dawn, And the shy blackbird pour his dulcet strain. While still and still, and still for ever breaks The billow on the distant shore, — in lisht. In darkness, in the soft bright hour of summer. And in the winter when the storm is strong. Howe'er it breaks, in sweetness or in thunder, Methinks it speaks the voice of a living God. Bury me in this place ; there let me rest In the clear open air without a tomb, Without a marble, under the gi-een turf; And scatter a few seeds within the mould, To shed their beauty o'er me as I sleep. And woo the bird or bee to visit my gi'ave. -cK)J=3t;oo- 254 POEMS. %Wiu t0 fati f 0ets.* Blessings descend on tlie tomb of Al-Hassan, Son of the Sun and Moon, Lord of Kliorassan ; He was the Critic of Critics, and never Walked on this earth one in judgment so clever. Hear how he managed the great Bard Hil-Ali By a most witty and sultan-like sally. Blessings upon thee, thou Caliiyh of Floggers, Scorner of scribblers and mere pettifoggers, Hater of sycophants, wheedlers, and coggers,''' Thou couldst make mighty the slowest of joggers. Ali craved audience one day of this Caliph, Hoping to carry off Phoebus's bay leaf. In he was ushered ; and saw him reclining High on his throne, and in emeralds shining. Come and sit by me, — so Hassan commanded ; Up to the throne itself Ali was handed. There he sat down by this Monarch of Floggers, Envied, I ween, by the courtiers and coggers ; All the slow-coaches and crawlers and joggers Hissed in their hearts at him like pettifoggers. * The anecdote on whicli these verses are founded is related by Mu"-Mohammed Taki, a celebrated Indian writer, who lived under the Mogul Emperor, Sliah-Allum, son of Aureugzebe. t Cogger, a wheedler, a flatterer. ADVICE TO BAD POETS. 255 " Now then, begin," says tlie Calipli, and straightway Through a vast Epic our Bard made a great way ; As he read on, it appeared not a single New thought was in it 'twas nothing but jingle ; Metaphor, episode, trope, were all stolen ; Turgid the thought, and the language was swollen. Great was the rage of this Monarch of Floyyers ; Huge was the joy of the courtiers and coggers. Ali vjent on, but his steeds 2^oved slow joggers, And his Nine Muses were mere pettifoggers. « " Wi'etch ! " roared Al-Hassan, " for this yoiir bravado, Suffer you shall " — and he called Bastinado : " Whip him, and whop liim, and slash him with rigour ;" — Ali was walloj)ped as black as a nigger. Vainly, though loudly, he called on the Prophet — He might as well have called Satan from Tophet. Whip him and who]} him, most Potent of Floggers, His he a lesson to all pettifoggers, A'e'er to come here with their slow-pacing joggers ; — ' Beautiful .'* beautiful /" shouted the coggers. When the unfortunate Minstrel recovered. Then, for the fii-st time, it seems he discovered That his gx-eat Epic was dull as ditch-water. And that himself had committed Muse-slaughter : Down on his knees he fell, gratefully thanking Hassan for cuiing him of mountebanking. Belli! belli!" — the Oriental exclamation of delight. 256 POEMS. " Glory and j)'''(f'ise to thee, Caliph of Floggers, For hawing cured me before all these coggers : J should have lived and died with pettifoggers, If you had not thus belaboured my joggers." Off went our humble- pie liero to Djami, Who, in those days, among Bards was most gamey, Crowned with the greenest and splendidest laurels (This they all owned in their drunkennest quarrels), Djami received the poor devil, and sheltered, Though every muscle with agony weltered. So you have come from the Caliph of Floggers, He who delights in his wheedlers and coggers ; Tarry with me, and Til make all these joggers. Class you no longer with vile pettifoggers. Seven long years under Djami he studied, Clearing liis brains of the trash that bemuddied ; Seven more years in the forests and mountains Lived he with Nature, and from her sweet fountains Drew inspii'ation, entirely ignoring Figures and tropes, that set all people snoring. Then he went bach to the Caliph of Floggers, Filled with contempt for all dunces and joggers, Anxious to prove to pimps, courtiers, and coggers. They could no more rank 1dm with 2>ettifoggers. Audience again he demanded — and got it : All of them thought him a booby besotted. " Come and sit by me," says Hassan ; and Ali Mounted the jewelled throne briskly and gaily. ADVICE TO BAD POETS. 257 " Read ! " says the Calipli ; and Ali, like lightning, Opened the book, with his features all brightening. So he read on for this Monarch of Floggers — Mute and dumbfounded were courtiers and coggers : All the dull plodders and base pettifoggers Owned tliat the Bard's steeds no longer were joggers. " Biing me," says Hassan, " a right royal gannent — He shall no longer be dressed like mere varmint ; Bring me a diadem, jewelled and golden ; Bring me a handful of purses, all holding Guineas in thousands ; and daily, my baillie, You shall dine with me," says Hassan to Ali. " Blessings upon thee, thoti Monarch of Floggers f Bawled out the sycophants, coicrtiers, and coggers ; Down on their Tcnees,fell the base pettifoggers ; Down on their faces the dullards and joggers. " Gentlemen all," says Al-Hassan, " take warning By what you've heard and have witnessed this morning ; Know that I've horsewhips for dunces and blockheads, But that for scholars I empty my pockets. Therefore, let none bring his Epics to Hassan, Unless they're worthy of me and Khorassan. Blessings tipon thee, thou Monarch of Floggers! Long live all sycophants, courtiers, and coggers ; Scores of good dinners be yours, pettifoggers ; Bards, keep aloof, if your steeds are but joggers. 258 POEMS. ^irdci'contiquc. Bring us tlie purple liquid Of sweetly smiling wine, And bring us cups, and crown them With clustered leaves of vine. The graj)e alone the passions Of wild youth can assuage, And shed a charminor lustre O'er the miseries of age. The wine it sparkles brightly, As shines the sun in June ; The silver goblet glitters. As beams the gentle moon. Fill up the silver goblet — It and the wine shall be Like sun and moon commingling. And shining gloriously. As thus we scatter roimd us The glowing sparks of wine, We seem like brave enchanters, Of some ethereal line. If roses fade in winter, No care corrodes our souls, A thousand liquid roses Float in our silver bowls. The nightingale sings sweetly, But when she flies away. AXACREONTIQUE. 259 Oiir clinking cuj)s breathe mnsic Sweet as lier sweetest lay ; Hence with lament or sadness, Let son'ow's voice be mute ; Or should it wander hither, Well di'own it in the lute. Sleep sits upon our eyelids. Like some refreshing dew, Fill up the magic goblet, And coiui; kind sleep anew. Delightful is the madness. From brimming bowls that flows, And blest the sweet oblivion Of life's unending woes. Renew oiu* crystal beakers, With rosy wine once more, And bring us flowery chaplets, Like those we had before ; If wine-cups be forbidden, Or lawfid, what care we ? We'll revel until daybreak, In -wild and Bacchant ^lee. ^niuvcontique. Fill, fill all your glasses, Pass the bright liquid around, 260 .' POEMS. In the depths of the foaming cup, The pearls of true pleasure are found Ne'er on a meeting like this, Gloom or his minions frowned. As the broad ocean sparkles. When the beams of the west, Like orient jewels of light, On his blue bosom rest, So wine — sunny wine, Brightens and cheers up the breast. See ! — see how it blushes ! Like a nymph whose fond face glows With a purple light, when Pan Wakes her from sweet repose ; Or the golden Venus of old. When fi'om the billows she rose. -0- Thou who in soul art false and black as hell, Fi'om whose rank heart a hydra breathing pest Is seen to issue daily, when thou speakest ; Wliose eyes are luminous with a viper glare ; Whose very face is scurvied by the rank And fetid blood that is thy being's life. Thou wonderest that I am not like thyself — A BALLADE. 261 That I can pierce beneatli thy lying mask And domino of deceit, and look within Thy cavernous soul, and see, in slime coiled up, Thy serpent-nature ; watcli its horrid fangs ; Behold its treacherous gaze and thought malign — Its venom-loving, venom-breathing maw. Know that to 7ne God hath an instinct sriven. Which makes me at a glance discern the vile, The base, the false, the horrible like thee ; That by an impulse, fresh from heaven itself, I know whom I may trust, and whom detest ; Therefore I loathe thee utterly — not as man, But as an adder wearing human shape ; And while I loathe, I pity, for what sight Can be more pitiful than a living soul "Which, for the Devil's wages, leaves its God, '^allabc, Wlierein y^ authorre describeth ?/« contention betweene if Winde and hys prettie maide Katharine. " Ei6 avenos yevoifjLijv." — Dionysius y<^ Sophiste. " Oh ! that I were ye winde ! " Ye Poet by T' other daye whvle I satte hys fireside givethames- By y* fire, with my catte, sage to pret- _ ^ -, ^ i i . i tie Kate, i resolved irom some new book ot humour to guzzle wit : 262 POEMS. So sending off straight My maide, pretty Kate, I told lier to buy Boz's book — "Martin Chuzzlewit." II. Who goeth, She curtseyed and blushed, hurry forget- But while downe staii's she rushed, shawl.^^ Scarcely waiting — the Siren — to pin up her bussel-bit, She suddenlie thought That her shawl she had not ; And without it she could not step out to buye Chuzzlewit. III. Ye Wynde For iust then y^ Winde, rumpleth her ringlets and To be free was inclined, breaste. And leapt into her bright haire, determined to hustle it. And kissed her white breaste, Whei'e you might see tressed Locks^'' fairer than any in old Mai"tin Chuzzlewit. IV. Prettie Kate Says my Kathleen oge,t thereupon accosteth ye To y Wmde — " Stop, you rogue ! Winde'. There ! — see ! — my fine, beautiful bail', how you rustle it ! * See advertisement — "A Key to tlie Whole House of Chuzzle- wit." t Young Katharine. BALLADE. 263 If this is tlie way, That you treat me thys daye, As I hope to be kissed, I'll not biiye INIartin Chvizzlewit. Prettie Kate waxeth warm, " Where's y* good, let nie know, Of treating me so ? Would you pull off my gowne, that in thys waye you tussel it ? My masterre may wait, But, indeed, sure as fate, If you will not leave off, I'll not fetch Martin Chuzzlewit. VI. And scoldeth ye Winde for stopping prettie girls. " I vow and declare, You're as rude as a bear ; But if I were y^ Qiieene of y* Winde, I would muzzle it, Nor let it thus stay, Prettie girls on their way, To wink at the men — and to buye Martin Chuzzlewit. VII. " Now, wo?i'< you give o'er ? Well, I'll ask you no more ; If I had y' patience of Job, you would puzzle it," So back came y* jade, With a sweet smile, that played Like a starre in her face — and made me forget Chuzzlewit, Ye fourteenths daye of Febi'uai-y, a.d. 1S43. Kate return ing, giveth ye Poet a sweete kiss. 264 POEMS. Once as in my yontli I wandered, Dreaming dreamily amid . Forests wild, Arcadian gardens, Yales in wliicli the Nymphs lay hid By the silver-flashing watei's, Gleaming in the sunlight fair ; From my dream I was awakened By a howl that pierced the air : Wille, wmi, vjcm, vxm, wau ! Wille, woh, took, woh, woh ! Whit to whoo ! whit to lohoo I woh ! Turning round, I saw three monsters — Wolves they were in human shape : Famine in their fire-red eyelids. And their rabid maws agape. From their fangs a horrid slaver Dripped in Acherontian dews, Something like the fetid venom Of three very foul reviews.* Wille, viau, wau, v)au, wau! Wille, woh, woh, woh, woh ! Whit to, whoo ! whit to whoo ! woh ! * Saturday Review, Weehbj Dispatch, Weekly JReview, three journals whose editors, departing from all fair criticism, did not hesitate to publish absolute falsehoods relative to the author'.s New Pantomime. NURSERY RHYMES. Zb-) As I faced these beastly creatures, With my only sword, a pen, I could hear the owls and ravens Urge them onward from their den. On they came, as though to crunch me, At my heai-t and throat they sj)rang, Calling on the Devil to aid them ; — Quick he came and bagged the gang. Wille, wau, wau, wau, wau I Wille, woh, woh, tvoh, woh ! Whit to wJioo J whit to whoa I woh I Little black Bob Was a desperate snob — His tongue was as sooty as grandmother's hob ; But the brain that he had Was so hopelessly bad, There wasn't in Bedlam one equally n;ad. Little Robin Redbreast, Come in from the cold, You shall have a silver bed, And a dish of gold ; N '■^^^'* POEMS. White bread and new bread, And sugar from the East — Won't these make my little bird A very dainty feast ? Oliver Cromwell he had a big nose. As large as a parsnip, as red as a rose ; And he cut off the head of King Charles the First, Which no other man but brave Coppemose d^rst. Did you hear what happened unto naughty master Bob ? He stole into our orchard the apple-trees to rob. But our dog Tommy caught him by the tail, — Up came the constable, and lugged him off to jail. There was a little fish, And he had a little dish, And he swam all about in the sea, Saying, is there no one willing, To give a little shilling, To a pretty little fish like me 1 Now there was a big blue shark. That lay dreaming in the dark. NURSERY RHYMES. 267 And tlie little fish waked the fellow up ; So he got into a passion, A,s with sharks is the fashion, And he swallowed him down at a sup. I went to the wood, And caught a Raven, Looking as grave As a monk new shaven : *' Raven, raven, Where is your home V — " Sir," says he, " I'm the Pope of Rome." There was a Man, He took his knife, And he said to a lady — " "Will you be my wife 1 For if you wo'nt, I'll have your life " — " Sir," says she, " I'll be your wife." Little Jack Snipe, He found some tripe. And did'nt know how to cook it, — So a cat came up, And gobbled it up. Saying, " That's the way / cook it." '2ii'6 POEMS, George the Fourth was a king very fine^ He loved the best of meat and wine ; But now he's buried in Windsor srave. O" And no more meat or wine can have, Poor fellow ! " Where are you going, sweet Brian O'Linn ?" Said he, "I'm going to drink some gin." Then liis wife got up, and she took a big pin. And stuck it in the nose of poor Brian O'Linn, ■' \Miat are you doing, my ducky?" says he; ■' I'm di'inking some rum with my coffee," says she- Then Brian got up, and he spilled all the rum, And tweaked her long nose with liLs finger and thumb. Brian O'Linn, he bought a pig's tail, And sent out his wife for a pot of good ale ; But liis wife, she drank the ale on the way, And did'nt come back to poor Brian all day. Then Brian got into a thundering rage. He danced about like a bear in his cage ; And he took his razoi', and grabbed up liis wife, And cut off her nose for the rest of her life. END OF THE POEMS. TRANSLATIONS. TRANSLATIONS. 271 hxh 6lUlt My dai'ling Nell, whose face is a bow'r, Where a million blush-roses bud up every hour ; Walked forth with a choir of maidens, to pull A garland of roses most beautiful. As lilies, as roses, that fair hands twine. Brighter than other buds breathe and shine, So looked my Nell in that golden noon — They were but stars, but she the moon. Cupid arch in that garden lay hid, Nestled beneath a hyacinth's lid ; As I gazed in her eyes, he shot his shaft — It pierced, and the urcliin fled off and laughed. Since that dear hour our hearts have gi-own Together, and nought but love have known ; Though the roses she plucked most flowers excel, Yet I have a fairer than all — my Nell. Avdea KoXa Xtyovcra (piXofifui^rig 'AptaSvo Brj Ota Xftjuwvfuv irpojLvog BiapiKwvf 'AXXatc o'uv TToXXaiai, fxniirpiTn S' ^'?'^a" TTrtrrtwi' 'Qc lov £tv aXXoic avde(nv >j£ /oo8ov. Etoov £yw Kovpag IXiKOJiri^ag, eicev iix uvtov, VifKpa d sg ijTop Ifiov ro^a tituivsv Eptog. AvOea Xt^' Apia^va, eyio de (piXr}v ^Apiudvriv KaAAKTTOv iraarjg avOog 6fxt}XiKir]g. 272 TRANSLATIOJfS. "HAY nrpr "taeon. Bac^t^WF apri rumari Bipivi^ Ylap" 6\9ag Kpr]v{]g fxeXavvdpov^ "E^atpov tS(t)V KoXXeL lapivi^ K?77roug ariXpovTag Hvpy^- Yoeou. *Evrau0' aKOvaeai opveiQ fiaXTTOvraQi Tp{]p(i)i>og wcrfv kol KOpaKiov, 'A/iVOvc t' kiroipeai aOvpovrag — "Hpw£C £(7r£jO \iopMv irXixiouv *E^ uXXodpOiOV ilg TO VJJCTiStOV, Ncnraicn raia^^ av tlXairivu^oiiVy "HjuiiTepoL wc 7^ Trporepov' T»}(rS' oiKiag TrviVfx vyiuvov YlpaTTioiaaiv av apttTKOi cou, IjUfjOOEv Trav t tor' tjoarttvov^ 'A/i^' aA(7£a TCI nwpY'-'ySsoy. 'Er X(/ivrj tcrrarat vao? r«c "ipv^ac 'Hycjuoi'wv (Tw^tov, aAAa irpog Qeovg oi/StVorf Xs-youcrtv fi»\ac> riupyoc -yap tari rouTwv oupavoc' 273 3^ni CastU 3u^t 1. As I roved out on a summer's morning, Down by the banks of Blackwater side, To view the groves and meadows charming, And pleasant gardens of Castle Hyde. It is there you will hear the thrushes warbling, The dove and partridge I now describe, The lambkins sporting each night and morning All to adorn sweet Castle Hyde. 2. If noble princes from foreign places Should chance to sail to this Irish shore, It is in this valley they could be feasted As often heroes had done before. The wholesome air of this habitation Would recreate your heart with pride ; There is no valley throughout this nation With beauty equal to Castle Hyde. There's a church for service in tliis fine hai'bour, Where nobles often in their coaches ride To view the streams and pleasant gardens That do adorn sweet Castle Hyde. N 2 274 TRANSLATIONS. Boeg Koi ^icriv, ravpoi re \ 'linroi, 'Ectt' aXwTrrj^t avTpov drtTrov, "Oi'ig lviJ.aWoi, ovoi koi irtinroi 'Ev Toiq apovpalg Ilvpy^-'YciOv. 8. TovTOKTi Spvfioig avd(x)v avacraa 'PoSoV ^/;Ao£t TO XEipiov, 'O Koafxog ivpvQ KoX 'IfjOva Traaa, OvK t\ei yCopov tixpo pcorepov "EXa^ot tI koX auTOi iratZovcn Suv aXwTTTjst irapa iroTafioJ, ^lyBviQ TToXXoi KOI irecrcrivovfn KaXyai poya Iv Ilvpy'-Y^Hti' B\apvi]ag vXai koX BaXXij-KtviaXij, Kai Qay(i}v Nijo'tor ; 'E^aTToSoc TVO VXpEl J/V, AtajSoXw iKiXog KicpaXriv, To jSacTtAftov jUEy' ov 0i7V, TlruKTO 7ri)X<»j vat jua Zijv — 'Hv ovojua nooroufyKaovav'y, Ktti TTOiKiXrjv (dovv, Tavpov Ijxov capapra. "Ovov t' £^w 7Xav(crjv, BtXrKTTriv ovCjv Iv vriaoj, Qupag avoiye, kol jl(j}v "Etvdev (T£ yap{](T(t)' 'l6vcr} ! ic. T. X. 8. 2a/3|3ara) TTiXtov "Ext«>> KOI Qwp-aiXovpov, Tv(p\ov Kul yepuvTiKOv Muwv aXX t^o^ov oupoi'" BARNEY BRALLAGHAX'S COURTSHIP. 283 Only say You'll have Barney Brallaghan ; Don't say nay, Charming Judy Callaghan. 2. Oh! list to what I say; Charms you've got like Venus ; Own your love — you may, There's only the wall between us. You lie fast asleep. Snug in bed and snoring ; Round the house I creep, YoTir hard heaii; imploring. Only say, &c. 3. I've got nine pigs and a sow, I've got a sty to sleep 'em., — A calf and a brindled cow, And got a cabin to keep 'em ; Sunday hose and coat. An old gray ass to ride on, Saddle and bridle to boot. Which you may sit astride on. Only say, &c. 4. I've got a Sunday hat. Little the worse for wearing ; I've got an old torn cat, Through one eye he's staling ; 284 TRAXSLATIOXS. Su ye 0(Ao) ! K. T. A. 17. Uoirjo-aL a.Xo\ov ovv "I6uSij (T tfxriv li^idpu), ^ev I fiupaivio tov vouv, AiajioXog ng ovtipoy BARNEY BRALLAGHAX'S COURTSHIP. 285 I've got some gooseberry ydne, The trees had got no riper on ; I've got a fidcUe fine, Wliich only wants a pijDer on. Only say, &c. 5. I've got an acre of ground, I've got it set with praties, I've got of 'baccy a pound, And bought some tea for the ladies ; I've got the ring to wed, Potheen to make us gaily, A mattress, feather bed. And a handsome new shilalah. Only say, &c. 6. Your neck and legs are white, Your eyes like the stars are shining, You look like Venus briorht. There's honey your Ups divine in. You've got a tongue of your own, As sweet as a Poet's rhyming. The neighbours let you alone, For fear they'd hear it chiming. Only say, , 0' ofxiXog KvXiv6£Tai Iv Idopjiopo) [Xao/j.a.] THE WAKE OF TEDDY ROE. 289 Out hobbles Phelim, Teddy's uncle. Ai'rah, is it your- self that comes to wake with poor Ted 1 — he's up in the cock-loft taking a parting glass of Innoshone with a few friends, so be afther walking up the ladder, if you please. Scrape your feet, Judy; Judy, the quality is come; stick the corpse up against the wall, clap his wig on his head, and jmt a pipe in his mouth. Walk up, ladies, the punch will soon be ready, and we'll all get drunk for sori-ow. Now the whiskey went round till they could not agree Who were highest of rank and of best pedigree ; They from words fell to blows, just like Donnybrook fair. And among them poor Teddy came in for his share. Hubbaboo! hubbaboo! what the dexH are you all about 1 Wliat are you doing ? By the powers of Moll Kelly if they have'nt got poor Ted down amongst them ! Och, they'll smother the jioor creature; get him off Judy; take hold of his leg, and help me to drag him from under the lump. Och, blood and 'ouns see there now. They have given the corpse a black eye. Returning a coach full of wliiskey and grief, By old Dogherty driven, of coachmen the chief ; All objects turned round, and he could not tell how, For he upset the quality all in a slough. Hiatus valde dejlenchis. o 290 TRANSLATION'S. 'Etc oIkov, Abyepriadov ro9^ ovtoi QoXepot a(j)iicovTO koi fxeOvcmKOi, 0/orjvrjrai toiovtoi irpo tovtov Kpovov, , 'OpCiVTO OvMtTOTZ TTZpi vlfCjOOW 'O Zeu ! "il Zeu ! Abyepria^e BeoHK^Xs, t\ ovv t6r]v tI koI AHj, AtaTTOivav Koi BX?)vr)v avv Tio ^rjy/jvw, Olvofiapovg ava PwiSei vivipio. BPENNOS a AINN. «. B(j£vvoc "Q Aivv, Iv "lepvy t f^u, i!i0tAr}(7£ r£ KOpag wg cyw ?) ci/, riwywi'O^OjOOCj t' 6dovTU)Tog, GTpaftihv rjv, KaXXtcTTOc Etju' avrip, (j)tf Bpivvog "Q, Aivv. 4>aX di paX, Xa jOaX XaX, Xa paX XaX Xij. ^O^ovTioTog, Trioy(x)vo(j>6pog, arpaftwv i]v Uvy iuLax>iskin to make him a ])aii- The woolly side out and the fleshy side in, " It is pleasant and cool," says Brian O'Linn. Fal de ral, &c. 292 TRANSLATIONS, 'Bpivvog "Qi Aivv 'ittttov h\e y\avKriv, TlodwKea, XewTriv, Ka\ -yEjoovrtKTjv, 'Ava 0' eXea ra^^y (popi]ixivaL fxiv, TvvaiKa yajirjcTw, ^f/ Bphvog "£l Aivv, OaX 0£ paX, K. T. A. 8. KoKKvyoQ npog oikov "ttttov tot iXavvcov, Miirrip eiTTs, Aaj3' afxojv /xiav Ovyarpiov, Saiveiv avrriv ^i^a^a, vi}6hv Xiv^) viv, 'AjU^tt) ctfxa yafxi](j(.o jioaH "Oi Aivv. $aX §£ joaX, K. r. X. Nuv £/u£ ya}xi](7ug ovv ; t'^rj Koprj' 'AjuetjSero 8' avrog, ra^Z/crw (piXrj, Saravac t£ kcu Aorjc o'laovai fxe irpiv 'iSetV jU£ (7£ XftTTEtV, 0j; BjO£VX;OC "Q Atvv. 4>aX 0£ jOaX, K. T. X. ^. Bjolvvoc Kui Yvv}) Kal ?; TvevOepa, '^vvificrav hq evvriv yiXwovTig ap.a, ■*P(Xat S' 7)(Tav at (JTpLOfxvai, fxiKpov \i')(og r rjv, Xpii] TTUKVOTipwg evdav, (^tr] V>pivvog "12 Aivv $aX §£ jOaX, K. T. X. B^lvvoc Koi -yuvrj (cat 7j irsvOepa ^YTTBp yi(j)Vpag tirepaov ujxa, ri(pvpav p-Oip' ippr^yvv, TriiTTOVTeg Sf jufjv KptjUttaarOw rticrwv, £'' BjOfvvoc^ '12 Aivv *Pa.\ §£ paX, K. r. X. BRIAN o'linn. 293 3. Brian O'Linn had an old gray mare, Her legs tliey were long and her sides tliey were bare ; Away lie rode through thick and through thin, " I'm going to get married," says Brian O'Linn. , Fal de ral, &c. 4. Away he rode to the old cuckoo's nest, Wlio said, " Which of my daughters do you like best ? There is one can card and the other can spin." " Hoo! I'll marry them both," says Brian O'Linn. Fal de ral, &c; 5. " WUl you marry me now 1" this damsel replied. " I will marry you. now, my honey," he cried ; " And I'll forfeit my life, or its I will you win : Faik ! it's I that will settle you," says Brian O'Linn. Fal de ral,