THE 
 
 RIVALS OF ESTE, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES G. BROOKS, 
 
 *>., t- 
 
 AND 
 
 MARY E. BROOKS. 
 
 PRINTED BY J. Sf J. HARPER, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 
 
 SOLD BY COLLINS AND HANNAY, COLLINS AND CO., O. AND C. AND H- CAR- 
 VILL. BOSTON, RICHARDSON AND LORD, AND BILLIARD, GRAV AND CO. 
 BALTIMORE, F. LUCAS, W. AND I. NKAL, AND CUSHING AND JEWETT. 
 
 1829. 
 
Southern District of New- York, as. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the llth day of April, A. D. 1829, in tin: 
 nlty-third year of the Independence of the United States of America, J. & 
 J. HARPER, of the said District, have deposited in this office the title of ;i 
 Book, the right whereof they claim as Proprietors, in the words following, 
 to wit : 
 
 (: The Rivals of Este, and other Poems. By James G. Brooks, and Mary 
 i:. Brooks." 
 
 In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled "An 
 Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, 
 and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times 
 therein mentioned." And also to an act, entitled "An Act, supplementary 
 to an act, entitled An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the 
 copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such 
 copies, during the times therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof 
 to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 FRED. J. BETTS, 
 Clerk of the Southern District of New-York. 
 
9 S 
 
 /U- 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 MARY E. BROOKS. 
 
 fSomc of the minor pieces in the following collection have been publish* I 
 under the signature of NORNA. 
 
 M868549 
 
TO 
 
 THE HOtf. PHILIP HOSTE, 
 
 LATE MAYOR OF THE CITY OP NEW- YORK, 
 
 Whose official career was an honour to the city, and whose private example 
 iias inculcated a taste for the Fine Arts, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, BY 
 
 n 
 
 THE AUTHORS. 
 

 
COXTEWTS. 
 
 POEMS BY MARY E. BROOKS. 
 
 The Rivals of Este . ^3 
 
 Hebrew Melodies . . . .. , 45 
 
 Saul . . . . \ 47 
 
 Joshua, vi. 5 5Q 
 
 2 Kings, vii. 6 . . . .51 
 
 Isaiah, Ixiv. 11 . . , . % 
 
 Psaltn cxxxvii. , , : ^--. -, 53 
 
 Jeremiah, iv. 30 . . *, t 54 
 
 Jeremiah, x. 17 . . . 55 
 
 Jeremiah, xxii. 10 . . .- . 56 
 
 Destiny . .. . . f . ^ 59 
 
 The Bride s Farewell . ., S^*. 61 
 
 Romance . ^ . . . g 3 
 
 Midnight . ." . . . -. 6 ^ 
 
 Souvenir . *," 71 
 
 Romance . . . . . 73 
 
 The Contrast ... 77 
 
 Dream of Life ^ . . . 7a 
 
 Tasso .82 
 
 The Farewell 85 
 
 s P rin S .87 
 
 Lela 94 
 
 LaVerna ..... 96 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 ftMM 
 
 " They say when Years" . . . .. * 112 
 
 " We 11 circle the Harp" . . * :;, . 114 
 
 " Oh, never believe, Love" . |._* . 1 15 
 
 A Pledge to the dying Year ^fe . , .116 
 
 11 From all the Sunny Tints" . . . 117 
 
 Love s Gifts . . . F * . .119 
 
 The " Red Bird" . . : . . 120 
 
 Jeanne d Arc . * * . . . 122 
 
 "Oh, come, my Love" .__ .; . . ... 124 
 
 * Oh no, it never cross d my heart" . . . 125 
 
 " The lingering beam of sunset lay" <->;- % ^26 
 
 " Go, where rosy links are twining" . . .127 
 
 " Take the Strains" . 128 
 
CONTENTS* 
 
 POEMS BY JAMES G. BROOKS. 
 
 Genius .**.... 133 
 
 Man ....... 148 
 
 The Greek Struggle .* T . . .153 
 
 To the Turkish Crescent . . 155 
 
 The Russian Retreat . . 158 
 
 Time . 159 
 
 * A Man of Sorrows" . V . ^ ,. . 165 
 
 The Last Song" . . . 170 
 
 Italy .... .;.v . 171 
 
 A Remembrance . * . . 172 
 
 To C. Glen Van Rensselaer . * < " ;* . 17 4 
 
 Stanzai . . . ,. ... 176 
 
 To Cora . . . ; . . 17 
 
 Genius and Joy . . . . . 181 
 
 Night . .-* . , , . . .184 
 
 Stanzas . . . . . . 18G 
 
 The Avatar of Freedom . . . .189 
 
 Time ....... 191 
 
 To the Dying Year . . . . .193 
 
 The Self-Murderer ... .198 
 
 An Elegy . ... 200 
 
 To - ...... 203 
 
 The Stream of Hope ..... 204 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 J-AUIC 
 
 Greece .. ^ v 20 6 
 
 Lines . *>>. . . % % _ 21 
 
 The Broken Heart . t . ax:, . 213 
 
 Stanzas . . < 214 
 
 Ireland , . . . l * . * 215 
 
 The Brave .... . 219 
 
 Sketch, No. 1 ... 220 
 
 Sketch, No. 2 . . | . . . . 221 
 
 Sketch, No. 3 . ?. " ," 223 
 
 Farewell . -^ , 225 
 
 Freedom ... . 227 
 
 Stanzas to . ^_^- . . 335 
 
 To Cora . . . ,- 232 
 
 The Dying Soldier . , . . . 234 
 
 The Requiem .... 237 
 
 Stanzas addressed to a Lady . . t 241 
 
 Stanzas . . . , ^44 
 
 To Cora .... . . 246 
 
 To Cora . 1 , . 249 
 
 The Spell * ; . . / ^ .^ , 250 
 
 To the Autumn Leaf , . . - . 252 
 
 Stanzas . - . : - ^ , . . 255 
 
 Lines for an Album . . r * 4 257 
 
 The Grave . . r f , 25 Q 
 
 Joy and Sorrow , . 260 
 
THE RIVALS OF ESTE. 
 
 CAJTTO I. 
 
oC 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Tis night where the deep wave of ocean is rushing 
 
 Tis night where the breezes of evening swell, 
 Tis night where the flowrets are silently blushing 
 
 Unseen by the bright eyes that love them so well 
 Ah ! now is the shadowy hour of feeling, 
 
 When joy wakes to revel, and sorrow to weep ; 
 And hark! where their wild mingled murmurs 
 
 stealing, 
 An echo replies to the wail of the deep ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 If to yon silver orb was given 
 
 A tongue to tell the deeds of Even, 
 
 She d whisper not of hearts that climb 
 
 Nearer the heaven from which they came ; 
 Or on the restless wing of Time , 
 
 Plunge in the gulf of sin and shame, 
 Till earth has not a reptile thing, 
 More coldly, darkly withering 
 2 
 
14 THE RIVALS 
 
 She d tell no tale of brighter glee, 
 Or darker, deeper agony, 
 Than might be found beneath thy sky, 
 Thy own broad blue, fair Italy. 
 
 in. 
 
 Thou, the young paradise of earth, 
 
 Glowing in nature s witchery, 
 There s not a thing of mortal birth 
 
 But saves its sweetest smile for thee ; 
 The loveliest flower> the warmest green, 
 Is pillowed on thy fairest scene ; 
 Softly around the almond tree 
 
 The purple vine is clinging, 
 While every breeze that wakes for thee 
 
 Ten thousand sweets is bringing : 
 And oh, what splendor in the beam 
 That lightens the enchanted dream ! 
 Whether it sleeps upon the hill, 
 Or gilds the softly murmuring rill, 
 Or kisses the young summer flower, 
 
 Or sweeter far, young Beauty s cheek. 
 As stealing in her rosy bower, 
 
 It dares the sacred shadow break ; 
 Or lingering on the mountain height, 
 
 As loth to quit so fair a place, 
 Still in its gay and golden light 
 
 One peerless purity ye trace 
 
OF ESTE. 15 
 
 Ah, sure if love essayed to find 
 One little spot of earthly rest, 
 
 Bright as the heaven he left behind, 
 Twould be, fair Italy, thy breast. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alas ! that where heaven s sunbeams fall. 
 Man is the cloud that shadows all ! 
 For see, in yonder lonely bower, 
 A ruder tread has crushed the flower ; 
 And that bright spot can breathe a tale 
 Of horror to the passing gale : 
 There hatred holds his fierce career, 
 Unchill d by time, unchecked by fear ; 
 And seek ye where his victims sleep, 
 
 Go mark the unhallowed grave 
 Or ask the dull cold murmuring deep, 
 
 What broke its midnight wave i 
 Revenge ! revenge ! the page of Time, 
 Has traced his way through blood and crime, 
 Till sated in his fiend-like course, 
 
 And sickening at the ruin done, 
 In blackening, withering remorse, 
 
 He kneels before the altar stone ; 
 And torture well might shrink to share 
 That deeper madness of despair. 
 
10 THE RIVALS 
 
 V. 
 
 Tis midnight now o er vile and good. 
 O er the gay crowd and solitude ; 
 And softly fall yon silver beams, 
 Where Padus with his thousand streams 
 is rushing onward rapidly, 
 In haste to meet the dark blue sea ; 
 While the slight flower that bends to law 
 Its blossom in the sparkling wave, 
 Js swept beneath the rushing tide : 
 Emblem of loveliness and pride 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 But lights flash bright Ferrara s tower 
 
 Gleams gaily in the dusky hour ! 
 
 Mo ! lights are flashing, eyes are bright. 
 
 And joy s wild carol wakes to night ! 
 Where the sybil numbers float, 
 Late was heard a deeper note 
 When the tramp, and crash, and clau<r. 
 Dark along the valley rang ; 
 Where was rallied freedom s band, 
 Now the dark-eyed strangers stand ; 
 O er the avalanche s bed, 
 Came they with a colder tread : 
 
 Clouds of battle rolled away, 
 
 Yonder arch is bright as ever, 
 
 Wild birds wake their roundelay, 
 
 But thy children bleed for ever : 
 
OF ESTE. 
 
 And the chains are strongly bound, 
 Brave and beautiful around. 
 Many a tale of guilt and sorrow, 
 Fanpy there did darkly borrow ; 
 Bade the peasant s footsteps falter, 
 As he neared the lonely altar ; 
 Whispered he of shrouded forms, 
 Borne upon the mountain storms ? 
 Dying shrieks of agony, 
 In the night wind sweeping by 
 The moss grown turrets rose alone, 
 They that reared the pile were gone. 
 Had they crossed a rival s hour, 
 Had they dared a tyrant s power, 
 Had they loved their land too well ? 
 Where were they ? let treason tell, 
 How, or why, or where they fell. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But lights flash bright and wild delight 
 Fantastic treads the scene this night ; 
 And half unbending sable brow, 
 Dark Este bids the revel flow. 
 Not often had the princely call 
 
 Of Este bid the stranger cheer : 
 Bound in a deep and mighty thrall, 
 
 How wildly shapes the guilty fear ! 
 The midnight dream, the injured shade, 
 The turning steel of trust betrayed 
 2* 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 The deadly aim in friendship s dress, 
 The death blow in the kind caress. 
 But now, at once the portals wide, 
 Fling free the haunts of love and pride ; 
 And earth, and wave, and ocean isle 
 Gather their sweets for beauty s smile. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A thousand torches lent their light 
 To gild the Sala s vaulted height ; 
 Reflected back from gold and gem, 
 Price of a monarch s diadem ; 
 From the high archway gorgeously 
 Waved there the crimson canopy ; 
 While here, like Alpine s spotless snows, 
 The alabaster pillar rose : 
 From silver urns the aloe wood 
 Of Persia poured its incense flood, 
 And scented flames rose high and bright 
 From many a censer s golden light j 
 As the gem in sunlight sparkling 
 Long beneath the waters darkling ; 
 As the stream in silence gliding 
 Sudden to the rock dividing ; 
 Backward from its breast recoiling, 
 In a thousand dimples boiling : 
 Mirth long bound, his fetters breaking, 
 Started to a bright awaking ; 
 Gaily rung the castinet, 
 Where the merry dancers met ; 
 
OP ESTE. 10 
 
 Now in frolic mood advancing, 
 Through the mazy circles glancing ; 
 And ever still the shades between, 
 Some thing of loveliness was seen 
 Gliding along those shining aisles, 
 All life, and radiance, and smilesj 
 Oh, there was magic all around, 
 And every wandering sense was bound 
 In present, powerful to bless, 
 Past, and to come, forgetfulness. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The soft Mimosa* swept the stream 
 
 That rushed along to meet it, gladly ;. 
 Say, was it fancy s idle dream, 
 
 Or did it bend more lowly, sadly, 
 Than to its own bright eastern wave ; 
 Oh lovely there its boughs to lave, 
 And through the long sweet summer fan 
 Its own broad sea, its Caspian ! 
 In their unrivalled luxury, 
 The deep perfumes of Araby 
 Flung to the breeze s light caress 
 All their young soft deliciousness : 
 Then music too ; wild melodies 
 Were wafted on each gentle breeze ; 
 To the deep groves that far away 
 From that resplendent brightness lay, 
 
 * Mimosa, or Silk-tree: it droops like the willow ; U very sweet; is found in 
 Teheraun, and wild on the bordera of the Caspian. See Keppel s Travels m 
 India. 
 
20 THE RIVALS 
 
 Spreading their mimic solitude ; 
 Oh, who but love would dare intrude ! 
 And where s the crowd, or tell me where 
 The solitude he will not dare ! 
 
 That moonlit grove, that moonlit grove ! 
 Reared for the very haunt of love ; 
 Far from the lights that idly shone, 
 Where fell the moonbeam s light alone : 
 And not a whisper broke the air, 
 
 Save as the gurgling waters crept 
 Across the lonely beauty there ; 
 
 How truly there the bosom kept 
 Its vigil o er the kind caress, 
 Or the cold grave of happiness I 
 That moonlit grove ! dim, shadowy, 
 Why swells upon its breeze the sigh ? 
 Why, as the rose-bud rears its head, 
 For ever there the mildew shed ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 That moonlit grove ! there sleeps, they say, 
 The heart where love, youth, beauty met 
 
 That nurtured in his burning ray, 
 
 Could bleed and die, but not forget. 
 
 Few summers could that maiden tell. 
 
 For young hearts only love so well ; 
 

 OP ESTE. 
 
 And love like that, ah, hearts can know 
 A love like that but once below ; 
 Pure as the dream to childhood given, 
 Bright as a hope of yon blue heaven ; 
 Sparkling as ocean wave ; yet deep 
 As things beneath its surface sleep. 
 She came in beauty, Este s bride, 
 The idol in his halls of pride : 
 But paler grew, and bowed her head, 
 And sleeps upon her grassy bed ; 
 And Este s eye did never bend 
 
 Upon that lone and hallowed spot. 
 Nor thither did his footsteps tend 
 
 And if remembered, heeded not ; 
 Or marked by chance, her early tomb, 
 But crossed his brow with fiercer gloom : 
 They told of honor, faith betrayed, 
 Wrong done to rival, and to maid 
 Some dark, unutterod memory 
 Was twined about her destiny ; 
 The story strange ; it was a space, 
 The fairest in the fairy place ; 
 Of brighter sun, and deeper shade, 
 Like hearts that trust, and are betrayed : 
 Young willows there their branches wave, 
 And peasants call it, " Giulia s grave." 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 XII. 
 
 Wrapped in a garb that well concealed 
 What not the wearer s will revealed 
 N&r seeking, lonely and afar, 
 To share, to heighten, or to mar 
 Threading the wild enchantments there. 
 And gazing on each passing fair ; 
 As all in vain had tried their art, 
 To fling one fetter round his heart 
 With gloomy brow, and breast of steel 
 Who stands amid the revel peal, 
 The golden lights, the soft perfume, 
 Like some dark prophet of the tomb ? 
 Few were the furrows on his brow, 
 Still darkly bright the eye below ; 
 But sullen sigh, and step apart, 
 Bespoke the autumn of the heart ; 
 The hidden wo ; or, brooding long 
 And darkly o er remembered wrong : 
 The heart that sorrows in its gloom, 
 While pleasure slumbers in the tomb ! 
 If transient smile his lip hath worn, 
 Was it in passing joy or scorn ? 
 A moment more, and stands confessed 
 The gnawing canker of the breast. 
 He passed where shouts of pleasure rung. 
 The laugh was hushed, the lyre unstrung ; 
 They shrunk as if a phantom s eye 
 Had glanced upon their revelry, 
 
OF ESTE. 2$ 
 
 
 Yet turned again all fearfully, 
 
 As powerless to turn or flee. 
 
 He left the torch s flashing glare, 
 
 As claiming no communion there ; 
 
 And trembling heart, and throbbing brain, 
 
 Sprung to the jocund feast again. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet who was he ? no honours shone 
 
 Where sullen hate had marked her own : 
 
 Yet well they reck that measured port 
 
 Was nurtured in a princely court : 
 
 Some whispered of a pilgrim knight 
 
 That held each frolic revel light ; 
 
 While others, older in the art, 
 
 That earth so well can teach the heart, 
 
 That lesson, bitter in its truth, 
 
 To rend the magic veil of youth 
 
 And read within the roses glow 
 
 How sharp the thorns that sleep below 
 
 Such, in his form essayed to trace, 
 
 The remnant of a noble race ; 
 
 Their fortunes all unknown ; twere best. 
 
 Perchance, for some, that thus they rest. 
 
 It was a tale of night and blood ; 
 
 But who had fought, or fall n, or stood ? 
 
 Deserted why their battlement ? 
 
 Or why their waving banner rent ? 
 
 Some might the mystery reveal, 
 
 But daggers too a lip can seal ; 
 
2 THERIVALS 
 
 Why babbling from a tattler bear, 
 When steel can put a signet there ? 
 More wisej perchance, the tale unsaid, 
 Too many now had sunk or fled. 
 All idly did the sun-rays fall 
 Upon their silent, roofless hall 
 The grass grown hearth forgot its glow \ 
 Where was the banquet s genial flow ? 
 Ruin had well achieved her mark, 
 The lordly pile rose frowning, dark 
 And nought across the murky air 
 Awoke one sleeping echo there, 
 Save as- the night-bird Capped her wing 
 Above the cold and mouldering 
 Or the wild tempest in its power 
 Swept darkly round the vine-clad tower ; 
 Then, when the thunder crash of heaven 
 Adown the mountain brow was driven, 
 The turrets trembled to the shock, 
 And through their aisles the murmurs broke. 
 In hollow and unearthly tone, 
 Like some departed spirit s moaft. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But who was he that darkly came, 
 
 Nor courtesy to yield, or claim ? 
 
 And wherefore there ? in vain the heart 
 
 Of Este bade that thought depart. 
 
 Why blanched thy cheek and sunk thine eye, 
 
 As the proud stranger passed thee by ? 
 
OP ESTE. 25 
 
 Thou hast not quailed in battle da"y, 
 Nor shrunk to meet the foe s array 
 What fear st thou now in peaceful hall. 
 Where myriad slaves obey thy call ? 
 Why, pouring there the sparkling wine. 
 Libation deep at pleasure s shrine, 
 The sudden start, and glancing eye, 
 As fear of lurking treachery ? 
 Why not the lordly stranger pressed, 
 To banquet with the chosen guest ? 
 Sadly and dark he passed along, 
 Nor heeding mirth, or wine, or song ; 
 Yet ere the portal gate was crossed, 
 A moment lingered by his host ; 
 " We once have met, we ll meet again. 
 Beyond the reach of festal train 
 Our music there, a deeper strain. 1 
 
 xv. 
 
 Ugo ! not thine the dull insensate clay, 
 That warms not, kindles not in passion s ray- 
 Not thine the creeping clod in mortal form, 
 Alike below the rainbow and the storm 
 As things embosomed in the solid rock, 
 Safe from the whirlwind and the tempest s shock, 
 Live on unchilled, unharassed by the storm, 
 Whose desolation sweeps each lovelier form 
 But ah, uncheered, unbrightened in their gloom, 
 While flower and sunbeam play above their tomb ! 
 3 
 
26 THE RIVALS 
 
 la vain for them the summer breezes wake. 
 Across the deep blue mirrors of the lake ; 
 The mid-day splendors of the vaulted heaven. 
 And all the softer loveliness of even : 
 In vain for them each bright and lovely thing, 
 It cannot pierce their rocky covering. 
 For him did passion fasten, not to roam, 
 And love and hate alike might find a home ; 
 And burning, bounding, did their currents flo\v 
 From the deep fountain of the heart below. 
 Few were the idols of his breast, 
 And shrined for ever there to rest ; 
 Few, rather say to one, was given, 
 Worship that might have challenged heaven 
 Many a year had darkly flown, 
 Since sorrow made that heart its own ; 
 And in its bitterness congealed, 
 
 The first wild storm had passed away, 
 But traces, deeply wrought, revealed 
 
 How desolating was its sway : 
 Twas not the landscape tempest swept 
 Where beauty in each ruin slept, 
 Till sunbeam, anil the summer rain, 
 Should bid it all re-bloom again ; 
 But one wide desolated waste, 
 
 Whereon no living, lonely thing, 
 JEven though withered, might be traced. 
 
 In promise of a second spring : 
 Fit dwelling for the scorpion 
 Revenge, to breathe and riot on ; 
 Fit, while the deep and deadly sting 
 Of baffled love was festering. 
 
OF ESTE. 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh baillecl love ! thine, thine the power, 
 To sorrow o er the brightest hour : 
 In vain, in vain we join the throng, 
 Where mirth and music swell along ; 
 Some lingering note recalls the strain 
 That will not wake for us again. 
 Deep in the bosom slumbering, 
 
 Through many an hour of earthly strife.. 
 Some reckless touch awakes the string, 
 
 And all the phantom starts to life ; 
 And still when scarce a midnight breath, 
 Disturbs the mimic rain of death, 
 How purely true the tear we pay, 
 To all for ever passed away ! 
 How bleeds the bosom in its truth, 
 O er the young idol of its youth . 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And he is gone ! and Este flung 
 
 Back from his heart the shade he threw. 
 And merrily in distance rung 
 
 The echo of the wild halloo. 
 And he has sought the moonlit grove, 
 Sacred to Giulia, and to love ; 
 With bosom seared and desolate, 
 To scan the dark awards of hate ; 
 His ruined heritage, his hand 
 Long fettered in a foreign land ; 
 
28 THE RIVALS OFESTE. 
 
 His kindred s grave, ambition crossed, 
 
 And Giulia too, the loved, the lost ! 
 
 He bowed his head ; 
 
 " Tis nothing now 
 
 His hands were clenched upon his brow. 
 
 He shook in deep convulsive throe, 
 As the full cup of agony 
 
 Dashed o er the heart below. 
 
 All that warms affection s stream. 
 
 All that gilds ambition s dream, 
 
 All of pure and passionate 
 
 Love can image or create, 
 
 Turned to bitterness and flame, 
 
 Madd ning o er the moment came : 
 "Mine is yet a victim s bliss. 
 Vengeance claims a sacrifice ; 
 Bursting heart, and burning brain, 
 Ask it, nor they ask in vain ; 
 Heart-sworn hatred points the foe, 
 Beep the wrong, and sure the blow. 1 
 
THE RIVALS OF ESTE, 
 
 ANTO U. 
 
of 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Now morning hung all tremblingly 
 
 On the deep purple of the sky ; 
 
 And now, in thousand splendors given. 
 
 Burst from Ferrara s cloudless heaven. 
 Oh, there is music in the first bright ray, 
 That sweeps the night-cloud from its golden way 
 Music, wild music in that burst of light, 
 As all the landscape rushes on the sight ; 
 And music in the silvery strains that rise 
 From the young spirit to its native skies ! 
 It is the hour of nature s revelry, 
 The pictured promise of futurity ; 
 What though but yesternoon a promise gave, 
 To pass, as sought the sun the western wave ; 
 Again, again we trust its power to bless, 
 And trust, to meet again, deceitfulness. 
 Long visioned hours of life, and light, and song. 
 In all their summer beauty float along ; 
 And dreams of happiness, tis but a dream, 
 The dim reflection of a brighter beam ; 
 
32 T H E It I V A L S 
 
 Her spirit form throned in a purer sphere, 
 Perchance may linger, but she comes not here. 
 To rush in frenzied feeling on, 
 To pant, to grasp some idol one ; 
 To clasp, ah what ! a phantom shade, 
 Of love, and hope, and heart betrayed ! 
 This is thy boon, existence ; this 
 The charmed record of thy bliss. 
 
 Hark there ! upon the breeze of morn. 
 
 Unwonted sounds from distance borne ; 
 
 The trumpets twang a stranger note, 
 
 Along that peaceful .vale to float ; 
 
 For though the heart unchained and free- 
 Sure fettered hand was fealty. 
 
 It sunk, and all around was still, 
 
 And the winds murmured from the hill. 
 
 Once more it hushed the lullaby, 
 
 That whispered in the zephyr s sigh ; 
 
 Burst on the warrior, wild, profound. 
 
 His charger started at the sound ; 
 
 And feebler spirits shrunk to hear 
 
 That note of discord, and of fear ! 
 They came, as the thunders have pealed through the sky, 
 When the broad blue arch was serenity ; 
 The tramp of the horse, the clang of the horn, 
 Loud, and more loud, on the summer breeze borne I 
 A coal black steed has left the line, 
 His trappings of gold in the sun-light shine j, 
 
OF ESTE. 33 
 
 He dashed along the ranks of war, 
 
 As his rider had marshalled such hosts before, 
 
 There was an emblem on his breast, 
 
 Its meaning by few of his followers guessed : 
 
 Yet one that saw it from afar, 
 
 Started, as well he divined that star ; 
 
 He thought not to have met the sight, 
 
 In the halls of song, or the fields of fight ; 
 
 He deemed its lustre quenched in blood. 
 
 Now. bright before him again it stood ; 
 
 And foremost when the volleying shot 
 
 Poured from the turrets, fast and hot ; 
 
 The faint to urge, the brave to screen. 
 
 There was that jetty courser seen 
 
 in. 
 
 As the torrent, clear and bright, 
 Bursting from its Alpine height, 
 Onward, onward, gathering force, 
 Fury, madness, in its course ; 
 Broader as its bosom sweeps, 
 From rock to rock in thunder leaps ; 
 Dashing aside the snowy wreath, 
 And plunging in the gulf beneath ! 
 On they came with shout and shriek. 
 To the mountain s hoary peak 
 Did the fearful clamor break. 
 
34 THE RIVALS 
 
 IV. 
 
 In vain, in vain did Este bar 
 
 His portals gainst the unequal war : 
 
 In vain, in vain the lingering few, 
 
 To duty and their chieftain true, 
 
 Crowd in that dread decisive hour, 
 
 To man the tottering heights of power ; 
 
 The mighty tumult shook the walls, 
 
 They tremble, crash, the bastion falls ! 
 
 On through the breach the victors pour. 
 
 And dark recoiled the tide of war : 
 
 From battlement to battlement 
 
 The yell of victory was sent ; 
 
 Loud and terrible the din, 
 
 To the few that fought within ; 
 
 As they caught the coming knell 
 
 Of their death doom in the yell 
 
 Crushed for a moment, not subdued 
 
 With gathering strength, and thought renewed.. 
 
 Brightly they rallied to the host 
 
 In vain the struggle all is lost ! 
 
 Still onward rush the battling foes, 
 
 Fresh ranks in deadly conflict close 
 
 Their path was o er the gasping dead, . 
 
 The red wound quivered to their tread ; 
 
 Slayer and slain together lay, 
 
 ; Neath sculptured arch, and curtain gay ;. 
 
 And many a ghastly corse was piled, 
 
 Where beauty had so lately smiled ! 
 
OP ESTE. 
 
 v. 
 
 Blood was on the marble floor, 
 Gems and gold were sprinkled o er ; 
 It bathed the locks all jetty and bright, 
 Of many a chief in his youthful might ; 
 And threw a purple stain upon 
 The hoary locks of the aged one. 
 Mingled din of battle came, 
 Clang of sword, and flash of flame ; 
 Groan of him that grieves to die, 
 Ere he has crushed his enemy ; 
 The hollow light of the half-closed eye, 
 The trunk that quivers convulsively. 
 
 vr. 
 
 ; Fire to the pile!" was the order given, 
 
 And the towering flames shot athwart the heaven 
 
 High and wide the heavy smoke 
 
 In wreathing columns darkly broke, 
 
 And one sulphureous canopy 
 
 Curled like a night-cloud to the sky. 
 
 * Fire to the pile !" was the order he gave, 
 
 And the wounded have found them a speedier grave. 
 
 VII. 
 
 First in the fight with brow unbending. 
 And steel full oft and sure descending, 
 Did Este stand whatever he felt 
 Not this the hour to turn or melt 
 
36 THE RIVALS 
 
 He had pressed to the dizzy brink 
 
 Of crime and power and should he shrink ? 
 
 No though it trembles to his weight, 
 
 He dared, and he will meet his fate 
 
 By that to that, he rose, and whether 
 
 To stand or sink, they link together. 
 
 Thus, as the hunter winds his strain, 
 
 The forest coward scours the plain ; 
 
 But turned at bay, his front he rears, 
 
 And rushes on the foe he fears. 
 
 vin. 
 
 Yet see ! what sabre sweeps before him. 
 What eye of fire is flashing o er him ? 
 Borne on the fury of the fight, 
 With hostile front they near unite- 
 It was the grapple fierce and strong, 
 Of deep and un forgiven wrong ; 
 The clasp of injury and hate, 
 Above the ruins they create : 
 With arm to arm, and breast to breast 
 Unyielding, motionless they rest 
 But frowning brow, and swelling vein, 
 The close, more close, convulsive strain ; 
 The lip compressed, the gathering glow 
 Told struggle desperate below 
 Nor shout, nor shriek, nor taunting word, 
 Nor curse, nor agony was heard ; 
 
OF ESTE. .V; 
 
 Till wavering, reeling to and fro, 
 Together bound, down, down they go* 
 Headlong upon the ground below. 
 More furious grew the combat then, 
 As either strove to rise again ; 
 The sabre steel flashed quick between. 
 Skilful to fathom or to screen ; 
 Till false for once and from the side 
 Of Este gushed the crimson tide. 
 " Now yield" 
 
 " No, never !" Este said- 
 And as the sullen words he sped, 
 His nerveless hand essayed to grasp 
 The steel that trembled in his clasp ; 
 In vain the cold drops on his brow 
 In this dark hour it failed him now ; 
 Prostrate on earth, he looked to heaven* 
 There did he hope to be forgiven ! 
 Or how desponds the parting soul* 
 As memory spreads her blackened roll . 
 No cry for mercy crossed the air 
 That gurgling gasp might seem despair, 
 Or checkless burst of mortal pain ; 
 Or if attempt of words, in vain 
 The cry to do, or save, or say, 
 In the death rattle died away. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Vear after year, in brightness and decline^ 
 Has swept the remnant of that battle line ; 
 No more the clang of steel, the clarion strain-. 
 And dull cold silence on the blood-ctyfcd plain. 
 4 
 
S8 THE RIVALS 
 
 X. 
 
 Years ! how they pass, all silent and unseen, 
 Yet leave a trace to tell that they have been ! 
 Where is the viewless hand that steals away 
 The hopes, the smiles, the raptures of to-day ; 
 Snatching the sunny idols from the shrine, 
 Where half we hailed them deathless as divine ? 
 Is it when vernal breezes sweep along, 
 And all the woodland wakens into song ? 
 Is it when summer breathes upon the plain, 
 And every flowret starts to life again ? 
 Man ! do they beckon beauty from its grave, 
 And snap the crystal fetter from the wave ; 
 And loud proclaiming nature s revelry, 
 Bring but cold sullen apathy for thee ? 
 Yes yes Time wafts thee with untiring wing 
 To find no brighter bloom, no second spring ; 
 But onward, onward, to that last cold spot, 
 Its dreams unknown^ the dreamer soon forgot ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Where one vast ruin, blackened and defaced, 
 
 Rises upon the wide unpeopled waste ; 
 
 Where lingering sunbeams find no answering smile. 
 
 And scarce the tempest can deform the pile ; 
 
 All shattered, shapeless, fearful in its gloom, 
 
 A beacon, and a record, and a tomb ; 
 
 The peasants point 
 
OF ESTE. 39 
 
 " There rose the gilded dome 
 For crime and lordliness, the palace home ; 
 There where the wild bird flits the heights along, 
 How burst the shout of revelry and song ; 
 How every portal blazed a burst of light, 
 How smiled young beauty on the circle bright ; 
 How swelled in peal on peal the festal strain, 
 Till answering echo flung it back again!" 
 And the worn peasant, resting on the soil, 
 Rich in his tears, and wretchedness, and toil, 
 Started as like old ocean s sink and swell, 
 The distant clamor o er his slumbers fell, 
 
 xir. 
 
 ic mildews creep upon the sculptured porch, 
 And there the meteor lights its fitful torch ; 
 No host no guest no warder and no call 
 0ne desolating blast has silenced all. 
 
 They say when midnight veils the skies, 
 
 And mortal lids are closed in sleep, 
 That strange unreal shapes arise, 
 
 And there unearthly vigils keep ; 
 Unfixed in their eternal doom, 
 They rise from neath the massy tomb ; 
 That years and years have coldly pressed 
 | Upon their low, unhallowed rest. 
 The traveller lated in his path 
 Will rather brave the tempest s wrath, 
 On forest wilds, and mountain bare, 
 Than turn to seek for shelter there : 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 
 And he that ventures to delay 
 Till that dread hour his homeward 
 Oh, language fails him to declare 
 The sights that froze his being there ! 
 The glaring and unearthly light, 
 More than the mid-day splendor bright ; 
 The legions of returning dead, 
 To his affrighted vision spread : 
 And yet so silent not a word, 
 A whisper, or an echo heard ; 
 The mighty masses meet and part, 
 The cymbals ply their ceaseless art ; 
 All breathless, voiceless as the grave, 
 Which there hath rolled its leaden wave. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The moon is bright in heaven no sound 
 
 To break that solitude profound ; 
 
 And night has flung her mantle still 
 
 On tree and grove and distant hill. 
 
 No breeze disturbs the sleeping flower, 
 
 No zephyr fans the orange bower ; 
 
 Breathless as fond affection keeps 
 
 Her silent watch where childhood sleeps 
 
 When hark ! a step in hall and bower, 
 
 Seeking the track which others shun ; 
 Threading alone in such an hour, 
 
 The tangled paths, the ruined tower 1. 
 
OF ESTE. 41 
 
 Oh, who would seek them save that lonely on e 
 
 The same dark sullen form 
 
 That trod the haunts when mirth was warm ; 
 
 The same that came with arms and hate, 
 
 And left it lifeless, desolate ! 
 
 Year after year had passed and now, 
 
 With sunken eye, and pallid brow, 
 
 And heart as torpid as the grave, 
 
 Of her he would have died to save ; 
 
 He stood, the only thing of breath, 
 
 Where all was silence, withering, death. 
 
 Alone, to know that earth hath gloom 
 
 More cold and cheerless than the tomb ; 
 
 Alone, to find that sin can wave 
 
 A deadlier banner than the grave. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He glanced around each vaulted height 
 Gathered a deeper gloom from night ; 
 And as he passed there was a sigh, 
 As some light spirit flitted by ; 
 Twas but the echo of his tread, 
 Upon the pillow of the dead. 
 He was alone within the shade 
 By that vast mould ring fabric made ; 
 And strange congenial destiny 
 Had wrought for them a kindred tie ; 
 Not theirs the stilliness where age 
 Has gently pressed its signet sage ; , 
 4* 
 
42 THE RIVALS 
 
 But passion woke with fiery sway. 
 
 And desolation swept the way ! 
 
 Oh, in that hour how dark the track. 
 
 As memory trod her desert back : 
 
 Again was filled the lordly hall, 
 
 Again he saw them bleed and fall ; 
 
 And an icy shivering came 
 
 O er his stern, unbending frame, 
 
 As he thought on the gasp and parting breath 
 
 Of him that he had vowed to death. 
 
 Deep had his wrongs been, and he gave 
 
 To soul and body both a grave.* 
 
 xv. 
 
 And she, his promised bride, 
 
 Uprising from her fearful tomb* 
 And lovely as in hours of pride, 
 
 He saw her beauty bloom ; 
 Ere treachery and falsehood came, 
 To cross with agony and shame ; 
 And phantoms of an hour like this, 
 Their purest, brightest dream of bliss 
 The idol of his bosom yet, 
 The all it never could forget : 
 Dear when the world for them was light, 
 And dearer now in sorrow s night 
 The deep and goading memory 
 Which nev.er yet had ceased to be ; 
 
 * To prevent misapprehensions, it is deemed proper to observe, that the 
 expression " grave of the soul," is not meant to convey the idea that dea J; is 
 eternal sleep. 
 
OP ESTE. 48 
 
 But like the lightning fire, consumed 
 The very ruin it illumed 
 The heart that clung to him in bliss, 
 And had not shrunk in hour like this ! 
 
 She sleeps within her bower 
 The fairest, purest, loveliest ; 
 
 Where many a gay and laughing hout 
 In joy caressing and caressed, 
 
 She caught the wild bird s note, 
 And mingled as it passed along 
 Her lute s own soft and silvery song 
 
 There do the night damps float ; 
 And song, bird, flower are nothing now, 
 The green turf presses on her brow ; 
 The smile is gone the heart is chill, 
 In that intensity of ill. 
 Oh, there is something as the cloud 
 
 Of sorrow blights the spirit s bloom, 
 More sullen than the sable shroud 
 
 Which wraps its beauty in the tomb 
 Alas that flower of the heart, 
 
 Frailer than summer s fairest thing,. 
 Vainly we bid the worm depart, 
 
 On its young beauty revelling ; 
 And pity pours her plaintive strain 
 
 Above the faded blossoms then- 
 Weep, stranger weep, tho tears are vain, 
 
 Twill never never bloom again. 
 
44 THE RIVALS OF ESTE. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Once more tis solitary, lone, 
 
 Where love, crime, hatred claimed their own : 
 
 And owlets rear their dusky brood, 
 
 Where he, the dark avenger, stood. 
 
 There is no death- wail by that grave, 
 
 Save as the night wind meets the wave ; 
 
 And if perchance one forest flower 
 
 Blushes in that deserted bower, 
 
 Unloved, unplucked, its beauties glow 
 
 Only for her that sleeps below. 
 
 He is not there whose hand should fling 
 
 Such fragrance o er her lonely bed ; 
 In the world s tumult withering, 
 
 His woes are mute his hopes are dead : 
 No lights to point futurity, 
 Nor good to seek nor ill to flee : 
 But dark and deadly as the sea. 
 That rests in chill tranquillity ; 
 Alike above the foul and fair, 
 And all that found too soon their last cold dwelling there. 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
HEBREW MELODIES, 47 
 
 Saul 
 
 " I BID from old ocean 
 
 The atom return, 
 And mingle in motion 
 
 The dust of his urn ; 
 From tempests I gather 
 
 The matter that formed, 
 And snatch from the fire 
 
 The spirit that warmed. 
 Form of my power, 
 
 I beckon thee here ! 
 Shade of the sleeper, 
 
 Appear! appear!" 
 
 Thus the Sybil breathed her spell, 
 And the viewless owned it well ; 
 Phantoms came, and went, and came, 
 Stranger things without a name ; 
 Till the wild and fitful scene 
 Wore the form of what had been. 
 In the distance dim discerning, 
 f^ike the taper s feeble burning, 
 Mid the mists that charnels gather 
 Over sleeping son and father, 
 Stood the spirit ; something given, 
 Fetter link twixt earth and Heaven : 
 
48 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 Nameless, breathless, shadowing, 
 Yet itself a shadowed thing. 
 Fearful as a dungeon s gloom, 
 Stern and death-like as the tomb, 
 With a deep and hollow sound, 
 Thus it broke the still profound : 
 " Thing of an hour, 
 
 That bade me appear, 
 Shrink from the power 
 
 That beckoned me here ; 
 For, Chieftain, of sorrow 
 My breathings must be, 
 I hear in the morrow 
 
 Dark voices for thee ; 
 Oh, why on the hidden 
 
 Thus bending intent ? 
 
 Too soon for thy bosom 
 
 The veil will be rent ! 
 
 In the gathering gloom afar. 
 I but see a falling star ; 
 O er the landscape laughing wide, 
 Soft I mark a sweeping tide ; 
 Now the silvery waters go 
 Headlong in the gulf below ; 
 Where yon sable shadows fall* 
 I can read a crumbling wall ; 
 Buried spear and broken feast, 
 Shame upon the chosen guest. 
 Now a form is by my side* 
 Sullied are its robes of pride > 
 
UEBEEW MELODIES. 49 
 
 Crouching in its shame it comes? 
 To its fathers voiceless homes ; 
 Now their shadows coldly twine, 
 And, O Chief, that form is thine i 
 Tremble, for in all I see 
 But thy own dark destiny !" 
 
50 HEBREW MELODIES, 
 
 JOSHUA, vi. 5. 
 
 OH, proud was thy battle-cry, Israel, given 
 When gathered thy host by the banner of Heaven ; 
 Like the sweep of dark Kedron, the roll of this tide, 
 When the bands of thy chosen went forth in their pride. 
 
 Hark ! hark to the trumpet, the echo from far, 
 The leader of princes, he speeds to the war ! 
 His arm is thy resting, his breath is thy svyord, 
 And nations shall faint at the voice of his word. 
 
 Let the cheer of the foe o er their battlements tower, 
 Ye shroud by the night-star the pride of their power ; 
 All bright in the sun-beam their triumphs may wave, 
 To-morrow that glory is cold in the grave. 
 
 When pealed thy wild shout to the blue mantled sky, 
 How the foeman shrunk back as he heard it pass by ; 
 The torches grew pale in the halls of their mirth, 
 And turret and battlement crumbled to earth. 
 
 Oh, where is the name like thine, mighty in story I 
 The Lord with thy triumphs has blended his glory ; 
 Then lift the dark eye to the azure that s o er thee, 
 And rush for the chaplets that brighten before thee. 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 51 
 
 2 KINGS; vii. 6. 
 
 WHERE had thy war-host, oh Israel ! fled, 
 When ye crouched at the sound of the Syrian s tread / 
 Nor raised was the banner, nor grappled the sword, 
 Yet the Syrian shrunk at the voice of the Lord. 
 
 It came when at midnight was closed every eye ; 
 Hark ! startling and fearful it burst from the sky ! 
 And chariot and horsemen, with crash and with clang, 
 All trackless and wild o er the slumberers rang ! 
 
 The foeman leaped up ; fly, oh fly from the strife, 
 Leave purple and silver, and rush for your life I 
 Through thy forests, Manasseh, they swept like the wind. 
 And the anger of Heaven rolled fiercely behind ! 
 
 Rise, daughters of Judah, no wail for the slain 
 Shall mingle a sigh with your harp s merry strain ; 
 And gather young garlands, and bind on your brow f 
 The red drops rest not on their loveliness now. 
 
 Yet no Chieftain shall laugh in the pride of his might, 
 To the King of the Kingly, the sword of the fight ; 
 Be the gush of your heart at his altar seat poured, 
 And wreathe a green leaf round the shrine of the Lord * 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 ISAIAH, Ixiv. 11. 
 
 How proudly burst the golden light of day 
 
 Upon the temple where Jehovah stood ; 
 How softly twiliglit flung its parting ray 
 
 Upon his altar s holy solitude ! 
 For there, commingling bright, the sunbeam met 
 
 Its essence in the day spring of the sky ; 
 His fiat warms its golden glory yet 
 
 33ut thine, my land, was quenched in agony. 
 
 ^et when from yonder broad blue arch of Heaven 
 
 I see the storm cloud roll its gloom away ; 
 Shall I not dream of thee as free, forgiven ? 
 
 Thou It start to more them glory s primal day, 
 Oh, never does the breeze of ocean bear 
 
 The fragrance of thy desolated shore \ 
 But with its sighs, my country, thine is there, 
 
 And thy sad murmur sweeps the Waters o es. 
 
 1 cannot mingle with the breath of flowers 
 
 One thought of loveliness not born of thee ; 
 I cannot tread the sweet and laughing bowers, 
 
 And e er forget thee, in their revelry ; 
 Oh no ! thy broken shrines, thy blackened towers. 
 
 That rose so proudly by fair Galilee, 
 Come coldly on the brightness of those hours ; 
 
 And from them all I turn to sigh for thee. 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 53 
 
 PSALM cxxxvii. 
 
 COME, sweep the harp ! one thrilling rush 
 
 Of all that warmed its chords to song, 
 And then the strains for ever hush 
 
 That oft have breathed its wires along 1 
 The ray is quenched that lit our mirth, 
 
 The shrine is gone that claimed the prayer ; 
 And exiles o er the distant earth, 
 
 How can we wake the carol there. 
 
 One sigh, rny harp ! and then to sleep, " 
 
 For all that loved thy song have flown ; 
 Why should st thou lonely vigils keep, 
 
 Forsaken, broken, and alone ? 
 Let this sad murmur be thy last, 
 
 Nor e er again in music swell ; 
 Thine hours of joyousness are past, 
 
 And thus we sever : fare thee well ! 
 
54 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 JEREMIAH, iv 30. 
 
 IN vain the crimson garment now. 
 
 It wraps a feeble limb ; 
 In vain the jewel decks the brow, 
 
 The eye beneath is dim: 
 For days gone by, for days to come. 
 In weary thoughts of blasted home> -\2 ii . 
 Does Judah s heart, and Judah s eye, 
 Darken amid your revelry. 
 
 Ye have your homes, your hearths ; your sires 
 
 Sleep neath the garden tree ; 
 Where are our hearths, our altar fires? 
 
 And what, oh what are \ve ? 
 3 Tis our s to pour the tear-drop fast* 
 Above the bright and buried past ; 
 For this does Judah s heart and eye 
 Turn sickening from your revelry* 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 JEREMIAH, x. 17. 
 
 FROM the halls of our fathers in anguish we fled, 
 Nor again will its marble re-echo our tread ; 
 For a breath like the Siroc has blasted our name, 
 And the frown of Jehovah has crushed us in shame. 
 
 His robe was the whirlwind, his voice was the thunder 
 
 And earth at his footstep was riven asunder ; 
 
 The mantle of midnight had shrouded the sky, 
 
 But we knew where He stood by the flash of his eye, 
 
 Oh, Judah ! how long must thy weary ones weep, 
 Far, far from the land where their forefathers sleep ; 
 How long ere the glory that brightened the mountain 
 Will welcome the exile to Siloa s fountain ? 
 
56 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 JEREMIAH, xxii. 10. 
 
 OH, weep not for the dead !. 
 Rather, oh rather give the tear 
 To those that darkly linger here. 
 
 When all besides are fled ; 
 Weep for the spirit withering 
 In its cold cheerless sorrowing, 
 Weep for the young and lovely one 
 That ruin darkly revels on ; . 
 
 But never be a tear-drop shed 
 
 For them, the pure enfranchised dead. 
 
 Oh, weep not for the dead 1 
 No more for them the blighting chill, 
 The thousand shades of earthly ill, 
 
 The thousand thorns we tread ; 
 Weep for the life-charm early flown. 
 The spirit broken, bleeding, lone ; 
 Weep for the death pangs of the heart.. 
 Ere being from the bosom part ; 
 
 But never be a tear-drop given, 
 
 To those that rest in yon blue heaven. 
 
POEM 8. 
 
SYBIL I look upon my brow, 
 
 Read to me my destiny ; 
 Mark the thoughts that even now 
 
 Burn to burst their secrecy. 
 Many a bright and laughing morrow, 
 Cradling in the sigh of sorrow : 
 Or in lines of light revealing 
 Withered hope and blasted feeling ; 
 Sybil, speak ! whate er the spell, 
 Name, for 1 can hear it well. 
 
 Tell of blisses rich and rare, 
 
 Wooing hearts to meet them, never; 
 Tell of all that s bright and fair, 
 
 Grappled, dashed aside, for ever : 
 Tell of roses plucked, and withering, 
 Storm clouds in the blue sky gathering ; 
 Serpents coiling round the bower, * 
 Blasted bud, and falling flower ; 
 Sybil, speak ! whate er it be, 
 Read to me futurity ! 
 
 I have trod the mountain track, 
 
 Where ambition rears her brood ; 
 
 i have flung the vesture back, 
 
 Dared to look on ill and good : 
 
60 D E S T I N T. 
 
 Day-beams on the spirit flashing? 
 Idle dreams of beauty dashing ; 
 With a shudder and a feeling, 
 Earth s cold nakedness revealing ; 
 Sybil, speak ! no spell ye bind 
 That my thoughts will shrink to find. 
 
 Shall I win the golden flow 
 
 Of young promise satisfied, 
 But to wake in depths below, 
 
 Colder, deeper, darker tide ? 
 There by fancy lit and shaded, 
 Low recline the frail and faded ; 
 Phantoms like the bubble buried 
 In the wave that o er them hurried : 
 Sybil, speak ! the gathering gloom, 
 Wraps it beauty or a tomb ? 
 
 I can nerve to meet the scorn, 
 
 I can bear the scorching flame ; 
 Tis but once to cloud the morn, 
 
 But the blighting of one name : 
 Bloom or burning, joy or anguish, 
 Tis but once to writhe or languish : 
 Speak the muttered malin louder, 
 Never can ye crush a prouder ; 
 Speak ! and be futurity, 
 Dark or bright, unveiled to me ! 
 
STfte 
 
 FAREWELL to thee. 
 To thee, the young home of my heart, farewell 
 How often will thy form in memory 
 
 Renew the spell ; 
 
 Each burning tone, 
 
 Par sweeter than the wild birds melting note 
 Across rny spirit like a dream by gone, 
 
 Their voices float. 
 
 When rose the song. 
 
 The life gush of the bosom, fresh and free, 
 .There breathed no sorrow as it swept along 
 
 Thy halls of glee; 
 
 Oh, when the gay, 
 
 The merry hearted blend the tide again, 
 Then fling to her, the loved one far away, 
 
 One kindly strain. 
 
 The skies are bright 
 
 That canopy thy bowers, my soul s young rest . 
 And, like thy fairy visions robed in light, 
 
 The loveliest : 
 
 The bird among 
 
 Thy deep perfumes pours its rich melody ; 
 *0h, in the music of that matin song 
 
 Remember me ! 
 
 i 
 
62 THE BRIBERS FAREWELL. 
 
 Another now, 
 
 Mother, above thy silvery locks must bend ; 
 And when the death-shade gathers on thy brow. 
 
 Who then will tend 
 
 Thy fading light ? 
 
 Oh, in its gleam all feebly, tremblingly, 
 The last gush of thy spirit in its flight, 
 
 Remember me ! 
 
 Sister, one sigh 
 
 Upon the midnight s balmy breath did float ; 
 One love-lit smile beneath the summer sky, 
 
 One echo note : 
 
 Oh, never yet, 
 
 Through love, life, music, feeling, fragrancy, 
 Can I the mingling of those hours forget ; 
 
 Remember me ! 
 
 The chained spell 
 
 Is strong, my own fair home, that bids us sever : 
 And bound in loveliness to break, no, never. ! 
 
 Then fare thee well : 
 
 And perished here, 
 
 As from the rosy leaf the dew that fell, 
 J dash from love s young wreath the passing tear ; 
 
 My own bright home, farewell ! 
 
jUomnncc. 
 
 No more the sound of revelry 
 
 Is heard within the lordly hall ; 
 And .warrior s jest, and maiden s glee, 
 
 And minstrel s song, have sunken all. 
 A louder note is heard afar, 
 The clarion cry calls on to war ; 
 And that deep death-peal stills the -strain; 
 That echoed from those walls again. 
 Minstrel ! thy harp can charm no more. 
 Maiden ! thy dream of bliss is o er ; 
 Thy warrior starts in haste to grasp 
 
 The battle sword, and flings aside 
 The last fond agonizing clasp 
 
 Of her he vowed to make his bride. 
 No thoughts are now for love and thee, 
 Young glory points his destiny ; 
 Where waves on high the banner crest. 
 And the rude war-cry lulls to rest. 
 
 Sleep on blue lake, a lonely one 
 
 Is gazing on thee now ; 
 O er whose young heart the wave of life 
 
 Flowed calm and bright as thou ; 
 The ray that lit the stream is gone, 
 4nd it glides on, dull, dark, and 
 
ROMANCE. 
 
 How proudly stood that warrior knight^ 
 
 How joyously the sunbeams played, . 
 When glittering steel and armor bright 
 
 Bespoke him for the fight arrayed . 
 The plume upon his casque was fair, 
 And one bright jewel bound it there ; 
 Nor e er in monarch s diadem 
 Has shone a brighter, purer gem. 
 
 That warrior passed to meet the foe ; 
 
 Then came the mingled din of strife, 
 And steel to steel in deadly blow, 
 
 And the close grapple, life to life. 
 The battle tide rushed darkly on 
 O er many a proud and mighty one ; 
 And clang of sword, and crash of spear 
 One mighty tumult struck the ear. 
 Where er the deadliest conflict broke, 
 Where er the cannon s thunder woke, 
 
 That warrior met the fight ; 
 Till backward sunk the foeman s train. 
 
 Like the recoil of ocean s wave ; 
 Then, quick, impetuous o er the plain. 
 
 Still foremost mid the victor brave. 
 That warrior led the victor band : 
 \nd blood, red blood was on his hand. 
 \nd blood was on his plume of snow, 
 But ah, still bright, the gem below ! 
 Bow pure that jewel must have been. 
 To cross each dark and deadly scene 
 
ROMANCE. 65 
 
 And mingle in such fierce affray, 
 Yet pass un soiled and bright away ! 
 
 " And now the victor s chaplet bring, 
 
 We ll twine it on his brow ;" 
 Its dark green honors sure will fling 
 
 A shade upon the gem below. 
 Ah, no ! it sparkles bright and clear, 
 Though to his heart perchance less dear ; 
 And though the laurel steals away 
 Remembrance of its pearly ray, 
 It cannot chase that gem away, 
 Nor sully o er its purity. 
 
 Hark ! where the moon-beams brightly sleep * 
 
 Upon the waveless sea, 
 What spirit forms their vigils keep, 
 In notes of music, soft and deep ? 
 
 It is thy voice fair Italy. 
 Oh, never let thy sorcery come 
 
 Across the wanderer s career ; 
 Twill teach him to forget his home* 
 
 And the soft blue eye weeping there= 
 
 That warrior brave now treads the haflsr>; 
 
 Where syren songs of pleasure flow ; 
 The fairy chaplets deck the walls, 
 
 And bright- eyed beauty smiles below: 
 
ROMANCE. 
 
 A thousand blazing lustres stream, 
 
 Bright as the meteor of the pole ; 
 Joy cross d the wild enchanted dream. 
 
 And flung her fetters o er the soul. 
 That warrior plucked the sweetest flower. 
 
 The brightest gem was twined for him ; 
 But neath the witchery of that hour, 
 
 Ah ! did the gem beneath grow dim ? 
 Deep was the magic of the scene, 
 
 A rosy circle round his brow ; 
 Still, all forgotten and unseen, 
 
 The gem was pure and bright below. 
 And when the flower had pass d away. 
 
 And the fair form of beauty gone, 
 Beyond the touch of dull decay, 
 
 Still will that jewel sparkle on. 
 
 What, was its ray so pearly fair, 
 
 All time, and chance, and change above 
 Twas woman bade it sparkle there, 
 
 An emblem of a woman s love. 
 Oh scorn it not ; twill closest cling* 
 When all is dark and sorrowing ; 
 Will gild for thee life s stormy wave, 
 And beacon thee beyond the grave . 
 
TWAS in the still and dreamy night, 
 
 Scarce one light echo woke to sound ; 
 And many an orb of silver light, 
 
 Was rolling thro the blue profound ; 
 The air-waves lay in calm repose, 
 The dew-drop trembled on the rose ; 
 Fancy her wings of light unfurled, 
 And sought afar a brighter world, 
 Where all is beautiful and fair ; 
 No taint of our dull being there, 
 No loves that soothe awhile to perish, 
 No hopes that wring the life they cherish 
 But pure and holy odours fall, 
 From passion s deathless coronal. 
 
 Moonlight ! there is a smile or sigh. 
 In every ray that cleaves the sky ; 
 The spell of earlier hours to bring, 
 Or point the heart s imagining : 
 Then is the lyre of feeling swept, 
 To many a note that long hath slept - 
 And darkly is the spirit pour d, 
 fn every deep impassioned chord-. 
 
MIDNIGHT. 
 
 The withered wreath on memory s shrine 
 
 Half blooms beneath the silent tear ; 
 While phantoms, more than half divine, 
 
 Lighten the desolation here : 
 Why come ye then, ye visions bright, 
 Like the wild meteor of the night ; 
 Flashing above that living tomb, 
 The bosom s cold sepulchral gloom ? 
 They came the beautiful and good, 
 As neath that midnight ray I stood, 
 All purely, exquisitely stealing ; 
 But darkness was in their revealing : 
 " My charmed wreaths I lightly twine 
 For many a heart, but none for thine ! 
 
 I saw young love ; his fairy bowers 
 
 Circled by many a rosy band ; 
 And ah, the sweet and blushing fkfwers 
 Wre gaily plucked by many a hand ; 
 The perfumed breezes broke the air, 
 And merry sunlights lingered there. 
 I saw them all ; from that emblem flower 
 Of passion in its brightest hour, 
 To the red lotus wreath that bore 
 The laugher to the Indian shore ;* 
 And many a one of sadder dye, 
 Yet fit in purity to vie, 
 And some that crushed, but flung behind, 
 A deeper fragrance to the wind ; - 
 
 * The Indians say, that Cupid was first seen gliding down the Ganges, on rbe 
 Nymphia Nelumbo. Pennant 
 
MIDNIGHT. 6& 
 
 L saw the lovely and the fair 
 
 Rush on to pluck the flowrets there : 
 
 I heard the heart s light revelry, 
 
 And felt there was no flower for me 
 
 Clouds and sunshine mingling met, 
 Rut the scene was lovely yet ; 
 And when awhile a shadow hung 
 
 Upon the azure of the sky, 
 That sunlight on its darkness flung 
 
 A pure and potent radiancy ; 
 It was a high and hallowed light, 
 
 Gilding the clouds it could not fade. 
 And lingering in its beauty bright, 
 
 For aye upon the deepest shade ; 
 Then came the music of the heart, 
 
 The softened tones that bliss can bring. 
 The wilder note in thrilling start, 
 
 As frolic pleasure sweeps the string ; 
 Soft the enchanted measures stole 
 In melting murmurs o er my soul ; 
 Like the deep mingled voices given 
 To our imaginings of Heaven. 
 I stood in solitude apart, 
 There was no music for my heart ; 
 I might have breathed as gay a strain ; 
 The thought was wild, the wish was vain : 
 That music sinking now, now swelling? 
 Fts varied tale of rapture telling, 
 
TO MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Soft as the silver bells are flinging,* 
 For ever from the eternal trees, 
 As trembling in the fragrant breeze, 
 By Allah s throne, their notes are ringing 
 That music burst upon my ear, 
 To every dream of fancy dear ; 
 But not to bring, no, not for me, 
 Its ravishing, deep melody. 
 
 Oh ! there is in the heart a note 
 
 That asks for a congenial string. - 
 Awake that mystic note alone, 
 
 It shrinks from its own echoing. 
 The lonely hour, the pallid beam 
 That plays upon the crystal stream, 
 The midnight breeze that whispers by. 
 Each orb that rolls the trackless sky, 
 Away ! away, ye sorceries, 
 That deeply lurk in such as these ! 
 Ye cross the vigils darkly kept, 
 Ye wake the dreams that long have slept 
 Away ! let cold oblivion s pall 
 O er every youthful vision fall ; 
 And every idol deeply rest 
 In the cold silence of the breast. 
 
 * Sale. 
 
Sotttentr. 
 
 TWAS but an hour they met ; the next they severed ; 
 
 Each to find other pleasures, other friends. 
 
 Hour after hour, year after year rolled on, 
 
 But saw them never, never meet again. 
 
 The sun in glory set, the moon rose bright, 
 
 The flowrets bloomed, and died, and bloomed again ; 
 
 Some hearts were hushed in death ; others beat close 
 
 To hearts they loved, and some forgot to love. 
 
 She had found other friends, and other hopes ; 
 
 And had decked other forms ; but ah, not with 
 
 The rainbow tints that fancy threw around him, 
 
 Twas but a little hour ; and time passed on, 
 But saw them never, never meet again. 
 It was not mountain top, nor valley green, 
 Nor gush of waters, nor the song of birds, 
 That wove him with existence ; he had twined 
 No sunny flowrets in the wreath of life ; . 
 Yet lingered he upon her brain ; a spell 
 To people solitude, and make the- crowd 
 A solitude, save that one nameless thought, 
 Linked with her very being, till it grew 
 The bright spot even of futurity. 
 
72 SOUVENIR. 
 
 And time passed on ; hour after hour passed on> 
 
 But saw them never, never meet again. 
 
 At last, cold whispers came from distant lands, 
 
 Of other home, bright eyes, and sunny smiles, 
 
 And vows, and idols ; it was all, perchance, 
 
 His heart had pictured in its dreams of bliss : 
 
 She breathed nor agony, nor sound, nor word ; 
 
 A sudden chill swept o er the heart s young flood ^ 
 
 Vacancy told of something that had been, 
 
 A something treasured, worshipped, cherished $ 
 
 And now, all nameless as it had been, crushed. 
 
 Nameless, and fathomless ; the thousand chains 
 
 By youth, love, feeling, fancy, passion wrought ; 
 
 There is no word to tell, no echo for 
 
 The viewless link that rivets heart to heart ; 
 
 And life, nor balm, nor answer, when it turns 
 
 To wear and gnaw the iron of the soul. 
 
 Time passed along ; but oft at midnight hour 
 
 A form hung round her pillow ; and that form 
 
 Was bright in beauty : sometimes gay and glad, 
 
 He laughed, and called her " love ;" and then he seemed 
 
 Like one, who, in her youth, she *d learned to love : 
 
 And when the dream was gone, it left a sigh. 
 
Romance* 
 
 THE warrior knelt before the maid, 
 
 A blush was on her cheek, 
 Telling, as o er her brow it played, 
 
 What not her tongue would speak : 
 > ; Ah, yes," he softly said, " thou lt be 
 
 My own, my lily bride ;" 
 And still, in maiden purity, 
 
 That maiden blush replied. 
 
 Life, love, and hope were in their spring 
 
 Beneath a cloudless sky ; 
 The wild bird spread its silken wing, 
 
 But breathed less melody : 
 Young nectar from the myrtle bower 
 
 The honey-bee might sip ; 
 The warrior found a sweeter flower 
 
 In the dew of that maiden s lip. 
 
 Still does the wild bird cleave the sky? 
 The honey-bee is glad ; 
 
 Why dim with tears that maiden s eye. 
 And why that warrior sad ? 
 
 Maiden ! dost fear to meet the storm 
 That shades a soldier s way, 
 
 The gems that deck a lordling s form- 
 Dost sigh for such as they ? 
 7 
 
74 ROMANCE. 
 
 " I woo thee not with glittering braid. 
 
 And jewels for thy hair ; 
 The golden gift that wins thee, maid, 
 
 An idle vow may bear :" 
 Still does the wild bird cleave the sky. 
 
 The honey-bee is glad ; 
 Why dim with tears that maiden s eye. 
 
 And why that warrior sad ? 
 
 To horse ! to horse ! my melody 
 
 Shall be the battle cry ; 
 And the war-trump of victory 
 
 As sweet as woman s sigh ! 
 For fettered birds go free again, 
 
 And love can dream of scorn, 
 When woman idly weaves the chain, 
 
 As idly be it worn." 
 
 Still does the wild bird cleave the sky, 
 
 The honey-bee is gay ; 
 But tears bedimmed that maiden s eye 
 
 As the warrior passed away. 
 * ; They say there s bliss in princely train. 
 
 And in a robe of pride ; 
 Then wake for me the bridal strain" 
 
 The maiden said, and sighed. 
 
 Loud laughter fills the banquet hall, 
 There s music in the grove, 
 
 And steps as light as music fall 
 To catch the voice of love. 
 
ROMANCE. 75 
 
 She led the dance in merry glee. 
 
 Her song was on the wind ; 
 And the red rose lay carelessly 
 
 Within her tress reclined. 
 
 But hark ! the harper s minstrelsy, 
 
 Of other days a part ! 
 She glanced upon the myrtle-tree, 
 
 And coldness crossed her heart ; 
 And a shade was on the festal hour, 
 
 The jewel lights grew dim ; 
 She only saw that myrtle bower, 
 
 She only thought of him. 
 
 " Oh take me where the breezes swell, ~ 
 
 Far from the haunts of pride ; 
 For they say there s joy where wild flowers dwell," 
 
 The maiden said, and sighed. 
 The forest blossoms bind her brow, 
 
 But the heart is cold below ; 
 And if she wake the harp-strings now, 
 
 What can they breathe but wo ? 
 
 That dream, that dream it comes again, 
 
 Linked with its broken vow ;. 
 As beautiful, as frail as then, 
 
 They stand before me now ! 
 Gather the young, the fair, the free. 
 
 Where a thousand torches glare ; 
 With lyre, and wreath, and revelry, 
 
 Still is that vision there ! 
 
ROMANCE. 
 
 It comes, when summer skies are bright,. 
 
 On the laugh of the morning breeze ; 
 It comes, when evening s misty light 
 
 Has swept the sleeping seas ; 
 An early rest in the sullen pall, 
 
 One dream with the death pang wove ; 
 Oh, never of gems, or of festal hall, 
 
 But that first young dream of love ! 
 
77 
 
 Contrast* 
 
 THE golden lights had chased the gloom 
 
 Of midnight far away, 
 And roses with their rich perfume 
 
 In many a cluster lay ; 
 The banquet spread, the goblets bright 
 
 Flashed at the revel call, 
 And music in her robes of light 
 
 Hung o er the festival ; 
 Then gathered round the royal board, 
 
 A small but princely band, 
 And gaily was the wine juice poured 
 
 To trusted heart and hand. 
 
 " Foam bright the cup ! its brilliancy 
 
 Shall chase the saddening tear ; 
 Foam bright the cup ! our pledge shall be, 
 
 Dreams of an earlier year ; 
 Dreams, like the red drop sparkling 
 
 For the drinker on its brim, 
 While far below lies darkling 
 
 The sullen drop for him. 
 We ve quaffed it all ; yet fill to-night, 
 
 And win the spell again ; 
 And rush the tide of feeling, bright 
 
 As rushed the torrent then." 
 7* 
 
78 THE CONTRAST 
 
 In vain, in vain young roses rest 
 As beautiful as ever ; 
 
 But, oh ! the freshness of the breast, . 
 When lost, is lost for ever ; 
 
 And eyes are dim, and furrows now 
 Have cradled many a care ; 
 
 And lights flash sunshine on the brow- 
 To wake but shadows there. 
 
 Where is the matin minstrelsy, 
 
 The spirit flow of song 
 When every wave gushed melody, 
 
 As it rushed in light along ? 
 Fill high the cup ! for visions start 
 
 Beneath its foamy play ; 
 But the warm currents of the heart. 
 
 Oh tell me, where are they ? 
 
 Each saw the sullen pall, 
 
 Shrouding the brave and good ; 
 Twas like the cold memorial 
 
 By Egypt s feast that stood ; 
 Sadly they turned,* and silently. 
 
 From the banquet board that night ; 
 And eyes were lifted mournfully 
 
 To yon bright heaven of light. 
 
 * The Quarterly speaks of a club in Edinburgh, convoked when the mem 
 bers were far advanced in yewe: the contrast was too painful they never me 
 again. 
 
1 HEARD the music of the wave, 
 
 As it rippled to the shore ; 
 And saw the willow branches lave, 
 
 As light winds swept them o er ; 
 The music of the golden bow, 
 
 That did the torrent span ; 
 But I heard a sweeter music flow 
 
 From the youthful heart of man . 
 
 The wave rushed on ; the hues of Heave i 
 
 Fainter and fainter grew ; 
 And deeper melodies were given 
 
 As swift the changes flew : 
 Then came a shadow on my sight, 
 
 The golden bow was dim ; 
 And he that laughed beneath its light, 
 
 What was the change to him ? 
 
 I saw him not ; only a throng 
 
 Like the swell of troubled ocean. 
 Rising, sinking, swept along 
 
 In the tempest s wild commotion ; 
 Sleeping, dreaming, waking then. 
 
 Chains to link or sever ; 
 Turning to the dream again, 
 
 Fain to clasp it ever. 
 
80 DREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 There was a rush upon my brain, 
 
 A darkness on mine eye ; 
 And when I turned to gaze again, 
 
 The mingled forms were nigh ; 
 In shadowy mass a mighty hall 
 
 Rose on the fitful scene ; 
 Flowers, music, gems were flung o er all". 
 
 Not such as once had been. 
 
 Then in its mist, far, far away, 
 
 A phantom seemed to be ; 
 The something of a gone-by day, 
 
 But oh, how changed was he ! 
 He rose beside the festal board, 
 
 Where sat the merry throng ; 
 And as the purple juice he poured 
 
 Thus woke his wassail song 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come ! while with wine the goblets flow. 
 For wine they say has power to bless ; 
 
 And flowers too ; not roses, no ! 
 Bring poppies, bring forgetfulness ! 
 
 A Lethe for departed bliss, 
 
 And each too well remembered scene , 
 Earth has no sweeter draught than this, 
 
 Which drowns the thought of what has been 
 
DREAM OF LIFE. 81 
 
 Here s to the heart s cold iciness, 
 
 Which cannot smile, but will not sigh ; 
 
 If wine can bring a chill like this, 
 Come, fill for me the goblet high. 
 
 Come ; and the cold, the false, the dead 
 
 Shall never cross our revelry ; 
 We 11 kiss the wine-cup sparkling red. 
 
 And snap the chain of memory. 
 
 
82- 
 
 " The wretched are the faithful." BYRON. 
 
 earth s cold joylessness 
 
 Once more to thee ; once more to thee ; 
 
 There is a tie in memory* 
 I would not seek to Jove it less ; 
 It is a bright and silvery chain, 
 How can it leave my heart again ! 
 It was a happy hour ; 
 
 The wild bird sings a note less sweet 
 
 Than when congenial spirits meet 
 In youth s enchanted bower : 
 Youth ! thine is all of heaven below, 
 How softly sweet thy blushes glow ! 
 How light thy step, how bright thine eye, 
 Ere it has glanced on misery ! 
 Beauty shrinks from the cold caress 
 
 Of ravaging, remorseless Time ; 
 
 That nurse of tears, and cares, and crime 
 Yet still we trust its power to bless, 
 And trust, and are deceived, and press 
 To trust again, deceitfulness. 
 
 Youth ! thou art all that beauty loves, 
 Smiles, flowers, the music of the groves : 
 The rainbow of yon heaven, all die, 
 While cloudless still the summer sky ; 
 
TASS O. 83 
 
 And oh, the heart has lost its bloom 
 
 Long ere it slumbers in the tomb : 
 
 We wander where the world is bright. 
 
 Self-shrouded in a starless night ; 
 
 Cold, loveless as the shadowy form 
 
 Of all that slumbers with the worm ! 
 
 The world is powerless to bless, 
 
 We ve met it in its heartlessness -, 
 
 Its magic veil is rent in twain, 
 
 And all reality again ; 
 
 And from its proffered fair and good, 
 
 We rush to pray in solitude, 
 
 One tear to all that passed away, 
 
 Bright, fleeting as the summer s ray"; 
 
 Even as I turn to thee, 
 
 Thou starlight on my memory ; 
 
 What though it shows more coldly clear 
 
 The utter desolation here ; 
 
 The waste of thought, the blight of heart, 
 
 Oh, never may its light depart. 
 
 Thou ; the young idol yet 
 
 Of all my spirit should forget ; 
 
 Where are the laughing hours we told, 
 
 Ere hopes were crushed; and hearts were cold ? 
 
 Tis nothing now ; twas nothing then 
 
 Yet memory pictures once again 
 
 That dream ; how could it seem to me 
 
 So very like reality ? 
 
 Twas that young fancy oft had thrown, 
 
 (When midnight made each thought her own ;) 
 
84 TASSO. 
 
 Some light, all heavenly, softly warm. 
 Upon a nameless shadowed form ; 
 Twas that young fancy oft had sought. 
 The nameless being of her thought ; 
 Till every dream of purity 
 Was realized at once in thee ! 
 
 We met, and said farewell ; 
 
 And parted, not to meet again : 
 Why of the weary past to tell ? 
 
 Pride, love, regret, remorse, are vain. 
 Perchance they all have been, and love, 
 Love lingers yet the wreck above : 
 And yet from earth s cold joylessness 
 Thought flings to thee its wild caress. 
 We knelt before the rosy shrine, 
 
 Where pleasure rears her bower ; 
 The carol of the heart was mine, 
 
 And thine her fairest flower ; 
 What though an asp was lurking there 
 
 To sting the heart that held too dear : 
 Perchance there s slumber in despair, 
 
 Since nought beyond is left for fear. 
 
 So sleep the day-dreams of the heart. 
 
 Nor recks it, in a world like this ; 
 An hour will bid alike depart, 
 
 Blessing, and curse; bliss, wretchedness 
 Still may the world for thee be bright 
 As summer s day of song and light ; 
 While I from earth s cold joylessness 
 Fling yet to thee one wild caress ! 
 
85 
 
 &8FANA ! there were songs of glee, 
 
 And laughing hearts, and homes for thee ; 
 
 Then the wild war-cry, fierce and dread, 
 
 From river slope to mountain head, 
 
 Burst like the wailing thunder storm. 
 
 And desolation swept thy form. 
 
 The rustic left the loaded vine, 
 
 The holy man has fled the shrine ; 
 
 For lo ! the eagle pants for fame, 
 
 And shout, and shriek, with Gallia s name, 
 
 Is wafted through the sulphury sky, 
 
 That canopies one crimson dye. 
 
 Oh, why the sable clouds of war, 
 
 To hide from heaven s golden star ; 
 
 Why, but to roll away and leave 
 
 New eyes to weep, new souls to grieve ; 
 
 Fetters for him in freedom nursed, 
 
 And woman s heart to bleed and burst ! 
 
 There was a hurried step, a sigh, 
 A tear-drop in the dark bright eye ; 
 On loved and lost her glances fell. 
 And thus the maiden breathed farewell : 
 -< Back to the earth, my summer flowers; 
 
 That gave your beauty birth, 
 Ve shall not wreathe the stranger s bowers - 
 
 Back, to the dark cold eaiih f . 
 
$6 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Ye sprang when all was bright and gay v 
 . Ye laughed in summer s golden ray ; 
 Ye breathed along your honeyed sigh 
 To every breeze that whispered by ; 
 But now, I scatter to the air 
 The young, and beautiful, and fair ; 
 Go, upon earth s cold breast recline, 
 Ye shall not deck the stranger s shrine. 
 
 Ye could not bloom, my summer flowers, 
 ;-i When I for aye had passed ; 
 The breai.h that warmed in other hours, 
 
 A mildew blight would cast : 
 Through storm and sunshine grew the spell. 
 It ends at last in this farewell ! 
 Farewell ! I fling ye to the wind, 
 To leave nor trace, nor tale behind ; 
 A word, a sigh, each, every one, 
 And then ye sleep, and 1 am gone ; 
 Sleep, with the infant of a day, 
 That smiled, and sighed, and passed away: 
 Sleep, with the heart whose bridal morn, 
 Was darken d by the traitor s scorn ; 
 Sleep, with the wreaths that fancy wove, 
 Sleep, with the first young dream of love ; 
 Sleep, where the pure and fair recline, 
 Rather than deck a stranger s shrine. 
 
87 
 
 A TURKISH ODE, OF MESIHI.* 
 
 HARK ! from her rosy shrine 
 i hear the Bulbul pour her melting note, 
 And where the almond boughs their blossoms twine, 
 
 Wild voices float. 
 
 Gather, oh man, the music of thy heart, 
 Too soon will life s young loveliness depart, 
 
 The grove, the hill, 
 
 The bright Sultana of the garden bowers, 
 And bending there to kiss the crystal rill 
 
 Wild forest flowers ; 
 
 Their bloom may gladden o er thy cold decline. 
 Laugh, in a loveliness less frail than thine. 
 
 A dew-drop, bright 
 As sunlight flashing o er the scimitar, 
 Sleeps on the balmy breast of lily light, 
 
 A mimic star 
 
 Gatch the pure night-gem ere it melts away, 
 Too soon will life s young loveliness decay. 
 
 And from the rose, 
 
 Bright as on maiden s cheek the crimson bloom, 
 And from the love that in its freshness flows 
 
 But to the tomb ! 
 
 * Paraphrased from a prose translation by Sir W. Jones. 
 
38 SPRING. 
 
 Gather, oh, gather to thy soul the glee, 
 Ere its cold nothingness is breathed to thee. 
 
 Now like the lance 
 
 That drinks the life-blood from the foeraan s hearts, 
 O er wood and vale, the burning sunbeams glance. 
 
 Andflowrets start. 
 
 Quick, to the noontide s golden sorcery, 
 Laugh, for their loveliness but fades from thee. 
 
 And now, no more 
 
 The grove is gathered in its icy gloom. 
 Spring breezes wake along the balmy shore, 
 
 And pierce the tomb. 
 
 Soft in each passioned breath young Houris sigh. 
 Sip the deep murmur ere its odours die. 
 
 And when the gay 
 
 Fling to the golden dome the shout again, 
 When merry wine- cups steal the soul away, 
 
 Oh, turn thee then ; 
 
 Turn, to the bright spring of thy spirit s faith. 
 Soon life s young loveliness is cold in death. 
 
 Heard ye the war, 
 
 When winter flung his terrors to the strife ? 
 Then came a mighty monarch from afar, 
 
 His step was life ; 
 
 He robed the red rose in its matin mirth, 
 Laugh, ere young loveliness has passed from earth, 
 
SPRING. $9 
 
 And oft this strain, 
 
 That pours its wild gush from thy summer bower, 
 Will wake in maiden s memory again, 
 
 At such sweet hour 
 
 Then fling the light-winged laughter round thy heart, 
 T-oo soon must life s young loveliness depart. 
 
fn sweet Mondego s ever verdant bowers, 
 Languished away the slow and lonely hours ; 
 While now, as terror waked thy boding fears, 
 The conscious stream received thy pearly tears ; 
 And now, as hope revived thy brighter flame, 
 Each echo sighed thy princely lover s name. 
 
 Camoens. 
 
 ^ To thee, to thee once more I turn, thou light of other 
 
 days, 
 The meteor that lured me oa with bright but fleeting 
 
 rays; 
 Oh, rather fire, all burning, blighting, maddening my 
 
 brain, 
 And lingering in memory to sweep the waste again. 
 
 For I have loved thee in the flow and brilliancy of song, 
 I loved thee when the tide of life swept swift and smooth 
 
 along ; 
 I loved thee, though the carol d joy was changed by 
 
 thee to wo, 
 Thine image yet is on the wave of night and death 
 
 below. 
 
 Of night and death! strange fitful things are flitting 
 round the scene, 
 
 The broken loveliness of all that should for aye have 
 been; 
 
 Away ! ye come iike ghosts by night around the mur 
 derer s bed, 
 
 Why should the shadows haunt, when their reality has 
 fled? 
 
INEZ DE CASTRO. 9l 
 
 And Reason, like the lightning s flash upon the broken 
 
 tower, 
 That points the wreck of shrine and hearth, and 
 
 beauty s festal bower, 
 Gleams o er the dark remains of proud, and beautiful, 
 
 and fair, 
 Young idols that have been, and now, rest in cold ruin 
 
 there. 
 
 i look around, young eyes are bright, and hearts are 
 
 happiness, 
 
 I see the glow upon thy cheek, nor shadowed, nor less ; 
 I, I alone am sinking, fading, writhing in the smart 
 That sweeps a desolating fire, on brain, on brow, and 
 
 heart. 
 
 And thine ! an hour will come, when thine will blanch 
 
 at thought of me, 
 When midnight goblets sparkle bright, twill cross thy 
 
 revelry : 
 A thought of her that stood, the fairest, proudest, and 
 
 that now 
 Asks only of the stormy wave, rest in its caves below ! - 
 
 Note. r-Inez de Castro was banished from her royal lover, 
 Don Pedro, principally by the machinations of Alfonso, his 
 father. -Vide, Sismondi. ^ 
 
 
STfte JUfftstrel s JFavctoeU* 
 
 AWAY, away ! your voice is vain, 
 
 It wins me not to your haunts again ; 
 
 We have met in bower and festal train, 
 
 Where was the light should have gladden d me then r : 
 
 Away, away ! ye come to gaze 
 
 On the faded wreck of other days ; 
 
 Quenched is the Minstrel s soul of fire, 
 
 For the breath of the grave is on his lyre ; 
 
 Feeble and wild its murmuring, 
 
 Tis the hand of death that sweeps the string. 
 
 I have crossed your path, ye sons of gold, 
 Your lip was scorn, and your brow was cold j 
 I saw the bright and lovely of earth 
 Circle the shrines in your halls of mirth : 
 And riches from isle and ocean afar, 
 Gathered beneath the golden star.* 
 I stood alone, unloved, unblest, 
 Where was a link for the minstrel s breast V 
 Not with the bright, and witching, and fair, 
 Ah, no ! no home for the stranger there ; 
 Then came a voice on the night wind borne, 
 Then was a voice on the breezy morn ; 
 
 * " The roofs of many of the apartments of the Tavrid palace were i 
 r ated with golden stars." owring, 
 
MINSTREL S FAREWELL. 9 
 
 ^ Come ! where we sweep with pinions free 
 
 O er the wide fields of fertility, 
 
 That lie beneath the noontide ray, 
 
 Basking the dream of being away ; 
 
 Come, to the spirit of the wood, 
 
 Chained in its cypress solitude ; 
 
 Come, where the ocean wave, fiercely driven, 
 
 Meets the red bolt ere launched from its Heaven. J> 
 
 I have read the lesson that nature weaves, 
 
 [n the bud and blight of the forest leaves ; 
 
 I have met the form that rides on the storm, 
 
 And linked with the pine-tree that lightnings deform ; 
 
 Paused at the rush and roar of old ocean, 
 
 Hung on the rocks in the tempest s commotion ; 
 
 And my heart was warm, and my spirit bright, 
 
 As it claimed communion with worlds of light 
 
 I swept the lyre to a mirthful tone, 
 And woke the fire of days by-gone, 
 Till the cheek of man wore a ruddier flash, 
 And a tear-drop hung on the silken lash. 
 Lone amid all was the minstrel s breast,. 
 Where could his wearied spirit rest ? 
 For love and passion I lit the warm ray, 
 While the tide of my being rolled darkly away, 
 
 I go, I go to a kinder sphere, 
 Far from the changes that circle us here ; 
 I go where the things that I ve dreamt of lie, 
 To a cloudless home in the bright blue sky. 
 
!)4 LELA. 
 
 Away, away ! I scorn the call 
 
 That bids me back to your festal hall ; 
 
 My hand is weak on the quivering string, 
 
 For the minstrel s spirit hath spread its wing ; 
 
 And its visions are bright, and its pinions free r 
 
 As it rushes in light to Eternity. 
 
 UJSCE more the red falchion of battle repose* 
 
 In slumber awhile on its pillow of roses ; 
 
 I 11 seek in its brightness the home of my youth, 
 
 And warmly 1 11 clasp ye, affection and truth. 
 
 The bright wreath of glory they re twining for me. 
 
 Ah Lela, dear Lela, I sought it for thee ; 
 
 Thy heart in its truth, and its best love was given. 
 
 And well have I kept it, thou phantom of heaven. 
 
 He came, but in darkness the bright eye was sleeping. 
 And o er the cold grave-stone was silence and weeping 
 He sought the loved bower, twas silent and lone, 
 And the withered rose whispered, " Our Lela is gone ! 
 He spoke not of hopes that his bosom had cherished. 
 One tear-drop alone told that all, all had perished ; 
 And bright is the drop by the mrnly one shed, 
 Where the maid of his bosom lies mouldering and dead 
 
LELA. 9& 
 
 Still warm are the sunbeams on each hallowed spot, 
 
 Yet why should he linger where Lela is not ? 
 
 To the world, to the world, though its breathings arr 
 
 vain, 
 
 To gladden or sorrow that spirit again ; 
 The green leaf of glory he tore from his brow, 
 No Lela was near him to smile on it now ; 
 And the soft song of beauty but whispered too well, 
 More sweet were the accents from Lela that fell. 
 
 Oh the heart, tis a kind gift in life s brightest bloom, 
 But more sacred and deep when it rests on the tomb , 
 And still be each garland that circles that shrine, 
 Undying, unchanging, as, Lela, was thine ! 
 Through wanderings unnumbered thou wert not forgot, 
 Nor e er has he slumbered, to dream of thee not ; 
 They have hallowed his cold grave beyond the blue sea, 
 But Lela, ah ! Lela, his heart is with thee. 
 
Ha 
 
 " La Verna (the convent) has a most curious appearance 
 from whatever point it is viewed. Imagine a barren mountain, 
 crowned with a circle of rocks ; for the greater part rising per 
 pendicularly, and to the height, in some instances, of two or 
 three hundred feet. Books tell of double that height. It would 
 bear a resemblance to the ruins of a gigantic castle, were it not 
 that the tongue of land (as the Italians call it) upon the rocks 
 is covered with a thick and lofty wood. The friars told us that 
 the place was formed by the earthquake at the moment of the 
 crucifixion," Letters from Vallombrosa, Camaldoli, and La 
 Vtrna. 
 
 I. 
 
 AVE MARIA ! on the spirit s wing 
 
 At the dim midnight hour we fly to thee. 
 Hark ! where the altar vigil wakes the string, 
 
 Oh Mother, hear us ! Benedicite ! 
 Ave Maria ! o er the spirit s bloom, 
 
 Fling pure and beautiful thy radiancy ; 
 Hark ! where the death dirge whispers of the tomb r 
 
 Oh Mother, hear us ! Benedicite ! 
 
 11. 
 
 The chant was hushed, the lights were gone*, 
 The dying rested there alone ; 
 Upon her couch in silence laid, 
 Around the deep sepulchral shade* 
 
LA. V E R N A. 
 
 Half robed the fearful phantasy, 
 
 Spirit born in reality. 
 
 There was no sorrow on the air, 
 
 No passion hovered breathless there 
 
 To sooth the sigh, to wipe the tear, 
 
 To chase the agony or fear, 
 
 That shroud our spirits as we go 
 
 Tremblingly from this vale of wo. 
 
 There she lay, the lonely one, 
 
 (The smiles, the sighs of being done ;.) 
 
 In that dim vigil hour to trace 
 
 Each passion to its resting-place ; 
 
 To thread again the faded track, 
 
 And fling thy mantle, memory, back , 
 
 And summon from its shadowy sphere 
 
 Each dream by-gone ; the distant, dear, 
 
 The joy long trodden, half forgot ; 
 
 The wo that wanes not, slumbers not ; 
 
 The hope that lured through shine and shade. 
 
 Then left benighted, and betrayed ; 
 
 To bid the weary waste of years, 
 
 Mingle their loves, and hates, and fears ; 
 
 And sullen shades, and lights intense, 
 
 T-he rushing tide of soul and sense ; 
 That onward sweeping still through weal and wo* 
 Bears restlessly along the barque of life below. 
 
 in. 
 
 The pearly moonbeam lights the sky. 
 Oh, tis an hour too bright to die 1 
 9 
 
98 LA VERNA. 
 
 And save for him that oft has seen 
 Such breathless beauty warm the scene ; 
 Then marked the storm-cloud fiercely driven. 
 Sweep o er the azure arch of heaven ; 
 And whirling, wild, the fearless wind, 
 Leave not a tint of grace behind 
 Might seem that midnight s holy noon 
 Too beautiful to break so soon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh who has not ; while drowsiness 
 From slumber wooed a dull caress, 
 Stood neath the light of yonder beam, 
 (Too bright to gild a sleeper s dream) 
 And hailed it, as the green spot on 
 
 The dull Sahara of his life ; 
 That comes when all he loved is gone, 
 
 With many a loved remembrance rife ; 
 And flying back to childhood s day, 
 
 And dreaming o er the dream of youth. 
 Trod once again the rosy way, 
 
 Where sleep the forms of love and truth 
 How lone the deep, half smothered sigh. 
 As the bright vision passes by ! 
 
 v. 
 
 Beneath the sable canopy, 
 
 Its waving folds half flung aside, 
 
 To catch the night-wind s fragrancy, 
 
 As soft it swept the mountain s side ; 
 
LA VERNA. 99 
 
 Thus in that midnight hour she lay : 
 
 Each snowy lid in silenee pressed 
 O er the dark eye whose flashing ray 
 Just glanced upon life s weary way, 
 
 Then left it, doubly cursed or blessed ! 
 So still, and pale, and beautiful, 
 
 Even as the visioned phantasy 
 Crossing the weary heart to cull 
 
 A poppy wreath for memory. 
 And yet, perchance that cheek and brow. 
 Had been more beautiful than now ; 
 For vigil long, and midnight prayer, 
 And hours of solitude and care, 
 And the stern penance, day by day, 
 Will steal the rose s bloom away ; 
 And see ! beneath that lone repose, 
 Life trembles to its fitful close ! 
 
 vi. 
 
 And there the holy man has come 
 To shrive the spirit for its home ; 
 And now with meek and bending head. 
 He stands beside the burial bed, 
 
 Like some high holy star 
 That lives when other lights are o er 
 
 Above the death-gloom beaming far. 
 The promise of a happier shore. 
 She had been with them ; yet was thrown 
 A spell around her all alone ; 
 The eye at times that flashed in light. 
 More than devotion s fervor bright ; 
 
I OO LA TERN A. 
 
 When wandering in wildness round, 
 
 From dome to dome, its glance was givers 
 As if to escape the narrow bound 
 
 Which hid from all but peace and heaven. 
 Prompt to obey the signal note 
 
 That broke upon the unruffled air, 
 When as the first bright day-beams float. 
 
 They met to mingle praises there ; 
 Yet lingering at the vesper bell, 
 Which bade them all to lonely cell ; 
 The secret tear, averted look, 
 And then the hollow groan which shook : 
 As yester-eve they found her laid 
 Cold, senseless, by the altar shade ; 
 At last the mighty strife is o er, 
 Save in the prior s breast to pour 
 The deeds so darkly veiled before, 
 
 i 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Father ! the tale is long ; and now 
 ft little recks, or where, or how ; 
 Enough that hours by hours rolled on, 
 In all of brightness wooed and won ; 
 Each golden link that fancy wrought, 
 The morrow in its beauty brought ; 
 Enough, I trod the spell-bound bower,. 
 And lightly wore its charmed flower ; 
 And drank the strange empassioned bliss. 
 And blushed young beauty to a kiss ; 
 I saw that flower, in slow decay, 
 Upoa my bosom fade away ! 
 
LA VERNA. 
 
 And oh, thy blackest boon, despair, 
 Crushed by the hand that placed it there 1 
 1 woke all bleeding, wrung to know 
 
 The balmy air upon my brow", 
 That softly yet did roses glow, 
 
 Yet all to me ; tis nothing now ! 
 Broken, forsaken, day by day, 
 How wore the heart s young bloom away ; 
 The blight that comes on being s spring, 
 Balmless, and deep, and withering. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, colder than the wintry blast 
 
 From Ararat s eternal snow, 
 Is the chill glance of hatred cast 
 
 From soul where love was wont to glow. 
 One moment did 1 meet his gaze, 
 With the proud glance of other days ; 
 And from my bosom rushed the tide, 
 Perchance it warmed my cheek in pride ; 
 A sudden wrench essayed to sever, 
 The links that should have clung for ever ; 
 They could not fear the blight of Time, 
 Nor part, for poverty or crime ; 
 His, his alone, the deadly grasp 
 That could those fetter links unclasp : 
 Let them ; I cannot feel again, 
 Nor suffer, as I suffered then ! 
 9* 
 
LA VERN-A. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I shed no tear ; upon rny brain 
 
 The rushing blood came hot ; 
 Then back recoiled again 
 
 I know not what, 
 
 But something from the heart below, 
 Still urged it in resistless flow ; 
 Till reason withered in the glow. 
 The drop was dried that should have conu 
 To woo the wandering spirit home ; 
 Tearless, my heated eyeballs felt 
 As if a tear were kind to melt ; 
 None came ; the agony is deep, 
 Denied the luxury to weep ; 
 It gnaws and riots on the heart, 
 Till half the chords of being part ; 
 Then mounting to the throne of life, 
 
 Oh linger there one moment more ; 
 One moment yet of deadly strife, 
 
 And the last struggle will be o er! 
 But no ! such kindness is not given, 
 Back, back again the flood is driven : 
 Till sinking, panting, not to me 
 Is it given to paint that agony ; 
 The spirit broken, blasted, fears 
 
 No pang of death beyond the last ; 
 Oh, it has lived the lapse of years, 
 
 Ere half its summer suns are past 
 
LA VERNA. 108 
 
 X. 
 
 Life is a thing of many hours, 
 
 Of winter storms, and summer flowers : 
 
 All must be met ; and cursed or blessed. 
 
 Not for humanity to rest ; 
 
 Revolving suns still find us here, 
 
 Plodding along the self-same track ; 
 Now leaving all the heart holds dear, 
 
 Now from the storm to sunshine back 
 On, on we go in even course, 
 Still urged by one resistless force ; 
 All powerless to speed the wing 
 Of Time, or win its lingering, 
 
 XI. 
 
 O er rny wo- worn trembling flame, 
 Fever, burning, wasting came ; 
 Earth and sky around me reeling, 
 Stole awhile the sense of feeling ; 
 Days and days flew like the wind, 
 Days and nights, nor left behind 
 A trace upon the palsied mind. 
 The breath I drew was laboured ; 
 
 I felt as if the very air, 
 
 With all its deadly withering there, 
 Had from the sullen desert sped ; 
 Heavily resting on each sense, 
 Heated, parching, and intense ; 
 Memory brought no past for me. 
 Nothing now futurity ! 
 Thought forgot its wonted track,. 
 All was giddy, whirling black ; 
 
104 LA VERNA. 
 
 As the throbbing pulses play. 
 
 Of him that trembles on the rack ; 
 Wo ! that he should live to say. 
 What the horrors of that day. 
 
 Round my rest were forms and faces. 
 
 All that fickle fancy traces ; 
 
 And mid all, my heart could tell 
 
 Him that it had loved so well. 
 
 XII. 
 
 That tumult ; it could not last long. 
 Life had else escaped from wrong ; 
 But, though short, enough to know 
 All the wilderness of wo ; 
 All the agonies that throw 
 Ruin on the heart below. 
 Slowly did my spirit break 
 Its thrall, and once again awake ; 
 Wake to sickness, suffering, wrong, 
 To days of solitude ; and long, 
 Long anxious nights of loneliness ; 
 With none to gladden, none to bless : 
 To know that all to which it knelt, 
 And all for which it deeply felt, 
 And all that once had power to bless. 
 Had passed to very nothingness. 
 I turned in very loathing from 
 The visioned moments yet to come ; 
 And all thy page, futurity, 
 Was one vast midnight blank to me 
 
LA VERNA. 105 
 
 I turned ; yet fain to rest upon 
 The cold breast of oblivion. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Oh, think not, father, pangs like these 
 
 Can pierce the bosom to its core ; 
 Then pass off to forgetfulness, 
 
 And all be lovely as before. 
 The heart ! if ever there the blast 
 Of desolating grief has passed ; 
 If only once the bitter spring 
 
 Of love deceived, is quaffed ; 
 Consuming, wasting, withering, 
 
 There is no Lethe for the draught, 
 An idle smile an hour may bless, 
 A passing pleasure win caress ; 
 Lovely and dear the wreath they twine> 
 But ah ! around a broken shrine. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 My life has been one fevered sweep 
 
 Of passion o er my soul ; 
 While phantoms in that sullen keep, 
 Uproused them from their fitful sleep* 
 
 And reason s stern control ; 
 Yet chide me not ; the wildest wave 
 Finds in the ocean depths a grave, 
 
 Perchance it sought before ; 
 And Time as fierce a flood will see 
 Slumber in voiceless apathy ; 
 
 Peace to the torrent o er ! 
 
106 LA YERNA. 
 
 I look upon the days gone by, 
 
 And thought is weariness ; 
 They brought for me nor smile nor sigh. 
 But one intensest agony 
 
 Hath stolen their power to bless : 
 For aye was phrensy in the dream, 
 For ever burning in the beam ! 
 
 xv. 
 
 Father, we parted ! he, to wrong 
 The heart that lored so well, so long : 
 And I, in holy shades to rear 
 A pang ; at last it triumphs here. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Twas yester-eve ; the cloudless blue 
 
 Beneath the sunset blush was bright. 
 And daylight with her golden hue 
 
 Yet lingered on yon rocky height : 
 *Twas summer s eve; that magic hour 
 
 Which ever has the spell to throw 
 Back on the heart with primal power. 
 
 All it has loved, and left below. 
 When, with that sweetness o er me cast, 
 How woke the memory of the past ! 
 Nay, father, chide not ; thoughts and way* 
 Are not the things of other days ; 
 Blighted in every changing scene, 
 Father, I am not what has been : 
 The world is beautiful and bright, 
 And its young visions of delight, 
 
LA VERNA. 107 
 
 Are twined around the youthful heart : 
 
 Year after year its changes bringing, 
 
 But find them closer, closer clinging : 
 
 Still flinging on futurity 
 
 A life and brightness not to be ; 
 
 Year after year year after year 
 
 They threw for me deep shadows here ; 
 
 [ saw each lustre fade away, 
 
 And my cold bosom mocked decay ! 
 
 Then on that wilderness of feeling., 
 
 What strange unreal shapes were stealing ; 
 
 Yet bearing impress, true and warm, 
 
 Of many a well-remembered form : 
 
 In youth, and truth, and loveliness, 
 
 Their shadows lingered in the heart, 
 Which their realities could bless, 
 
 And whence their memories may ne er depart. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And such did mad me ! from the crowd 
 
 That humbly by yon altar kneeling, 
 Find in the cloister s hallowed shroud 
 
 A pall for every earthly feeling, 
 To cherish there that flame divine 
 
 Alas ! how often is the fire 
 Unfed, forgotten, on the shrine, 
 
 Till all our earthly lights expire. 
 I turned in solitude apart, 
 To crush the phantoms of the heart ; 
 Along the aisle no sunbeams crept, 
 To rouse the shades that long had slept ; 
 
108 LA VERNA. 
 
 And one lone torch from distance thre\v 
 
 Upon each gloom a deeper hue ; 
 
 I knelt before the altar shade, 
 
 Like penance in her rohes arrayed ; 
 
 When by that holy mystery, 
 
 { savv l knew oh God ! twas he ! 
 
 ! knew him in that pallid beam, 
 
 The idol of my early dream ; 
 
 All strangely changed since last we met. 
 
 Yet never could my heart forget 
 
 My cherished light ; ah ! did no cloud 
 
 That glowing phantasy enshroud ; 
 
 Were all its bright delusion given, 
 
 Who then would sigh for yon blue heaven ? 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And there he stood ; perchance despair. 
 Or the world s loneliness, or care, 
 Or penitence h;id placed him there ; 
 He flew and cl isped me to his heart, 
 " Oh no !" he cried, u Not thus we part : 
 Tell me, oh tell me, though there be 
 Madness and guilt in loving thee ; 
 Oh, tell me, yet within that breast, 
 One lingering thought of him will rest ; 
 Who, hope, pride, peace, for ever flown. 
 Still kneels to thee, and thee alone ! 
 Oh hear me yet ! for thee and me, 
 In brighter lands beyond the sea ; 
 
LA VERNA. 
 
 Uiasped to a heart that loves thee well, 
 Where er we rove " 
 
 jgS.: " Oh never tell! 
 I wildly cried ; " a tale of bliss, 
 But mockery to a heart like this ; 
 Oh never ! I have bent to hear 
 Thy soothing words, even yet too dear ; 
 Till my brain turns in agony, 
 That all is lost for thee and me ; 
 For what am I ? and what art thou ? 
 Read in my heart, and on my brow : 
 In every signet of despair, 
 How deep the spoiler s impress there . 
 And what is love, or hope, or pride, 
 Go go I am a holier s bride ! 
 
 xrx. 
 
 He started from those visioned bowers. 
 But phantom forms of other hours ; 
 And once again each breast was thrown 
 To live or perish, yet alone ! 
 He started up, and far apart 
 He flung me, weeping, from his heart ; 
 Again his brow was clouded o er, 
 His eye flashed darker than before ; 
 And well did half unsheathed steel 
 The tumult of his soul reveal ; 
 I knelt ; but not in crouching fear, 
 Yes, strike ! I cried, strike fearless her* 1 - 
 I raised my eye but he had flown, 
 And I was kneeling there alone ! 
 10 
 
LA. VERNA. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Oh father ! black upon my brain, 
 That last wild pang comes back again ; 
 I saw him, knew him ; it is done ; 
 Life is for me a broken tone ; 
 Tumultuous passion swept the wire, 
 And in that rush the chords expire ; 
 Yet, father, tell him 
 
 It is vain, 
 
 old darkness shrouds my thoughts again, 
 And dizziness is on my brain 
 And idle shapes beside me seem, 
 And fitful lights around me gleam ; 
 Yet, father, tell him" . 
 
 . On the air, 
 
 Pushed forth one deep, low murmur there 
 A stifled sigh, a broken prayer, 
 And the immortal flitted where ? 
 That lip has breathed one hollow sound, 
 And all is icy stillness round. 
 Speed to the tide of good or ill, 
 That brow is cold, that bosom still ; 
 Reck they not of chance, or change, 
 Hues of life commingling strange ; 
 Heedless all of bliss or wo, 
 Slumbers she in peace below I 
 Free the life -tide warmed that breast, 
 It has beat itself to rest ! 
 And oft that holy father s ear, 
 Has o er the death-couch bent to hear 
 
LA VERNA. Ill- 
 
 The faltering accents, as they hung 
 Feebly on the palsied tongue ; 
 Yet never thence has time effaced 
 The lines that midnight story traced ; 
 And oft on twilight s misty air, 
 And oft in lonely vigil prayer, 
 He starts as fancy finds her there ! 
 Oh, never from his thought can part 
 That story of a broken heart ! 
 
112 
 
 "THEY SAY WHEN YEARS. 
 
 THEY say when years have chilled my heart, and crossed 
 
 my brow with snow, 
 Twill still the burning stream that now doth rush so 
 
 wild below ; 
 
 And I shall love as others love, and hate as others hate. 
 Vnd meet the sunshine or the storm, and curl the lip at 
 
 fate. 
 
 And ye may frown where now I kneel in deep idolatry. 
 And backward fling the vows of truth, that I have 
 
 breathed to thee ; 
 h will not shadow then the brow where love his kiss 
 
 has sealed, 
 Its touch upon the heart below, unfelt or unrevealed. 
 
 For earth can teach to mask a smile, and wear a bidden 
 
 scorn, 
 That none may guess the bleeding heart, how deep. 
 
 how madly torn ; 
 And in the spirit s depths to hush that strong and 
 
 thrilling voice 
 That bears me on to weal or wo, to sorrow or rejoice 
 
POEMS. 113 
 
 Rush on, rush on, thou fathomless, thou deep and 
 
 tameless flood, 
 Thou gush of passions, hopes, and fears, rush on to ill or 
 
 good; 
 
 Fain would I woo the apathy, more icy than the chain 
 That only flings its fetters o er the surface of the main. 
 
 But no ; go ask the torrent why it holds its fierce career, 
 Ask the red- bolt that cleaves the sky, what points its 
 
 pathway here ; 
 Then ask that chainless tide of heart, in its first gush 
 
 warm and free, 
 What sweeps its wild and wayward course, to the Wave 
 
 of Eternity. 
 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 "WE LL CIRCLE THE HARP." 
 
 WE LL circle the harp with no leaf from the tree 
 
 That blossoms and fades in a day ; 
 The garland that hallows our numbers shall be 
 
 From bowers that bloom far away : 
 For bright are the flowers, and blue is the sky, 
 
 Where the amber* sea kisses the grove, 
 \nd soft, and as pure, and as blue is the eye 
 
 Which laughs to the whisper of love. 
 
 That fragrance is breathing in memory now, 
 
 And eyes are enkindled as then ; 
 
 And the light from that heart, and the light from that 
 brow, 
 
 Half glow into raptures again : 
 Oh not like the blisses we tremblingly shrine, 
 
 Whose beauty to-morrow may blight ; 
 The life of their souls, like the blossoms they twine. 
 
 Is one sunny dream of delight. 
 
 Then bring for the harp-string one leaf from those 
 bowers, 
 
 And waken that vision once more ; 
 Born in the sunbeam, and nursed in the flowers, 
 
 Twill brighten the numbers we pour : 
 
 * The Russian poet, Derzhavin, calls the Caspian the Amber Se. 
 
POEMS. 11 
 
 For never the spirit of music could wear 
 
 The leaf of our own chilly zone ; 
 And dreams though we cherish, the roses they bear 
 
 Are plucked in that Eden alone. 
 
 "OH NEVER BELIEVE, LOVE. 
 
 OH never believe, love, the music that floats 
 
 So light from my harp is a truant to thee ; 
 In the heart there are deeper and holier notes 
 
 Than e er to the harp-string were uttered by me 
 And like the wild numbers that silently lay* 
 
 Till morn s magic finger awoke them to song. 
 Thy thought to my soul is the life-lighting ray, 
 
 And music and rapture flow swiftly along. 
 
 And while the light flowrets I carelessly twine, 
 
 That fancy has plucked in her perishing bower, 
 Tis only to cover the heart, and the shrine, 
 
 Where thine image still hallows each happier hour. 
 And never believe, love, tho brightness they fling, 
 
 They can win from my spirit a moment of rest ; 
 H is only the touch of the nightingale s wing 
 
 As she hurries along to the leaf she loves best. 
 
 * The Statue of Memnpn 
 
116 
 
 to the Using 
 
 FILL to the brim ! one pledge to the past, 
 
 As it sinks on its shadowy bier ; 
 Fill to the brim ! tis the saddest and last 
 
 We pour to the grave of the year 1 
 Wake, the light phantoms of beauty that won us 
 
 To linger awhile in those bowers ; 
 And flash the bright day-beams of promise upon us. 
 
 That gilded life s earlier hours. 
 
 Here s to the love though it flitted away, 
 
 We can never, no, never forget ! 
 Through the gathering darkness of many a day, 
 
 One pledge will we pour to it yet. 
 Oh, frail as the vision, that witching and tender, 
 
 And bright on the wanderer broke, 
 When Irem s own beauty in shadowless splendour. 
 
 Along the wild desert awoke.* 
 
 Fill to the brim ! one pledge to the glow 
 
 Of the heart in its purity warm ! 
 Ere sorrow had sullied the fountain below. 
 
 Or darkness enveloped the form ; 
 
 * Irem, one of the gardens described by Mahomed; planted, as the^eom 
 mentators of the Koran say, by a king named Shedad, once seen by an Ara 
 bian, who wandered very far into the desert in search of a lost camel. A 
 garden no less celebrated (says Sir W. Jones) by the Asiatic poets, than that of 
 he Hesperides by the Greeks. 
 
POEMS. 117 
 
 Kill to that life-tide ! oh warm was its rushing 
 
 Through Adens of arrowy light, 
 And yet like the wave in the wilderness gushing. 
 
 Twill gladden the wine-cup to-night. 
 
 Fill to the past ! from its dim distant sphere 
 
 Wild voices in melody come ; 
 The strains of the by-gone, deep echoing here. 
 
 We pledge to their shadowy tomb ; 
 And like the bright orb, that in sinking flings back 
 
 One gleam o er the cloud-covered dome, 
 May the dreams of the past, on futurity track 
 
 The hope of a holier home ! 
 
 "FROM ALL THE SUNNY TINTS. 
 
 FROM all the sunny tints that lie 
 For fancy veiled in yonder sky ; 
 From all the lights that gaily glow 
 Where fortune rears her shrine below ; 
 From all that s bright in earth and sea, 
 My spirit fondly turns to thee. 
 
 Though other hours to me may bear 
 The wreath that man is proud to wear. 
 Though others pause to list the lay 
 That now so idly steals away; 
 And smiles may gild the leaves I twine, 
 My heart will only sigh for thine. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 I would not tread yon azure sky 
 If not thy love might linger by ; 
 For cold would be the brightest star, 
 If from thy bosom parted far ; 
 Oh, thou to me a star hast given, 
 Far brighter than the orbs of Heaven. 
 
 And when in yon Eternity, 
 
 Oh, tell me I may cling to thee ; 
 
 Only to thee for ever ! ever, 
 
 No cloud to shade, no sin to sever ; 
 
 And every dream of bliss will be 
 
 Bright in its own reality ! 
 
119 
 
 THE maiden sat where the dews of Castaly 
 Brightened the lily that lay on her brow ; 
 Her dreams were born in the shade of the myrtle-tree. 
 
 Pure as the starlight that gilded its bough : 
 Like the gush of a stream, like the zephyr s low moan. 
 Like the forest rose blooming in beauty alone ; 
 Like any thing lonely, and lovely, and bright, 
 That maiden sat watching the waters of light. 
 
 It was not the rush of the fountain that started 
 
 The crimson of life from the heart to the cheek ; 
 While from her eyes as the silken lash parted, 
 
 Flashed the deep language that spirits can speak 
 A fire, half frantic, for thrilling and wild 
 Came a vision that long had her fancy beguiled ; 
 And she sighed for an offering fragrant and fair, 
 To fling to the spirit-boy fluttering there. 
 
 The blossoms are twined ; not for Houris above it 
 A chaplet more bright, more enchantingly glows : 
 
 Beauty breathed over the, wreath as she wove it, 
 And passion just deepen d the tint of the rose. 
 
 The little god laughed " What ! offer me flowers. 
 
 Aha ! ye ve been dreaming in Castaly s bowers ; 
 
 Oh no, pretty maiden, your gift is divine, 
 
 But jewels, bright jewels, must circle my shrine." 
 
120 
 
 "He* 
 
 > CHIEF OF THE WINNEBAGOES. HE DIED IN HIS PRISON I! 
 THE SPRING OF 1828. 
 
 SLEEP was on the warrior s eye, 
 
 Stilly lay his fettered hand ; 
 And his spirit, free to fly, 
 
 Sought again his native land. 
 Skies were bright, and breezes came, 
 
 Sweet as on the mountain borne ; 
 Swept they o er his wearied frame, 
 
 With a voice of things by-gone. 
 Half his fettered hand did raise 
 
 To the vision o er him smiling, 
 Half the lights of other days 
 
 Brightened once again beguiling ; 
 Why that spirit beauty broken ? 
 
 Why that shadowy bliss forego ? 
 Dark reality has spoken, 
 
 And the warrior wakes to wo ! 
 
 w; I hear, I hear wild voices flit 
 
 b rom the shadowy halls where my fathers sit ; 
 
 They link my name with a kingly band, 
 
 And bid me hail to the spirit land. 
 
 f come at your bidding, bright shades of the slain. 
 
 That met ye by mountain, and forest, and plain ; 
 
 We mingled in battle, and banquet, and chase, 
 
 And I poured to your death dirge the pride of my race. 
 
RED BIRD. l 
 
 Oh, son of the eagle ! thy glory is faded, 
 
 The plume of thy war-crest is sullied and shaded ; 
 
 I feel the proud burst of my spirit is vain, 
 
 And the white craven laughs as he rivets the chain. 
 
 Oh, never the halo of ages gone by 
 
 Will return like yon day-beam to gladden the. sky, 
 
 The soul of the ; Red Bird" is cold in its gloom, 
 
 And the home of his hope is the breast of the tomb 
 
 My eye was the brightest, my arrow was true, 
 And fresh from the pine-top it drank the young dew 
 Speed ! to the deer through the dark forest flying, 
 But mine was the step to its fleetness replying : 
 I trod the wild rock whei*e the torrent lies buried, 
 Fierce o er my pathway the angry blast hurried 5 
 I heard in the thunder the storm-spirit s sigh, 
 And loved the red banner he waved in the sky. 
 
 I fling to revenge the cold fetter he gave> 
 And rush to the dream of the glorious brave I 
 THe torches are flashing, and proud is the call 
 That beckons me far to their shadowy hall : 
 In vain is the shackle ; 1 spring to my home ! 
 Roll on the dark music ! I come ! I come ! 
 My fetters are broken, my spirit is free, 
 And shades of the mighty, I mingle with ye ! 
 
122 
 
 Jranne fc 
 
 SHE lingered where 
 The forms of love and purity were bright ; 
 
 She caught the air 
 
 Warbled by Beauty in her bower of light. 
 *Twas but an hour ; then came a loftier one, 
 
 And bade her join the chase for fortune, fame ; 
 Pointed the wreaths of honour to be won, 
 And on she rushed, and won an honoured name ! 
 
 Years passed away ; 
 She lay reclined in Pleasure s rosy bower,, 
 
 The brightest ray 
 
 Of Fortune gilded o er her noontide hour : 
 But came there not a whisper in the wind, 
 
 And bloomed there not a flowret in the grove, 
 Breathing of all for ever left behind ; 
 A tale of earlier hopes, and hearts, and love ? 
 
 Oh yes ! that song, 
 How wildly sweet we never can forget ; 
 
 It steals along 
 
 When the cold tumult of the world is met ; 
 It tells of hearts more gay, and forms more fair. 
 
 Than ever cross us in life s wilderness ; 
 And many a form of loveliness is there, 
 Wooing us to its shadowy caress ! 
 
JEANNE D ARC. 123 
 
 Those notes are flying 
 O er the young breast while sorrow is afar, 
 
 More softly sighing 
 
 Than even thy fabled music, Chindara ! 
 Oh earth, dull earth, but one such strain can bring, 
 
 One fleeting strain to bless its pathway cold ; 
 And but one touch draws music from that string, . < 
 The echo of young hearts, ere life is old. 
 
124 
 
 ^OH COME, MY LOVE. V 
 
 OH come, my love ; along the sea 
 
 The smiles of day decline ; 
 But what is that to thee or me. 
 
 I ask but only thine : 
 The water dashes dark, my love, , V 
 
 But hearts can lend a light ; 
 Thou lt need no star-lit arch above 
 
 To guide the bark to-night. 
 
 The sailor turns a weary eye 
 When polar beams depart, 
 But ah ! when winds and waves are high, 
 
 No pilot like a heart ; 
 Tis thine, my love ; thy bark above 
 
 The billow dances bright ; 
 i knew, though skies were ^dark, my love, 
 Thou couldst not rove to-night. 
 
125 
 
 OH NO, IT NEVER CROSSED. MY HEART.- 
 
 Oh no it never crossed my heart 
 
 To think of thee with love, 
 For we are severed far apart 
 As earth and arch above ; 
 And though in many a midnight dream 
 Ye ve prompted fancy s brightest theme, 
 I never thought that thou could st be 
 More than that midnight dream to me. 
 
 A something bright and beautiful 
 Which I must teach me to forget, 
 
 Ere I can turn to meet the dull 
 Realities that linger yet. 
 
 A something girt with summer flowers, 
 
 And laughing eyes and sunny hours ; 
 
 While I too well I know will be 
 
 Not e en a midnight dream to thee ! 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 THE LINGERING BEAM OF SUNSET LAY. 
 
 THE lingering beam of sunset lay 
 Upon the mountain s rocky height ; 
 
 A thousand things more brightly gay 
 
 Wer6 spread to catch the parting rayr. 
 
 Yet. clung the sinking smile of day 
 
 Where first was given its morning light; 
 
 The wave, the valley, and the wood, 
 All vainly wooed that beam divine ; 
 
 For turning from the fair and good, 
 
 E en on that rock s wild solitude 
 
 Was poured its last, and mellowing flood : 
 Why not, oh Love, the lesson thine ? 
 
127 
 
 GO, WHERE ROSY LINKS ARE TWINING, 
 
 Go, where rosy links are twining, 
 Go, where jewels bright are shining ; 
 Deeper is a sorcery 
 In the chains I fling o er thee. 
 
 When fancy wakes her witching strain, 
 
 I ll meet thee in her bright domain ; 
 
 And midnight dream, and lonely hour, 
 
 I ll fetter with a Sybil s power ! 
 
 Go, where beauty s eyes are brightest, 
 
 Go, where youthful hearts beat lightest ; 
 
 Yet shall thine, amid them all, 
 
 Own it wears a viewless thrall. 
 For rosy links with summer part, 
 A deeper spell must bind the heart ; 
 And here around thy thoughts I twine 
 The spirit chain that makes thee mina ? 
 
P O E MS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES G. BROOKS. 
 
 . - 
 
 [Some of the minor pieces in the following collection, were published 
 some years ago, under the signature of FLORIO.] 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PRINTED BY J. & J. HARPER, 
 
 1829, 
 
GJSffllTS. 
 
NOT in the crowded haunts of busy life, 
 Not in the lists of vain and worldly strife, 
 Not in the bowers of pleasure or desire, 
 Doth Genius find his nurture or his fire. 
 The silent mountain the untrodden wood, 
 The ocean s shore the valley s solitude, 
 The waveless lake the softly winding rill 5 
 The swelling river the aspiring hill, 
 The frowning precipice the mighty shock 
 Of the wild waterfall the cloven rock ; 
 In these doth youthful Genius seek delight ; 
 For these are nature s loveliness and might. 
 But nurtured thus, young Genius must be hurled 
 Amidst the toils, the struggles of the world, 
 To win his way to honour and renown, 
 To wreath around his brow the laurel crown; 
 To pant to strive to merit and to claim 
 From mortal memory immortal fame : 
 To write, where glory s column cleaves the sky. 
 His name in letters which shall never die ; 
 But there remain in characters sublime, 
 Untouched by ruin unobscured by time. 
 
 He wields the powers of his high-gifted mind, 
 And springs to exaltation o er mankind ; 
 Aspiring pride doth reach its lofty aim, 
 And Genius stands upon the mount of Fame I 
 12 
 
134 GENIUS, 
 
 The sunlight lingers with unwonted glow, 
 Proud to repose upon that haughty brow 
 Where feelings kindle, and where passions shine. 
 In light imparted from the Eternal s shrine. 
 Alas ! enthron d in icy solitude, 
 Though pure the light, the winds are cold and rude. 
 Look on that brow look if thou can st descry 
 The joys that ought to sparkle in that eye ! 
 Doth peace commingle with the sunlight there ? 
 Ah no ! that brow is stern and pale with care ; 
 There hath the ploughshare of regret been driven. 
 And there the thunder -bolt of pain hath riven : 
 That eye hath looked abroad upon mankind, 
 To seek what Genius vainly strives to find ; 
 To seek in man the stamp he bore at first, 
 Fresh from his God, ere by his God accursed ; 
 To seek for man, such as he was ere driven 
 From bliss on earth, and confidence in heaven. 
 Well may that brow be pale, and sad that eye ; 
 The heart is chill d by stern reality ; 
 And storms have beat against that bosom bare 
 So fierce, that even Envy s dart might spare 
 A breast, where Grief hath found a constant prey 
 On which to feast and batten, day by day. 
 
 Ill-fated Genius ! must this doom be thine ? 
 Must thy proud heart be sorrow s gloomy shrine ? 
 Can earth hold no companionship with thee, 
 Thou sacred image of the Deity ? 
 No all in vain thou seekest to impart 
 Thine own high passions to the human heart : 
 
GENIUS. 135 
 
 In vain for thee doth beauty in her bower 
 
 Pour the sweet song, or cull the rosy flower ; 
 
 The tender light of her voluptuous eye, 
 
 Her winning smile and more beguiling sigh, 
 
 Her glance of love her tongue s rich melody, 
 
 How sweet are these but these are not for thee I 
 
 For thee, thou solitary child of pride, 
 
 There is a loftier, but a colder bride ; 
 
 Fame bids thy breast its thoughts of love forego, 
 
 And interchains thee in her arms of snow. 
 
 Alas ! for thee all vainly dost thou rove 
 
 Through the wide world for friendship and for love ; 
 
 Search not man s heart it may have sympathy, 
 
 But not for thee thou lone one not for thee. 
 
 Incapable of thy exalted fires, 
 
 He sees their light, and hates while he admires ; 
 
 Bends to thy worth, yet dreads thee, and his curse 
 
 Rests on thy life, and lingers on thy hearse !. 
 
 Oh ! who would covet to participate 
 
 The melancholy glory of thy fate ; 
 
 Admired yet hated ; envied yet approved ; 
 
 Honoured yet feared ; worshipped yet unbeloved ! 
 
 Yes, Genius though thine be a path of light, 
 T is like the planet s through the gloom of night ; 
 Bright in thyself, though all around be dark, 
 A cynosure to being s wandering bark. 
 And though thy heart benign and ample mind 
 Unite to bless and dignify mankind, 
 Man thankless man acts but the viper s part, 
 And stings his benefactor to the heart. 
 
13ft GENIUS. 
 
 Be with me now, fair spirit, while I scan 
 That mighty mystery, the heart of man : 
 Man God-like man, in whose exalted breast 
 The image of his Maker is impress d 
 Man, demon man, in whose wild bosom swell 
 The raging and consuming fires of hell 
 Man, form d to scatter blessings on his path, 
 Or ruin, in his dreadful hour of wrath 
 Man, proud and lofty in his sense of worth ; 
 Man, base and mean, and grovelling on the earth : 
 Man, good and great, magnanimous and brave ;.. 
 Man, craven man, the parasite and slave ; 
 A. marvel and a mystery thou dost rise 
 To high connexion with the eternal skies ! 
 Thou dost forsake thy hope, thy faith, thy God, 
 To claim a kindred with the senseless clod ! 
 Man, fallen man ! how madly dost thou mar 
 God s fair creation with the scythe of war ; 
 Bathing in gore the lily of the plain, 
 And purpling the blue billows of the main ! 
 How doth thy heart love the unholy strife 
 Of battle-fields, where life contends with life, 
 Where the sharp sword and pointed bayonet 
 Flash o er the field where mortal foes are met, 
 Where earth drinks blood and trembles at the dir* 
 Of the rude gun and ruder culverin. 
 And this is glory ! this the shining meed 
 For which humanity must ever bleed ! 
 Ah, mad Ambition ! little dost thou care, 
 Tor the wild curse of sorrow and despair 
 
GENIUS* 137 
 
 Ah, mad Ambition ! little dost thou prize 
 The Mother s wailings and the Father s sighs : 
 Through desolation thou must foree thy way, 
 Through pain and travail, havoc and dismay ; 
 The height is fair before thee, and thy cry 
 Is "onward gain that mountain height or die." 
 Behold that proud majestical array ; 
 How their crests glitter in the glare of day ! 
 The stirring trumpet rings its martial peal, 
 As onward march those daring sons of steel 
 They march to what ? a vain and bloody fame. 
 To the red honours of the warrior s name. 
 Look, once again, at night s deserted noon, 
 See those cold corses neath the lonely moon 
 Why are they there ? because they madly bled. 
 To place the crown upon Ambition s head. 
 The fight is o er, the stubborn strife is done ; 
 The battle hath been fought and bravely won. 
 The Victor comes prepare the triumph now : 
 See how the laurels freshen on his brow ! 
 How prance the fiery coursers of his car, 
 What plaudits greet the son of strife and war ! 
 All-righteous Heaven ! hath not thy mandate cursed 
 The laurel wreath by blood and ruin nursed ? 
 Rolled not thy malison o er ruthless Cain, 
 When earth beheld his righteous brother slain 
 When murder first polluted Eden s bowers, 
 And stained with blood the freshness of its flowers 
 Didst thou not damn his rash assassin blow, 
 And set the mark on his detested brow ? 
 12* 
 
Then wherefore hath thy thunder slept so hong, 
 While fierce oppression and remorseless wrong 
 Have wrought their will on this devoted earth, 
 And marred it ever since Creation s birth ? 
 
 Turn from this view of crime and misery : 
 imagination ! let us turn to thee. 
 Mysterious power! whose silvery tongue can tell 
 What countless myriads in creation dwell ; 
 Whose rushing wing can waft the buoyant mind 
 With fleetness that outstrips the restless wind, 
 To the bright home of each eternal star, 
 Which pours its radiance on us from afar ; 
 Thou who can st charm life s dull reality, 
 Oh what were man if destitute of thee ! 
 T is thine to bear him back to days gone by, 
 And raise the ghost of ages to his eye, 
 The grand, the good, the beautiful of yore, 
 All that has been of old and is no more ! 
 Thou bid st his heart with love of freedom swell. 
 And show st him how the Spartan Lion fell 
 Thou bid st him hear a nation s heavy groan, 
 When the high Roman crossed the Rubicon, 
 And sternly led his parricidal ranks 
 Across that deathless stream s forbidden banks 
 Thou lead st his footsteps to Leucadia s steep, 
 Where raging love sought peace within the deep, 
 And glowing Sappho sank, but left to fame 
 A magic song and an immortal name 
 Thou bid st him see the vengeful Roman fall, 
 Ira deadly fury on the insulting Gaul ; 
 
GENIUS. 139 
 
 Redeeming with the glory of that blow 
 The stain that Rome had yielded to a foe. 
 They pass in long review the scenes of old, 
 The mighty chart of being is unrolled ; 
 The heroic spirits of the past return 
 From the dull ashes of the burial urn : 
 Again they act each animated scene, 
 Start into life> and are, what they have been ! 
 
 But other joys, and dearer far, are thine, 
 Joys which the heart would but with life resign ; 
 Commingled lights of hope and memory, 
 Which shine like sun-rays on the Tropic sea 
 T is thine to gild the heart with rosy light, 
 And from the eye to drive affliction s night. 
 Lo ! where the moonlight pours its mellow smile 
 On yonder broken and deserted pile, 
 Where the moss mantles each cold stone with green. 
 A sad and solitary man is seen : 
 What doth he there, with eyes so dark and dim,. 
 And brow so sad ? what is this spot to him ? 
 Ah ! this lone spot is his ancestral hall ; 
 His fathers sleep beneath yon broken wall ; 
 Rank waves the wild weed in his mother s bower, 
 Where sounds no more the lute at evening hour ; 
 The sun arises, but the merry horn 
 Breaks not the silence of the dewy morn ; 
 The stag stands fearless on the mountain s brow, 
 Where are the hounds, the hunter s arrows now ? 
 The sun descends into his couch of rest, 
 And hides his glories neath the burning west ; 
 
140 GENIUS. 
 
 It is the hour of gay and festal cheer ; 
 
 Doth the laugh echo on the listening ear ? 
 
 No ! evening spreads her melancholy pall.. 
 
 In solemn silence o er that ancient hall. 
 
 Sad, solitary scion of a line 
 
 On which decay hath set his sullen sign, 
 
 What seek st thou in the mansion of thy sires ? 
 
 Would st thou revive their hearth s exhausted fires? 
 
 Would st thou expel the weed, and plant the flower 
 
 Once more within thy mother s wasted bower ? 
 
 Or dost thou come at lone midnight to weep 
 
 Above the vault where thy forefathers sleep ? 
 
 Behold yon phantom forms ! they come ! they come 
 
 The sainted dead have left their marble home ! 
 
 What is that graceful form, whose robes of white 
 
 Float on the gentle breezes of the night ? 
 
 A soft, sweet smile gilds that unearthly cheek y 
 
 And that eye s glance is pensive, slow, and meek 
 
 It is the mother s spirit, and the son 
 
 Bends to the earth, and claims her benison. 
 
 Behold another and a sterner shade. 
 
 In iron helm and brazen casque arrayed,. 
 
 The spirit of the warrior- father stands 
 
 As when of erst he led his vassal bands ; 
 
 Behind him see a high and haughty throng 
 
 Of martial spectres slowly march along 
 
 They pass before that lonely mortal s eye,. 
 
 In all the semblance of reality. 
 
 His heart exults in long descended pride,, 
 
 His noble blood swells in impetuous tide, 
 
GENIUS. 141 
 
 And, glorying in his ancestors renown, 
 He half forgets their walls are broken down, 
 Imagination ! this he owes to thee 
 And thy sweet sister, gentle memory ! 
 
 Creative Fancy ! can st thou paint the wild 
 And mighty grandeur of thy wayward child, 
 The gifted Byron ? can st thou tell if death 
 Appalled the spirit, when he checked the breath ? 
 High-hearted Bard ! in whose capacious mind 
 The extremes of good and evil were combined ; 
 Common in nothing, and beyond the ken 
 And judgment of the common herd of men ! 
 Tempestuous passions wrapped thy heart in strife,. 
 And high excitement was thy life of life ; 
 Thy searching spirit, and far reaching thought, 
 All that was wonderful in nature caught ; 
 And where thy glance of genius brightly fell, 
 It warmed and quickened with a mystic spelL 
 Thy words are words of wonder and of fear, 
 And startle, while they fascinate the ear : 
 Wrapped in the cloudy mantle of thy might, 
 Thou wast a marvel to our mortal sight. 
 What art thou now ? the eye seeks thee in vain 
 Upon the earth, and on thy much loved main. 
 T is night o er Missolonghi s silent walls, 
 And wherefore sounds not music from her halls ? 
 It is the season of the Paschal feast ;* 
 Why hath the echo of the revel ceased ? 
 
 * It will be recollected, that Lord Byron died during the days of Easter, arm 
 that the Festival was consequently suspended. 
 
142 GENIUS. 
 
 Behold that chamber, where the shrouded light 
 
 Of the dim lamp half glimmers through the night : 
 
 The noiseless step, the curtain moved with care. 
 
 Tell, that unsparing death is busy there. 
 
 Look on that couch behold that faded eye. 
 
 Glazed in the fixedness of agony, 
 
 Yet, yet preserving in this awful hour 
 
 A portion of its soul-pervading power, 
 
 And sternly gazing, ere death dim its light* 
 
 On the destroyer, in his hour of might ! 
 
 Is that the haughty Byron ? he who bore 
 
 On his high front such majesty before ? 
 
 Where is the passion of that noble brow ? 
 
 Where is its wild and lofty beauty now ? 
 
 Wan, pale, he lies, while Fate s uplifted dart 
 
 Flames in fierce light above that generous heart ! 
 
 Away away ! avert the anxious eye ; 
 
 In silent solitude let Genius die : 
 
 Let no unhallowed step, nor glance, nor breath 
 
 Disturb the sacredness of such a death ! 
 
 Behold ! that wasted hand is clenched in pain, 
 
 And fire unearthly lights that eye again ; 
 
 On that pale cheek the death sweat gathers fast, 
 
 His lip is writhed that struggle is his last 
 
 The spirit hath departed on its way 
 
 To unknown worlds and Byron is but clay ! 
 
 Where are thy pleasures. Genius, where thy joy ? 
 In scenes where man doth mix not his alloy ; 
 When the calm midnight moon hath climbed the sky 
 And the stars roll in vast eternity ; 
 
GENIUS. 143 
 
 When the night spirits sail upon the breeze, 
 
 And a low music whispers from the trees ; 
 
 When the pure tears of the departed day 
 
 Hang in rich dew-drops on the leafy spray ; 
 
 When holy silence lingers, sad and still, 
 
 On the dark valley and the moonlit hill, 
 
 Behold the child of Genius musing there ! 
 
 Hath earth for him a scene more fond or fair ; 
 
 See, his wrapt eye is burning with delight, 
 
 In his beloved companionship with night - 
 
 His buoyant spirit glows with high desire, 
 
 To hold communion with those orbs of fire. 
 
 Those glorious stars on nature s diadem, 
 
 Heaven s sacred lights ! how doth he worship them ! 
 
 What wonder if the idolatrous Chaldee 
 
 Made them the rulers of his destiny, 
 
 And anxious watched, and worshipped from afar, 
 
 The holy lustre of his guardian star ! 
 
 Or seek the child of Genius at the hour 
 When the mad tempest walks abroad in power ; 
 When the storm-spirit shrieks upon the wind, 
 And elements in conflict fierce are joined. 
 What spirit lights that animated form 
 Which holds such high connexion with the storm ? 
 The lightnings leap round that uncovered head, 
 And the air trembles with the thunder s tread, 
 Big, thick, and fast, the heavy rain-drops pour. 
 The forests bend, the mountain torrents roar : 
 It is a scene of terror and despair ; 
 Yet, look, and see the child of Genius there ! 
 
144 GENIUS. 
 
 His cheek is flushed his bosom throbbing high. 
 
 Wild rapture gleaming in his fiery eye ; 
 
 His soul partaking of the tempest s flight, 
 
 And glowing proudly with a fierce delight. 
 
 These scenes are his for him in earth and air, 
 
 Creation s ample bosom is laid bare ; 
 
 For him the book of nature is unsealed, 
 
 And all her mighty mystery revealed. 
 
 High favoured mortal ! unto him are given 
 
 Dreams which have less of earth in them than heaven 
 
 Hues, which are coloured with eternity, 
 
 And visions, boundless as immensity ! 
 
 Alas ! that ere those dreams should be profaned 
 
 Alas ! that those bright hues should e er be stained 
 
 Alas ! that Genius, in his hour of pride, 
 
 Should mock the source whence he derives his tide. 
 
 Oh, holy virtue ! charm of life and love, 
 
 How hast thou mourned to see high Genius rove, 
 
 And pluck his laurel in forbidden bowers, 
 
 Of poisonous plants and pestilential flowers, 
 
 Wrapped in those thoughts which lead the heart astray. 
 
 And quench, for ever quench, the beam of day! 
 
 Through pride, the brightest of the angels fell 
 
 Pride oped for him the hot abyss of hell 
 
 Pride drove him rashly from his duty s path, 
 
 And doomed his soul to everlasting wrath. 
 
 Proud Genius ! Heaven-born spirit ! wo to thee. 
 
 When thou forsak st thy parent deity ! 
 
 Thy high-wrought energies, thy might sublime, 
 
 But sink thee deeper in the gulf of crime ; 
 
GENIUS. 145 
 
 15arth hath no middle course for such as thee ; 
 Angel or Devil thou must ever be 1 
 Fade, fade, ye hated laurels, which are spreacl 
 In gloomy wreaths around the skeptic s head ; * 
 Sink in oblivion, thou unholy fame, 
 Which hold st aloft the honors of his name ! 
 They turn to ashes life s delicious fruit ; 
 They bid the angel voice of hope be mute ; 
 They crush the flowers, the fairest and the first, 
 And purest, which the heart hath ever nursed j 
 They render time a dark and dismal wave, 
 And spread tremendous horror o er the grave ! 
 What ! shall this vital and ethereal spark 
 Sink into night for ever drear and dark, 
 Nor find beyond the grave a world of bliss, 
 Pure from the sins and agonies of this ? 
 Away, away with this detested thought, 
 Vile web, by vain and shallow sophists wrought 
 Great nature cries, through all her vast domain, 
 The soul shall seek its sister clay again ! 
 It shall it shall and reach a starry home, 
 Where evil passions shall not dare to come ; 
 Where rage, revenge, ambition, lust, remorse, 
 Hate, envy, and despair shall lose their force ; 
 Nor rack, nor torture more the bleeding breast, 
 But all shall be serene, and bright, and blessed. 
 
 Fair Hope, of heavenly immortality ! 
 How dread were death, if unassuaged by thee ! 
 Lo ! love is pouring deep affliction s tear, 
 Where parted beauty rests upon the bier! 
 13 
 
146 GENIUS, 
 
 Look on that face which lately smiled so fair 
 
 See how those soulless eye-balls ghastly glare i 
 
 Mark on that brow the purpling of decay ! 
 
 Mark how those cheeks collapse and shrink away >. 
 
 Behold the whiteness of that ashy lip 1 
 
 Is that the spot where love his sweets should sip ? 
 
 Touch that white hand it answers not thy grasp : 
 
 Embrace that breast it beats not to thy clasp ; 
 
 Pour in that ear the song of love and truth, 
 
 The song which ne er before hath failed to soothe ; 
 
 Gaze on those eyes, erst shrines of living light, 
 
 Those eyes so late with thought and feeling bright, 
 
 What, will they answer not ? nor look nor voice 
 
 Bid thee to hope, to love, and to rejoice ? 
 
 Then wherefore vainly linger, fondly stay, 
 
 And waste affection on a clod of clay ? 
 
 Ah ! this is death, mysterious, dreaded death 1 
 
 That ruthless severer of clay and breath ! 
 
 He hath broke rudely into beauty s bower, 
 
 Hath cut with iron scythe her rosy flower ; 
 
 Down his dark vale hath borne her witching charms, 
 
 And chilled her blossoms in his icy arms ! 
 
 Behold ! she is but cold and senseless earth, 
 
 She who so late was life, and love, and mirth ; 
 
 She speaks not moves not ^breathes not smiles not 
 
 now, 
 
 Gone is the glory of her sunny brow : 
 A marble stillness and a moveless gloom 
 Usurp the light, the playfulness, the bloom, 
 The bland allurements which were now but hid 
 Neath the dark lash of that voluptuous lid. 
 
GENIUS. 147 
 
 Oh, balmy smiles, and soul subduing tears, 
 
 Heart-scorching fervors, changeful hopes and fears, 
 
 Hot gusts of passion, fraught with living fire, 
 
 Soft sighs of fondness and of pure desire, 
 
 Red blush of modest and ingenuous shame, 
 
 Thou dearest offering of the vestal flame, 
 
 Sweet song of love, nature s primeval hymn, 
 
 Bright glance of love, which nought but death could dim; 
 
 Where are ye now ? sleep ye beneath the thrall 
 
 Of yonder dark and melancholy pall ? 
 
 What ! have ye vanished like a summer dream ; 
 
 What ! shall your cheering ray no longer beam, 
 
 And shall the voice of love for aye be still ? 
 
 Then wherefore Heaven did st thou impart its thrill . 
 
 If love be but a transitory fire, 
 
 Doomed for a while to glitter and expire ; 
 
 If by the hand of death its chords be riven, 
 
 Nor reunited in the halls of Heaven, 
 
 Pure from the grossness of its mortal tye, 
 
 And wreathed with roses which can never die ; 
 
 If the high bosom of impassioned youth, 
 
 With all its generous attributes its truth 
 
 Its boundless zeal its star-fixed honor all 
 
 Those sparkling gems of the heart s coronal ; 
 
 If these be doomed to everlasting sleep, 
 
 Come, dark oblivion, with thy waters deep ! 
 
 Come, sullen death ! upon thy wing of night, 
 
 And wrap at once in shade my being s light ! 
 
 I would not live, if life and love be vain ; 
 
 [f for the toil, the trial, and the pain, 
 
148 MAN. 
 
 The restless anguish of these mortal hours, 
 
 No meed be offered in eternal bowers ; 
 
 If holy faith be but a bigot s dream, 
 
 If heaven-ward hope be but a meteor s beam 
 
 Upon the vast waves of eternity, 
 
 Then wherefore do we live, or wherefore die 
 
 Wo, wo for man, if the rapacious tomb 
 
 Enwrap his spirit in eternal gloom ! 
 
 If erf ear, unconscious nothingness await 
 
 The soul beyond that dim and silent gate, 
 
 Where the worm banquets on the faded form, 
 
 Which no returning spark shall ever warm ; 
 
 Then cursed be Hope for her beguiling strain ! 
 
 Cursed be her fancies and her visions vain 1 
 
 Cursed be the tree of life, whose worthless blossom 
 
 Drops ne er to spring again on earth s cold bosom I. 
 
 His heart beat joyously in spring, 
 
 When earth and all its scenes were new : 
 His hopes were out upon the wing, 
 
 And all was rapture to the view. 
 There was no cloud that hung on high, 
 
 The bright blue air to shade ; 
 And upwards as he turned his eye. 
 
 The sun in all his glory played 
 
MAN. 149 
 
 Swiftly on Time s unceasing course 
 
 Elapsed his boyhood s day 
 Unstained by anguish or remorse, 
 
 But unprofaned and gay. 
 O ! those were life s enchanted hours, 
 
 When Innocence and Truth 
 Sprung round his heart, like Eden-flowers, 
 
 And led him into Youth. 
 
 Youth came ; and with it came the pride 
 
 And noble impulse of the breast, 
 That each unworthy deed defied, 
 
 And each unworthy thought suppressed : 
 And in his heart was loftiness, 
 
 The consciousness of worth ; 
 How proudly did his footstep press 
 
 Along the pilgrimage of earth ! 
 
 Then Pleasure, when his heart was wann, 
 
 Her magic fetters o er him threw ; 
 His arms enclosed her lovely form, 
 
 Nor recked he how the moments flew. 
 But soon he wakened from his dream ; 
 
 He broke her golden chain ; 
 Upon his soul Truth pour d her beam. 
 
 And he was pure again. 
 
 He loved ; and his was such a love 
 
 It seem d not of a mortal mind, 
 But caught from Heaven s shrine above 
 
 So fond, so fervent, and refined. 
 13* 
 
150 MAW. 
 
 And as he watched her winning smile. 
 
 That played in pensive loveliness, 
 He well believed it could beguile 
 
 Life s deepest, most severe distress. 
 
 He loved ; aye, and he was beloved 
 
 With woman s fond sincerity ; 
 That heart shrunk not when fortune moved 
 
 Her night-clouds o er his destiny. 
 But ruin darkly overspread 
 
 Its ivy on love s wreath of bloom ; 
 Until its freshness all had fled : 
 
 It seemed a chaplet for the tomb. 
 
 She faded from him, like the leaf 
 
 In Autumn s melancholy bower : 
 O ! none may know his heartfelt grief. 
 
 The anguish of his lonely hour. 
 In silent wo he saw her laid 
 
 Lowly beneath the burial clod ; 
 And oft at eventide he strayed 
 
 To bathe with tears her grassy sod. 
 
 And then he raised his eye aloft 
 
 To heaven s blue arch serenely fair ; 
 While deep affection whispered soft, 
 
 That worshipped one was blooming there. 
 But where were love s delighted hours ? 
 
 In dark oblivious night : 
 Where were his early cherished flowers ? 
 
 Swept by untimely blight. 
 
MAN. 
 
 There came a shadow o er his soul i 
 
 The past he coldly spurn d, 
 Shook from his memory s control, 
 
 And to the future turned : 
 With hope less warm, but not subdued. 
 
 He mixed in life once more ; 
 With energy of heart renewed, 
 
 But less confiding than before. 
 
 And now he pressed, with heart of flame. 
 
 In the wild struggle of mankind, 
 To win the evergreens of fame, 
 
 And round his brow the wreath to bind 
 His idol Honour : nobly proud, 
 
 Impetuously he bore him on, 
 To rise on high above the crowd, 
 
 And wear that idol honor s crown. 
 
 But wither d Hope around him clung, 
 
 Cold as the pall around the bier ; 
 And Fortune s clouds above him hung, 
 
 Like wintry shadows o er the year. 
 He paused him in the noon of life ; 
 
 Reviewed the chequered course he ran 
 The busy scenes of earthly strife, 
 
 That form d the youth into the man. 
 
 And gone was all that lightsomeness 
 
 And buoyancy of thought ; 
 His soul had met with rude distress r 
 
 And borne it as he ought. 
 
152 MAN. 
 
 His memory told of hopes deceived 
 
 Of faded dreams of bliss, 
 Of joys he vainly had believed 
 
 Were in a world so drear as this- 
 
 At last his sun began to set : 
 
 Life s evening shadows fell j 
 But hope was in his bosom yet, 
 
 Nor could she bid farewell. 
 But twas a holier hope that sprung 
 
 Within this night of gloom ; 
 Around the shroud its glory hung 
 
 Its beam played on the tomb. 
 
 Then calmness and soft peace came o er 
 
 His long-distracted breast, 
 And agonizing pain no more 
 
 Its burning seal impressed. 
 And when Life s pulses ceased to play, 
 
 The storms of being past, 
 He laid him down beneath the clay, 
 
 And peace was his at last. 
 
153 
 
 The following lines were written in 1821. Since that time 
 strange events have happened; three great European powers 
 have blown up the Turkish navy at Navarin; Ypsilanti has 
 gone where he is no more heard of; the Greeks have been libe 
 rated, and a protegee of Russia (CAPO D !TRIA) has been 
 placed over them ; and lastly, the writer of these lines has found 
 out that the Turks are not half so bad as he was taught to con 
 sider them, 
 
 Lo ! a morning hath dawned on the midnight which 
 
 slept 
 
 On the land of the Muse, while fair liberty wept ; 
 While her tears flowed in anguish, and never could 
 
 cease, 
 
 For the heartless oppression that trampled on Greece. 
 She wakes ! the fierce lioness breaks from her chain ! 
 She wakes unto glory and gladness again ! 
 Behold ! o er her vales and the mountains afar, 
 Through the clouds of her shame gleams the lightning 
 
 of war ! 
 
 Shall the Ottoman now with impunity tread 
 As lord o er that land where Leonidas bled ? 
 Shame, shame on thee, Europe ; the die hath been 
 
 thrown, 
 
 And the heroes are left to the struggle alone. 
 Alas ! for the land of the valiant, where sprung 
 The mighty in arm and persuasive in tongue ; 
 
154 GREEK STRUGGLE. 
 
 Where genius was born, and where poesy threw 
 A veil of enchantment to brighten the view ; 
 Where philosophy opened her magical page, 
 The guardian of youth and the solace of age ; 
 Where the life-breathing canvass delighted the eye 
 With the roses of earth and the hues of the sky, 
 And the scenfes consecrated by passion and love 
 Could glow with expression, could smile, and couM 
 
 move ; 
 
 Where the marble of Paros, all polished in form, 
 Seemed to melt, and to breathe, with humanity warm ; 
 Where the columns in grace and in grandeur combined, 
 Seemed the fabrics of heaven, though the work of man 
 kind ! ^ 
 
 Where Pallas presided, and%lessed the domain 
 On which piety reared her majestical fane ; 
 Where the chalice was filled and libations were poured 
 To that tutelar goddess, that Virgin adored ! 
 Alas ! shall the Moslem be suffered to twine 
 His fetters accursed round the Parthenon s shrine . 
 Oh where is the spirit, oh where is the spear 
 That checked the proud Persian s insulting career. 
 That stood against millions unmoved as the rock 
 When the waves of old ocean rush on to the shock ? 
 That spirit now springs from the depth of the grave. 
 And claims for its son YPSILANTI the brave! 
 
 Faith ! there rose thine altai ; thy temple was there. 
 And shone from afar like a beacon in air ; 
 On that soil where the cross of religion was reared. 
 From heaven imparted, by mortals revered : 
 
TURKISH CRESCENT. 155 
 
 Then once more from the sky let the dim crescent wane. 
 And the cross float in triumph o er Athos again. 
 Oh Greece ! be thy mightiness such as of old, 
 When the heroes of Sparta and Macedon rolPd 
 With high emulation to mix in the fight, 
 Unshackled in arm and impetuous in might : 
 Remember the laurels Themistocles won, 
 Let Salamis witness the deeds he has done ! 
 Away with thy fetters, oppression, and shame ; 
 Awake thee to honour, to freedom, and fame ! 
 Then the Muse yet again o er Olympus shall stray, 
 And the summit of Ida re-echo her lay ; 
 Then Genius anew on thy region shall dawn, 
 And the future shall equal the days that are gone ! 
 
 TO THE 
 
 Crescent* 
 
 PROUD banner ! in slaughter deep dyed 
 
 The flight of long ages hath found thee ; 
 Expanding thy folds in presumptuous pride, 
 
 While the shields of the mighty were round thee : 
 Thou hast waved mid the pomp, and the din, 
 
 And the panoplied rush of the fight, 
 When the ranks of the valiant grew broken and thin. 
 
 As the Saracen strode in his might. 
 But the day of thy doom is recorded on high ; 
 The storm of thy ruin envelopes the sky. 
 
156 TURKISH CRESCENT. 
 
 For the voices of thousands unite, 
 
 The spirits of thousands combine, 
 To dash thee in dust from thy towering height, 
 
 And thy glory to darkness consign. 
 There are murmurs prophetic and loud ; 
 
 There are gatherings of nations from far ; 
 Behold in that wild and tumultuous crowd 
 
 The lion prepared for the war ! 
 Beware the fierce lion ! he tosses his mane, 
 Impatiently waiting the feast of the slain ! 
 
 There s a tramp on the turf, and a sound 
 
 Of headlong and furious speed ; 
 And the stam p, and the prance, and the paw of the groun d , 
 
 Tis the bounding of Thessaly s steed ; 
 And the helmetted rider is there, 
 
 With the blaze of revenge in his glance ; 
 Far glitters the flash of his sabre in air, 
 
 And the plumes o er his morion dance. 
 See ! he buries the spur in his courser s red flanks, 
 And breaks the firm front of the Ottoman ranks. 
 
 Who presses amain in hot haste* 
 
 Thus covered with dust and with foam ? 
 Tis the Suliote chieftain, the lord of the waste ; 
 
 He comes from the hills of his home : 
 He comes ! in impetuous might ; 
 
 He comes ! in victorious joy ; 
 Like the angel that rides on the tempest of night, 
 
 His arm is outstretched to destroy. 
 The clangour of steel and the war-shout resound, 
 See, see the proud Crescent is hurled to the ground { 
 
TURKISH CRESCENT* 157 
 
 ^o ! the storms in dark violence break 
 
 O er the Pass where Leonidas died : 
 Awake, Spartan spirits ! dead heroes, awake 
 
 On the spot where ye fell in your pride ! 
 Hark ! the trumpet is rending the air ; 
 
 It sounds o er the earth and the waves of the sea : 
 Your sons are embattled, and sternly they swear 
 
 That earth and those waves shall be free ! 
 And God hath looked down on that Christian array, 
 And hath broken the yoke of the infidel s sway. 
 
 Now the red cross is floating in peace 
 
 O er the mountains, the valleys, the waves t 
 Triumphantly shout the bold heroes of Greece, 
 
 For free are their forefathers graves : 
 Prophetic and true be the strain ! 
 
 Earth ! red be thy breast with the Ottoman s gore. 
 Till freedom shall smile on Ionia s main, 
 
 On the fair Cyclades and Pieria s shore. 
 Break forth, thou bright morn, when all nations shall see 
 The land of the bard and the warrior FREE ! 
 
 The foregoing was written in 1822, and the following in 
 ni commemoration of the repulse of the Russians. As the 
 writer makes no pretensions to consistency, he does not fee! 
 bound to give any reasons for his change of opinion, except that 
 he wishes success to hrave men who are fighting for the homes; 
 ">f their fathers-. 
 
 14 
 
158 
 
 <TUr Russian Urtreat. 
 
 BACK back to thy Muscovy, Czar ! 
 
 For perils encumber thy path ; 
 For the Crescent on Haemus gleams proudly from far- 
 
 And the Turk hath descended in wrath. 
 In pride did st thou gird on thy sword ; 
 
 As a conqueror wentest thou forth ; 
 And thy blasphemy called on the name of the Lord*, 
 
 As thy legions swept down from the North ! 
 Go, chant thy Te Deum at Catharine s shrine, 
 Since fate hath not willed that Sophia s* be thine ! 
 
 Back, savage and barbarous bird ! 
 
 Black eagle of Muscovy, back ! 
 Go, scream in thine eyrie, unheeded, unheard, 
 
 For scorn marks thy fugitive track ! 
 Thou earnest in pomp and in pride, 
 
 And Europe looked on with dismay ; 
 But the sons of the Moslem thy fury defied, 
 
 And they drove thee, stern spoiler, away. 
 Go, hide thy dark pinion in coldness and gloom, 
 For the arrows from Haemus have broken thy plume 
 
 Back, ye lawless invaders ! ye slaves, 
 
 Who came in your panoplied might, 
 Ye legions who loaded the Danube s broad waves, 
 
 And exultingly rushed to the fight ! 
 
 * The church of Sancta Sophia was built by the Emperor Justinian. i 
 sixth century. 
 
TIME. 169 
 
 Back, back to your ices and snows, 
 
 In defeat, in dishonour, end shame ; 
 No fair hands with laurel shall circle your brows, 
 
 No bard raise the song to your fame ! 
 And lo, while ye throng to that proud river s banks, 
 How fiercely the Delhis will hang on your ranks ! 
 
 And hail to thy spirit undaunted, 
 
 Thou boast of the Ottoman line ! 
 Thine eye hath not quivered, thy heart hath not panted, 
 
 Proud Soldan, what honours are thine ! 
 Go, look on the tombs of thy fathers, 
 
 Where the wide-spreading cypresses frown ; 
 And swear that whenever war s hurricane gathers, 
 
 Thou wilt not disgrace their renown ! 
 That the yellow-haired Russ shall not sit on the throne. 
 Which the valour and might of thy ancestors won ! 
 
 TRIUMPHANT Time ! thy wayward course began 
 When young creation *s bloom was fresh and new : 
 When to illume the heritage of Man, 
 The light of Eden sparkled on the view ; 
 When earth was fair, and every breeze that blew 
 Across her bosom murmured gently by, 
 Full-fraught with fragrance ; ere the tempest flew 
 In fearful gloominess to veil the sky, 
 To shroud its beams, and hide its golden dye. 
 
160 TIME. 
 
 Then man was happy, innocent, and young, 
 
 His hope unclouded as the heaven above ; 
 
 Then angel woman to his bosom clung, 
 
 And wakened all her witchery of love : 
 
 She came from heaven like the Almighty dove, 
 
 To win his soul with seraph tenderness ; 
 
 Her flowery bonds of bliss she interwove, 
 
 To bind his spirit in her fond caress, 
 
 And life was blessed, bright, and sorrowless. 
 
 Then, then, oh Time ! thy wing was waving light. 
 To fan the flowers that beautified thy way ; 
 Then was existence teeming with delight, 
 And sparkling in a gay and glorious day ; 
 Then was the spirit, in its mortal clay, 
 Breathing as with a pure celestial glow : 
 But sin and sorrow came in dread array, 
 To blight the buds and lay the blossom low.. 
 And earth became a hermitage of woe. 
 
 Ah, mournful change ! that paradise so fair, 
 
 So beautiful and bonny in its bloom, 
 
 And glorious spring, and primal freshness there 
 
 Came Melancholy in her shroud of gloom, 
 
 And Care to waste, to wither, and consume 
 
 The aching spirit in untimely blight ; 
 
 Then bent the soul of Man beneath its doom, 
 
 When Innocence and Virtue took their flight* 
 
 And left the world involved in Sorrow s night; 
 
TIME. 11 
 
 ^d still hath Man a ray of bliss on earth ; 
 The garden of his life hath still a hue, 
 While shines his morning in its hour of mirth, 
 Cloudless awhile, and robed as yet in blue : 
 That germ of paradise, so fair to view, 
 Is fond Affection s first and purest spring, 
 When each emotion of the heart is true. 
 Ere hope hath lost her buoyancy of wing, 
 Or the cold world hath brought its withering. 
 
 Oh, ever dear and hallowed be the hour, 
 
 When angel Love descends on rosy wing 
 
 To cull the blossoms in life s young May-bower, 
 
 And lull the anguish of Affliction s sting ! 
 
 Oh, ever blessed be that holy spring 
 
 Whence flow the streams of love and faithfulness. 
 
 In purest waves of gentle murmuring, 
 
 Shedding a balm on every rude distress ; 
 
 Fountains of bliss in the world s wilderness ! 
 
 Oh, ever dear and hallowed be the hour ! 
 Let youth enjoy it ere its sweets be fled ; 
 Ere the dark storms of destiny shall lower. 
 And break in rude commotion o er the head : 
 When the fierce shaft of Misery hath sped 
 Unto the breast, and griefs are gathering rife, 
 The memory of its blessings shall be shed, 
 A beam of gladness on the world of strife ! 
 A rainbow on the shrouded sky of life ! 
 14* 
 
1621 TIME: 
 
 Subduer, Time ! Stern conqueror of all ! 
 Avenger of the follies of mankind ! 
 Pride, honour, power, and grandeur own thy thrall. 
 And are by thee to nothingness consigned. 
 But canst thou master the immortal mind . 
 There, all in vain dost thou thy fury pour ; 
 Its march is onward, free and unconfined ; 
 Such as the Roman annals showed of yore, 
 And such as glorified the Grecian shore. 
 
 Oh, there was Glory s consecrated clime, 
 Where Sappho breathed, and where Anacreon sung 
 Where Genius flourished in the olden time, 
 And dwelt upon the Athenian s gifted tongue: 
 His, who the thunderbolts at Philip flung, 
 And urged his countrymen the fight to dare ; 
 Where heaven itself a Homer s lyre had strung 
 With chords that echoed sweetly on the air> 
 As if the melody of heaven was there ! 
 
 And there was Valour s spirit, proud and high. 
 Which shone resplendent on the cloud of war ; 
 Where Mars himself poured forth his battle en. 
 And lashed the coursers to his blood-dyed car, 
 As shone the ray of conquest from afar, 
 The beacon of each hero, on whose eye 
 It beamed a guiding and a natal star, 
 Like Israel s fiery pillar, streaming high, 
 And blazing bright athwart the Egyptian sky i 
 
TIME. 16$ 
 
 There fell the Spartan : fearlessly he fell, 
 
 And smiled in the red agony of death ; 
 
 Yea, there was triumph in his battle-knell, 
 
 And victory in every ebb of breath ; 
 
 Undying glory twined the laurel wreath 
 
 Round the lone cypress that o ershades the grave, 
 
 Memorial of the one who slept beneath, 
 
 Of him whose life-blood poured forth like the wave- 
 
 The young, the proud, the generous, the brave ! 
 
 Undying Glory ! Man may pass away 
 Like the light bubble floating on the stream, 
 Like the expiring blossom of a day, 
 Or the frail dew-drop in the sunny beam :- 
 Yes, short and transitory is his dream 
 Of youthful love, joy s evanescent hour, 
 Of hope s beguiling and bewitching theme ; 
 But when the storms of fate and ages lower. 
 Glory defies and mocks their baleful power, 
 
 For this, the unfading light of Glory smiles 
 On the fair soil of Greece, and on the bay 
 Where in their beauty spread Ionia s isles^ 
 Washed and enwreathed around by ocean s spray ; 
 For this, eternal Summer sheds her ray 
 On high Parnassus ; and that Helicon, 
 Where the Muse chanted her. bewitching lay 
 In days of yore, that melody is gone, 
 And those loved bowers are desolate and lone... 
 
164 TIME. 
 
 Yes, here oh, here the scythe of Time hath swept. 
 The torch of Time hath gone abroad to burn ; 
 And here, for many an age, hath Genius slept, 
 But not unhonoured, in the noiseless urn ! 
 Still doth the eye with kind expression turn 
 To that illustrious and all hallowed clime. 
 The light of former ages to discern, 
 When genius flourished in its lofty prime, 
 And the mind sprung triumphant over Time ! 
 
 And thus it is : kingdoms may fall in dust, 
 The coronals of empire may decay, 
 The sceptre perish, and the helmet rust, 
 And power and proud dominion pass away : 
 These are the transient baubles of a day : 
 But the mind glows in its immortal bloom, 
 And Genius sheds an unextinguished ray 
 Upon life s scenes of dreariness and gloom, 
 Victorious over Time victorious o er the tomb ! 
 
 * JHan of Sorrotos." 
 
 A MAN of sorrows and of wo, 
 
 Twas thus of old the prophet sung, 
 Who felt the words of heaven flow 
 
 In inspiration from his tongue : 
 Well might the prophet s words be sooth 
 
 To all beneath the golden sun ; 
 But be it mine to paint their truth 
 
 In the dark destiny of one. 
 
MAN OP SORROWS. 
 
 Kind nature gave him feelings strong, 
 
 Lofty, impetuous, and sincere ; 
 But envy, perfidy, and wrong, 
 
 Conspired to lay those feelings sear : 
 Deceived, deserted, and betrayed, 
 
 By many a shaft of fate pursued, 
 The earth to him became a shade r 
 
 A melancholy solitude. 
 
 He knelt at many an idol s shrine, 
 
 But found congenial warmth in none 
 And every wreath his hope could twine 
 
 Was quickly blighted and undone : 
 And then he bowed beneath the wo 
 
 That brooded o er life s little span ; 
 He bent him to affliction s blow, 
 
 He bent, but bore it like a man. 
 
 In proud and uncomplaining grief, 
 
 He walked upon his lonely way ; 
 But have ye marked the yellow leaf, 
 
 Consuming on the broken spray ? 
 He loved its dying beauty well ; 
 
 To him it had a warning tone ; 
 And when its bloom to ruin fell, 
 
 It seemed an emblem of his own. 
 
 He loved to watch the setting sun 
 Go down beneath the crimson west ;.-. 
 
 And wished his own career were run. 
 That he might also be at rest, 
 
MAN OF SORROWS. 
 
 He thought the sod would lighter press, 
 
 Than life s accumulated wo ; 
 He thought the wave of cold distress 
 
 Perchance would there forget to flow ! 
 
 There was a time what boots it now 
 
 On spectres of the past to call ? 
 For will it cool his burning brow, 
 
 Or will it gild his spirit s pall ? 
 But yet there was a joyous time, 
 
 When youthful hope delighted sung, 
 And o er his bright and golden prime 
 
 The sunny sky of fortune hung. 
 
 His heart was then in freshest play, 
 
 And in its fair unclouded spring ; 
 And blithsome was his roundelay, 
 
 Like that of wild birds on the wing. 
 Oh, for that soul-enchanting song 
 
 Which charmed his boyhood s rosy hours. 
 When being s current swept along 
 
 A shore of verdure and of flowers ; 
 
 When freely flowed life s fountain wave 
 
 In waters of the purest blue, 
 And every scene existence gave 
 
 Was fresh, was beautiful, was new ; 
 When from the holy fane of thought 
 
 His mind derived supreme delight, 
 And every tint that fancy caught 
 
 Was fair, and glorious, and bright; 
 
MAN OF SORROWS. 1G7 
 
 When all creation s ample space 
 
 Before him spread her bosom fair, 
 And gratitude would fondly trace 
 
 A kind Creator s bounty there ; 
 When on his grand majestic march 
 
 The sun pursued his glad career, 
 And heaven upreared her smiling arch 
 
 For day s resplendent charioteer ! 
 
 When midnight spread her milder veil 
 
 Upon the soft and dewy sky, 
 And the fair moon was seen to sail 
 
 In pensive loveliness on high ; 
 And followed by the evening star, 
 
 With silver clouds around her curled. 
 Danced on the mountain height afar ; 
 
 A cheering beacon to the world ! 
 
 When on the mighty thunder-storm, 
 
 The bow of promise bent its span ; 
 Like mercy, bending o er the form 
 
 Of erring, but repentant, man ; 
 And wreathed its belt around the air, 
 
 Where the black tempest hung his shroud. 
 Glowing in mingled colours there, 
 
 The Almighty s banner on the cloud I 
 
 Oh, when his heart was in his prime, 
 These scenes were revelry to him ! 
 
 Ere the unsparing hand of time 
 
 Around them hung his mantle dim : 
 
MAN OF SORROWS, 
 
 Ere each emotion felt the chill, 
 
 The blight, the scathe, the withering. 
 
 The deep and agonizing thrill 
 
 Of a cold world s empoisoned sting. 
 
 His earthly idols, where are they ? 
 
 Ay, let the voice of memory tell! 
 Sprung there one blessing on his way ? 
 
 There the untimely mildew fell ! 
 Was there one flower upon his path ? 
 
 There the hot blast of ruin blew, 
 In all its desolating wrath, 
 
 To sear and scorch its rosy hue ! 
 
 Behold him now ! the silvery frost 
 
 Not yet has fallen on his head ; 
 Yet is his every solace lost, 
 
 His every hope of pleasure dead ! 
 And years of pain away must roll, 
 
 Ere his brow wear the almond tree : 
 Yet wintry age hath chilled his soul 
 
 To iciness, and where is he ? 
 
 Behold him, mid the giddy throng 
 
 Who dance the days of life away 
 fn joy, in revelry, and song, 
 
 Seeming the gayest of the gay ! 
 Behold him in the courtly hall, 
 
 Where pleasure leads her frolic train, 
 The blithest at the festival, 
 
 Where folly holds her orgies vain ! 
 
MAN OF SORROWS. 10J) 
 
 Behold him in his midnight hour, 
 
 When lighter hearts are lost in sleep, 
 And mark his struggles with the power 
 
 Of anguish too severe to weep ! 
 Nor be that proud deceit a blame, 
 
 Which o er his agony he flings ; 
 Th expiring eagle doth the same, 
 
 And hides his death-wound with his wings. 
 
 But yet awhile, oh, yet awhile, 
 
 Victim of sorrow ! thou must bear ; 
 Thy heart must still assume the smile, 
 
 To hide the barbed arrows there. 
 Soon may the cold turf be thy bed, 
 
 Soon may the green grass o er thee wave, 
 Soon may the orb thou lovest, shed 
 
 His parting light upon thy grave . 
 
170 
 
 "Efie 
 
 STRIKE the wild harp yet once again ! 
 
 Again its lonely numbers pour ; 
 Then let the melancholy strain 
 
 Be hushed in death for evermore, 
 For evermore, for evermore, 
 
 Creative fancy, be thou still ; 
 And let oblivious Lethe pour 
 
 Upon my lyre its waters chill. 
 
 Strike the wild harp yet once again ! 
 
 Then be its fitful chords unstrung, 
 Silent, as is the grave s domain, 
 
 And mute as the death-mouldered tongue 
 Let not a thought of memory dwell 
 
 One moment on its former song ; 
 Forgotten too be this farewell, 
 
 Which plays its pensive strings along ! 
 
 Strike the wild harp yet once again ! 
 
 The saddest and the latest lay ; 
 Then break at once its strings in twain, 
 
 And they shall sound no more for aye : 
 And hang it on the cypress tree, 
 
 The hours of youth and song have passed, 
 Have gone, with all their witchery ! 
 
 Lost lyre ! these numbers are thy last. 
 
171 
 
 DARK and deep is the curse that hangs over thy clime. 
 
 Italia enwrapped in the midnight of Time ! 
 
 Italia the proud, the allmighty of yore, 
 
 But the country of heroes and sages no more. 
 
 The land of the Caesars, whose glorious sway 
 
 Made potentates tremble and nations obey ; 
 
 Where an Ovid could melt, and a Horace could move. 
 
 And Tibullus breathe all the soft languor of love ; 
 
 Where the wisdom of Cato exalted the mind, 
 
 And Tully shone forth as the pride of mankind ; 
 
 Where Trajan the good, and the just Antonine, 
 
 Bade genius to flourish and learning to shine ; 
 
 Where bards and where heroes, a numberless throng. 
 
 Burned in battle s commotion or melted in song, 
 
 Till the seven-hilled city for valour and worth 
 
 Shone proudly afar as the wonder of earth ; 
 
 Where in times less remote an ethereal fire 
 
 Breathed warm upon Tasso s melodious lyre, 
 
 Whose strain could beguile the dull prison, where wrono 
 
 Had thrown the bold master of music and song ; 
 
 Where the strain of a Dante re-echoed sublime, 
 
 And proud Ariosto sung chivalry s prime ; 
 
 Where genius and taste reared their classical thronf; 
 
 And hailed every valley and hill for their own. 
 
 Fair realm of Romance, and of Poesy s lay, 
 
 All beaming with summer, all lovely and gay. 
 
172 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Remembrance still lingers on many a scene, 
 And glory still points unto what thou hast been ! 
 But decayed is the nerve of the Roman who bor*. 
 Thine armies in triumph to Albion s shore ; 
 Thy Julius, thine Adrian, thy Nerva the just, 
 Have for ages and ages been mouldering in dust ; 
 And thy sons unaspiring recoil from the deed, 
 For freedom to strike and for freedom to bleed ! 
 
 lieu ! quanto minus cst cum rcliquis versari quam tui mominissr. 
 
 THERE is a hand which mine hath pressed, 
 But which it ne er can press again, 
 
 Save in the midnight hour of rest, 
 When sleep imparts its fancies vain. 
 
 There is an eye of floating blue, 
 Which ever kindly beam d on me ; 
 
 There is a cheek of lily hue, 
 
 Which I, alas ! no more can see. 
 
 There is a smile of gentleness, 
 
 Of sweet and maiden purity, 
 Which oft in visions comes to bless 
 
 The mellowed eye of memory. 
 
A REMEMBRANCE. 173 
 
 There is a name which I conceal 
 Deep in affection s sacred shrine ; 
 
 Nor whisper, lest I should reveal 
 To any ear this name of mine. 
 
 There is a being pure and bright 
 As the young bonny flower of May, 
 
 That was a beam of golden light 
 Upon my dark and lonely day. 
 
 There is a heart which mine hath prized 
 
 Above all other hearts on earth ; 
 Which I have dearly idolized 
 
 For all its sweetness, all its worth, 
 
 There is a feeling in this breast, 
 
 Untired by time, decay, or care ; 
 That cannot, will not be suppressed* 
 
 But ever glows and freshens there. 
 
174 
 
 $0 or. 
 
 OF GREENBUSH. 
 
 " Virtus, recludens immeritis mori 
 Coelum, negata tentat iter via ; 
 Coetusque vulgares, et udam 
 Spernit humum fugiente penna." 
 
 HORACE, Lib. III. Od. 
 
 WE were young when first we met, 
 In our days of reckless joy, 
 
 When the ore of life as yet 
 Was unmingled with alloy. 
 
 Those were days of revelry, 
 
 Such as never shall again 
 Shed their light on thee and me ; 
 
 We are altered we are men. 
 
 And the strong and stirring trial 
 Of the world awaits us now ; 
 
 Patience, toil, and self-denial, 
 Graver heart, and sterner brow, 
 
 Must be ours ; the idle dream 
 Of our morning tide is o er : 
 
 Wild romance and fancy s gleam 
 Must entice us nevermore ! 
 
 There are wreaths that must be won. 
 
 Whatsoe er the toil or cost ; 
 There s a race that must be run, 
 
 Where the negligent are lost. 
 
TO C. G. V. R. 175 
 
 But the prize, the lofty prize 
 
 Of imperishable Fame ! 
 How it wakes the energies 
 
 To a warm and genial flamw ! 
 
 How it glitters from afar, 
 
 Proud ambition s cynosure ! 
 Being s best and brightest star, 
 
 In unborrowed glory pure ! 
 
 We will reach it : hate and guile 
 
 Will beset us, fierce and long, 
 Keen-eyed envy, fair-browed wile, 
 
 And detraction s adder-tongue. 
 
 Nerved and bold then be each breast, 
 
 As our aim is just and great ; 
 In affliction not depressed, 
 
 Nor in triumph too elate ; 
 
 Self-approved and self-sustained, 
 Let true honor be our own ; 
 And until the prize is gained 
 Be our watchword ever " ON." 
 
176 
 
 a I met thee in my dreams." 
 
 " A magic voice and verse, 
 
 Hath baptized thee with a curse." 
 
 I MET thee in my dreams last night ; 
 When troubled fancy brought thy form, 
 Which once 1 greeted with delight. 
 The rainbow of life s angry storm. 
 It stood before me as of yore, 
 But lovely and beloved no more ; 
 I did not feel my bosom swell, 
 As erst it did beneath thy spell ; 
 Nor did I kiss thy brow so fair, 
 Crowned with its flowing raven hair : 
 But silent, cold, and motionless, 
 I viewed thy form, and stood apart, 
 And felt in sleep such iciness 
 As hardens in thy waking heart ! 
 
 Soon passed the vision : I awoke 
 To chase thine image from my breast, 
 And curse the uncalled dream which broke 
 Upon my hour of midnight rest ; 
 To curse the false, beguiling tongue, 
 To curse the serpent which hath stung 
 A heart, whate er its faults may be, 
 Which never did a wrong to thee : 
 
STANZAS. 177 
 
 For ail my hope was in thy heart. 
 There were the flower- wreaths of my fate : 
 Those wreaths are wasted by thine art, 
 And canst thou marvel if I hate ? 
 
 No ! let the fool when once deceived 
 Again believe the heartless one, 
 Whose wily hand too well hath weavecl 
 The spell by which he-is undone ; 
 The lurking quicksands of the sea 
 [ trust, ere I again trust thee ; 
 Sooner my heedless hand shall take 
 The venomed asp or adder snake. 
 Sooner these reckless arms shall rest 
 Upon the raging lion s mane, 
 Than clasp thy cold and faithless breast 
 In love unto my own again. 
 
178 
 
 BEYOND the wave, beyond the wave, 
 
 Beyond the stormy ocean s roar, 
 Thy form has found an early grave, 
 
 Thine eye is closed to beam no more ; 
 The clod hath fallen, the turf hath pressed 
 
 Upon that lovely collined form ; 
 The shroud is wrapped around thy breast, 
 
 With life and love no longer warm, 
 
 Yet, o er this solitude of soul, 
 
 Which round me sheds a spell malign, 
 Thy loved remembrance hath control , 
 
 And bids my spirit not repine, 
 But firmly bear the ills that spread 
 
 Their midnight o er my destiny, 
 Where once the light of hope was shed, 
 
 The rainbow hope which glowed for thec. 
 
 Cora ! thou wast not formed for earth : 
 
 So bright thy angel beauty shone, 
 So rich in innocence and worth, 
 
 That heaven has claimed thee for its own. 
 No more I see that sparkling eye 
 
 Where beamed the light that led me on ; 
 A bright inviting witchery, 
 
 Which waked for me, and me alone. 
 
TO CORA. 179 
 
 But though that eye hath lost its ray 
 
 Where death has gathered in his cloud, 
 Around thy cold and lifeless clay 
 
 Enwreathed within the funeral shroud ; 
 Though thou reposest in the dust, 
 
 Thy chord of frail existence riven, 
 It is my hope, it is my trust, 
 
 Thy soul is blooming now in heaven. 
 
 Aye, thou hast perished ! and the sod 
 
 Glows in its freshness o er the scene, 
 Where on thy coffin fell the clod, 
 
 And sorrow told that thou had st been ; 
 Nor did I hear the last farewell 
 
 Which thou did st breath to love and me, 
 Nor did I hear the lonely knell. 
 
 Which rung the requiem over thee ! 
 
 There was a time my soul could burn 
 
 With ardour for the meed of fame : 
 Perchance that season may return 
 
 And time renew that wasted flame ; 
 Wilt thou be with me then to share 
 
 The pride and feeling of that hour ? 
 Can the cold grave its bosom bare, 
 
 Or life renew its ruined flower ? 
 
 Yet be it so twere wrong to blame 
 
 Or murmur at the dread decree ; 
 This lonely heart must share the same 
 
 Dark fate which early blighted thee. 
 
TO CORA. 
 
 Alas ! thou wast so fair, so young, 
 So beautiful in maiden bloom, 
 
 That all my hopes around thee hung. 
 And drooped and died upon thy tomb : 
 
 Had 1 but dreamed in times long past. 
 
 When gazing on that cheek so fair. 
 That death its rosy hue should waste, 
 
 And cold destruction riot there ; 
 How deeply anguish would have spread 
 
 Her mantle o er my pallid brow ! 
 How freely would this heart have bled. 
 
 Whose drops of bliss are frozen now ! 
 
 Yet, Cora, still my heart s deep .spring. 
 
 Shall flow unalterably thine. 
 Ne er shall I lay an offering 
 
 Upon another idol s shrine ; 
 !vi i tombed with thee still be that love 
 
 Which to thy living worth was given ; 
 Still may its fond remembrance prove 
 
 My charm on earth-r-my hope of heaven 
 
181 
 
 (Genius antr 
 
 SPIRIT OF GENIUS. 
 
 of Joy ! I have woo d thee long 
 In the light of youth and the swell of song : 
 I have sought thee with feelings pure and high. 
 With the soul of sensibility. 
 I have strung my lyre, but all in vain, 
 To summon thee from thy far domain ; 
 I have calPd thee oft from the starry sphere 
 Spirit of Joy! appear! appear! 
 Why hath thine ear been dull so long 
 To the voice of love and the soul of song ? 
 
 SPIRIT OP JOV.. 
 
 Spirit of Genius ! behold I come 
 From the star-bright hall of my distant home, 
 To tell thee, thy pure and sacred strain 
 Did never fall on my ear in vain. 
 [ have been with thee when thou knewest me not 
 I have hallowed for thee full many a spot ; 
 Bright isles on the sea of memory 
 Which were ever blessed and for aye will be ; 
 I have met thy glance in the still starlight ; 
 I have sped to thee on the gale of night ; 
 And oft for thee has my seraph form 
 Hung on the fringe of the thunder-storm : 
 When thy swelling heart and thy spirit proud 
 Held high communion with the cloud, 
 16* 
 
182 GENIUS AND JOY. 
 
 When thy pinion spread in the troubled air. 
 
 All giorious spirit ! I met thee there ! 
 
 Did not the pride of thy bosom spring 
 
 When thou heard st the rushing of my wing r 
 
 And together we wandered far and free 
 
 Through the regions of sublimity ? 
 
 Hast thou not seen me in the glow 
 
 And the golden pride of the bended bow. 
 
 Which bids the angel of ruin cease, 
 
 And gladdens earth with the sign of peace ? 
 
 Hast thou not heard my matin lay 
 
 To the glorious God of the new-born day ? 
 
 Hast thou not heard my evening hymn, 
 
 When his western light waxed faint and dim 
 
 Hast thou not met me in summer s bower. 
 
 Culling the rose and the lily flower ? 
 
 In winter s stern and stormy night, 
 
 In spring s fair smile of young delight, 
 
 In the yellow leaves of the autumn wood 
 
 Mid the calm of sacred solitude ; 
 
 In all these scenes of luxury, 
 
 Spirit ! have I not been with thee ? 
 
 SPIRIT OF GENIUS. 
 
 Yet, wherefore have I not met thee, then? 
 In the walks of life and the haunts of men t 
 Is it the doom of my wayward fate 
 To find thee in things inanimate ? 
 Can the soul s proud immortality 
 Hold no fond fellowship with thee ? 
 Why find I not in the human breast 
 Thy thrill divine and thy presence blest ? 
 
GRNIUS AND JOY. 
 SPIRIT OF JOY. 
 
 Spirit ! because thou bast not sought ; 
 
 Thou wilt find me in hearts with feeling fraught 
 
 In the light of lovely woman s eye, . 
 
 In her bosom s fond sincerity ; 
 
 In the smile that steals thy soul away, 
 
 And the silvery softness of her lay ; 
 
 But more than all, and all else above, 
 
 In the charm of her warm devoted love ! 
 
 Thou wilt find me, too, in that lofty hour 
 
 Where man bows down to thy mighty power. 
 
 And yields his passions all resigned 
 
 To thee, proud master of his mind ! 
 
 Spirit ! when time hath that moment brought. 
 
 Then search thy secret and inmost thought : 
 
 And thou shalt own exultingly 
 
 That the Spirit of Joy doth dwell with thee 
 
184 
 
 JUgftfc 
 
 JT is the hour which calls to mind 
 
 The hopes, the joys that once were ours. 
 When life was buoyant, fresh, and kind, 
 
 And fortune deck d her brow with flowers. 
 *Tis then the wanderer s fancy roves, 
 
 Unbridled in its rapid flight, 
 To the far distant home he loves, 
 
 Spot of his youth s heart-felt delight ; 
 And wishes, and yet dreads, to know 
 
 If all is still unclouded there ; 
 Nor startled by the voice of wo> 
 
 Nor the low meanings of despair. 
 The father, guardian of his youth, 
 
 His firmest friend beneath the sun, 
 Who taught him that the way of truth 
 
 And lasting happiness are one ; 
 The mother, on whose tender breast 
 
 In infancy s fond hour he hung, 
 Who watch d above his cradled rest, 
 
 And ever as she watched, she sung ; 
 And she, in whose attentive ear 
 
 He whisper d all his boyhood s schemes. 
 The sister of his heart, more dear 
 
 Than fancy s gayest, fairest dreams ; 
 Oh ! are they still in happiness ? 
 
 Is not their hearth-fire faint and dim . 
 Are they unwakened to distress, 
 
 And do they often think of him ? 
 
NIGHT. 185 
 
 Has time bent down that father s form, 
 
 And blanched his head with silver gray ! 
 Or is his heart no longer warm, 
 
 But mouldering in the house of clay ? 
 That mother, and that sister bland, 
 
 Prom his embrace are far away ; 
 He withers in a foreign land, 
 
 And those loved beings where are they . 
 Calm night ! thine is the pensive dream 
 
 That hovers lightly o er the brain, 
 When former hopes and blessings seem 
 
 To blossom in the world again. 
 Affection s clasp, the kiss of truth, 
 
 The love- wreath in its morning bloom. 
 The glow of fond, undoubting youth, 
 
 Ere conscious of its bitter doom, 
 All the past scenes of faded years 
 
 In quick array come sweeping on : 
 The wishes vain, the smiles, the tears* 
 
 So sweetly shed, so quickly gone ! 
 Then pass along in sad review, 
 
 The forms that long ago were seen. 
 Before the death-cloud darkly flew, 
 
 Before life lost her smiling mien. 
 They come, they come ! a mournful crowd. 
 
 Whose home is in the lonely grave ; 
 Whom time has covered with his shroud, 
 
 And swept in dark oblivion s wave ! 
 Stern Time ! that blights the flowery scene 
 
 Of man s new-born, delightful spring ; 
 Nor leaves a trace of what hath been. 
 
 To cheer the night of sorrowing. 
 
186 STANZAS. 
 
 O er all that nature can impart 
 To charm, inspire, or soothe the breas 
 
 O er each emotion of the heart 
 
 Which he hath coldly hush d to rest. 
 
 - Tis o er ; the only tie which bound." 
 
 Tis o er ; the only tie which bound 
 
 My heart to life is rent in twain : 
 "Tis o er ; and I too soon have found 
 
 My life hath been, must be in vain : 
 My cheek with agony is flushed, 
 
 My sands of life are running low ; 
 Every fair germ of hope is crushed, 
 
 And thine the hand that gave the blow 
 
 Yet deem not that I curse thee now, 
 
 Though thou hast wrapped my day in ill. 
 And scattered anguish on my brow, 
 
 I love thee and I bless thee still ; 
 For thou hast ever been to me 
 
 The idol of my earthly heaven, 
 And ere 1 cease for aye to be, 
 
 Tis meet that thou should st be forgiven. 
 
STANZAS. 187 
 
 1 have not wept, I have not sighed 
 
 Above my being s lonely wreck ; 
 It is not hate, it is not pride, 
 
 That serves the sigh, the tear to check : 
 It is that quiet calm despair 
 
 Which hath no voice its wo to tell ; 
 Which broods upon my breast, and there 
 
 Mutters its dark and secret spell ; 
 
 And gnaws upon my bosom s core, 
 
 Its writhing and its helpless prey ; 
 For I, alas ! have lost the power 
 
 To drive the ravenous fiend away. 
 With feelings wrung and paralyzed, 
 
 With spirit broken and unstrung, 
 I touch the lyre which once I prized, 
 
 And sing, but not as once I sung. 
 
 The strain is now forlorn and wild, 
 
 The music of a broken heart j 
 It tells of hopes which have beguiled, 
 
 Of ties which have been torn apart ; 
 It breathes -the dirge of happiness, 
 
 Of wishes that were framed in vain ; 
 It breathes of unalloyed distress, 
 
 The scorching fever of the brain. 
 
 Twere something yet, could I but twine 
 Some few and frail autumnal flowers 
 
 Round Feeling s desolated shrine, 
 Memorials of happier hours. 
 
188 STANZAS. 
 
 But I had placed my all on earth 
 On the fond hopes thy spirit gave ; 
 
 And life hath nothing left of worth, 
 No charm to wean me from the grave 
 
 No more, no more on me can fall 
 
 The freshness of affection s dew ; 
 Thought, fancy, feeling, fervor, all 
 
 Are scathed, and cannot bloom anew. 
 Tho grief at times withdraws her dart. 
 
 Tis not to give my sorrows rest ; 
 The gloomier madness of the heart 
 
 Then fiercely knocks upon my breast. 
 
 And now, farewell ! and be thy day 
 
 Aye burnished by the summer sun : 
 Fair be the blossoms on thy way, 
 
 Thou best beloved and lovely one I 
 The memory of what hath been 
 
 Doth every angry thought disarm. 
 And I should feel it were a sin 
 
 To work thy gentle spirit harm ! 
 
189 
 
 * AIR Freedom! thou art man s best benison given 
 The birth-right of earth and the blessing of heaven : 
 Let tyranny still wield his blood-spotted sword, 
 Let his fury upon thee be ruthlessly poured ; 
 Yet the hour is fast dawning, the glorious houry 
 When thou shalt awaken resistless in power ; 
 When thy sons in hot haste to the battle shall speed. 
 For thee as their boon, or for death as their meed. 
 Then when thy fair standard is widely unfurled, 
 And shines like the day-star which beacons the world 
 When Battle shall utter his shout of alarm, 
 When Carnage shall revel, and Death lift his arm : 
 Then shall nation with nation in union combine, 
 And press in hot rage to the numberless line ; 
 To fight for the cause that is sacred to man, 
 And dash in wild uproar to lead in the van. 
 Then the shackles of tyrants in ruin shall fall, 
 And the earth be released from inglorious thrall ; 
 Then the voice of mankind shall ascend in acclaim, 
 And the watchword of nations be WASHINGTON S 
 
 name. 
 
 Then when thy proud standard expands to the sky. 
 And thy sons rally round it to conquer or die ; 
 Then on the high Andes that banner shall wave. 
 And golden Peru burst the chains of the slave ; 
 Break the iron that rives, and the bands that restrain. 
 nd her Incas preside in their splendour again. 
 
 
390 AVATAR OF FREEDOM. 
 
 Then, Helvetia, the thunders of warfare shall swell 
 On thy glaciers that witnessed the exploits of Tell ; 
 Then on proud Underwalden shall beam such a day 
 As shone on Morgarthen and Sempach s affray. 
 Then, Sarmatia, thy sun shall break forth from the cloud. 
 And thy chiefs in high hope to the conflict shall crowd : 
 Some new Kosciusko thy right shall maintain, 
 Some Pulaski shall lead thy bold heroes again ; 
 They shall sweep like the Siroc to waste and destroy. 
 And the Vistula roll his free waters in joy ! 
 Then y Africa, then shall new liberty reign 
 On Joliba s banks and on Nubia s plain : 
 Fated Africa, ages have vanished away 
 Since thy long line of Ptolemies fell to decay ; 
 Since Amilcar and Annibal slumbered in fame, 
 And thy once boasted Carthage is now but a name. 
 Thine Egypt, where art and where science first grew. 
 Where the pyramids towered aloft on the view ; 
 Where earth wore creation s most exquisite smile, 
 Upon the fair banks of the bountiful Nile ; 
 Where the hundred-porched Thebes in its loftiness shone, 
 And power and elegance marked her their own. 
 Oil, long had their glory been but as a dream, 
 As a meteor of midnight that dies on the stream ; 
 And long the descendants of Hanno the brave, 
 Have bent neath the load that o erburthens the slave. 
 Oh Africa ! when the dread mandate of heaven 
 Shall proclaim to the world that thy bondage is riven. 
 When the malison rolls from Eternity s breath, 
 And thy battle-song breathes stern defiance and death : 
 
 j : /- 
 
TIME. 191 
 
 When thy phalanx unshrinking, thy daring array, 
 Shall rush like the tempests which darken the day ; 
 Let oppression then tremble, let tyranny quake, 
 For the spirit of deep retribution shall wake ; 
 Let thejm shrink when the bolts of thy vengeance are 
 
 hurled, 
 To punish a guilty and barbarous world 1 
 
 I SAW him hastening on his way, 
 
 And marked his lightning flight ; 
 Where er he moved, there stern decav 
 
 Spread its destructive blight. 
 Rapid the gloomy phantom hied, 
 
 Enveloped in the storm ; 
 His eye shone out in sullen pride, 
 
 And fearful was his form. 
 
 I saw him grasp the warrior s wreath, 
 
 Won in the gory fray ; 
 The laurel withering sunk in death, 
 
 Its beauty fled away : 
 That wreath was stained with bloody dew. 
 
 Unhallowed was its bloom ; 
 ft met the phantom s chilling view. 
 
 And bowed beneath its doom,. 
 
9S TIME. 
 
 I saw him pass by beauty s bower. 
 ; And listen to her lay ; 
 Around the spot was many a flower. 
 
 Blooming its summer day : 
 With icy heart the spectre came, 
 
 Her lovely form compressed ; 
 She met his lurid eye of flame, 
 
 The tomb-stone tells the rest. 
 
 On youth s warm brow his hand he prest, 
 
 Twas cold as mouldering clay ; 
 He laid his arm on manhood s breast. 
 
 The life -pulse ceased to play. 
 His fell siroc o er nature past, 
 
 And low she drooped her head ; 
 Her blossoms withered in the blast, 
 
 And all her verdure fled. 
 
tlir Hgtng 
 
 THOU desolate and dying year 1 
 
 Emblem of transitory man, 
 Whose wearisome and wild career 
 
 Like thine is bounded to a span : 
 It seems but as a little day 
 
 Since nature smiled upon thy birth. 
 And Spring came forth in fair array, 
 
 To dance upon the joyous earth. 
 
 Sad alteration ! now how lone, 
 
 How verdureless is nature s breast: 
 Where ruin makes his empire known, 
 
 In Autumn s yellow vesture drest ; 
 The sprightly bird, whose carol sweet 
 
 Broke on the breath of early day, 
 The summer flowers she loved to greet ; 
 
 The bird, the flowers, Oh ! where are they 
 
 Thou desolate and dying year ! 
 
 Yet lovely in thy lifelessness 
 As beauty stretched upon the bier, 
 
 In death s clay cold, and dark caress ; 
 There s loveliness in thy decay, 
 
 Which breathes, which lingers on thee still, 
 Like memory s mild and cheering ray 
 
 Beaming upon the night of ill* 
 17* 
 
MM- DYING TEA:R. 
 
 Yet, yet, the radiance is not gone, 
 
 Which shed a richness o er the scene. 
 Which smiled upon the golden dawn, 
 
 When skies were brilliant and serene 
 Oh ! still a melancholy smile 
 
 Gleams upon Nature s aspect fair, 
 To charm the eye a little while, 
 
 Ere ruin spreads his mantle there ! 
 
 Thou desolate and dying year ! 
 
 Since time entwined thy vernal wreath. 
 How often love hath shed the tear, 
 
 And knelt beside the bed of death : 
 How many hearts that lightly sprung 
 
 When joy was blooming but to die, 
 Their finest chords by death unstrung. 
 
 Have yielded life s expiring sigh. 
 
 And pillowed low beneath the clay. 
 
 Have ceased to melt, to breathe, to burn 
 The proud, the gentle, and the gay, 
 
 Gathered unto the mouldering urn ; 
 While freshly flowed the frequent tear 
 
 For love bereft, affection fled ; 
 For all that were our blessings here. 
 
 The loved, the lost, the sainted dead \ 
 
 Thou desolate and dying year ! 
 
 The musing spirit finds in thee 
 Lessons, impressive and serene, 
 
 Of deep and stern morality ; 
 
IXTIKG YEAR. 
 
 Thou teachest how the germ of youth, 
 Which blooms in being s dawning day. 
 
 Planted by nature, reared by truth. 
 Withers like thee in dark decay. 
 
 Promise of youth ! fair as the form 
 
 Of Heaven s benign and golden bow. 
 Thy smiling arch begirds the storm, 
 
 And sheds a light on every wo ; 
 Hope wakes for thee, and to her tongue, 
 
 A tone of melody is given, 
 As if her magic voice were strung 
 
 With the empyreal fire of Heaven. 
 
 And love which never can expire- 
 
 Whose origin is from on high, 
 Throws o er thy morn a ray of fire, 
 
 From the pure fountains of the sky ; 
 That ray which glows and brightens still 
 
 Unchanged, eternal and divine ; 
 Where seraphs own its holy thrill, 
 
 And bow before its gleaming shrine. 
 
 Thou desolate and dying year ! 
 
 Prophetic of our final fall ; 
 Thy buds are gone, thy leaves are sear. 
 
 Thy beauties shrouded in the pall ; 
 And all the garniture that shed, 
 
 A brilliancy upon thy prime, 
 Hath like a morning vision fled 
 
 Unto the expanded grave of time. 
 
196 DTIKG YEAR. 
 
 Time ! Time ! in thy triumphal flight 
 
 How all life s phantoms fleet away ; 
 The smile of hope, and young delight, 
 
 Fame s meteor beam, and Fancy s ray : 
 They fade ; and on thy heaving tide, 
 
 Rolling its stormy waves afar, 
 Are borne the wreck of human pride, 
 
 The broken wrecks of Fortune s war, 
 
 There in disorder, dark and wild, 
 
 Are seen the fabricks once so high ; 
 Which mortal vanity had piled 
 
 As emblems of eternity I 
 And deemed the stately piles, whose form? 
 
 Frowned in their majesty sublime, 
 Would stand unshaken by the storms 
 
 That gathered round the brow of Time-. 
 
 Thou desolate and dying year ! 
 
 Earth s brightest pleasures fade like thine 
 Like evening shadows disappear, 
 
 And leave the spirit to repine. 
 The stream of life that used to pour 
 
 Its fresh and sparkling waters on. 
 While Fate stood watching on the shore. 
 
 And numbered all the moments gone : 
 
 Where hath the morning splendour flown. 
 Which danced upon that crystal stream 1 
 
 Where are the joys to childhood known, 
 When life was an enchanted dream ? 
 
DYING TEAR. 
 
 Enveloped in the starless night, 
 Which destiny hath overspread ; 
 
 Enrolled upon that trackless flight 
 Where the death wing of time hath sped ! 
 
 Oh ! thus hath life its even-tide 
 
 Of sorrow, loneliness, and grief; 
 And thus divested of its pride, 
 
 It withers like the yellow leaf: 
 Oh ! such is life s autumnal bower, 
 
 When plundered of its summer bloom ; 
 And such is life s autumnal hour, 
 
 Which heralds man unto the tomb ! 
 
198 
 
 HE rests beneath the clay, 
 
 The deed of darkness done ; 
 His soul hath passed away, 
 
 Its hour of trial gone : 
 His eye is glazed and dim ; 
 
 And where his relics lie, 
 There flows no requiem, 
 
 There echoes not a sigh. 
 
 He roam d this weary earth 
 
 In solitude and wo ; 
 And every spring of mirth 
 
 For him had ceased to flow : 
 He found no hand to press, 
 
 No heart to prize his own. 
 And bore his deep distress 
 
 Unfriended and alone. 
 
 In the fair blush of day, 
 
 And in the still midnight, 
 He paced his joyless way, 
 
 A solitary blight : 
 In sunshine and in storm, 
 
 His heart was still the same ; 
 A victim to the worm, 
 
 A shrine of wasting flame ! 
 
3ELF-MURDEIIER. 199 
 
 And memory s gloomy pall 
 
 Hung o er his faded bliss ; 
 Lost wretch ! he could not call 
 
 One lonely pleasure his : 
 Till madness, dark and cold, . 
 
 Came on to close the scene ; 
 And aye his anthem roll d 
 
 O er joys that once had been. . 
 
 Bright was heaven s golden glow, 
 
 The earth in flowers was dressed, 
 As if to mock the wo, 
 
 Which brooded in his breast ; 
 He gazed upon the sky, 
 
 Upon the smiling sun ; 
 Red glared his steel on high, 
 
 He struck ! the deed was done ! 
 
 The struggle now is hushed, 
 
 Its fearful writhings o er ; 
 His cheek shall now be flashed 
 
 With agony no more : 
 That phrenzied spirit sleeps 
 
 Within a deeper gloom, 
 And dark oblivion keeps 
 
 Her vigil o er his tomb ! 
 
soo 
 
 - And what than friendship s manly tear 
 May better grace a brother s bier?" BYRO. 
 
 COLD in the grave ! and can it be, 
 While yet the leaf of life is green, 
 
 That the dark spoiler blasts the tree, 
 And scatters ruin o er the scene ? 
 
 He cometh late, he cometh soon, 
 
 He lurketh in the morning prime : 
 He lurketh in the beam of noon, 
 
 And in the shade of evening time. 
 
 And early hath he brought thee low, 
 Friend of my boyhood s frolic years ; 
 
 Companion of my weal or wo, 
 
 In days remembered now with tears. 
 
 High hopes were thine, bright dreams were thine. 
 
 And rainbow thoughts of coming hours : 
 And love looked on with eyes benign, 
 
 And wove for thee a crown of flowers. 
 
 That crown enwreathed thy smiling brow 
 
 I saw it there but yesterday 
 In brightness and in beauty ! now 
 
 It lieth wasted in decay. 
 
AN ELEGY. 
 
 Sadder and darker now the wreath, 
 Woven by thy untimely doom ; 
 
 It is the coronal of death ; 
 It is the chaplet of the tomb ! 
 
 High-souled, and noble-hearted man, 
 I loved thee, and I well may mourn 
 
 Over the shortness of thy span, 
 
 And o er thy hopes thus early shorn. 
 
 For we were linked in unison 
 
 By many an unforgotten tie, 
 When life was fair, and ere the sun 
 
 Of happiness had left my sky. 
 
 Together did our bosoms beat, 
 
 And plans of future pleasure form ; 
 
 And pledge in after years to meet, 
 
 In this cold world, with hearts still warm 
 
 Together did our souls unite, 
 
 And coming joy was aye our theme : 
 
 Oh ! for those visions of delight, 
 
 Oh ! for our boyhood s broken dream 
 
 A deep mysterious destiny 
 
 Dashed long ago my joys to dust ; 
 
 But fate was kinder far to thee, 
 And bade thee in the future trust, 
 
 18 
 
AN ELEG.Y. 
 
 Thy manhood met upon the earth 
 
 With joys, while mine did meet with none 
 
 To thee life was a thing of worth ; 
 Yet I am left, and thou art gone ! 
 
 Friend of my primal hours, farewell ! 
 
 Whate er my chequered life may bo, 
 The memory of my heart shall dwell 
 
 Kindly and mournfully with thee ! 
 
 Thou hadst thy faults, but let them rest 
 Where rests thy cold and faded brow ; 
 
 And cursed be the unfeeling breast, 
 
 Which harbors aught against thee now ! 
 
205 
 
 WHEN the bloom of thy cheek shall have faded away, 
 And death s gloomy impress shall darken thy brow ; 
 
 When that love-lighted heart shall be cold as the clay, 
 And that eye lose the lightning which plays from it 
 now : 
 
 O ! think not that when thou art pillowed in earth, 
 And thy soul to the bowers of bliss shall have fled ; 
 
 That remembrance less fondly will dwell on thy worth, 
 When the green grass shall flourish and wave o*er 
 thy head. 
 
 There is a dark pall which affection must spread 
 O er the young and the lovely reclined on the bier. 
 
 When the dreams of enjoyment and fancy have fled, 
 And life s gay illusions no more can appear. 
 
 Yet believe believe not, this heart can forget 
 The smile and the form I no longer can see ; 
 
 Believe not it ever can cease to regret 
 
 The charms which my spirit hath painted in thce. 
 
 Then while others the monument vainly may rear, 
 Adorning thy tomb with the trophies of art ; 
 
 I ll think of thy beauty, thy worth, with a tear. 
 And hallow thy memory deep in my heart. 
 
204 STREAM OF HOPE. 
 
 Let others with flowers embellish thy grave ; 
 They pine and they wither away on the stem ; 
 
 And the hands that from stealing decay cannot save 
 Thy form, cannot banish dark ruin from them. 
 
 I ll cherish thy name with no splendor of wo ; 
 
 No flowers on thy grave shall be planted by me : 
 But while the life pulse in this bosom shall flow, 
 
 Each thought of affection shall linger with thee. 
 
 Stream oC 
 
 IN spring it murmured sweetly, 
 
 And sparkled bright and fair, 
 Its waters rippled sweetly, 
 
 As breathed the balmy air ; 
 The sun-beam gilt with brightness, 
 
 Its wave of placid blue, 
 And heaven s clouds of whiteness., 
 
 Their shadows o er it threw. 
 
 Soon came the summer hour, 
 
 With all its blooming pride ; 
 Then flourished many a flower 
 
 Along the shining tide : 
 Ah ! then decay was nearest. 
 
 When all was brightly gay. 
 For joys the best, the dearest. 
 
 Are first to fade away. 
 
STREAM OF HOPE. 
 
 For autumn s day of sorrow 
 
 Came sadly moving on ; 
 And on that gloomy morrow 
 
 We looked, the flowers were gone 
 All gone, the buds we cherished, 
 
 When youth and love were new ; 
 And even the stems had perished 
 
 On which the blossoms grew ! 
 
 And winter brooded over, 
 
 Wrapped in a stormy cloud ; 
 He came in wrath to cover 
 
 Creation with his shroud : 
 No more the wind in mildness 
 
 Blew o er hope s gentle rill ; 
 The tempest swept in wildness, 
 
 The frozen stream was still \ 
 
LAND of the brave ! where lie inurned 
 
 The shrouded forms of mortal clay. 
 In whom the fire of valour burned, 
 
 And blazed upon the battle s fray ; 
 Land where the gallant Spartan few 
 
 Bled at Themopylae of yore, 
 When death his purple garment threw 
 
 On Hellas consecrated shore 1 
 
 Land of the Muse ! within thy bowers 
 
 Her soul entrancing echoes rung, 
 While on their course the rapid hours 
 
 Paused at the melody she sung ; 
 Till every grove and every hill, 
 
 And every stream that flowed along, 
 From morn to night repeated still 
 
 The winning harmony of song. 
 
 Land of dead heroes, living slaves I 
 
 Shalt glory gild thy clime no more :, 
 Her banner float above thy waves 
 
 Where proudly it hath slept before ? 
 Hath not remembrance then a charm 
 
 To break the fetter and the chain ; 
 To bid thy children nerve the arm, 
 
 And strike for freedom once again ? 
 
GREECE. 207 
 
 No ! Coward souls ; the light which shone 
 
 On Leuctra s war-empurpled day ; 
 The light which beamed on Marathon 
 
 Hath lost its splendour, ceased to play . 
 And thou art but a shadow now. 
 
 With helmet shattered, spear in rust ; 
 Thy honor but a dream, and thou 
 
 Despised, degraded, in the dust ! 
 
 Where sleeps the spirit that of old 
 
 Dashed down to earth the Persian plume ; 
 When the loud chant of triumph told, 
 
 How fatal was the despot s doom ? 
 The bold three hundred, where are they, 
 
 Who died on battle s gory breast ? 
 Tyrants have trampled on the clay, 
 
 Where death has hushed them into rest. 
 
 Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill, 
 
 A glory shines of ages fled ; 
 And fame her light is pouring still, 
 
 Not on the living, but the dead ! 
 But tis the dim sepulchral light 
 
 Which sheds a faint and feeble ray, 
 As moon-beams on the brow of night, 
 
 When tempests sweep upon their way. 
 
 Greece ! yet awake thee from thy trance ;. 
 
 Behold thy banner waves afar ; 
 Behold the glittering weapons glance 
 
 Along the gleaming front of war 5 
 
208 GREECE. 
 
 A gallant chief of high emprize* 
 Is urging foremost in the field. 
 
 Who calls upon thee to arise 
 In might, in majesty reveal d. 
 
 In vain, in vain the hero calls ; 
 
 In vain he sounds the trumpet loud : 
 His banner totters ; see, it falls 
 
 In ruin, freedom s battle shroud : 
 Thy children have no soul to dare 
 
 Such deeds as glorified their sires ; 
 Their valour s but a meteor s glare, 
 
 Which gleams a moment and expires. 
 
 Lost land ! where Genius made his reign, 
 
 And reared his golden arch on high ;. 
 Where science raised her sacred fane. 
 
 Its summit peering to the sky ; 
 Upon thy clime the midnight deep 
 
 Of ignorance hath brooded long : 
 And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep 
 
 The sons of science and of song. 
 
 Thy sun hath set, the evening storm 
 Hath passed in giant fury by, 
 
 To blast the beauty of thy form, 
 And spread its pall upon thy sky : 
 
 * Ypsilanti 
 
GREECE. 20$ 
 
 Gone is thy glory s diadem, 
 And freedom never more shall cease 
 
 To pour her mournful requiem 
 
 O er blighted, lost, degraded Greece ! 
 
 Note. The prospects of Greece have changed since the fore 
 going lines were written (1821). The protecting lily of 
 France is now waving over the liberated Greeks ; may they 
 make a good use of their freedom ! 
 
210 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER VIEWING THE CORPSE OF MISS V 
 
 IN the pride and glory of youthful spring, 
 Thy lamp of life hath perished ; 
 Decay hath waved his raven wing 
 O er the rose which beauty cherished ; 
 Light was thy step life s path along, 
 In maiden bloom, arid joy, and song ; 
 How soon o er thy pathway death hath driven, 
 And borne thee away in his arms to heaven ! 
 
 No more shall thy footstep lightly tread 
 
 O er the hill, when morning blushes ; 
 
 Nor thy voice its winning music shed 
 
 Where the clear blue fountain gushes : 
 
 The stream shall roll in gladness on, 
 
 Though the flower that graced its banks is gone ; 
 
 And the dawn shall blush, but never shine 
 
 Again on a fairer form than thine. 
 
 No more, when the summer moon beams full. 
 And the summer stars are shining, 
 Shall thy gentle hand the lily cull, 
 Its wreaths with thy tresses twining ; 
 No more shalt thou cull the violet blue, 
 When its leaves are wet with evening dew ? 
 Now, there is the cold and icy 
 Instead of love * gay coronal ! 
 
LINES. 
 
 Where now is the light of that radiant eye ? 
 In oblivion darkly clouded ; 
 Where now is that cheek of rosy dye ? 
 In the winding sheet enshrouded ; 
 The germ which late in beauty sprung, 
 O er which affection fondly hung ; 
 Oh ! whither hath all that beauty fled ? 
 The stem is broken, the germ is dead! 
 
 I saw thy mother bend o er thy bier, 
 
 While her eye glanced up to heaven ; 
 
 I heard no sob, I saw no tear 
 
 Bedew the shroud of her daughter dear ; 
 
 But her inmost heart was riven ! 
 
 Yea, hers was that still agony, 
 
 Which works unseen and silently ; 
 
 Which flows in anguish deep and still, 
 
 Like the stream beneath an ice-crowned rill. 
 
 Better it were that she should wail ; 
 That her grief aloud were snoken ; 
 This noiseless sorrow tells the tale 
 Of heart-strings rent and broken : 
 Better it were that tears should start 
 From the full eye, than bathe the heart ; 
 For the gathered tears that are not shed, 
 Are tokens true that hope is dead. 
 
 The branch hath died, and the tree remains, 
 The stem survives its flower ; 
 Thus many a blossom this earth contains, 
 Meets early the blighting hour ; 
 
!212 LINES. 
 
 Thy morning sky hath an early cloud, 
 Thy beauty is wreathed in an early shroud : 
 The light and love of thy days are o er, 
 But grief shall veil thy brow no more. 
 
 Farewell ! thou art gone in thy primal hour 
 In thy sweetness of youthful blossom, 
 Ere sin could sully thy maiden flower, 
 Or pollute thy guileless bosom ; 
 And freshly the myrtle boughs shall wave 
 Above thy form and around thy grave, 
 And the willow branches bend in air, 
 For affection s hand shall plant them there. 
 
 Farewell ! no longer to gem thy way 
 Shall the light of love be glowing, 
 As late it glowed like the star of day, 
 When the fount of life was flowing ! 
 The noon-tide blaze, the star-lit scene, 
 The summer buds, and the autumn s sheen. 
 Shall come and pass, and still return, 
 But wake not thee from thy tranquil urn. 
 
 But when the zephyrs of eve shall kiss 
 
 The fleecy clouds of heaven ; 
 
 When the stars shall gem the vault of bliss. 
 
 The deep blue arch of even ; 
 
 Then fancy soaring on wings of love 
 
 Shall look for thee in the realms above. 
 
 A spirit of that immortal shore 
 
 Where pain can wring thee nevermore ! 
 
213 
 
 THERE is a grief which doth not wring 
 
 The bosom with a single sigh, 
 That doth not shade the brow, nor brin^ 
 
 The moisture from the heavy eye ; 
 But lives where men cannot intrude : 
 
 Of human things, a thing apart, 
 In the deep bosom s solitude, 
 
 And there it feasts upon the heart, 
 
 It is a quiet reveller, 
 
 As is the noiseless coffin-worm. 
 That lone and sullen banqueter, 
 
 That battens on the human form : 
 No wassail shout, no song of glee 
 
 Is heard within that narrow dome ; 
 No echoes tell the revelry 
 
 That cheers the earth-worm in his home. 
 
 Such is that sorrow s festival ; 
 
 But ah ! it hath a higher prey, 
 A loftier victim in its thrall, 
 
 A nobler mansion than the clay ! 
 That wasting sorrow doth inherit 
 
 A palace framed with wondrous art : 
 That palace is the human spirit, 
 
 That victim is the broken heart ! 
 19 
 
214 
 
 Stands, 
 
 MARKED ye the eagle rising high, 
 
 His wings expanded in the sky ? 
 
 Behold ! he soars with lofty mind, 
 
 He leaves the winds of heaven behind ; 
 
 And mounting with his spirit proud, 
 
 He makes his home above the cloud ! 
 
 Behold his strong and stately form 
 
 Contending sternly with the storm, 
 
 With plume unscorched, with unscathed limb, 
 
 The lightning leaps, but harms not him ! 
 
 Thus, Genius ! can thy soul sublime 
 
 Resist the stormy might of Time ! 
 
 Break through the clouds that veil thy sky,. 
 
 And triumph o er adversity ! 
 
 Thy beacon, which gives light afar, 
 
 Is Glory s bright, eternal star ! 
 
 Thy track is Virtue s, and thine aim, 
 
 For honor and undying fame. 
 
 Yes, when thy prison-house of clay 
 
 Is mouldering in the grave s decay. 
 
 Thy monument extends on high, 
 
 Which Time doth harmlessly pass by ; 
 
 Nor from the golden arch of fame, 
 
 Can he erase thy hallowed name. 
 
 Thy spirit, with its wing unfurled, 
 
 (Spreads its broad shadow o er the world ; 
 
IRELAND. 
 
 And fetterless it soars on high, 
 
 To seek a home within the sky : 
 
 In the blue fields of yonder heaven, 
 
 The fount from which thy fires are given 1 
 
 Kreiantr. 
 
 "Mox sese attollet in auras." 
 I. 
 
 WAKE, emerald isle of the wave, 
 Fair land of the lofty in mind, 
 Of the lovely, the gallant, the brave ; 
 
 Break the chains that are round thee entwined! 
 Once more let thy flag be unfurled, 
 In gladness, in honor, and fame ; 
 Once more let thy triumphs resound through the 
 
 world, 
 
 Which hath witnessed the night of thy shame. 
 Hath the sun of thy freedom eternally set ? 
 No ! its beacon shall guide thee to victory yet ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Thy night of oppression shall end, 
 
 The dawn of thy glory shall rise, 
 And the star of thy hope shall ascend 
 
 To its zenith again, in the skies : 
 
IRELAND. 
 
 Thy bards shall awaken the song, 
 " The emerald island is free ;" 
 The breezes of heaven shall waft it along, 
 
 Across the blue waves of the sea ; 
 And the exile who wanders far over the main. 
 Shall lift up his voice and unite in the strain. 
 
 in. 
 
 Why waves not thy banner, O Neil ? 
 
 There is rust on the sword of thy fathers 1 
 Let thy war-cry resound like the thunderbolt s peal-, 
 
 When the storm in its mightiness gathers ! 
 Why still doth the desert weed wave 
 
 O er the desolate halls of O Connor, 
 Where the minstrel of yore sang the praise of th< 
 
 brave, 
 
 Their glory, their pride, and their honor ? 
 Let O Neils and O Connors awake in their might* 
 And strike for green Erin, for freedom, and right 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yes, desolate land ! thou shalt wake 
 
 To the proud march of glory again : 
 The storm of thy vengeance shall break 
 
 Like the hurricane s wrath o er the main : 
 Then when battle is rending the sky, 
 
 And tyranny quakes on the throne, 
 The day-star of freedom shall brighten thy sky, 
 
 And triumph and fame be thy own : 
 Then the scenes of thy annals shall equal again, 
 Clontarfs purple wave, and red Ossory s plain 
 
ICELAND. 217 
 
 v. 
 
 What echo resounds on the hills ? 
 
 What flame lights the heaven afar ? 
 Tis the war-cry of Erin that thrills ! 
 
 Tis the bale-fire enkindled by war ! 
 There is rushing of man and of steed ; 
 
 There is clangour of hoof and of sword ; 
 Wild battle is urging his coursers in speed, 
 
 The vial of ruin is poured ! 
 
 Hosts sink in that slumber which waken no more, 
 And the flowers of earth are empurpled with gore ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the clouds in their rage pass along, 
 
 The thunders are lulled into sleep ; 
 Say, what is that proud and melodious song 
 
 Which floats o er the breast of the deep ? 
 Tis the anthem of triumph, which tells 
 
 That Erin hath burst from her shame ! 
 That the morning of glory her darkness dispels, 
 
 And heralds the day of her fame ! 
 Her sons have not bled round her banner in vain, 
 For Erin, green Erin, is freedom s again ! 
 
WHERE have the valiant sunk to rest. 
 
 When their sands of life were numbered ? 
 On the downy couch 1 on the gentle breast 
 
 Where their youthful visions slumbered ? 
 
 When the mighty passed the gate of death. 
 
 Did love stand by bewailing ? 
 No ! but upon war s fiery breath 
 
 Their blood-dyed flag was sailing ! 
 
 Not on the silent feverish bed, 
 
 With weeping friends around them, 
 
 Were the parting prayers of the valiant said*. 
 When death s dark angel found them. 
 
 But in the stern and stormy strife, 
 
 In the flush of lofty feeling, 
 They yielded to honor the boon of life,. 
 
 While battle s bolts were pealing ; 
 
 When the hot war-steed, with crimsoned mane 
 Trampled on breasts all stained and gory, 
 
 Dashed his red hoof on the reeking plain, 
 And shared in the rider s glory. 
 
THE BRAVE. 
 
 Or seek the brave in their ocean grave, 
 
 Neath the dark and restless water ; 
 Seek them beneath the whelming wave, 
 
 So oft deep dyed with slaughter. 
 
 There sleep the gallant and the proud, 
 The eagle-eyed and the lion-hearted ; 
 
 For whom the trump of fame rang loud. 
 When body and soul were parted. 
 
 Or seek them on fields where the grass grows deep. 
 
 Where the vulture and raven hover ; 
 There the sons of battle in quiet sleep : 
 And widowed love goes there to weep, 
 
 That their brief and bright career is over 
 
220 
 
 Sfcetcfi, NO. i. 
 
 His face had lost the bloom 
 Of reckless childhood; and his eye its brightness. 
 There was an earnest fixedness of gaze, 
 Denoting that the heart beneath had lost 
 Its buoyancy, and its fantastic dreams 
 Had given place to pensive thoughtfulness. 
 The sprightly gait, the laughing lip, were changed 
 To calm and sober seriousness of mien. 
 Clouds hung above his youth ; forsaken hope, 
 Bereaved affection, and the broken chain 
 Of ardent feeling : and the blighted bud 
 Of young enjoyment, like the sombre pall, 
 Hung o er his heart ; and all beneath was dark 
 Dark as the deep and midnight loneliness 
 Which reigns within the vaulted sepulchre ! 
 And now no more his fancy revelled on 
 The morning cloud, that spreads its golden fringe 
 Along the east, and brightens in the sun : 
 Nor on the virgin blushes of the rose, 
 Opening her bosom to the summer gale ; 
 Nor on the varied colours of the bow, 
 Which bends its blue and crimson arch in heaven. 
 No ! but when tempests vexed the brow of night, 
 And the dark angel of the storm went forth 
 Upon his wild and desolating march, 
 Then glowed his spirit with strange ecstacy r 
 And held high converse with the elements 
 
SKETCH, NO. II. 221 
 
 And often would he cull the cypress crown 
 With the sad leaves of the sepulchral yew, 
 And round his temples bind the joyless wreath : 
 How different from the gay and floval crown 
 Which bloomed upon his brow in earlier days ! 
 There was an air of stern and proud endurance. 
 As if his spirit, though it ceased to strive 
 With iron destiny, had learned to bear ; 
 As if it scorned to raise the sad lament u bs< 
 And broken-hearted wail o er its misfortunes ; 
 And spurned the false and hollow sympathy 
 Of human kind ; but chose the nobler part. 
 To wrestle with its agony in silence. 
 
 SftCtrfl, No. II. 
 
 THE scene was changed. 
 A lily sprung upon the desert rock, 
 A blossom flourished on the blasted tree ; 
 His natal star once more in golden light 
 Pursued its march, and beckoned him to joy. 
 One lonely, lovely being prized his worth, 
 And won his spirit from its solitude : 
 Earth wore the hues of heaven ; how beautiful, 
 How fair she was ! even as the dark-eyed daughters 
 Of Allah s visionary paradise. ; >ni!iioiu s, i < 
 Upon her cheek so pure and delicate, 
 The lily struggled with the crimson rose ; 
 And all the magic, all the witchery: . 
 That ever lover dreamed or poet sung. 
 
2 22 SKETCH, NO. II. 
 
 Glowed in the lightnings of her dark-blue eye. 
 
 Oh ! she was beautiful ! her raven hair 
 
 Hung in profusion round her neck of snow ; 
 
 And oft in maiden glee and sportiveness 
 
 Her gentle hand would catch the roving curls. 
 
 And bind them in a braid around her brow. 
 
 Oh ! she was beautiful ! her graceful form 
 
 Moved upon enrth so lightly and so free, 
 
 She seemed a seraph wanderer of the sky ; 
 
 Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth ! 
 
 He loved, nay more, he madly idolized ; 
 
 And kneeling in devotion at her shrine, 
 
 Breathed unto her prayers that were due to heaven. 
 
 His spirit sprung to hers ; all other thoughts, 
 
 All other feelings vanished from his mind, 
 
 And one intense, devoted, deathless ardour, 
 
 One passion, joyous even to agony, 
 
 Glowed in his throbbing heart ; and this was love ! 
 
 Yes, it was love ! let the cold-hearted smile ; 
 
 And let the senseless, the unfeeling fool, 
 
 Whose dull lethargic spirit never soared 
 
 Beyond its vile and perishable clay, 
 
 Who steals through life unblessing and unblest, 
 
 Let him deride those throbs he cannot feel 
 
 But angels bless and heaven inspires such love 1 
 
 Oh ! the heart s deep and fond idolatry ! 
 
 Source of delight and of severest wo ! 
 
 There hangs a morning wreath on beauty s shrine 
 
 When life is in its spring, and time as yet 
 
 Nor blights the bud, nor steals the floret s hue : 
 
 Look once again ! the mildew of decay, 
 
 And sorrow s canker have been working there ! 
 
223 
 
 Sfcetch, NO. in. 
 
 1 SAID he loved. The stream of being flowed, 
 And sun-beams danced upon its placid wave : 
 His sorrows had passed on, nor left a scar ; 
 Affliction s sullen impress was effaced, 
 And all was brilliancy ; the sun went forth 
 Upon a sky of clear and smiling blue ; 
 All nature blossomed round him ; earth contained 
 One gem of Eden, and that gem was his. 
 Where now were all the trials, all the woes, 
 The secret anguish of his troubled youth ? 
 The Lethe of the mind had gathered o er them, 
 And memory was lost in present bliss : 
 The matin clouds were gone, and the sweet song 
 Of hope gave promise of a sunny noon. 
 Oh ! strange, mysterious power of destiny ! 
 Even then the storm was gathering afar 
 In his horizon ; soon it swept amain, 
 With desolation on its midnight wing ! 
 Yea, even then, when life was ecstacy, 
 Fate poured the vial of its fiercest wrath ! 
 The bridal garb was ready, hearts beat high, 
 When, sudden as the tiger from his lair, 
 Death sprung upon his victim ; and the crown 
 Which love entwined, reposed upon the grave \ 
 Around the maid was wreathed the cold cymar ; 
 Lost in her prime, and in the full fresh play 
 Of young, unchangeable, and warm affection i 
 
224 SKETCH, NO. III. 
 
 And now the bier was placed within the aisle ; 
 
 The burial rites were said, the anthem sung 
 
 O er shrouded innocence and loveliness : 
 
 Earth claimed the clay, and heaven the spotless spirit 
 
 The voice of wail arose but where was he ? 
 
 And where was he ? clad in the sable weeds 
 
 Of outward sorrow, to attract the cold 
 
 And heartless pity of a callous world ? 
 
 Say, did he mingle with the weeping throng ? 
 
 No ! but his heart was robed in mourning, and 
 
 He kept aloof in broken-hearted pride ! 
 
 But ere the coffin had enclosed her form, 
 
 He stole in breathless silence to the spot 
 
 Where lay the early victim ; fearfully 
 
 He raised the veil from that still lovely face 
 
 Which death had altered not ; and there he stood 
 
 In calm, serene, and voiceless agony, 
 
 Gazing upon his bride ! one farewell glance 
 
 He gave, and then impressed one long, last kiss 
 
 Upon her colourless and lifeless lip ; 
 
 Then rushed away, away, for evermore ! 
 
 The morrow came ; the requiem bell was tolled : 
 
 The clod struck hollow on the coffin lid ; 
 
 The mourners stood around but he was gone ! 
 
 
JFatrrtorll. ^ 
 
 A word that must be, and hath been." BYRON 
 
 THERE is a word that rends the heart, 
 Which all have said, and all must say ; 
 Which breaks the bands of love apart, 
 And drives the dream of bliss away : 
 And e en when youth delighted springs 
 Fresh into life arid gaily sings, 
 Light as the wood-lark on the spray, 
 That dreaded word may then be said 
 Sad as the anthem o er the dead ! 
 
 A word, that makes us sadly own 
 That all our dearest joys are vain ; 
 Which bids us trace our steps alone 
 Along the flinty path of pain ; 
 Which uttered by the parting breath. 
 When the soul feels the chill of death, 
 And life is fast upon the wane, 
 Commands the tears of love to flow 
 For all it cherished here below. 
 
 A word which breaks the fond caress 
 Of youthful hearts in happy hours ; 
 Which makes the world a wilderness, 
 Devoid of verdure, sun, and flowers - 
 30 
 
226 FAREWELL. 
 
 The faded leaves bestrew the ground.. 
 The fatal ivy wreathing round 
 O erahades the broken bowers, 
 Where once the rose and lily grew, 
 And sparkled in the matin dew. 
 
 A word, that severs every tie 
 Which hope believes will last for aye ; 
 Which dims the light of beauty s eye, 
 And chases all her smiles away ; 
 That sheds affliction o er her brow, 
 And wrings with pain her breast of snow 
 What is this word which all must say ? 
 Youth, manhood, age ! ye all can tell 
 It is that fatal word, farewell ! 
 
227 
 
 WHEN the world in throngs shall press 
 
 To the battle s glorious van ; 
 When the oppress d shall seek redress, 
 
 And shall claim the rights of man ; 
 Then shall freedom smile again 
 On the earth and on the main. 
 
 When the tide of war shall roll 
 
 Like imperious ocean s surge, 
 From the tropic to the pole, 
 
 And to earth s remotest verge ; 
 Then shall valour dash the gem 
 From each tyrant s diadem. 
 
 When the banner is unfurled, 
 Like a silver cloud in air, 
 And the champions of the world 
 In their might assemble there ; 
 Man shall rend his iron chain, 
 And redeem his rigrhts again. 
 
 Then the thunderbolts shall fall, 
 In their fury on each throne, 
 Where the despot holds in thrall 
 
 Spirits nobler than his own ; 
 And the cry of all shall be, 
 Battle s shroud or liberty ! 
 
FREEDOM. 
 
 Then the trump shall echo loucL. 
 
 Stirring nations from afar, 
 In the daring line to crowd, 
 
 And to draw the blade of war : 
 While the tide of life shall rain, 
 And encrimson every plain. 
 
 Then the Saracen shall flee 
 
 From the city of the Lord ; 
 Then, the light of victory 
 
 Shall illume Judea s sword : 
 And new liberty shall shine 
 On the Plains of Palestine. 
 
 Then the Turk shall madly view- 
 How his crescent waxes dim ; 
 Like the waning moon whose hue 
 
 Fades away on ocean s brim ; 
 Then the cross of Christ shall stand 
 On that consecrated land. 
 
 Yea, the light of freedom smiles 
 On the Grecian phalanx now, 
 Breaks upon Ionia s isles, 
 
 And on Ida s loftly brow ; 
 And the shouts of battle swell,. 
 Where the Spartan lion fell ! 
 
 Where the Spartan lion fell, 
 
 Proud and dauntless in the strife 
 
 How triumphant was his knell! 
 How sublime his close of life ! 
 
rffcEEDOM. 
 
 <lory shone upon his eye, 
 Glory which can never die ! 
 
 Soon shall earth awake in might ; 
 
 Retribution shall arise ; 
 And all regions shall unite, 
 
 To obtain the glorious prize ; 
 And oppression s iron crown, 
 To the dust be trodden down. 
 
 When the Almighty shall deform 
 
 Heaven in his hour of wrath ; 
 When the angel of the storm 
 
 Sweeps in fury on his path ; 
 Then shall tyranny lie hurled 
 From the bosom of the world. 
 
 Yet, O ! freedom ! yet awhile, 
 
 All mankind shall own thy sway ; 
 And the eye of God shall smile 
 On thy brightly dawning day ; 
 And all nations shall adore 
 At thine altar evermore. 
 
to 
 
 THOUGH fate hath for aye disunited our chain, 
 
 Which love, in the days of our childhood, entwined j- 
 Though the hope of our morning hath sparkled in vain< 
 
 And fled from our sight like a dream of the mind ; 
 Yet still when in visions my spirit is free, 
 
 It roams to the hours which have faded away, 
 When the prime of my life was embellished by thee, 
 
 And promised a happy, a heavenly day. 
 
 Soon this feverish being will slumber in rest; 
 
 Oh ! calm be its slumber the green earth below ! 
 Then, when passions shall cease to bewilder my breast. 
 
 And death wraps my form in his mantle of snow ; 
 Wilt thou weep over him who hath loved thee so well., 
 
 Through each tempest that troubled life s turbulent 
 
 sea? 
 Wilt thou pour, gentle girl, the lamenting farewell, 
 
 To him who hath loved, who hath idolized thee-? 
 
 Yes, thou wilt remember and mourn o er his lot. 
 
 When others his grave pass neglectfully by ; 
 By the cold and unkind he will soon be forgot, 
 
 But remembered awhile in the tears of thine eye : : 
 Thou only did st love him ; his fate was so wild? 
 
 Friends shrunk from the wo he was doomed to sustain 
 Prom his birth he was marked for adversity s child, 
 
 The victim of passion, the minion of pain, 
 
STANZAS. 231 
 
 Yet his proud spirit bent not, though fortune, in wrath 
 
 Black midnight and storm o er his destiny spread ; 
 One star, lone and bright, still shone o er his path, 
 
 Through the frown of the clouds that hung over his 
 
 head : 
 Fair star of his being ! no tempest could shroud thee ; 
 
 Fair star of his being ! unchanged was thy ray : 
 No hatred could hide, and no envy could cloud thee, 
 
 Though hatred and envy encumbered his way ! 
 
 Unaltered by trials, unskaken by fears, 
 
 Though abandoned by hope in thy beauty s youna 
 
 bloom ; 
 When thy friend sleeps in death, let thy memory s tears 
 
 Descend on the grass that waves o er his tomb . 
 And if passion hath urged him from virtue to rove, 
 
 In the mazes of folly and error to stray, 
 Plead thou for his faults to the spirit above, 
 
 Let thy tears be the Lethe to wash them away 1 
 
&o Cora, 
 
 " Animus, quod perdidit, optat. 
 
 GHABM of my life, too early flown 
 
 Too early lost ; yet ever dear, 
 And ever loved ; why hast thou gone, 
 
 And left my soul forsaken here, 
 To muse on joys that faded fast 
 
 As meteor lights upon the sea, 
 Before my days were overcast, 
 
 And hope was lost, in losing thee ! 
 
 Not yet forgot ! not yet forgot ! 
 
 The memory of thine angel smile 
 Beams o er the darkness of my lot, 
 
 And lights its loneliness awhile ; 
 And when this eye, that cannot weep, 
 
 Is closed in slumbering at even, 
 Thou comest to my view in sleep, 
 
 Like some enchanted dream from heaven. 
 
 Not yet forgot ! although the tie 
 
 Which wreathed our hearts is rent in twain 
 Thine image still doth linger nigh 
 
 To soothe this agony of pain ; 
 And though the storms in blackness crowd 
 
 Above my head, foreboding ill, 
 Thou art the rainbow on the cloud, 
 
 The gem to gild its darkness still ! 
 
TO CORA. 233 
 
 And lime his gloomy veil hath spread^ 
 
 To frown between us coldly now, 
 And midnight gathers o er my head ; 
 
 But Cora ! Cora ! where art thou ? 
 Still springs this desolated breast, 
 
 To bless the one it cannot see, 
 And though by many a grief oppressed, 
 
 Still mounts its prayer to heaven for thee. 
 
 For thee. for thee, this lonely heart 
 
 Could every pang of fate endure ; 
 Content my blessings should depart, 
 
 Thy bliss, thy safety to secure. 
 So dearly doth my spirit prize 
 
 Thy soul of spotless purity, 
 I would not ask for paradise, 
 
 Unless its joys were shared with thee. 
 
 Loved, lost, for ever ! still shall earth 
 
 Her varied garb of seasons wear, 
 But spring to me can give no mirth, 
 
 Nor summer s music lull my care ; 
 Yea, lost for ever 1 still the tide 
 
 Shall heave upon the stormy main, 
 Which rolls between us far and wide, 
 
 And tells, we ne er shall meet again. 
 
 Yet whatsoe er my fate may be, 
 
 However dark the hue it wear, 
 One lesson thou hast taught to me, 
 
 When sorrow loads the heart, to bear ; 
 
334 DYIN& SOLDIER, 
 
 E en from that heart so gently strung, 
 
 It seemed that pain its chords would sever, 
 
 My own hath learned, when fiercely wrung, 
 To bear, though joy be hushed for ever. 
 
 Soitrtev. 
 
 THE war had ceased ; its iron sound 
 No more rung startling on the air ; 
 The dead lay weltering on the ground, 
 And he was left to perish there : 
 Hushed was the trumpet s stirring tone? 
 While feebly rose the hollow moan 
 Of agonized despair, 
 As pain convulsed each quivering limb, 
 When life was waxing faint and dim. 
 
 O I think ye not, that as he lay 
 Upon the field his life-blood wet, 
 His fancy wandered far away 
 To those his heart can ne er forget ? 
 O ! think ye not, he thought of those 
 That shared the joys, that shared the woes, 
 Which on earth s solitude he met, 
 And twined the ties around his heart 
 Which jy nor wo could rend apart ? 
 
BYING SOLDIER. 
 
 He did ; and blame him not that tears 
 Burst from him in that painful hour, 
 Thinking on all which life endears, 
 And checks affliction s baleful power ; 
 On early childhood s promised bliss, 
 On early love s delighted kiss, 
 And beauty s Eden flower ; 
 On all the lovely scenes that gleam 
 Brightly upon Hope s fairy dream. 
 
 Alas ! his dream passed darkly on, 
 Its fairest tints enrobed in night ; 
 Life s early promise too was gone, 
 Though brilliant as the morning s light : 
 And there he lay, the lonely one, 
 His race of honor quickly run, 
 And death before his sight ; 
 The clay-cold earth his place of rest, 
 And he must wither on her breast. 
 
 And if it be, that as he gazed 
 Upon the blue and starlit sky, 
 His nerveless arm was feebly raised. 
 And fond regret was in his eye ; 
 O ! if he longer wished to stray 
 Along life s wild and thorny way, 
 And thought twas hard to die ; 
 Forgive the wish, for can st thou tell 
 The anguish of life s last farewell ! 
 
236 DYING SOLDIER. 
 
 Not such his feelings, when the morn 
 Broke on the battle s bright array ; 
 Then, full of hope and martial scorn, 
 He dashed undaunted in the fray ; 
 And as the drum s awakening roll 
 Diffused a rapture through his soul, 
 He blessed the happy day ; 
 The wished-for day, that was to see 
 His sword illumed with victory ! 
 
 Deceitful hope ! behold him now> 
 The red drops on his snowy plume, 
 The death-damps gathering on his brow, 
 Those dark forerunners of the tomb ! 
 O ! were his gentle mother there, 
 How would her moanings rend the air ! 
 Yet, glorious is his doom ! 
 For him his country s heart shall bleed : 
 Who would not die for such a meed i 
 
 Weep not for him ! he perished well ; 
 He died where noble men should die ; 
 War s thousand voices rung his knell, 
 And valor lit his failing eye. 
 Sweet is the dying hour to him, 
 Who, as the light of life grows dim, 
 Lies down in victory ! 
 How honoured is the warrior s name 1 
 How lovely is the wreath of Fame ! 
 
237 
 
 - Well hast thou left in life s best bloom, 
 The cup of wo for me to drain." BYRON. 
 
 BENEATH the burial clay, 
 Beneath the cold funereal stone, 
 Wrapped in the mantle of decay, 
 Thy form of graceful youth is gone ! 
 O ! there was sorrow, long and loud, 
 When thou wast gathered in the shroud ; 
 And tears in fast profusion fell, 
 When wailing love bade thee farewell ; 
 But none whose hearts more deeply bled 
 Than his, by whom no tears were shed. 
 
 His grief was echoless ; 
 It had no sound, or voice, or breath : 
 And his lone feeling of distress 
 Had all the solitude of death : 
 But the sad tear-drops of the soul 
 Flowed inwardly without control : 
 And mournfully his pensive eye 
 Seemed fixed in deep intensity 
 Upon that lonely coffin lid, 
 Where all he loved on earth was hid- 
 
 He wept his lot with none, 
 Nor told the misery of his fate ; 
 The earth for him held only one : 
 She died, and he was desolate. 
 21 
 
238 THE REQUIEM. 
 
 O ! how he watched her beauty pine, 
 
 And perish in its slow decline ; 
 
 When sickness blanched her cheek with care. 
 
 Stealing the rose that flourished there ; 
 
 And how he knelt at love s command 
 
 To kiss that soft and lily hand, 
 
 And gaze upon that failing eye, 
 
 Once glowing with love s witchery. 
 
 She was so beautiful ; 
 Even as a seraph to his eyes ; 
 The hand of death did never cull 
 A sweeter flower for paradise ! 
 Yea, partial nature never drew 
 A lovelier form or fairer hue, 
 A smile of more bewitching grace 
 Than that which played upon her face ; 
 He deemed she was an angel given 
 To make for him this earth a heaven. 
 
 Enchanted hours to him ! 
 And over-fraught with every bliss ; 
 Joy sparkled upward to the brim, 
 As if to woo his fervent kiss. 
 He wreathed his harp with summer flowers, 
 And the sweet music of those hours 
 Was like the melody of spring, 
 When all her birds are on the wing. 
 
THE REQUIEM. 
 
 How changed ! that heart is cold ! 
 Her bosom rests within the earth, 
 And memory s dirge hath fondly told 
 Of all her sweetness, all her worth ; 
 Unsparing death ! must then the young. 
 The innocent in heart and tongue ; 
 The loved, the lovely, and the gay. 
 Aye be the first to fall thy prey ? 
 Alas ! that mild unchiding breast 
 Is in the icy grave compressed ; 
 And the dull earthworm riots now 
 Upon that smooth and marble brow. 
 
 The flowers of spring shall wave 
 Above her solitary bed ; 
 The gay green grass shall deck her grave. 
 And freshly blossom o er her head : 
 But long unheeded must he sigh, 
 When year on year is sweeping by : 
 And spring oft wither and return, 
 Before his heart shall cease to mourn. 
 
 But love can never die ; 
 It fastens on the fearful tomb, 
 Where all its cherished blossoms lie, 
 Divested of their hue and bloom : 
 In the deep caverns of the grave, 
 Love lingers, though it cannot save ; 
 Yes, in the mansions of the dust, 
 Affection springs, and ever mujst. 
 
 259 
 
340 THE REQUIEM. 
 
 Another dawn shall break. 
 Upon this cloud-enveloped night ; 
 That lovely being shall awake 
 To bloom in heaven s bowers of light : 
 Though fond affection s hope was vain. 
 And tears of sorrow fell like rain 
 in that sad hour of mortal pain, 
 When death descended, and no prayer 
 Could ward the blow from one so fair ; 
 Yet in a happier world than this, 
 A world of unembittered bliss, 
 Where joy hath never said, farewell, 
 That pure and stainless heart shall dwell, 
 
241 
 
 Stanza, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A LADY. 
 
 THERE is a blight which oft doth kill 
 
 The blossoms of the rosy spring, 
 Ere o er the valley and the hill, 
 
 Decay expands his yellow wing ; 
 That blight doth waste and desolate 
 
 The hope and promise of the year, 
 And leave a wild, where future fate 
 
 Finds nothing beautiful to sear. 
 
 Thus on the heart s short-fated bloom 
 
 In spring the frosts of ruin fall, 
 And destiny awards its doom, 
 
 Its early doom a funeral pall ; 
 On which the griefs of after years 
 
 Unfelt and unavailing light, 
 For all its hopes, and all it fears 
 
 Are withered by its early blight. 
 
 This I hare seen ; nay more, perchance 
 
 I may have felt this blight of spring. 
 And sternly taught mine eye to glance 
 
 Coldly on every lovely thing ; 
 Rut be it as it may, I well 
 
 Maj question with unsparing Time. 
 For he hath rung the parting knell 
 
 O er all the promise of my prime 
 21* 
 
> STANZAS,-. 
 
 He rose in golden light to me, 
 
 As the sun mounts from ocean s rim ; 
 Life held the cup of luxury, 
 
 And wooed me to its sparkling brim ; 
 The wild-bird in my natal bower 
 
 Entranced me with its melody ; 
 The bloom was red upon the flower, 
 
 The leaf was green upon the tree. 
 
 Where is that flower of morning s wreath, ... 
 
 And where the leaf so gay and green ? , 
 Bloom they on lifers forsaken heath, 
 
 Spring they upon its barren scene ? 
 Where is the light which on my way, 
 
 Like light from Eden s altar fell ? 
 Where are the joys of yesterday ? 
 
 Decay and Time ! ye both can tell.. 
 
 Ungentle Time ! I chide thee not, 
 
 Though thou hast brought an early chill ; 
 Though mine hath been no common lot 
 
 Of light and darkness, good and ill ; 
 I chide thee not, for long ago 
 
 Thou wast full kind to me and mine, 
 And worest upon thy altered brow. 
 
 An aspect gentle and benign.. 
 
 Though thou hast buried in the earth 
 The heart that echoed to my own ; 
 
 Though thou hast stripped my life of worth. 
 And made me feel that I am lone.; 
 
STANZ AS, 243 
 
 As the wrecked bark upon the wave, 
 Which ne er shall to the earth return , , 
 
 Though o er my unremembered grave 
 Friendship sigh not, nor beauty mourn. 
 
 Though of each joy thou hast bereft 
 
 My heart, and planted anguish there, 
 I curse thee not, for thou hast left 
 
 The spirit and the pride, to bear: 
 The haughty pride which murmurs not, 
 
 When pain his every shaft hath hurled j 
 Which seeks no solace for its lot, 
 
 Amidst a cold and worthless world. 
 
 Yet, yet, if thou could st but restore 
 
 The freshness of my wasted hours, 
 And could st thou call to life once more 
 
 My being s loved and buried flowers ; 
 Gould thy cold hand but re-unite 
 
 The broken links of feeling s chain, 
 And bring the cup of lost delight 
 
 Sparkling unto my lip again ; 
 
 Oh then I might in Lethe drown 
 
 The phantom thoughts that haunt me -now; 
 And twine a newly-woven crown 
 
 Of noontide roses round my brow ; 
 And I might raise my voice to bless : 
 
 Away, away, the thought is vain, , 
 1 will not think-on happiness- 
 
 E en in my wildest dream again,*.. 
 
244 
 
 Stnmns. 
 
 WHEN this form in the shroud of decay shall be dressedJ. 
 
 A prey to the worm, wilt thou think of me then ? 
 Will my memory be shrined in thy innocent breast. 
 
 When life cannot glow in this bosom again ? 
 
 When that sorrowful moment shall come, as it must, 
 And the death-cloud shall darkly envelope my brow ; 
 
 When this heart with its frailties shall sleep in the dust. 
 Though it beat with affection and love for thee now ? 
 
 Is there not in yon heaven a happier clime, 
 
 Where the bliss that hath withered shall blossom 
 anew; 
 
 Where our love shall re-flourish, un wasted by time, 
 With more exquisite sweetness, more beautiful hue ? 
 
 There is ; tis a clime which our spirits shall find 
 Divested of woes, that have clouded them here, 
 
 Where our hopes shall be freshened, our hearts re- 
 entwined, 
 And the carol of joy shall enrapture the ear. 
 
 With thee was each innocent wish of my youth. 
 
 Ere griefs gathered round, which I could not foresee : 
 
 Each noble emotion of honor and truth 
 
 Was kindled and. warmed into being by thee! 
 
STANZAS. 245 
 
 Thou taught st me to turn from the treacherous way 
 Where my footsteps in darkness and folly had strayed ; 
 
 Thy love was the light that illumined my day, 
 Which led me where virtue in brilliancy played. 
 
 Then though fate hath wrapped round me her darkest 
 
 attire, 
 Though my hope hath been wrecked on adversity s 
 
 sea ; 
 One solace is left me which cannot expire, 
 
 The flowers in yon heaven are blooming for thee ! 
 
 Yes, that love-moulded form may go down to the dusl- 
 And the green turf and earth-clod above thee may lie. 
 
 Yet firm is my hope, and unshaken my trust, 
 
 That thy soul shall find refuge and bliss in the sky. 
 
 And when o er my horizon, death s shadow shall move 
 When life like a dream of the morn shall have flown 
 
 May my heart, all its errors forgiven, but prove 
 As unsullied, as stainless, as pure as thy own, , 
 
246 
 
 ONE kiss upon that cheek of snow, 
 
 Which late the blush of rapture wore r 
 And then, far distant thou must go, 
 
 And I shall meet thy smile no more. 
 Yes, we must part ; the wave must roll, 
 
 And ocean s barrier intervene ; 
 But with thee still shall go my soul, 
 
 Through every clime, through every scene- 
 Yes, we must part : and this is then 
 
 The last fond kiss of one so dear ; 
 Shall joy beguile this heart again, 
 
 Through many a melancholy year ? 
 Oh, life, thou art a wilderness, 
 
 Where flowers but blossom to decay ; 
 And hopes, which youthful hearts caress, 
 
 Are aye the first to fade away. 
 
 Gora .! I found thee, what I sought, 
 
 In woman s purity and worth ; 
 A heart with heavenly sweetness fraught. 
 
 A child of paradise, on earth ! 
 With feelings generous and mild, 
 
 Alive to every virtuous tone ; 
 With soul unstained and undefiled 
 
 As yonder heaven, its native, throne. 
 
TO CORA. 
 
 Such hearts have glowed in woman s breast. 
 
 And happy they, who pressed with care, 
 Have flown unto that place of rest, 
 
 And pillowed all their sorrows there ; 
 But thou, if ever love was such 
 
 As fancy paints it in the sky, 
 With colours pure, and seraph touch. 
 
 And glowing as the rainbow dye ; 
 
 I surely found it all in thee, 
 
 In that ingenuous heart of thine ; 
 And knelt in fond idolatry 
 
 Before its bright and holy shrine ; 
 All that rny spirit sought to greet, 
 
 Yet feared the search would be in vain, 
 ft found in thee ; it ne er shall meet 
 
 One so adored as thee again. 
 
 And when long years their shadows fling 
 
 Upon thy heart now warm and young, 
 Perchance the muse of thought may bring 
 
 Those hours when o er thy charms I hung 
 And often fondly lingered nigh 
 
 To kiss the lilies on thy brow, 
 When that serene and deep blue eye 
 
 Floated in pensive tears, as now. 
 
 Then, think of me as one, whose truth 
 Once plighted, cannot, will not range ; 
 
 Whose vows of warm confiding youth 
 Are too sincere, too firm to change : 
 
TO CORA. 
 
 But, do thou weep for me no more ; 
 
 Those eyes should never shed a tear : 
 Sooner be all remembrance o er, 
 
 Than grief the lot of one so dear. 
 
 Oh no ! let memory on thy breast 
 
 Her varied mantle gently fling, 
 Recalling hours supremely blest, 
 
 When Time bore sunshine on his wing ; 
 And when for me life hath no balm, 
 
 And I shall sleep within the grave, 
 Oh, be that buried love as calm 
 
 As moonlight sleeping on the wave. 
 
 Now, now this last, this last farewell, 
 
 Oh life thou hast no deeper pain ; 
 Hope, can thy voice prophetic tell 
 
 That we who part shall meet again ? 
 Oh, waves shall darken, waves shall spread 
 
 Their foamy wreaths upon the brine, 
 When thou across them shalt have fled. 
 
 Lost Cora ! joy can ne er be mine. 
 
249 
 
 2To Cora, 
 
 i. 
 
 I STJNG to thee my matin hymn 
 
 In life s auspicious hour, 
 Ere the sun-light of joy grew dim 
 
 O er boyhood s vernal bower ; 
 For all beneath the heaven above, 
 
 And all beneath the sea, 
 I would not then have sold the love 
 
 Thou freely gav st to me. 
 
 ii. 
 When youth s bright hope began to fail. 
 
 I sung an altered strain ; 
 The farewell to the fading sail 
 
 Which bore thee o er the main : 
 And as I pressed thy gentle form, 
 
 And heard thy parting vow, 
 Thy kiss upon my lip was warm, 
 
 Thy tears were on my brow. 
 
 in. 
 
 Still fall thy tears, sweet mourner ? no ; 
 
 Beyond the unquiet wave, 
 Thy broken heart forgot its wo, 
 
 But only in thy grave ! 
 There memory weeps ; but trusting love 
 
 Looks through the clouds of even, 
 To view thy angel form above, 
 
 A habitant of heaven ! 
 22 
 
250 
 
 THEEE is a spell that binds my heart 
 
 Within a melancholy mood ; 
 Nor time can tear its ties apart, 
 
 Nor mirth beguile its solitude ! 
 
 [t is the spell of faded hours, 
 
 When young affection s buds were new 
 And hope illumed the rosy flowers 
 
 With a serene and smiling hue. 
 
 It is the spell of other years, 
 
 Years fresh in love and tenderness : 
 
 Before the eye was known to tears, 
 Or the fond bosom felt distress. 
 
 When o er the early march of life, 
 Hope s golden banner was unfurled ; 
 
 And waved unshaken by the strife, 
 The wintry tempests of the world. 
 
 When not a shade of sorrow swept 
 Along life s fair unruffled sea, 
 
 And all my soul enraptured slept 
 Tn love s delicious witcherv. 
 
THE SPELL. 251 
 
 It was, it was a dream of heaven, 
 
 In all the rainbow s glory dressed ! 
 And lovely as the gem of each 
 
 Which sparkles on the dark-blue west ! 
 
 My blossoms withered on the stem : 
 
 Tis vain, tis idle to repine ; 
 To pour the lonely requiem 
 
 O er that lost paradise of mine. 
 
 But yet this unrelenting grief 
 
 Enwreathes its ivy round my soul ; 
 Nor can my spirit find relief, 
 
 To break its bands of fierce control. 
 
 O ! still on memory s mirror crowd 
 The phantom forms of grief and pain ; 
 
 My heart is gathered in a shroud, 
 And never more shall bloom again ! 
 
252 
 
 2T0 the ^ttturnu Seat 
 
 THOU faded leaf ! it seems to be 
 
 But as of yesterday, 
 When thou did st flourish on the tree 
 
 In all the pride of May : 
 Then twas the merry hour of spring 
 Of nature s fairest blossoming, 
 
 On field, on flower, and spray ; 
 It promised fair ; how changed the scene 
 To what is now, from what hath been ! 
 
 So fares it with life s early spring ; 
 
 Hope gilds each coming day, 
 And sweetly doth the syren sing 
 
 Her fond delusive lay : 
 Then the young, fervent heart beats high. 
 While passion kindles in the eye, 
 
 With bright unceasing play ; 
 Fair are thy tints, thou genial hour, 
 Yet transient as the autumn flower. 
 
 Thou faded leaf ! how like to thee 
 
 Is beauty in her morning pride, 
 
 When life is but a summer sea, 
 
 And hope illumes its placid tide . 
 
 Alas ! for beauty s autumn hour, 
 
 Alas ! for beauty s blighted flower, 
 
 When hope and bliss have died i 
 
AUTUMN LEAF. 253 
 
 Her pallid brow, her cheek of grief, 
 Have thy sad hue, thou faded leaf ! 
 
 Autumnal leaf! thus dies the joy 
 
 Which gleams upon love s April day ; 
 
 But, tyrant Time ! cin st thou destroy 
 
 That heavenly flame which warms the clay ? 
 
 No ! though each hope may darkly set, 
 
 The heart, the heart can ne er forget ; 
 
 Though anguish hovers o er the way, 
 
 Though fortune brings her night malign ; 
 
 Love brightens still on memory s shrine ; 
 
 The heart s pure altar ; life may frown, 
 
 As life hath frowned on every one ; 
 
 And sorrow s clouds come darkly down ? 
 To gather o er joy s setting sun : 
 
 But when these clouds descend the thickest, 
 
 And when that sun hath set the quickest, 
 Where night-shades over-run ; 
 
 That holy flame glows brightly lone, 
 
 When all life s other lights are gone. 
 
 Autumnal leaf! thus honor s plume, 
 
 And valor s laurel wreath, must fade ; 
 
 Must lose the freshness, and the bloom 
 
 On which the beam of glory played ; 
 
 The banner waving o er the crowd, 
 
 Far streaming like a silver cloud, 
 Must sink within the shade ; 
 22* 
 
254 AUTUMN LEAF. 
 
 Where dark oblivion s waters flow. 
 O er human weal and human wo. 
 
 Autumnal leaf! thus fades the bloom 
 
 Of youth, in hope and spirit proud ; 
 
 When destiny s relentless doom 
 
 Comes like the death-bolt from the cloud 
 
 When, not the slow destroyer, Time, 
 
 But anguish scatters o er its prime 
 
 The blackness of her shroud : . 
 
 Hast thou not seen the youthful face 
 
 Where Grief, not Time, hath won the race ; 
 
 And mark d the dim eye s heaviness, 
 
 Where once was ardor, pride, and fire ; 
 
 The cheek enrobed in mournfulness, 
 
 Once mantled in hope s gay attire : 
 
 O I hast thou seen youth fade away, 
 
 As autumn s leaf upon the spray ? 
 How soon its hues expire ! 
 
 Yet joy, the meteor, cannot last 
 
 Till even youth s career is past, 
 
 Autumnal leaf! there is a stern 
 
 And warning tone in thy decay : 
 
 Like thee must man to death return 
 
 With his frail tenement of clay : 
 
 Thy warning is of death and doom, 
 
 Of genius blighted in its bloom, 
 Of joy s beclouded ray; 
 
 Life, rapture, hope, ye are as brief 
 
 And fleeting as the autumn leaf ! 
 
255 
 
 LIFE hath its sunshine ; but the ray 
 
 Which flashes on its stormy wave 
 Is but the beacon of decay, 
 
 A meteor gleaming o er the grave ; 
 And though its dawning hour is bright 
 
 With fancy s gayest colouring, 
 Yet o er its cloud-encumbered night, 
 
 Dark ruin flaps his raven wing. 
 
 Life hath its flowers ; and what are they ? 
 
 The buds of early love and truth, 
 Which spring and wither in a day, 
 
 The gems of warm confiding youth ; 
 Alas ! those buds decay and die, 
 
 Ere ripened and matured in bloom ; 
 E en in an hour, behold them lie 
 
 Upon the still and lonely tomb ! 
 
 Life hath its pang of deepest thrill ; 
 
 Thy sting, relentless memory ! 
 Which wakes not, pierces not, until 
 
 The hour of joy hath ceased to be. 
 Then, when the heart is in its pall, 
 
 And cold afflictions gather o er, 
 Thy mournful anthem doth recall 
 
 Bliss which hath died to bloom no more. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Life hath its blessings ; but the storm 
 
 Sweeps like the desert vvind in wrath, 
 To sear and blight the loveliest form 
 
 Which sports on earth s deceitful path. 
 O ! soon the wild heart-broken Avail, 
 
 So changed from youth s delightful tone. 
 Floats mournfully upon the gale, 
 
 When all is desolate and lone. 
 
 Life hath its hope ; a matin dream, 
 
 A cankered flower, a setting sun, 
 Which casts a transitory gleam 
 
 Upon the even s cloud of dun. 
 Pass but an hour, the dream hath fled, 
 
 The flowers on earth forsaken lie ; 
 The sun hath set, whose lustre shed 
 
 A light upon the shaded sky. 
 
257 
 
 Cor an 
 
 THERE is a kiss of heavenly birth, 
 An angel s lip it would not stain ; 
 
 And yet is found on this dark earth, 
 And found, alas! too oft in vain. 
 
 That kiss ! it speaks a thousand things 
 Which language never yet hath told ; 
 
 That kiss is pure as are the springs 
 Which gushed in Kden s bower of old. 
 
 That kiss ! how joyous is its thrill 
 When heart meets heart in unison, 
 
 And through each good, and through each ill, 
 Of chequered fortune beat as one. 
 
 That kiss, imparted o er and o er, 
 Bids the wan cheek renew its bloom, 
 
 Bids joy his sun-light radiance pour 
 
 On care s pale shroud and sorrow s tomb. 
 
 And, faithful and confiding love, 
 
 Spirit half mortal, half divine, 
 Inhabitant of heaven a bove 
 
 And earth below, that kiss is thine ! 
 
258 LINES. 
 
 And what is life when that is gone ! 
 
 Let the o erburthened heart reply ; 
 An ark from which the dove hath flown, 
 
 A leafless tree, a sunless sky ; 
 
 A grave, without the peacefulness 
 And dreamless slumber of the grave ; 
 
 A desert mute and motionless, 
 A bark upon the shoreless wave ; 
 
 A lone and desolated bower, 
 
 Which the sear ivy wanders o er ; 
 
 A wasted garden, where the flower, 
 Once dead, can blossom nevermore. 
 
259 
 
 I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life, as an officer 
 resigns a commission." Burns Letters. 
 
 THE grave ! the grave ! oh, happy they 
 
 Whom death hath seized in early spring. 
 Who sleep within the house of clay, 
 
 Gathered when life is blossoming ; 
 The grave, the grave ! ah, sorrow there 
 
 May aim her many shafts in vain, 
 And the dark spectre of despair 
 
 Stalks powerless in that domain. 
 
 They sleep I the selfish and the vile 
 
 Can never more their feelings wring ; 
 Unkind deceit, and heartless guile, 
 
 And envy never more can sting : 
 And love, which only lives to mourn, 
 
 Can never blight their hearts again. 
 For on the cold and senseless urn 
 
 His wasting mildews fall in vain. 
 
 Then weep not, weep not for the dead, 
 
 The cold clay doth not heed the tear ; 
 But weep for those who bow the head 
 
 In life, when hope holds nothing dear : 
 Weep for the living who conceal 
 
 The moody madness of the breast ; 
 Mourn not the dead, they cannot feel ! 
 
 Mourn not the dead, they are at rest ! 
 
260 
 
 Sow antr Sorrofo. 
 
 JOY kneels at morning s rosy prime. 
 
 In worship to the rising sun ; 
 But Sorrow loves the calmer time, 
 
 When the day-god his course hath run 
 When night is on her shadowy car, 
 
 Pale Sorrow wakes while Joy doth sleep : 
 And guided by the evening star, 
 
 She wanders forth to muse and weep. 
 
 Joy loves to cull the summer flower, 
 
 And wreath it round his happy brow : 
 But when the dark autumnal hour 
 
 Hath laid the leaf and blossoms low ; 
 When the frail bud hath lost its worth, 
 
 And Joy hath dashed it from his crest ; 
 Then Sorrow takes it from the earth, 
 
 To wither on her withered breast. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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