y^ ^^(^UJIIVJJV)- ^•Ji/]30N\'S01^ ,OFCA1JFO% /\WfUNlVER% 'vAHVHan-^ '^'/sniwrn- ^ammusy >ad/\li\ildV" ^l-LiBRARYQ/- K^M'LIBRAR^ mjdjlVD-JO'^^ ,OFCALIFO/?/i/>.' ■^^>uivyen# <\ym//j .Km-miiESy .> < ze; iim VSO'P "^ 'U m ^ysm/WH^-^^ rrt x^llBRAR^ S1I*< tyojiw; LOVE AND WAR; IN THREE CANTOS. mTH OTHER POEMS. By a seaman. Whose artless pen, impell'd by Nature's laws. His scenes from Neptune's orbed empire draws j The rocking deeps liis dread majestic school. He soars aloft, unus'd to classic rule. LONDON; Printed by C. itmcer, 32, Patemoster-Row ; AND SOLD BY C. CRADOCK AND W. JOY, PATERNOSTER-BOW, 1810. ■pK DEDICATION. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE OEORGIANA AUGUSTA FREDERICA LADY CHARLES BENTINCK. Honored Madam, Conscious as I am of the very high and distinguished honor your Ladyship has been pleased to bestow upon me, by tak- ing under your kind protection this first and humble effort of my pen, I feel that no lan- guage, within my limited powers, can possibly describe to you that profound sense of grati- tude with which I am impressed. Your Ladyship's disinterested benevolence, will ij 3 *-i VI DEDICATION. be so conspicuous to every individual who may honour this volume with a perusal, as to need no stronger proof than that you are its patroness : I should, indeed, feel truly happy if the contents were worthy of so great a con- descension ; yet, I trust, however deficient these Poems may be in metaphorical sublimity, or poetical softness, that they will not be found altogether unamusive, nor entirely de- stitute of originality. If they possess any merit, I am too well acquainted with a British Public to doubt their success, whose sympa- thetic hearts arc, like your Ladyship's, ever ready to cherish the dawning ray of genius, from whomsoever it may present itself, and which, throutih their laudal)le encouragement, has often attained the very pinnacle of glory. But situated as I have been for many years, upon the bosom of the deej), amongst the brave defenders of my country, wIktc valor and seamanship predominate over scholastic DEDICATION. VU erudition, I cannot too highly appreciate your Ladyship's nobleness of mind, which, soaring above the reach of prejudice, that too-deadly foe to infant merit, has, in bringing the follow- ing work before a generous and enlightened Public, rendered an everlasting favour to one, who most respectfully begs leave to subscribe himself, in addition to his being Your Ladyship's truly obliged and very obedient humble servant, A SEAMAN. London^ \9th May, 1810. SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES. 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Miss Wick, Captain Woolmore, Mrs. Woolmore, — Williams Esq. Mr. Yatman. LOVE AND WAR. CANTO FIRST. ARGUMENT. The supposed origin of the heathen mythology— the influence of the Muses, according to the rules of Paganism — their aid solicited — story begun — description of Pico — Lorenzo's cha- racter — Alfonso and Eumenia described — their first interview — Lorenzo's determination — the meeting of the lovers by night — Alfonso's prayer — Eumenia's request — Alfonso seized and borne away by sailors — Eumenia's grief — Marino inclines to be her friend — his character — Eumenia's story of her birth and love — her request of Marino— his answer and advice — Eumenia doubts the propriety of her resolve — her doubts removed — they sepa- rate — Alfonso's interview with Lorenzo and Ricardo — Alfonso quits the shore — his grief and arrival on board a ship — Marino with others return to the shore — a sailor questions Eumenia — her answer — Marino's consent—their quitting the land and arrival on shipboard. B 2 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO FIRST. When Fiction first obtain'd poetic fire. And skilful bards attun'd the sounding lyre, For gold or fame heroic acts were sung. And hills and dales with matchless praises rung ; Till warlike heroes, deck'd with trophied bays, Were gods proclaim'd to rule in various ways : Nor infant reason, had the power to see The guileful influence of their majesty j 6 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. For Might and Cunning, arrogantly bold, Reign'd hand in hand, and fleec'd the labourer's gold Thus Jove, armipotent, their highest king, O'erwhelm'd the Titans, (so the Poets sing,) Who mountains piPd to scale the purple sky. And drag the Thunderer from his throne on high ; By lightning's force each daring monster fell, Hurl'd headlong down, to groan in deepest hell ! This mighty deed to earth-born Jove was giv'n. And trembling souls believ'd him King of Heav'n ! Such mystic themes engross'd our ancient song. And sounding numbers bore the strains along Delusory, till prudent Wisdom came. And strengthen'd Nature hail'd her sacred name ! Then honest truth, in soft bucolian strains. To emulation rous'd our rural swains. — And here the Muse, in simple Nature's scale. Unfolds an artless, melancholy tale ! Nor Jove, nor Juno, full of direful hate. Here, 'mid their offspring, join in stern debate^ CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 7 But, oh ! soft love two virtuous hearts engage, That bear the battle's unrelenting rage ! And all the horrors of a storm-rock'd sea, Dash'd thro' the rolling clouds with dreadful majesty! Since poets oft, impell'd by Fashion's rod, Declare Apollo their inspiring god, And, sweetly singing, claim his powerful might. To save their labours from eternal night: Permit the Muse, by mythologic rule. To seek assistance from the tuneful school. Where fadeless wreaths of bloomy laurel twine, Around the temples of the sacred Nine ! For know, ye warbling, blest, sciential train, She deems ye rulers of the fruitful brain ! But lest her effort, wanting ardour, fails. Submissive she, your glorious patron hails ! Oh ! mighty Phoebus, round whose awful shrine. The muses sang, harmoniously divine ! 8 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I- Say, who, amid their chaste Aonian band. Will guide a trembling school-untutor'd hand, Who never sipp'd of their Castalian fount. Yet oft has seen their cloud-aspiring mount. Swell o'er the surface of the troubled main. Whose roaring flood recoils to Egypt's plain, Where seven-mouth'd Nile his streams prolific pours, In deep-red torrents from his winding shores ; Dying old Ocean as they hurried on, Where oft descends the fierce Euroclydon. (a) blest Calliope ! of all the Nine, Inspire my song, and reign in ev'ry line. Let fond Erato tune each am'rous string, And martial Clio thro' my battle sing. No aid I claim from brisk Terpsichore ; Nor gay Thalia, do I call on thee. For lo ! my verse is thine, Melpomene ! But fair Euterpe, tho' loud Boreas raves, 1 claim thy breath to swell my angry waves ; And oh ! Polymnia, ever-living maid ! Should I deserve thy soft, endearing aid. CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 9 That sacred pow'r, the good old parent's crutch, Sweet mem'ry ! born of eye, or ear, or touch : And should Urania her bright influence give. Then, Iho' the Poet die, his song may live. The subject, yet, in doubtful embryo sleeps. And thee, kind reader, in suspense it keeps. But lo ! it comes ! ye gates of night give way — Oblivion hence ! Apollo gives the day ! The gates expand — their yawning hinges sound. My Muse ascends, and echo floats around. Where Pico's (b) mountain tow'rs toward the skies, (Whose snow-capp'd ridges o'er th'Atlantic rise,) Surrounding clouds, oft form an awful chain, And frown confusion on the surgy main ! For round its summit many an infant storm. Attracted, swells, and bursts in horrid form ! Driving the waters into foamy waves, And rudely roaring, echoes through her caves ! Here, in the morn, while yet in twilight grey. The sky denotes th' approach of rosy day, 10 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Cloud-piercing Pico from her icy brow. Reflects the sun upon the vales below. While shades of night around th' horizon shew. Here various fruits with gay luxuriance spring. And juicy grapes around the olives cling. Amid those scenes, by nature form'd to please, 'Twixt purling streams and high erhbow'ring trees. There liv'd a man, the great Lorenzo, he. For riches known, but void of charity : A miser's spirit sway'd his plodding breast. And terror rock'd him in his hours of rest. One son he had, the good Alfonso nam'd, Whom honour, truth, and piety had fam'd ; His early youth display'dagen'rous mind. Which rising years expanded and refin'd. A graceful air throughout his person shone. And Health and Beauty mark'd him for their own. His manly breast, from pride and envy free, Lov'd all mankind, and truly lov'd was he. CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 1| But fair Eumenia, fairest of the isle. From young Alfonso drew a lover's smile : He the dread siege of Ilion's lofty towers. Twice told, had pass'd, in iilnocence his hours ; And she had seventeen ripening summers seen With all the chasteness of the woodland queen.* A nobler form ne'er gracM a British robe. Whose perfect fair enchant the wond'ring globe ! Such rosy cheeks illum'd her brilliant eyes. Nor stars more bright begem the vaulted skies. Her pouting lips, more sweet than morning dew. Outshone the coral in its brightest hue; 'Twixt those, stood pleasing to the ravish'd sight, Her well-rang'd teeth, of lily's purest white ! O'er which, like ether, soft, untainted came. That breath a monarch might have breath'd again ! Her gentle bosom, roundly swelling, fair. Oft bore the tresses of her sloe-black hair : Whilst round her brow the glossy ringlets curl'd, She seem'd an angel in a mortal world * Diana. :2 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Surpassing all ! and yet, tho' humbly drest. Her seemly robes enclos'd a virtuous breast ! What more can princes this side heav'n obtain. What richer gem to brighten o'er their pain ? Her peasant sire, nor wealth nor plenty knew, His daily bread from daily labour grew ; His needy state claim'd fair Eumenia's aid, And various scenes employ'd the blooming maid. 'Twas in the evening of a winter's day, Returning homeward thro' a lonely way. That young Alfonso first espy'd her form, Quick'ning her steps to shun th' increasing storm. Which, fiercely raging, threaten'd danger near, And rous'd Eumcuia into trembling fear. Her form divine he stood surpris'd to view, Yet still he gaz'd, and still his wonder grew ! His glowing bosom, strangely beating, sigh'd. As oft* the sound amid the tempest dy'd. The cloud-girt mountain felt the roaring blast. And hurling down a frozen show'r so vast. CAKTOI. LOVE AND WAR. 13 Smote the fair maid upon her lovely breast, And well nigh sent her to eternal rest ! She, struggling, fell upon the icy ground, Nor heard awhile the thunders' bellowing sound ! But kind Alfonso, as on eagles' wings, Cuts through the wind and round the fair one clings : Thus some fond parent clasps a darling child, And boldly shields it from a monster wild. He gently rais'd her in his longing arms. And there beheld her soft, angelic charms, Her lovely bosom to the tempest bare. Her downcast eyes and soft dishevell'd hair ! To pity prone, he griev'd to hear her moan. And, young in love, convey'd her trembling home. Now Cupid kindled his quick-darting fire. Like lightning borne upon th' attractive wire. Each eye commission'd, own'd the mighty pow'r, And sweetest blandishments bcguil'd each hour ; Eumcnia's heart with gratitude impress'd. Emitting sighs, the tender truth confcss'd. 14 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Joy's silver beams flash'd from Alfonso's eyes. Close to his breast he press'd the blushing prize. And vow'd his love attested by the skies ! Lorenzo soon beheld the raging flame. That would, unchecked, disgrace his honored name. And hence resolv'd, th^ unequal match to shun. To seaward send his much-lov'd, only son. The task was hard, but hopes of future gain, Doom'd the fond youth to cross the wat'ry main ! Before his mansion, near the sandy shore, A lofty ship the briny waves upbore ; The cargo liis~-to plough Brazilian seas. She only waited for a fav'ring breeze. Th' unwelcome news soon reach'd Alfonso's ears, But more unwelcome to Eumenia's fears. In vain he pleaded for a week's delay — In vain she wept the fleeting hours away. No soft persuasions touch'd Lorenzo's soul. For sordid passions held him incontroul. CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 15 He thus decreed : that when Aurora's light From eastern skies should gild proud Pico's height, Swiftly on board Alfonso should repair. And put to sea, the weather foul or fair. The dire command swell'd high the lover's breast. And gloomy sadness ev'ry look exprest. A thousand doubts crowd in upon his brain, And hopes and fears alternate influence gain. " O God V he cried, «'this night I bid adieu — The next I'm wafted from Eumenia'^ view, Where pain and terror every step pursue 1" Bright Phoebus, now, sunk deep below the west, And Night's dark veil proclaim'd the hours of rest : But ah ! no rest could poor Eumenia find. Nor could Alfonso ease his aching mind. O'erwhelm'd with grief, but yet with passion bold, They seek the place where first his love he told. Awhile enfolded in each other's arms. They speechless hung, most exquisite in charms ! I6 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. With balmy sighs, their lips enjoining press'd, Each beating heart was felt 'gainst either breast ! Oh ! fleeting moment of innoxious bliss ! Oh ! curs'd Lorenzo ! to deny them this No touch of pity could thy bosom know, Alecto's poison must within it flow ; Still sweeter now the lovely maid appears, Enchanting graces mingling with her tears. Her beauties tenfold, strike his bursting soul. And frenzied flashes from his eye-balls roll : Thus, crown'd with charms, the blazing sun retires. To fill the Nadir with his lustrous fires. — Surrounding splendor swells th' astonish'd eye. The fringing gold, the Tyrian purple dye. The blushing pink, the soft, pellucid green, The sanguine ruby, and the blue serene ! All glow with grandeur o'er the western main. In heav'nly pomp to form his setting train ! Oh ! could mankind descend the sacred grave. As void of sin as Phoebus quits the wave, CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 17 Then, like the morn, each gentle soul would rise To life eternal, mid empyrean skies ! Now, gently rising from her neck of down. Hand lock'd in hand, and eyes to heav'n upthrown, Alfonso pray'd to him who reigns above. That nought migh-t lessen or retard their love — That he in safety miglit again return. His sire relent, and griping av'ricc spurn — That fair Eumenia might unspotted be. And love the same as when he went to sea. The silent fair, at last, with breaking heart. Strove, but in vain, her feelings to impart ; Again big tears burst thro' her restless eyes. And eas'd her bosom with repeated sighs. Her words, unfinish'd from her trembling tongue, Alfonso's feelings most severely wrung. In broken accents, she her wish made known, To brave with him the climes of either zone ; To her no danger had the stormy sea, For in his sight was sweet felicity ! c 18 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO ». But ere these words, repeated with a sigh, Could gain her lover's pertinent reply, A band of sailors, mid the gloom of night, Seiz'd the fond youth, and bore him from her sight. Eumenia, frantic, urg'd a moment's stay. And on her knees, petition'd for delay; But deaf seem'd they, and full of impious threats, Theymarch'd him onward with redoubling steps. Regardless, thus, a vessel quits the strand. Nor heeds the voice, shrill-piercing on the land. Of some fond wife or unprotected child, Whom thither hopes of promis'd joys beguil'd. ** Oh cruel monsters !" poor Eumenia cried, ** Why am T thus the parting kiss denied ? Or, why is he, before th' appointed hour, Dragg'd from my arms by such unlawful pow'r ? Will none of all your marble-hearted crew. Bear to my love Eumenia's last adieu ? Is this the honour of a sailor's breast, To heap new troubles on a heart distrest ?" — Then drooping, fell, by agonies o'crprcst ! CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 19 So sinks a lily for a while its head. When mov'd untimely from its parent' bed. Till fost'ring nature's ever lib'ral hand. Renews its strength to decorate the land. Now meek-ey'd pity touch'd Marino's heart. Who oft through life had felt oppression's dart ; Who, when on board, with talents pure and rare Sustain'd the boatswain's ever-anxious care. Tho' born at sea amid the billows' roar. And quite unus'd to polish'd life on shore. His heart, to Love, was tender at the core. His manly soul, unknown to pallid Fear, In Pity's cause was e'er a friend sincere ; No fawning sympathy about him hung. Nor flatt'ring words came smoothly o'er his tongue ; But honest truth sat smiling in his face. Where Fame the scars of savage war might trace. Resolv'd was he to hear the fair maid's tale, And left his comrades in a winding vale. c 2 tJO LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Returning swiftly, he Eumenia found. Half drown'd in tears upon the dewy ground. *' Arise," said he, *^ and to my words attend, If you are wrong'd, Marino is your friend. Tho' tis a crime to fly one's master's trust, Tis worse to serve him in a cause unjust : Impart to me the story of your grief. And my poor pow'rs shall work for your relief." " Oh ! gen'rous man,*' the trembling fair one cri'd, " A suit so honest shall not be dcni'd. And truth unvarnish'd o'er my lips shall glide. *' This isle surrounded by th' Atlantic sea. Birth gave, at once, to poverty and me : My teiider mother bade this world adieu. Whilst I, an infant scarce a mother knew. And tho' my father rear'd me as his pride, A mother's softness was but ill supplied. CANTO 1. LOVE AND WAR. 21 Beside this mountain, on a lonely spot, Expos'd to storms appears his humble cot ; There now he lies wrapt safe in balmy sleep, Unknown to him the woes I'm doom'd to weep ; Nor would I rob him of his peaceful rest. By pouring troubles in his harmless breast. He labours daily at the cluster'd vine. Or ploughs the soil, or makes the rosy wine ; To him alike to plant the fencing thorn. Or mow the grass or beat the golden corn ; To chase o'er hills the steady-bounding goat. Or bear dispatches to an isle remote. A little bark lies moor'd beside the strand. Built, launch'd, and fitted by his skilful hand ! By these, and labours uniformly rude. We've ffain'd, tho' poor, an honest livelihood. Tho' such I am, and of so poor a state, Nor mark'd by fortune for a better fate. Yet is my heart alive to cv'ry joy. And feels the pang that does its bliis annoy. 29 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Tis now six months since first Alfonso came. That youth of virtue and of manly fame, And fiil'd my breast with love's all conq'ring flame. His vows were pledg'd with unaffected truth, I thought me bless'd, and lov'd the charming youth. Of vast distinction yet was I aware. But could not shun my fate-alluring snare. Hope led me on, but Fear a cloud display'd, Yet artless nature pierc'd the gloomy shade. For when two hearts like ours in union glow. The highest levels with the very low. Twas so with his, but soon his grov'ling sire, Espy'd the flame and loos'd his vengeful ire ! Resolv'd is he to send my love away, But oh, my heart will burst that very day, To southern climes across the trackless main. Oh ! never ! never to return again ! For there, I'm told, a damsel passing fair. In splendor rolling, with majestic air. Is destin'd to become Alfonso's bride. And crown Lorenzo's avaricious pride ! CANTO i. LOVE AND WAR. 23 But oh ! my friend ! if pity's in your breast, Judge for my heart and grant this fond request : That I on board your vessel may repair, And bid farewell to sweet Alfonso there. Or take me with you in a sailor's guise, I'll bear the fury of the seas and skies ! I have the garments ready at command. And in an hour can quit my native land ; I feel no terrors at the threat'ning wave, Nor dread the horrors of a wat'ry grave I Give me my love, I'll judge no dangers nigh. Or should they come, with him I'd boldly die !" Thus spoke the maid — Marino paus'd awhile. And thus address'd her with a pleasing smile : " I feel Eumenia for your tender age. And know th' injustice of Lorenzo's rage. But we are destin'd by a strict command To bear Alfonso to a distant land. And when Aurora gives the coming day, Our vessel's prow will cut the liquid way ! 24? LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Yet still, in pity for your beating heart, Marino's breast shall act a double part ; And should I fail to prove a genuine friend. May heav'n desert nie in my latter end ! Dull night has now pass'd thro' her mid career. And in the east the day will soon appear; But e'er that hour, upon the pcbbl'd beach. From whence long hawsers (t) to our vessel reach. Do you attend, e'en as a sailor drest. Sinking the female deep within your breast. Bury, awhile, the cares you're doom'd to feel, Lest sighs or tears your purpose should reveal. Before our anchor leaves his wat'ry bed, A little bark will to the shore be sped, To loose our hawsers from the mooring buoy. Which task myself with others will employ. Just as we leap upon the sea-wash'd strand. And seem prepared to quit again the land, Bc't your request to join our ship and crew, I'll grant yuur suit as quite unknown to you, Then leap on board and bid the shore adieu." CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 95 " Oh, gen'rous man," replied th' exulting maid, " How can such goodness ever be repaid ! While mem'ry lives, my pray'rs shall offer'd be. For dear Alfonso ! for my sire ! and thee ! May all the blessings heav'n to mortals give, ShowV thick around, and in your bosoms live !'* Thus spoke Eumenia, till her eyes full weak, RoU'd grateful tears upon each lovely cheek. Marino, touch'd by Friendship's genuine flame. Like a fond father kiss'd th' advcnt'rous dame. *^ Now haste," he cried, let not a moment pass In fruitless toil before your looking-glass. Yet, veil those charms, the more your form's disguis'd, With less suspicion you'll be scrutiniz'd ; Trust then to fate, if aught of ill appear. Your tale I'll tell to ev'ry pitying ear. And with a father's feelings soothe your fear !" ^'But hold, my friend," the pond'ring maid replied, *^ There's yet a point most weighty to decide,— How can I leave an aged parent's home. And o'er the seas to distant climates roam ? 36 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Despair an harbour in his breast would find. And hurl destruction on his feeble mind ; For who would substitute a daughter's aid. Should he in sickness on his bed be laid ? And should he die, what friend would close his eyes r Or, with respect, attend his obsequies ? Oh ! these are thoughts that wring my trembling heart, And bid me never from his sight depart j Yet for Alfonso am I doom'd to grieve. Oh ! death awaits on each alternative ! Oh ! judge, my friend, who from experience know What racking tumults in my bosom flow ! Speak, faithful friend, your sage advice I'll keep. To stay on shore, or plough the swelling deep ! For while divided thus my thoughts remain. Our plans are needless, and my hopes are vain." Marino stood, by mingling doubts oppress'd, And thus at length the anxious maid address'd — " What, tho' your father may at first sustain A loss, by your advent'ring on the main, CANTO r. LOVE AND WAR. ^7 Yet when his head droops, mark'd by silver age, And, his weak limbs 'gainst hoary time engage, A pow'rful friend may yield a balsam mild. And that same friend may be his only child. You know Lorenzo is a wealthy don, Whose riches soon may grace the gen'rous son ; And he with you would boundless pleasure feel. To aid your father with becoming zeal ! The nuptial rites, when you on board repair. Our priest can execute with secret care ; Now, quick resolve, I can no longer stay, The twinkling stars denote approaching day. Say, on the beach, shall I Eumenia find. Or with her parent will she rest behind." " To sea,'' she cried, *' to sea my noble friend ! And heav'n protect us to our journey's end !" This said, in haste they bade a short adieu, Determin'd each their purpose to pursue. Mean time the sailors young Alfonso bore. Thro' many windings, to the sea-girt shore, 28 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I. Where bold Ricardo, captain of the crew. With stern Lorenzo held an interview. Soon as the son beheld his father there. He thus reproach'd him with a lofty air— *f Since dead to honour is your aged heart. And I am doom'd from all I love to part. Deep-wounded feelings, by a fever'd tongue. Shall reach the father who his son could wrong ; What action of my life could urge your soul, To force me seaward by a deed so foul ? To seize my person in the dead of night. And, like a robber, who had taken flight. Have me thus dragged ignobly to your sight .' Why am I bound to know a foreign clime. Against my will, and still without a crime ? No warning given, not a single day, But like a savage thus am torn away. From dearest friends, from relatives, and home. And, unprepar'd, a world of seas to roam ! Oh ! cruel father ! avaricious man ! What cause can prosper from so dire a plan ? CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 29 I ne'er in marriage will receive a hand, With wealth and beauty in a distant land ; And tho' to India I am now consign'd. My heart, for ever, shall remain behind ! To fair Eumenia am I bound in love. Which none shall lessen but the pow'r above I If you the path of common justice shun. Farewell to all the duties of a son ! So bear me hence, give vent to all your rage. Still 'gainst your av'ricc stubborn war I'll wage.'* Lorenzo, now, with vengeance in his eyes, Advanc'd, and sternly to his son replies, — " Ungrateful youth ! misguided prattler, cease. Nor let fresh injuries my rage increase ! Too long you've lavish'd on your low-bred fair Those sums I've gain'd by industry and care ; And now in wedlock you'd my name disgrace. And share my gold with her plebeian race ! Whilst I, who studious for your tender days. And am expericnc'd in the worldly ways, 30 LOVE AND WAR. CANTO I, Have found a partner for your choice more fit, With weakh and beauty, elegance and wit. But you, more stubborn than the tusky boar. Turn ev'ry course but that which lies before. Thwarting my views, and by Eumenia's face, Mere shew, enslav'd — you'd truckle with disgrace. Is this the recompense you mean to give ? To him, who taught you in the world to live ? To him, who rear'd you as his darling child, Help'd ev'ry wish, and at your foibles smil'd ? Oh ! had you died that melancholy day. Which first gave you, and ere it roll'd away. Bore off the parent ! I had known less pain. Than now I feel to send you o'er the main. Once, fairest Hope put forth her golden rays, Denoting pleasure for my aged days j But ah ! how vain ! what sad reverses flow. What bitter misery begins to grow ! How will this theme on ev'ry ear intrude. And feed the busy, meddling neighbourhood ! CANTO I. LOVE AND WAR. 31 Bat now, no longer will I hold debate. Nor shall my vessel for your person wait ; The swelling breeze invites her from the bay. So haste all hands, unmoor, and quickly weigh." (dj Marino now arriv'd amid the crew, And, unperceiv'd, near brave Ricardo drew ; Bidding the seamen haul to shore the boat. To take the captain with his friend afloat. Ricardo then address'd the love-sick youth. And pledg'd his vows of honour and of truth. That ev'ry comfort which a ship could yield, Well-stor'd and fitted for the wat'ry field. Should be his own, and every special care. With strict attention should be paid him there. Alfonso bow'd with more than common grace. While Love and Rage drove tears adown his face. He honor'd much Ricardo's noble mind. And, near the margin of the sea inclin'd : Then from his father heard a faint adieu. And slowly join' ment and experience of British sailors. (2) Quoins — Are wedges of wood to raise or lower the breech of the cannon, in addition to the beds, which are of the same nature, but deemed more stationary, yet it is sometimes neces- sary to move the beds and place the quoins in their stead. (3) Bear up a point — Is to steer the ship a point more ^row the wind than she was steered beibre, (4) Ship full — Is to keep her sails from shaking in the wind. (5) 7o fteer her raa//— Is to steer the ship as straight a course as NOTES. Ill possible, without wandering too much to the right or to the left. (6) Knot the rigging — Is to rejoin the ropes immediately ne- cessary for working the ship, which have been cut by shot. (7) The skip bears up, &c. — When a ship has been sailing ly the wind, or sidelong to the wind, and turns moreyrCTK it, she is said to bear up ; this will unavoidably happen when a ship has lost her sternmost sails, which serve to balance her against the headmost ones. (8) The lanyards. — ^These are the small ropes by which the lower rigging or shrouds are fastened down to their appointed situations, and when a mast falls in windy weather, it is often necessary to cut away its rigging, to prevent the wreck from beating against the ship. (9) Midships — ^The half-way, on either deck, betwcea the sides of the ship. (10) Booms.'— Thest generally consist of spare masts and yards, and are secured lengthways, in a line with the quarter- deck and forecastle, between the mainmast and foremast. (U) Waste-nettings. — These are ropes extended along the gangways, or platforms, above the sides of the ship, from the quarterdeck to the forecastle, in double rows, to hold by day the hammocks and beds belonging to the seamen, which in an action serve as a bulwark against musquet-shot. (12) Stanchion. — These consist of stout iron-work, to which the nettings are fastened. (13) PainttT'^li a rope always fastened to a boat's prow. 112 NOTES. by which she is occasionally tied to any other object when afloat. ^ (14) Tercera — Is the principal island of the Azores. (15) TaffTeL—Tht rail above the stern of a ship. (16) Tackles. — ^These are ropes by which a boat is hoisted up to the stern or any part of a ship, and of course by which •he is also let into the water from a ship. NOTE TO CANTO THIRD. (a) Wounded bends. — The bends of a boat, as well as of a ship, are those planks which form the projecting parts of the sides, just above the water when the vessel is properly trimmed. RICARDO's LAMENTATION DURING THE STORM. O ! cease, thou roaring wind ! Be calm, each troubled wave ! Let silence awe my mind. To contemplate the grave : For, mighty Deep ! within thy bosom lie My friends sincere. My partners dear, Whom sable clouds mourn round the drooping sky 114 RICARDO'S LAMENTATION. O ! thunders cease to roll ! Let not your rage increase ; Let each departed soul Enjoy celestial peace : For, cold in death within old Ocean lie My friends sincere, My partners dear. Whom sable clouds mourn round the droopmg sky ! O ! hear, ye heav'nly pow'rs ! Who grateful bosoms form. Who guide the varied hours. And rule the angry storm: O ! smooth the deep ! where wrapp'd in death now lie My friends sincere, My partners dear. Whom sable clouds mourn round the drooping sky ! HENRY AND HELEN; A RURAL TALE. I 2 HENRY AND HELEN; RURAL TALE. Amidst the windings of a wood, ConceaPd from public view, A neat, but humble cottage stood, Near which sweet hawthorn grew. Above its roof, with mighty spread, And o'er a limpid brook, A tow'ring elm, with rev'rend head, Its leafy branches shook. 118 HENRY AND HELEN. A garden fenc'd with eglantine Before the cottage bloom'd. Where roses kiss'd the curling vine^ And ev'ry gale perfum'd. There John and Kate, a loving pair. In rural peace did dwell, John duly earn'd their daily fare. By cutting wood to sell. Kate, in her turn, would knit and sew, Or at her wheel would spin. And with her eggs to market go, To turn the penny in. When Sunday came — sweet day of rest I They'd each, with pious care. In lowly garments cleanly drest. To village church repair. HENRY AND HELEN. 119 There offer to the sacred Pow'r, Their thanks for favors past. And hop'd that thro' each changing hour. They might for ever last. At length Kate did an offspring bear. Which rais'd their humble fame ; She grew in beauty, chaste and fair. And Helen was her name. With learning, such as they possess'd. They taught their infant child, Kind nature rul'd her lovely breast. And o'er her actions smil'd. Bright auburn ringlets swcetl yflow'd Her sparkling eyes t'adorn. The rose to her with homage bow'd. She bloom'd without a thorn. 120 HENRY AND HELEN. Graceful her form, and truth within, The fount of honor sway'd. Where pure religion thwarted sin. And bless'd the goodly maid. While nurtur'd thus, in virtue's way. To aid her parents dear. She'd work and sing throughout the day. And each dull moment cheer. The household duty, in its turn. Became the fair one's care. To fetch the faggot home to burn. Or tend the village fair. But as she from the market came. One summer's eve, alone. An unseen object sigh'd her name With many a bitter moan. HENRY AND HELEN. 121 She stopp'd — but on her llst'ning ear Increas'd th* alarming sound. When lo ! a rustic youth lay near, Quick-gasping on the ground ! A tremor seiz'd her tender heart. With fault'ring tongue she said, " Good friend, what ails you, pray impart ? Accept a stranger's aid !'* ** Oh ! worthy fair !" the youth replied, *' Your aid's in vain, I fear :" He spoke in pain, and deeply sigh'd, While trickled down the tear. " By what affliction lie you here, Expos'd to night's damp air ? Arise! and seek some shelter near:" Thus spoke the artless fair. 122 HENRY AND HELEN. Young Henry gently rais'd his head, (For so the youth was call'd) Surpris'd, he saw the blooming maid. Who gaz'd as if appall'd. " Oh ! lovely fair one ! 'tis for you. And you alone, I sigh : Alas ! I fear, it is too true. In love for you I die !" Sweet Helen, pond'iing, stood dismay'd By mingling doubts oppress'd ', She strove to gain sweet mem'ry's aid. And thus the youth address'd : " Cease, stranger, cease ! talk not of love, I fain would shun the snare. That passion purely reigns above, On earth 'tis fraught with care. HENRY AND HELEN. 12S ** Should I your tender vows believe, Ah ! why resign my rest? Men often flatter to deceive, And think deceit a jest. " Say, have I seen your face before ?" Full soon the youth replied, « Yes, oft before our church great door You've pass'd me side by side. «' Each Sunday there I saw your form In blooming virtue drest. And oft I've brav'd the sluicy storm, Array'd in all my best. « With art I strove to meet your eye. And wish'd and sigh'd in vain ; But art was lost, for sad was I, And still must sad remain l" 124 HENRY AND HELEN. While thus he spoke, young Helen blush'd, Her heart seem'd fit to break, And in a moment all was hush'd ; She sigh'd, but could not speak. At length her trembling tongue confess'd " She'd seen him near the door, But thought not he, so gaily dress'd. Would think of one so poor." Then Henry cried, " Oh ! save my life ! The pow'r remains with you ; Oh ! lovely Helen 1 be my wife. For Henry's love is true." Her virgin bosom throbb'd with fear. She turn'd her napkin o'er, Then wip'd from either eye a tear, And plac'd it as before. HENRY AND HELEN. 125 But, like the wind, it knew no rest. To speak she strove, but sigh'd. The youth her fair hand gently prest. And thus the maid replied : *' The sun now sinks behind yon hill. And dusky night draws near. And by my parents' sacred will I should not tarry here. " My love and duty still to them Must undiminish'd bend. Whose hearts, I trust, will ne'er contemn The man who proves my friend. *' But now no more — 'tis growing late. And homeward I must go — '' '' Shall Henry, then, in doubtful state, Return o'erwhelm'd with woe? 126 HENRY AND HELEN. ** Oh ! Helen, lovely charmer ! say, Oh ! speak, and ease my pain ! Say, at to-morrow's eve of day, You'll meet me here again ! *' Or shall I now with you return, And let this aching breast. Receive its doom to fiercely burn In anguish, or be blest. * For oh ! those melting eyes betray What shyness fears to name ; Those lips, where balmy zephyrs play. Return Love's real flame. " They seem to say, a father's choice Must rule a heart so young — May I in his decree rejoice ! May honor guide his tongue ! HENRY AND HELEN. 1S7 " Oh ! let my tale of love be told In language soft and clear, Let truth, sweet pleader, free and bold, Command his list'ning ear. " And should soft Pity o'er his mind Her soothing influence breathe. To give consent, and let us bind The matrimonial wreath : " What genuine joy will I display. How pleas'd the wedding throng Will smile upon so blithe a day. And chaunt the gladd'ning song I" But scarce had Henry told his tale, When she her father saw, The maiden blush'd, the youth turn'd pale. And both were struck with awe. 128 HENRY AND HELEN. His frowning brow did them affright. And when he near'd the maid, She trembhng cried, " I'm late to-night — '* " And what's the cause ?" he said. *' All anxious, I have sped my way Across the flow'ry plain. Lest fancied dangers caus'd your stay. And wrapp'd your breast in pain. " But who's that saunt'ring youth behind, Who lately walk'd with you r" '* Dear sire ! he seems of honest mind. And says he loves me true.'' " Oh ! fie on't Helen, say not so. You fill my heart with fear ! Go home, ungrateful daughter, go ! Nor loiter longer here. HEXRY AND HELEN. 129 Begone !" cried he, in angry tone, Which fiH'd her eyes with tears, *' Nor let thy mother sit at home 'Twixt racking doubts and fears." He then to Henry sternly said, " Presuming thoughtless boy ! What would'st thou with this tender maid ? What toils your hours employ ?" ** O'er yonder flocks a watch I keep, With honest Hodge I live. But love each night retards my sleep, And days no jileasure give. " Your lovely daughter'i all I crave, 'Tis her I love so true; 'Tis she can save me from the grave, And thus I ask of you : K 130 HENRY AND HELEN. " Oh ! let me wed that beauteous fair — ril ever constant prove, And with a tender husband's care Promote eternal love. - • " I'll labour hard from day to day, To keep a loving wife, And with affection's purest ray, Cheer ev'ry stage of life." *^ Hold, forward youth ! presume no more ! Nor let me ever see Thy form approach my cottage door, For Helen's not for thee. " Suppress, vain youth ! thy fond desire. This vow ril never break. In life thou ne'er shalt call me sire. Nor to my Helen speak.'' HENRY AND HELEN. 131 '* Oh God !" he cried, *' oh ! say not so ! Reflection claims her pow'r. Oh ! bid me not for ever go. For death awaits the hour." " The word is said, so haste awaV;, Unthinking, worthless boy ! Go guard thy sheep without delay, Nor more my sight annoy." The youth, then, with indignant fire, Said " Keep thy haughty vow ; I'll never stoop to call thee sire. Nor heed thy threat'ning brow." But all was forc'd on Henry's part, His bosom throbb'd with fear. For sorely griev'd his swelling heart. And quickly dropp'd the tear. K 2 132 HENRY AND HELEN. No beams of hope assuag'd his pain;-^ Too soon these thoughts arose — " I'll boldly venture on the main. And die among my foes. " When Helen and her wrathful sire Shall hear my hapless fate. They'll mourn, and with reflection dire. Repent — but ah ! too late!" Revenge led on the troubled boy To venture o'er the seas, With other scenes his mind t'cmploy. And set his heart at ease. He join'd a ship and sail'd away, But with him sail'd his woes, For Helen's form, by night and day. Before his fancy rose. HENRY AND HELEX. 133 And as the land more distant grt-w, As sunk his native spot. His fervent love became more true, And harder seem'd his lot. The winds blew strong, the billows foam'd, Tlie ship flew swift away, With heartfelt sickness Henry moan'd. And chid the luckless day. The mountain's top was left in sight, To which he sigh'd adieu; '^ Oh ! land of bliss ! as comes this night, I never more shall view." Meanwhile his flelen, safe on sliore, By love's corroding pain. Was doom'd to grieve, lest never more She saw her love again. 134 HENRY AND HELEN. Two years in hopes she linger'd through. But ah ! no tidings came; Her bosom nought but anguish knew. And fiercer grew the flame. At length resolv'd, she left her home. In sad and wild despair. O'er hills and mountains far to roam, And go, she knew not where. Her parents sought her night and day, Mid storms and cheerless rain. Love, Hopey and Fancy, led the way, But ah ! their search was vain. Remorse their anguish'd bosoms fiU'd, Feaj^ painted Helen dead, Remember'd bliss their ardour chill'd. And Peace their cottage fled. HENRY AND HELEN. \35 Now Henry reach'd his native shore High rais'd by warlike fame. His love had brav'd the battle's roar With undiminish'd flame. His purse was stor'd with money, got By industry and care, " Oh ! now," cried he, '' to view the spot Where lives my dearest fair. " Oh I let me haste to see her face ! Oh ! let me fly to view Her form, bedeck'd with ev'ry grace — And if her love be true!" And thus he homeward bent his way, In hopes he soon should find. That Helen's parent rued the day He spoke his stubborn mind. 136 HENRY AND HELEN. But as he cross'd a deepen'd brook. Where swift the waters roll'd, A girl, with pale and haggard look, Stood shiv'ring with the cold. Close by its rugged side she stalk'd. Regardless who was near. She sang — she laugh'd — and as she walk'd She dropp'd a pensive tear. Young Henry to the maniac hied, Who, turning quickly round — " Oh God ! 'tis he!" she loudly cried, 7\nd fell upon the ground. He ran to clasp his frantic fair, But ah I too true to tell, She, a sad victim of despair. Deep in the waters fell. HENRY AND HELEN. 137 The youth plung'd in, but out of breath, She grasp'd him too severe ; For in that moment dread of Death Makes ev'ry joint adhere. He strove the mould'ring bank to gain. But, ♦' Oh ! Great God !" he cried, "■ Against thy will all strength is vain !" And down they sunk and died ! That night a dreadful storm, 'tis told. Spread desolation round, Red liirhtninsf flash'd — harsh thunder roll'd — A sad terrific sound I Poor John and Kate !— unhappy lot ! Had scarce rclir'd to bed, When lightning fir'd their little cot, And struck the couple dead ! 138 HENRY AND HELEN. The shatter'd building's blaze blown high, Alarm'd the country round. The fiery thatch sail'd thro" the sky, And strew'd the distant ground. Each anxious neighbour search'd in vain. The luckless pair to find. But they in ashes o'er the plain Were scatter'd by the wind. Thus solemn Death, for ever near. Attends each fleeting hour, And oft, when man seems least to fear, He meets the dreadful Pow'r ! THE SAILOR. A SONG. Tom Splice was a tar full of many odd notions. No cares ever ruffled his mind ; He talk'd about friendship with grateful emotions But vow'd 'twas as fickle as wind. He thought life a bubble at which man may scoff, If Truth guides his bark o'er the main ; " P or,'' said he, " in a storm, should he then be swept off. The regions of bliss he may gain. 140 THE SAILOR. '* I know there's a Power who reigns over all. And strengthens the arm of the brave: Then war against Sin, it encircles our ball. And peace will be found in the grave. " So trouble no more your dull heads about fear. Mankind is upheld from above, And HE who commands fatal Death to appear, Gives life to the lion and dove." Tom's temper was kind, tho' his manners were roueS, Mid foes he would carelessly sing, To the poor he was lib'ral, in duty was tough, And true to his country and king. When Fate, who presides o'er the whimsical world, Depriv'd honest Tom of his breath, He smil'd on his friends, as his sails were near furl'd, And look in the moorinirs of death. THE WANDERING DARLING BOY. The moon behind a darkening cloud Had veil'd her pallid face away, And drowsy sleep o'erpower'd the crowd That industry employ'd by day: But anguish preys on Laura's breast. And racking doubts her mind employ, As o'er the waste depriv'd of rest .She seeks her wandering darling boy. 142 THE WANDERING DARLING BOY. He scarce ten years had seen the light. And cheer'd a fondlhig mother's heart. When, in a winter's dreary night. He did from home and friends depart : His mother, frantic, beat her breast. When robb'd of all — her only joy. And o'er the waste, depriv'd of rest, She seeks her wandering darling boy. The youth had heard of battles fought, By England's brave and gallant tars, And thus poor Laura, rack'd with thought, Befiev'd her son had join'd the wars : But onward still she bends her way, While balmy hopes her mind employ, And o'er the waste by night and day She seeks her wandering darling boy. THE WANDERING DARLING BOY. 143 At length she reach'd the sea-girt shore. When lo ! a ship was passing near, In which she saw her son once more. Regardless of a mother's fear : She hail'd the ship, but hail'd in vain, Till now, bereft of ev'ry joy, Despair and frenzy seiz'd her brain. As sail'd her wandering darli7ig hoy. Exhausted, on the beach she lay. As still the ship more distant grew. When strangers, passing near that way, To help poor Laura quickly flew : With friendly care they took her home, Ere madness should her brain destroy. She laugh'd — she cried — in frantic tone, " Oh ! whcre's my wandering darling boy /^" 144 THE WANDERING DARLING BOY. In grief she pass'd six tedious years, By hopes and fears alternate sway'd. She bath'd her face in daily tears, And oft implor'd th' Almighty's aid. But ah ! poor Laura knew no rest. Her soul was lost to ev'ry joy. And oft she cried — ** 'Tis God knows best If lives my wandering darling boy /" 'Twas now Heav'n's just and ruling pow'r Soon chang'd the mother's dreadful scene, For, in that least expected hour. Her son came tripping o'er the green : " Oh, Heav'n !" she cried, " 'tis he ! 'tis Come crown my days with lasting joy! Great God be prais'd ! and is it thee ? — Oh ! 'tis my wanJ< yin^ darling hoy /" THE WANDERING DARLING BOY. 145 " Yes, dearest mother, 'tis your son ; Be happy, now the wars are o'er : There's money, from the haughty Don, Enough to form our little store : And though I love my king so well, With you I ever will enjoy The comforts of your humble cell, Your darling, not your wandering, boy." FINIS. 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