THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 B PROF. CHARLES A . KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 

 ! - ' 5 
 
 * . A- 
 
 
 >i 
 
THE POET: 
 
 THE INFIDEL 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS; 
 
 P. LANDRETH. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., STATIONERS'-HALL COURT; 
 
 W. TAIT, EDINBURGH ; 
 R. COCKER, MARKET-PLACE, \V I G A N . 
 
 1840. 
 
R. COCKER, PRINTER, 
 WIGAN. 
 
JOHN WILSON, ESQ., 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 IN ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS, 
 
 BY HIS FORMER PUPIL, 
 
 AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 P328083 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 THE Author is not desirous to frame an apology, 
 for presenting the public with a volume. If it be 
 found to contain Poetry, no apology will be re- 
 quired, for a commodity which is rare enough to 
 make it valuable ; and if there be no Poetry in 
 it, it would be but a further infliction of Prosing , 
 with this solace to the Author, that no apology 
 would be received. Besides, he must invent an 
 apology. The common plea of Authors that it 
 was for the sake, and at the request of a circle of 
 friends is not available to him ; for, up to this 
 moment, no one of his friends, knows that he is 
 publishing. He can, indeed, plead extreme youth 
 in extenuation of his offence if such it shall be 
 considered and he might ask the public to par- 
 
vi. PREFACE. 
 
 don, if they would not encourage, the efforts of 
 one, who has not attained his twentieth year. But 
 he is pleased to be silent ; and, if he must be con- 
 demned, he spares himself the labour of a length- 
 ened advocacy. 
 
 He trusts, that no one, will for a moment 
 imagine, that his sentiments are expressed by 
 " The Infidel." He is not aware that he may have 
 offended any, by attempting to render an Infidel, 
 a Poetical Character. 
 
 Wigan, August, 1840. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 THE POET 1 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Remorse 57 
 
 A Dream 63 
 
 My Father's Grave 64 
 
 The Priest and Penitent 67 
 
 A Mother, over her Sleeping Children . . . 69 
 
 Sleep 70 
 
 The Nun 72 
 
 Love 73 
 
 Sonnet 74 . 
 
 Sonnet 74 
 
 Summer 75 
 
 Lost Innocence , 76 
 
 Napoleon 77 
 
 The Seduced 78 
 
 The Lover's Farewell . . . , , + 80 
 
 Age 81 
 
 Lines beneath the picture of an Italian Beauty . . 83 
 
 Esau 84 
 
 Song 85 
 
 c 
 
viii. INDEX. 
 
 The Lover's Revenge .' 86 
 
 The Wizard 89 
 
 Autumn 91 
 
 Fame , , 91 
 
 THE SCHOLAR: 
 
 The Scholar's Youth 95 
 
 The Scholar's Dying Wish 103 
 
 The Scholar's Grave 109 
 
 THE INFIDEL.. 113 
 
THE 
 POET. 
 
T HE P E T ; 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF A TRAGEDY. 
 
 TOWARDS the beginning of last century, a band of robbers, 
 headed by a daring chief, infested the north of England, 
 though not unfrequently their feats of hardihood, and acts 
 of crime sought, a somewhat wider scene. Glenvor, such 
 was the captain's name, was of high descent, but misfor- 
 tune, and a contempt for the world's oppression, which 
 trampled upon his former greatness, drove him forth to the 
 wood, and its lawless tribes ; bitter, indeed, to mankind, at 
 first, was his revenge of a former sneer or frown and 
 sweet, to himself but gradually, the qualities more promi- 
 nent in his character, were softened down, and the fiendish 
 exultation which gleamed in hell-flames, across his soul, for 
 the awful punishments inflicted upon those, whom, from 
 slight grounds, he had conceived to be his enemies, was 
 succeeded by a satisfaction and joy arising from the free- 
 dom of his mode of life. His soul, was still further, to be 
 subject to gentle influences, inspiring calm feeling, and 
 holy sentiments. Woman's beauty, like an angel, hau 
 B 
 
'2 THE POET. 
 
 been sent to trouble the stagnant waters, of his tenderness 
 and affection, and to impart to them a healing virtue for 
 his woes, and passions. He had been lately confined to his 
 rude and yet expensively decorated hut, in the woods, on a 
 sick couch, and was at length sufficiently recovered to 
 take a little bracing exercise. As he rode out into the 
 open country, on one of these short excursions, he fell into 
 a mysterious mood of reflection, and the bridle hung loose 
 upon his horse's mane, who was allowed to carry his master, 
 wherever he pleased. Glenvor thought of the burning 
 /ever which had raged in his vitals, and he almost again 
 felt the maddening heat of the brain, and though faithful 
 companions, had eagerly watched over his couch, there had 
 been no gentle one, to charm aw r ay, by her sweet looks and 
 airy motions, the demon which preyed upon his powers. 
 Awaking from this state of reverie, he found himself on the 
 highway ; an open chariot was passing by him, in which 
 sat a beautiful young lady, whose eyes seemed fixed in a 
 compassionate glance, upon the paleness of his manly coun- 
 tenance. The awful, and cheerless waste was now gone, 
 and from "darkness which might be felt," arose the most 
 attractive scenes. Love was the powerful magician. 
 
 As we must introduce our other dramatis personse, we 
 shall change the scene, to a cottage beautifully situated, in 
 the midst of a thick retreat, in an extensive wood, where, 
 along with his mother and sister, in comparative indepen- 
 dence, lives Henry Sellis the poet. Arthur Ormond, now 
 residing with them, is the loved companion of his walks. 
 The time is sunset, and they have strolled into the garden, 
 where, let us now attend them. 
 
THE POET. 
 
 Ormond. You seem amazed, and yet 
 You might have known it, long- ago ; the eye 
 Which sought the light of beauty and of love, 
 Shining alone, in hers; the embarassed look 
 And faltering tone, when in her presence, 
 How happy have I left it now, assured 
 Of future bliss. Dear Henry, joy with me, 
 And yet I am so glad I cannot speak 
 With any but myself She's mine ! [Exit. 
 
 The Poet. Joy with thee ! yes, I'm proud to 
 
 call thee brother. 
 
 Oh what a family of love ! we live 
 In Paradise, without its solitude, 
 And we have tears, to render joy more bright. 
 Dear sister ! thou must be happy and now 
 Methinks, that oft when speaking of our Arthur, 
 Her eye has archly chid me, that I failed 
 To guess their sweet relationship of soul. 
 Ah! could they not have loved, and, disunited, 
 Been happy ? Together all the day, fondly 
 They might have breathed their love, what can 
 
 they more ? 
 
 This would have been his home, and he to me, 
 A darling brother ; to her, nothing more. 
 
4 THE POET. 
 
 Oh love ! thou art of earth, as well as heaven, 
 And body, blends with soul ; they must be one 
 But who have I, to share my changing fate? 
 To sympathize with this young bosom's throbs 1 
 What gentle hand, to chafe my burning brain ? 
 No no my love is deep and universal, 
 Embracing all in nature's fair domains. 
 'Tis she, with her soft winds, must sooth the fever 
 Of my young blood ; her voice, has ever been 
 The sovereign impulse, of a poet's soul, 
 And in her smiles, his history, is read. 
 
 In boyhood's lightsome mood, I wandered forth 
 Beneath the splendour, of the morning sun, 
 And laid me down, upon the flowery bank, 
 Mine eyes, fixed on the azure sky, reading 
 Its mysteries: each cloud, the residence 
 Of spirit bright, to my young fancy, seemed. 
 To the sweet rolling of the rivulet 
 I turned mine ear, and nature, had a voice, 
 Whilst fairies, sported in the sunny ripple. 
 This love was pleasant, not intense : but years 
 Passed by. No more, I walked, at fragrant noon, 
 But when the setting sun gleamed gloriously ! 
 And at his parting with our earth, assumed 
 A deeper radiance of love, like friends 
 Who smile and laugh, and then their farewell utter, 
 
THE POET. 5 
 
 Without such mirth, yet with more thrilling 
 
 fondness. 
 
 7 Twas then I wandered forth, and in my gaze 
 What passion burned, though ne'er to be enjoyed. 
 The poet lives, between the earth, and heaven, 
 And he would taste the joys of both, in vain ; 
 He grasps the one, he's farther from the other, 
 And discontent, doth call, for endless change. 
 Oh ! happy is the humble swain, on whom 
 The glowing charms of nature, have no power 
 But simple joy ; who treads this earth, as if 
 He were earth-born nor longs for other bliss 
 And exercise. Oh ! happier still the angel, 
 Whose power, is equal to his wish, who's all 
 In heaven. 
 
 Another year had gone, and how this bosom 
 Longed for fame. Longed ! yes, it still doth long ; 
 Oh ! everything has immortality 
 On earth, but man ! The lovely flowers all bloom 
 Perennial, and outlive each storm ; 
 Not even the meanest, dies before the blast 
 However rude. They mock man's buried form, 
 For on his grave, they shed eternal sweets, 
 And they alone, attract the traveller's eye : 
 Thus they will boldly brave death's dark domain, 
 And the still churchyard, is a garden; 
 
6 THE POET. 
 
 But there are some, may I be of the number, 
 Of earth's weak sons, for whom there is no grave ; 
 Who ever haunt, its lovely scenes, charming- 
 With their bright presence 
 
 But here my mother comes 
 With my fair sister, and I must banish 
 All sadness : 
 
 Enter his MOTHER and SISTER. 
 
 Ah ! my dear mother, and gentle sister, 
 Welcome to my sweet garden. 'Tis sunset, 
 And we will pay our visit to the bower, 
 The rising stars shall light us home ! 
 
 Poet's Mother. And you shall charm the 
 
 silence of the night. 
 But where is Arthur? 
 
 Poet. Dear mother, ask my pretty sister, 
 For she hath sent him forth so joyous, 
 That he must now communicate to all 
 His happiness. Ere now, perhaps, the birds 
 Have learned the burden of his song, and thrill 
 The woods, with notes of love and marriage, 
 
 Sister. Henry, you love my Arthur, 
 
 And wherefore should not I ? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE POET. 7 
 
 We now return to the robber. He had learned that the 
 fair lady who had inspired in him, the most ardent love, 
 was the daughter of Lord Fitzroy; that that nobleman 
 was then returning to his own estates, from which he had 
 been absent, from his daughter's childhood, when he had 
 removed to a foreign country, for the purpose of meeting 
 with novelties, which might, in some measure, distract his 
 attention, from the mournful loss which he had sustained, in 
 the death of his lady : further, he ascertained that a feast 
 in the old mansion should announce the arrival of Lord 
 Fitzroy. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The old walls again resounded with mirth and revelry, 
 much of which was occasioned, by the welcome given, 
 with all the enthusiasm of olden times, to the beautiful 
 being who graced their cheer. Music breathed like sounds 
 from unseen seraphs in the air, and minstrelsy boasted her 
 most complete triumph. A stranger minstrel had entered, 
 and his tribute was liberally recompensed ; yet observe him 
 closely his is not the look of servility. His eyes often 
 wandered to the lovely subject of all their lays, with some- 
 thing more than poet's ecstacy. His harp would then be 
 silent, but he soon regained his composure. To explain 
 those hints, the minstrel was the Robber. 
 
 The hour was late, and the company were dispersing. 
 Mary Fitzroy sought her chamber, and the following were 
 her reflections. 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. Nature, from music's flow vo- 
 luptuous, 
 
8 THE POET. 
 
 From dazzling lights, which strangely move the 
 
 soul 
 
 In sympathy with all around I turn 
 To thy heart's sweetest melody of love, 
 And to thy smiling orbs. Life seems a dream, 
 So gently hushed, are all its incidents 
 In the repose of feelings deep and sweet; 
 Thought, only is awake, and soul seeks soul 
 In kindred sympathy ; less mortal we become 
 Mortality, consists of motion sound. 
 But this, is the reign of spirits, and all 
 Is magic influence, beyond our senses. 
 Our former actions, whence arose delight, 
 All centre, in mysterious thoughts, which night 
 Creates : like to this glimmering taper 
 Out with it let the moonlight, cheer alone 
 My chamber. Oh ! 'tis purer, more benign 
 I love the moon the sun, may shine in glory 
 Of fairest summer day, and I ne'er walk 
 Abroad but let the pale moon, shed her light, 
 My heart beats to its influence, like the sea. 
 The moon shines and oh ! 'tis for pure heaven 
 And raptured lovers whilst the glowing sun, 
 Seems only for this earth, and shines for all 
 On every occupation, low, and base. 
 
 The ROBBER enters unobserved. 
 
THE POET. 9 
 
 Perhaps he now is gazing 
 Upon thy orb, and borrowing from it, love. 
 Oh tell him how I love ! Bid heavenly hope 
 Present the future, to him bright and happy ! 
 Be love's interpreter. I am alone, 
 Yet is my plighted love not less intense, 
 And even now, his form, seems more angelic, 
 Drawn by my fancy, from the moon's pale rays. 
 But hush ! I hear a noise 'tis in my chamber, 
 It sounds of stealth ! Help ! 
 
 Robber. Shriek not fair lady, else that shriek 
 
 brings death. 
 
 My dagger is the speediest messenger 
 Within thy call, if one you wish. 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. You surely will not murder me ! 
 Oh ! spare me ! let me see thy face, and know 
 Thine eyes to beam with tenderness. I dream ! 
 It is the merry minstrel of the feast ! 
 
 Robber, (laying aside his minstrel robes.) 
 I'm not a beggar son of poor Apollo ! 
 And yet my faithful sword is all I have 
 To conjure happiness. It doth suffice 
 The wood's my kingdom, there kind nature 
 Hath reared for me a palace. I have men 
 c 
 
10 THE POET. 
 
 Who wait obedient to my look their God 
 No laws I own, nature is free and I ! 
 No laws ! oh yes ! here is the slave of love ! 
 
 (he kneels. 
 
 And he must kneel before his haughty tyrant. 
 Nay, start not, lovely one, I am an outlaw, 
 Braving all powers. To me, the king's a child. 
 The sceptre fabled rod of vengeance sure 
 A glittering toy. His frown I still survive, 
 It makes me laugh. Thou swayest no sceptre 
 But thj lovely arms, and I do homage. 
 A smile alone supports thy power, and yet 
 No rebel shalt thou find in me. 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. No subject either, rise depart. 
 The daughter of a loyal house, to hold 
 Frank converse with an outlaw ! no more ! hence ! 
 And yet he goes not. Oh ! propitious heaven ! 
 Befriend me in this helpless hour. Away ! 
 He still doth gaze. What would'st thou 1 
 
 Robber. My wish, alas! I cannot preface 
 With relished art and witchery of language. 
 My court adopts another style simplicity 
 And thus I'll speak. I love you, gentle maid; 
 Oh ! judge its vigour from this humble posture. 
 I am not wont to sue even for life. 
 
THE POET. 11 
 
 I've gazed upon the swift descending dagger 
 
 With eye of greater triumph than my foes I 
 
 " Strike ! " was my word, my bosom never throbbed, 
 
 But now I am the fondest suppliant. 
 
 Consent to fly with me we will be happy ; 
 
 No sound shall greet your ear, but merriment 
 
 And love ; yet the rude jest, or daring eye 
 
 Shall ne'er be known ; no revelry but joy ; 
 
 And then we'll wander forth at eve alone, 
 
 Led by the lover's moon through the hushed forest, 
 
 The breezes gently play ourselves as free 
 
 No thought but of each other. The world's care 
 
 Shall never shade our own sweet sunny world. 
 
 I'll sum my bold achievements, whilst you lean 
 
 On the sure arm which won them, now your own. 
 
 Then to our little chamber for repose ! 
 
 The moon smiles brightly on the varied trophies 
 
 Which deck the sacred walls and on our loves, 
 
 You will consent, the hour's propitious 
 
 Mine arms already long to bear thee to 
 
 Love's happiness you now are mine for ever ! 
 
 Away ! 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. I cannot hold 
 
 A robber's wife ! O leave me, daring man, 
 For sake of 'tis vain, since nothing you regard : 
 
12 THE TOET. 
 
 How could 1 leave my home ? my father dear ? 
 For 
 
 Robber. 1 see it all 'tis a great sacrifice ; 
 It shall be made. To leave my present life, 
 Its dangers, joys, my faithful followers, 
 And you, my sword, more constant than them all 
 My guardian angel, seraph bright, farewell! 
 It is a pang to part with thee ; in deadly feud 
 You glanced in lightning vengeance on my foes. 
 At night come treachery, or open danger 
 Upon my anxious pillow thou hast watched 
 In keen impatience, to thee I breathed my prayer 
 At night, and in the morning sung my gratitude : 
 Mine altar was the slain ; this was to me 
 Religion, and you, the shining deity. 
 Yet, no more regrets I thus disown you. 
 
 (breaks his sword.) 
 
 I break the charm which circled every joy 
 Of robber's life. This is my goddess now. 
 And thou, pale moon, who oft has shone upon 
 My bold adventures Ha ! be thou my witness 
 That I no more will lead the foray forth 
 To deeds of plunder or of blood. I've ceased 
 To be a chief ; the woods will never echo 
 To my bugle-note again. Fair maiden, 
 
THE POET. 13 
 
 You dread the robber ; he is gone for ever ! 
 Receive the lover, peaceable, yet brave. 
 We'll to some sunnier clime, where sums of gold 
 Will purchase station, and our mutual love, 
 Felicity ; with slaves to wait upon your look, 
 Myself the most obedient. For Italy 
 The land of love ! 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. Entreat no more 'tis vain 
 I shudder at your words. I love another ! 
 Do not disturb the pleasant dream. To me 
 You can be nought therein but vision foul, 
 Darkening all bright and happy forms. He's dear 
 As the sweet hope of happiness for ever ; 
 Within this breast, his place you'll ne'er usurp. 
 O look not thus, you are the robber still. 
 
 Robber. Fool ! to truckle thus with silly girl 
 To yield my honour up, and break my sword 
 To swear disgrace, and all for pretty face 
 Or painter's work. Thou speak'st the truth 
 behold (seizes her.) 
 
 In me the Robber still ! Shriek not. Beware ! 
 You're now within my power. Where is my rival ? 
 Do I disturb your dream ? Shriek not ! disturb 
 Not his for false, all heedless of your fate 
 
14 THE POET. 
 
 He is asleep ! Shriek not ! I have a dagger ; 
 Let not thy heart's blood darken its bright form 
 Within that breast, his place it will usurp ! 
 I am the Robber still ! Away ! 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. Death here is better 
 
 Than life with you. Help ! murder ! help ! 
 Now strike and mock not. 
 
 Robber. Your doom is sealed. 
 
 Death or me ? (she shrieks) you have decided, and 
 
 yet 
 
 I cannot strike, so much of innocence hast thou 
 And awful loveliness. You must with mo. 
 Footsteps I hear come on (she faints) 
 
 My dagger in my hand ! 
 
 Strike ! I seem a fiend ! (throws down the dagger) 
 Ah ! where's revenge ? A cowardly retreat ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter LORD FITZROY, CAPTAIK GOWER, and 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. Dagger, and broken sword, do 
 
 meet my view ! 
 
 Where is my daughter ? Here dead ! dead ! 
 Mary, thy father calls. 
 
THE POET. 15 
 
 Captain Gower. The ruffian's gone 
 
 Just heaven ! say not beyond our reach. [Exit. 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. She breathes, and I have hope. 
 The colour blushes o'er her pallid face 
 Death, hath no roses, beautiful as these. 
 
 Mary Fitzroy (suddenly starting up.) 
 Begone thy dagger gleams so do thine eyes. 
 That is a hateful smile. Oh ! help ! my father ! 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. You now are safe, my child. 
 
 The robber returned to his band in disappointment and 
 anger. His were not those feelings which flit across the 
 soul and then are gone for ever, but they were perma- 
 nent, or such only as gave place to actions arising out of 
 them. He loved, and she must be his ; disappointment 
 could not weaken his resolves, or paralyse his exertions. 
 One consolation was present to his mind. Lord Fitzroy 
 had inquired of some of his retainers if the shady wood in 
 which he had delighted to wander in happier days, with 
 his lady, still stood in all its pride ; on being answered in 
 the affirmative, he promised his daughter some agreeable 
 walks, and added, that to him it was a sacred solitude, for 
 in the hour of twilight, he had listened to the melodious 
 breeze, and' to the sweet voice of the beautiful and the lost. 
 Miss Fitzroy answered with emotion, that henceforth she 
 would, by a solitary walk in that wood each night, renew 
 her recollections of her sainted mother. 
 
16 THE POET. 
 
 With this information, the robber resolves to direct his 
 measures, so as to accomplish his purposes. Prompt and 
 decisive were all his movements, and on the second even- 
 ing after the feast, in his cave, the entrance of which is 
 guarded by one of his band, he walks impatiently, expect- 
 ing the arrival of four of his men along with MissFitzroy. 
 
 Robber. The knaves are slow : 
 Oh ! had they my soul's ardour, even hope 
 Had in a moment changed into enjoyment 
 Oh ! dear enjoyment ! Memory and hope 
 Eclipsed by present bliss. Sirrah, what noise ? 
 Are they returned ? 
 
 Sentinel. ' Tis but the howling wind. 
 
 Robber. Let them outstrip the wind, the 
 
 errand's mine 
 
 The tempest rages 'tis not well. No breeze 
 Should now have swept around our lonely cave ; 
 No envious cloud, to gather darkness here ! 
 But all so still, that I had heard the steps, 
 And hurried forth to gain my prize ; and all 
 So bright, that I had seen her passing beauty 
 There, where those arms received her. Hark ! 
 
 Sentinel. A night bird's scream. 
 
THE POET. 17 
 
 Robber. Methinks a livelier note should wel- 
 come her, 
 There's something foul and hateful in that scream 
 Would they were come ! What is the hour ? 
 
 Sentinel. The moon will not arise 
 
 An hour or so, and they but pledged themselves 
 To grant your wish at farthest, two hours hence. 
 
 Robber. Oh time ! thou art indeed an aged man. 
 Who totters feebly on. Where is thy staff ? 
 And why should I chide time for passing slowly, 
 When she has come how quickly he will pass ! 
 He hates alluring joys, and makes them short, 
 Whilst pains, he lengthens to eternity. 
 Two hours, and I am happy if, no doubt 
 They must succeed. Fate is my willing subject. 
 Besides, my plans were wisely, safely, made ; 
 Two of my men, to guard the neighbouring wood 
 Where Fitzroy promised quiet, lonely, walks 
 To his fair daughter. And oh ! this sunset 
 Was beautiful, though as the night hath proved, 
 Deceitful, and she must have walked abroad ; 
 Whilst two should wait the safe approach of night 
 To lurk unnoticed near the house, and then, 
 When they have seen the chamber, and its tenant, 
 
18 THE POET. 
 
 To rush therein, and fearless bear her forth 
 To their swift steeds, who fly in unknown paths, 
 And, like the winds, cannot be traced, or sped. 
 Sweet one, now all is ready. Here thy smiles 
 Will render every thing within our home, 
 Sacred to lover's eyes. Thou wilt forget 
 The past, and not disdain to charm a robber's 
 Wild abode. 
 
 Sentinel. I hear the approach 
 
 Of horses in the distance, furious and swift. 
 
 Robber. Art certain ? 
 
 I'll occupy your station for a moment 
 And catch the sound. It is ! my bosom beats 
 Higher to every tramp, which brings them nearer. 
 Haste, and end suspense before mine eyes ; 
 Ha ! I now behold dark forms approaching ; 
 All dark no light form ! Dare ye ? 't is the night 
 Which shrouds all beauty, and mine eyes are dim 
 With watching. See you ought ? 
 
 Sentinel. Yes, captain, wrapped in cloaks. 
 
 Robber. No female's dress ? 
 
 No slighter form ? speak ! before the time ! 
 
THE POET. 10 
 
 Some accident hellish untimely ! No 
 
 It cannot be, an accident to four 
 
 Of my brave men. Such four might conquer fate, 
 
 And all its stern decrees ! Speak ! What figures ? 
 
 How many ? (staggers back as the Robbers enter) 
 
 Alone ! 
 
 Where is she ? I sought not your arrival. 
 Nay, mock me not, that jest is dangerous. 
 Slaves ! Answer me the prize no more delay 
 If: 
 
 First Robber. WVve been unfortunate 
 
 Surprized ; we've been defeated, Captain. 
 
 Robber. Cowards ! ye should have died, 
 
 Rather than met your faithful Captain's rage. 
 She is not here ! wild grief! you've been defeated ! 
 My curse my chastisement ! Oh ! dare ye here 
 Recite the tale of endless shame to you, 
 And blackest woe to me. Slaves, you tremble : 
 Assume your proper form, and meanly crouch 
 Like your kinsman, the poor reptile at my feet. 
 Yes you're then too low, for my stern vengeance ; 
 And I'll not strike, nor my true sword disgrace. 
 
 Second Robber. Captain we are no coward&. 
 
20 THE POET. 
 
 We strove in vain, for power was against us : 
 Our valour was attested by defeat. 
 Rage not on us, but on stern fate. 
 
 Robber. Where were your weapons ? 
 
 My sword against stern fate, and fate must yield. 
 Oh ! thou art sterner still, and fate's thy slave ! 
 A weak excuse yet no for 'twas your fate 
 To be cowards. 
 
 First Robber. She struggled in our arms, 
 And shrieked for help ; footsteps in haste, we heard ; 
 We laid her down, assuring her, that flight 
 Were fatal, and drew our swords for combat. 
 Two men rushed on us 
 
 Robber. Two men, and yet defeated ! 
 
 Oh heavens ! and I am captain of this band ! 
 Why should I be amazed ? Two men might conquer 
 Ten, thousand cowards. Beware tempt me not, 
 Lest one man tear you all. 
 
 First Robber. In vain we fought, 
 
 Some power had nerved their arm, and we were 
 
 forced 
 To fly from death, disarmed. 
 
THE POET. 21 
 
 Robber. Then fly from death again away 
 
 't is sure 
 
 If you remain. No more ! Slaves ! that's the signal 
 For flight, or massacre. I'll not be trampled on ! 
 Not even a worm shall safely crawl across 
 My path. 
 
 (Robbers exeunt.) 
 
 All now is dark. The joys of robber's life 
 Of love are banished from my lonely heart. 
 No more delights ! Oh ! nought can calm the 
 
 tempests 
 
 Here. Rage on, and curse my cruel destiny 
 She'd been my guardian angel, to plead 
 For every crime. At night, she'd waved away 
 The ghosts which flit around my couch ; but now 
 I am condemned guilty guilty all hopeless. 
 But hold ; joy springs from love. I'll try revenge, 
 And taste its sweetness, to the only drop, 
 Though I am therewith poisoned. 
 
 The storm is raging still, 
 In sympathy with my fierce passions. Hark ! 
 The winds howl, in furious contention 
 Howl on a louder tempest is within 
 The Robber's breast ! 
 
22 THE POET. 
 
 The individuals, who baffled the designs of the robbers, 
 were the Poet, and his friend, Arthur Ormond. About a 
 mile from the wood, where Miss Fitzroy had been walking 
 alone, was that in which the cottage of the Poet stood, in 
 entire seclusion. As usual, they took an evening walk, 
 and had reached the extremity of their own wood, when 
 they were startled by a scream, apparently proceeding, 
 from a female, in distress. They rushed into the adjoining 
 wood ; and there beheld a lovely lady, in the grasp of two 
 fierce ruffians. They were bold, but cautious ; and, unob- 
 served, they approached behind, and, with a desperate 
 fury, threw them to the ground, and secured their swords. 
 The ruffians, however, made their escape. Lest any more 
 might be lurking in the same wood, Miss Fitzroy was led 
 to the Poet's house, where every attention was kindly paid 
 her. An intimacy was thus formed between these two 
 families, of unequal rank and fortune. The lady and her 
 father, along with Captain Gower, who had accompanied 
 Lord Fitzroy, felt the charms of the Poet's company, in 
 the bright ideas, tinged with capricious melancholy, which 
 shone forth ; and he, on the other hand, was happy to as- 
 sociate with persons of polished manners, and liberal edu- 
 cation. But there was a deeper feeling in his breast. 
 Since that evening, on which he had saved Miss Fitzroy 
 from the ruffians, he had loved her in the intensity of a 
 Poet's first love. Day after day, it became the object, not 
 only of his desires and hopes, but the object, around which, 
 all his soul's lofty, and bright conceptions, grew and 
 clung. He wandered alone, indulging in dreams of future 
 happiness with her, as his wife. 
 
THE POET. 23 
 
 The Poet. And love, 
 
 To me, will revel, in her many forms, 
 Changing, and then, returning to itself. 
 Our marriage moon, shall shine, upon the bliss, 
 Encircling our dear union ; the husband 
 Will be himself. But ardent love is sportive, 
 And calls up, different forms, and feelings. 
 ' T will change me to an infant, whilst around 
 My couch, she'll flit, in mother's sympathy, 
 And strain me to the heart, which beateth high. 
 Beneath, shall flow, the pleasant thought, that she 
 To me, is more, than what she feigneth well. 
 At night, upon her breast, my head shall feel 
 The prayer, arising, with a fond soft heave, 
 Whilst her sweet breath, shall fall, like Heaven's 
 
 own air, 
 
 And hallowed blessing ! Maternal kisses, too, 
 Yet in them, there will lurk a wife's affection. 
 And should, my wayward freaks, have e'er provoked 
 Correction in her gentle hand, I'll laugh, 
 And feel sweet rapture from her every stroke. 
 The tone of stern command, will not conceal 
 The softer accents, for a husband's ears; 
 
24 THE POET. 
 
 I grow apace and manhood's form, and mind, 
 Have reached ; when pleasures, all my thoughts 
 
 entice : 
 
 She acts the sage, and counsels 'gainst desire 
 The young the ardent wife, of my own heart. 
 And oft, she curses love, and all its wiles 
 For happy innocence, and hoping youth. 
 Her eye gleams archly, through its fixed advice, 
 As if to bless, for me, and for herself, 
 What she had cursed. Yet cautious is the mother, 
 And still, continues at her task : I joy 
 To hear her curse soft love, in love's own voice. 
 
 Again, love changes, and, as sister dear, 
 Our fates, linked close, our feelings one, we rove 
 Together, nought withheld, of action, or 
 Of thought. Whene'er my brow is overcast 
 With some sad influence her sunny smile 
 Will send the demon forth ; or when Fm sick, 
 Not all the perfumed breezes of the heavens 
 Though rode by health, and mirth, can change 
 Like to my sister's kiss, and gentle touch. 
 So, are her sorrows trusted to a brother, 
 And I, wilHinge them with the rays of hope. 
 
THE POET. 25 
 
 Another scene succeeds, and, as two lovers 
 We now renew the happy past ; when she, 
 Like the sweet rose, which softly languishes, 
 Under the kindly influence of the dews, 
 Grew faint with joy, when I confessed my tale. 
 She archly asks, if she can love ? With more 
 Than lover's faith, I fondly answer, yes. 
 All all, can testify these very hands, 
 Which, in the fullness of her bliss, she kissed ; 
 This arm, to which she clung ; this happy head, 
 Pillowed, upon the beauties of her breast, 
 Half dreaming, half enjoying her embrace. 
 
 Thus, shall I seek love's many, beauteous forms, 
 In the dear angel of my life. Her eye, 
 Shall beam, with every varied impulse, 
 On me. 
 
 As time, however, passed on, doubts began to dim his 
 hopes. He had walked out alone, when the following 
 reflections broke on the silence of the forest. 
 
 The Poet. Nature, may frown, or smile, to 
 
 change my joy, 
 
 For, well she knoweth, of a poet's love, 
 And, in her caprice, tampers with its strength. 
 But I've a joy, which lasts through all her moods, 
 E 
 
2G THE POET. 
 
 Beyond her charms, without her earthly province, 
 
 In woman's love. Miss Fitzroy's dear to me 
 
 Perhaps I only dream of a return 
 
 No thought of me perhaps, a dreaded rival 
 
 Her more than earthly deity the soul 
 
 Within her own : whilst I am doomed to see 
 
 This paradise of everlasting sweets, 
 
 Its songs of heaven, falling upon my ear, 
 
 Its scent of flowers, eternal in their spring; 
 
 And oh ! a rival guards the sacred gate ! 
 
 All is forbade, and nothing's mine, but grief. 
 
 As oft I Ve cursed the sun, and the bright skies, 
 
 Though then I loved light's glorious beauty - 
 
 But, what availed it me ? it was not mine, 
 
 I could not soar, and satisfy my love, 
 
 With close embrace. I wished to throw myself 
 
 Amongst the bright rays of the sun, and there, 
 
 Death, had been pleasant. 
 
 I am perplexed 
 
 Oh ! could she love ! I'll be resolved, and end 
 All doubt, and know hope, or despair. 
 Hither, she comes, attended by a friend, 
 Perhaps, he'll soon retire. 
 
 Miss Fitzroy, and Captain Gower, approached. The 
 poet withdrew, but not before he had convinced himself, 
 
THE POET. 27 
 
 by sight and hearing, that his love, was hopeless. He 
 rushed to his cottage, as if to fly from despair, but in vain. 
 As soon as he had entered, he was informed that Miss 
 Fitzroy's marriage with Captain Gower, was announced 
 to take place shortly. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A month has elapsed it is the evening before the nuptials 
 of Miss Fitzroy with Captain Gower, and of the poet's 
 sister with Arthur Ormond, and the poet is alone in his 
 bedchamber. 
 
 The Poet. To-morrow ! 
 
 What happiness, thou bring'st to some what woe 
 To me ! I dread it's coming, like the felon, 
 Condemned, who knows that night to be his last : 
 No hope, all life is but despair's fierce struggles ; 
 No pleasant leap of blood, I envy him ! 
 Since I am placed among the happy few, 
 My hell is darker, from their shining heaven. 
 The genius of despair, enwraps its form 
 In denser gloom, and then bids hope to shine 
 On its deformity. Shine bright ! shine bright ! 
 In vain, attempt to beautify the fiend ! 
 The poor wretch, but for a principle within, 
 Might long to die. Confined in dismal cell, 
 No scenes of joy delight ; alas ! when seen, 
 They but reflect sad gloom. Darkness to him 
 
28 THE POET. 
 
 Is not more horrible, from distant light. 
 Strong- chains, and thickening contagious air 
 Assail his senses. But I what agony ! 
 I'd almost, for an hour of happiness 
 Barter my immortality. 
 
 I'll to my books ; the mighty spirits 
 Of the past, oft, at this very hour, have 
 Charmed sad thoughts, arid hushed me into joy. 
 I here have sat, and by my side has stood 
 For oh ! the great magician cannot die, 
 Shakspeare, and conjured up a happy world. 
 This little room, was now, the monarch's palace, 
 And now, the bloody field, where crowns were won ; 
 Now, lovely scene of gentleness, and hope ; 
 Now, spirit's throne, and passion's theatre. 
 Oh ! come once more : let thy divining rod 
 Call up the past and future ; here thou art 
 In all thy power : thou throwest down thy rod, 
 And now for happy sights ; but no despair 
 Despair is there and casts his powerful rod- 
 The other shrinks, and disappears ! Shakspeare 
 Is powerless, and oh ! foul visions, crowd 
 In black array, the scene of former joys. 
 
THE POET. 29 
 
 What have I here ? Some transcripts of ray bliss ? 
 
 No ! a tribute sad, to genius lost, 
 
 To Chatterton I which, when a boy, I gave. 
 
 (reads.) 
 
 ' TWAS moonshine and, within a room. 
 
 All mean, it smiled its beams, 
 Sickly, as in a haunted tomb, 
 
 Or light, in troubled dreams. 
 
 They fall, on one of noble brow, 
 And sparkling eye, but sad ; 
 
 An angel boy, who wildly now, 
 Exclaims, that he is glad. 
 
 He's drained what seems a pleasant draught, 
 
 And kisses yet the bowl ; 
 " Thou'rt with immortal pleasures fraught, 
 
 Drink deep, my longing soul ! 
 
 " Eternity, is in each taste, 
 
 The drink of gods is mine ! 
 Life, time, now wound me, but in haste 
 
 For soon, I am divine ! 
 
 " My parents, gave me life, and heaven 
 
 Winged genius, to my soul ; 
 But thou ! another life hast given 
 
 Beyond a foe's control ! " 
 
30 THE POET. 
 
 Strange hues, appear upon his face, 
 
 He breathes a lover's name, 
 Then speaks of ending a short race, 
 
 The poison's in his frame ! 
 
 A broken mirror meets his eye, 
 
 And shews his features fair ; 
 So young ! and wherefore should he die ? 
 
 He turns and knows Despair. 
 
 These eyes, glowing with passion deep ; 
 
 And bright, with genius' ray ; 
 Better, that for his woes, they'd weep, 
 
 Than to be closed for aye. 
 
 And now, his pallid features seem, 
 
 Earth's colour, to have lost ; 
 He starts, as in a horrid dream, 
 
 From his own youthful ghost ! 
 
 He staggers to his chair ; no trace 
 Of pain ; he sinks his head : 
 Then upward turns his beauteous face, 
 
 The moon, shines on the dead ! 
 
 I dare not think of such an end ! and yet 
 
 No more ! Hence, all ye wild and madd'ning 
 
 thoughts ! 
 
 I'll to my couch, perchance kind sleep, will ease 
 
 [lies down. 
 
THE POET. 31 
 
 My troubled breast. When I was but a boy, 
 Thou came unasked, and never closed the eye 
 Of tears all bright in joy ! oh ! do not shun me 
 When most I need thy blessings ! [sleeps* 
 
 The POET'S MOTHER enters. 
 
 Mother. Some secret sorrow, weighs upon his 
 
 heart. 
 
 To me, he'll now unbosom it : Asleep ! 
 'Tis well : may he awake, like the fresh world, 
 To gaiety and joy. What gentleness 
 Is on each feature ! sure his dreams are happy. 
 Henry ! thy mother watches by thy couch, 
 Content, if all be well with thee ; may angels 
 Tell thee her love, in heavenly visions, 
 And of this seal : (kisses him) his lips do coldly 
 
 stir, 
 
 And now he starts he writhes his brow is cold 
 With horror 
 
 Poet (starting wildly up.) I'll struggle with 
 
 ye ! grin, foul fiends ! 
 
 And I will laugh. Ha ! they're gone ; gone, and I 
 Am all alone ! And this is my own chamber ! 
 ' T was but a dream. 
 
32 THE POET. 
 
 Mother. Oh yes dear Henry ! 'twas but a 
 
 dream, 
 Sprung from your recent melancholy. 
 
 Poet. Oh ! what a dream ! 
 
 It still pursues me out of sleep, with all 
 Its horrors. I stood beside the margin 
 Of a quiet lake, which seemed the mirrror 
 Of fair Nature. I gazed upon myself; 
 Proudly I shone in youth, and spirit's beauty. 
 The water gleamed, with brightness of my eye, 
 And failed not to reflect the lovely flowers, 
 Which shed their fragrance at my feet : I dreamed 
 That I should live for ever ! Instantly 
 Darkness fell o'er the scene, and the gay sward 
 On which I stood, appeared a dreary wild 
 I felt it sink, it was a grave, the heavens 
 And earth, I could no longer see, and yet 
 I breathed ; I shrieked, and then fair spirits came ; 
 And one, of beauteous form, smiled love on me, 
 I strove to rise I cursed the mockery, 
 When, from below, wild, fearful sounds arose, 
 My limbs were seized, with many demons' grasps, 
 Each touch the pai*t of an eternity ! 
 Oh ! that fierce, hellish shout ! down ! down ! 
 
 [Falls. 
 
THE POET. 33 
 
 Mother. My son ! My son ! 
 
 The morning came and the poet's mother and sister 
 were in his bedchamber. 
 
 The Poet. Dear mother, what a night of 
 
 terror, 
 
 Gloomy and sad ! vision and horrid sounds 
 Have met my troubled senses even now, 
 When you aroused me, I saw my father, 
 I knew him in his shroud ! 
 
 Mother. Henry he died, whilst you, an infant, 
 Smiled on me, in my woe. Oh ! 'tis but fancy 
 Which, called his form, in vision to your eye, 
 You could not have remembered him. 
 
 Poet. Had he a towering brow of power, 
 Which yet seemed gentle, by light clust'ring locks ; 
 And eyes of blue, with thine own sweetness, 
 mother ? 
 
 Sister. My father's portrait! I was a child 
 Of scarce two summers, when he died, and yet 
 I see the softness of his eye, smiling 
 Upon my childish sports. 
 
34 THE POET. 
 
 Poet. Mother, you weep. 
 
 Mother. Ah ! had you seen its softness, when, 
 
 he won, 
 
 My heart, and hand 'twas a sweet autumn day, 
 Near sunset so like the one, on which he died ; 
 No sound was heard, as if kind nature, 
 Hushed every voice, to hear him breathe his love. 
 
 Poet. How oft I've longed to see my father's 
 
 face, 
 
 In fancy's magic light ! The sorcerer's art, 
 If that availed, had been my eager study ; 
 And the lone caves, and midnight moon, had seen 
 My incantations ; I would have scanned his features, 
 Though by a light from hell and blessed my lot: 
 By day, I've sought his favourite walks, 
 Hoping, that fancy, might suggest to me 
 His form approaching ; alas, he came not ; 
 But now, my wish is granted. 
 
 Mother. 'T was but a dream. 
 
 Poet. And why, have I before, 
 
 When dreaming of my sire, seen a faint shade, 
 And not himself? But now, I know his form, 
 
THE POET. 35 
 
 Distinct, to motion, and to utterance. 
 
 What is a dream ? In it, no visions come, 
 
 To earth, nor spirits hold communion e'er 
 
 With mortals ; but our souls, all free from matter, 
 
 Ascend, and read the records of the past, 
 
 On high, and mingle with the mighty dead. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, we scarcely leave this world, 
 
 And all the record then, is but a tracing 
 
 Of hand invisible, upon the wall 
 
 Of earthly homes dark enigmatic. 
 
 But no such half- formed visions met my soul, 
 
 Which soared beyond slow matter's reach ; my 
 
 sire, 
 
 The husband of your youth, appeared; " Welcome," 
 He cried ; " Yet why so soon ?" His count'nance 
 
 changed 
 
 To deepest sadness, and a burning tear 
 Fell on the hand, which he had grasped ; the tear 
 Of troubled soul : it made my body thrill, 
 With strangest pain. Oh ! what are mortal tears, 
 A whole deluge, to that drop of anguish ! 
 Dear mother ! weep, like Niobe ; dissolve thyself, 
 If that were possible, in showers of tears : 
 My feelings, would be joy, compared with those, 
 Which raged within this breast. 
 Tear of my sainted sire ! I feel it yet ! 
 Ha ! " Hast come so soon? " 
 
36 THE POET. 
 
 Mother. Be calm, my son ; thy father's happy. 
 Do not renew the widow's grief, or throw 
 A shade, over thy sister's happiness. 
 
 Poet. Dear sister, pardon me ; 
 
 I will be merry, long before the hour 
 Of nuptials ; when is it, gentle bride ? 
 
 Sister. Near midnight ; 
 
 Lord Fitzroy, so appointed, in respect 
 To an old custom of their house. Henry, 
 Though I shall be a wife, I ne'er can cease 
 To be your sister : and oh! love me still. 
 
 Poet (embracing her.) Can you doubt my love ? 
 'Tis strong as Arthur's. Nay, blush not. 
 
 Sister. How happy, we must be ! 
 
 Mother. And I have weightier reasons than 
 
 you both ; 
 Two darling sons, to prop our honest house. 
 
 Poet (aside.} Oh what a different scene to me ! 
 Misery ! despair ! 
 
THE POET. 37 
 
 Mother. Nay, Henry, no jealousy should ruffle 
 The calm within your breast ; you are my first, 
 My best beloved. But see, here Arthur comes. 
 
 (^ARTHUR ORMOND Enters.) 
 
 Ormond. O ! joy with me ! 
 
 This, is the brightest page in life to me 
 'Tis writ in hope's fair characters. 
 
 Poet (laughing.) Conclude the simile, and say, 
 My sister is the scribe, (aside) and I must jest 
 Until I break my heart ! 
 
 Near midnight 'tis well. 
 
 Come night, with thy dark shroud, a proper mate 
 For stern despair ; Oh ! the bright skies, had 
 
 mocked, 
 
 The ruin of my hopes, and in return, 
 I 'd cursed the sun. 
 
 We now change the scene to the robber's cave ; the 
 time, four hours from midnight. 
 
 First Robber. Has he gone forth, alone ? 
 
 Second Robber. Alone, but not unarmed ; 
 
38 THE POET. 
 
 He grasped his pistols, like two faithful friends, 
 And, even smiled. He has not smiled on us, 
 Of late, but scowled a tyrant's will, and yet, 
 I'd rather seen his frown, than such a smile ; 
 It was the dagger's gleam, before the thrust, 
 The lightning's beauty, and its deadly power. 
 
 Third Robber. We, are no more, his bold com- 
 panions, 
 
 As he was wont to call us, but his slaves, 
 The unworthy tools, of his free purpose. 
 When baffled, in our late attempt, to seize 
 A girl, he stamped, and then addressed us, yes ! 
 As his slaves ! and since, the hateful sneer 
 Has answered to our loyalty, and homage ; 
 Perhaps we must not walk erect, but crouch 
 In presence of our lord, nor dare to speak ! 
 But, shall the happy sons of nature, free 
 As herself, be humble slaves ? 
 
 Second Robber. Slaves! sword, I await thy 
 
 fierce reply ; 
 
 Art thou a slave 1 for I must be thy mate ! 
 Oh no ! by thee, the tyrant dies ! 
 
 Omnes. Hurrah ! he dies ! 
 
THE POET. 39 
 
 Second Robber. Away ! no more is he our leader ! 
 Let us disperse, and to our acts of daring, 
 Then meet, but never at his bugle's sound, 
 And choose another captain, to our band 
 He comes he hath no slaves ! poor tyrant ! 
 
 (Enter another of the band.) 
 
 Fourth Robber. What means that shout ? 
 
 Our leader's bound, upon an enterprize 
 Of dreadful cast. Not long ago, I met him. 
 He rode across the black heath, like a fury ; 
 He saw me not. I begged permission, 
 To join his daring march, and share his danger. 
 Wildly he stared ; " Mine solely, be revenge, 
 You shall not taste its sweets," and laughed like 
 
 fiend ; 
 
 But 'twas a shuddering joy, akin to terror. 
 " I mean to make a present to a bridegroom, 
 I ' m generous, and my feelings choose the time." 
 On saying this, he drew a pair of pistols ; 
 And, though the victim, I ' d been less afraid, 
 Of the two instruments, than his fierce eyes. 
 
 Third Robber. I see it all ; this will account 
 For that wild agony of soul, when late, 
 
40 THE POET. 
 
 He heard the chance report, that Fitzroy's daughter 
 Was,, on this night, to be a bride. 
 
 First Robber. Methinks, we've wronged our 
 
 captain, 
 
 And that some circumstance, unfortunate, 
 Has made him play the tyrant. 
 
 Fourth Robber. Tyrant ! ah no 
 We are his dearest friends, though late events 
 Unhappily have made him use us, roughly ; 
 On leaving me, he said, that if successful 
 In his kindness, (he still did jest in hate) 
 Perhaps he'd ne'er return to brave associates, 
 And lov'd adventures, bold ; but if he failed, 
 The howling winds, would bring him, to our cave, 
 This very night, and, ere the morn, Revenge, 
 Would satisfy defeat. 
 
 Second Robber \ He is our captain still ! may he 
 
 return, 
 
 And every injured feeling, we'll revenge, 
 Till, he be happy. 
 
 Omnes. Long live our daring captain !, 
 
THE POET. 41 
 
 Fourth Robber. Away then, to our various duties, 
 And let us, emulate our chief, in kindness ; 
 Take, each a present for the rich oppressor, 
 And all, who dare resist our wish ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 The marriage procession is proceeding through the wood 
 to the little chapel, in a neighbouring valley ; the village- 
 erSj and Fitzroy's retainers, are making bonfires. 
 
 First Villager* Hurra ! they come 
 The fire, shall, all the way, precede them, as 
 The gratitude, which burns within our breasts, 
 Shall all their future movements. 
 
 Another light 
 Bursts in the distance from the forest. 
 
 Second Villager. The night is dark, we'll 
 
 make it day ; 
 The owls, and other hideous birds, have fled. 
 
 First Villager. Men, speak of midnight, me- 
 lancholy spirits, 
 Who, lurk in gloom, within thick woods, and 
 
 groan 
 
 Their anguish, on the traveller's ear. 
 G 
 
42 THE POET. 
 
 Second Villager. Aye but our music 
 Will dissipate all sullen influence, 
 Of earth, or hell. 
 
 Third Villager. We must not tarry here 
 Let every turning of the path, explain 
 In dazzling light, our joy. Away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 (The marriage procession appears.) 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. All, all is mirth 
 
 The bonfires blaze, and yet, their brilliant glare 
 Will not attract our lovers' deeper thoughts, 
 And, more subduing happiness. Mary, 
 Your blue eyes shine, from some internal power, 
 And catch no lustre, from the lighted woods ; 
 They, doubtless, see the altar, marriage ring, 
 And husband's smiles ; a distant flash of light, 
 Falls on the little church, whose hallowed echoes 
 Shall be, ere long, of love, and blessed union. 
 
 Mary Fitzroy. Father, I shudder at the scene ; 
 'Tis deepest night, and yet, we walk in day, 
 By this strange lurid light. 
 
 We stand within the church, and my young love 
 
THE POET. 43 
 
 Has pictured, happy scene ; perhaps, horror 
 And death, may rise, amongst its loveliness, 
 As here this light, in darkness. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Poet (alone.) She smiles ! and not for me 
 
 nought 
 
 For the poor wretch ; music upon the breeze 
 From heaven hut not for me ! like angel fair, 
 In sweetest converse, with a kindred spirit, 
 And I, an earthly listener! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Let us enter the chapel, a short lime before the procns- 
 sion, for there is the robber. 
 
 Robber. Here, is the refuge, of the guilty soul. 
 Where, holy peace, and love, doth charm its an- 
 guish, 
 
 And, conjure every sweet affection up ; 
 Oh ! never to be known by me, who come 
 To violate heaven's earthly temple, 
 And make, its hallowed echoes, tell of strife ; 
 Its altar, smoke with blood : before the God 
 Of justice, and of mercy, to present 
 A bloody sacrifice ; the very thought 
 
14 THE POET. 
 
 Seems foul, appalling to my guilty self. 
 Murder ! the word, is echoed in an awful tone, 
 From midst, this holy solitude murder ! 
 It back recoils upon myself, in louder, 
 More vindictive, sound ; it makes the robber, 
 Fierce in a thousand scenes of darkness, tremble 
 Like a child ; it seems the echo of a fiend, 
 Sealing damnation, on the guilty word ! 
 Word ! oh, my soul ! how much more foul the deed ! 
 Thoughts,are but empty shadows, words, their dress; 
 Deeds, form realities, of vice, or virtue ! 
 It must be done conscience, you speak, in vain; 
 I'd rather be a villain, than a coward, 
 My heart, however black, must yet, be bold, 
 Nor wear, the pallid livery of fear ; 
 Reproach, to me's more bitter, than remorse, 
 I may despair, and what have I to hope ? 
 But I'll ne'er live an object of contempt, 
 Whose cherished wish, could not beget a deed. 
 The hour draws nigh, when merry steps must 
 
 enter ; 
 
 And she, so beautiful, who lighted up, 
 Hope's scenery, in this withered, barren heart, 
 And taught, even me the man of darkness, 
 To dream of joy. Yet, she rejected me ; 
 Beautiful ! and her charms must be another's 
 
THE POET. 45 
 
 Until he J s in his grave ! Oh ! short possession ! 
 The vow, scarce uttered, which shall seal his claim, 
 And they shall bear the widow, to her bed of grief. 
 No bridal bed ! his is the loathsome tomb ! 
 The very thought, which shows my guilt, urges 
 To its commission. She's happy, there's my 
 
 guilt, 
 
 She's happy but I in her happiness, 
 Am miserable. This thought doth call revenge, 
 To nerve the arm, and do its bloody work. 
 Defeated, though I be in love ; though he 
 My favoured rival, triumph o'er his prize, 
 Let him beware, I ' m more successful, in revenge ! 
 He looks, upon his blushing bride, in love, 
 He fondly calls her his, her to embrace 
 He stretches forth his arms revenge is near, 
 Its voice is heard ; he rolls upon the floor 
 All bloody with his close embraces. Sweet ! 
 But hark ! they come, and I must not be seen,. 
 Till minister of vengeance, and of fate ! 
 Oh yes ye trumpets blithely sound your notes, 
 Make silence, vocal, every echo, sing, 
 And, merrily lead the bridegroom to his grave ! 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 (Enter the marriage procession. ) 
 
46 THE POET- 
 
 Poet (aside.) My heart will break I stand, 
 
 a mourner here, 
 
 Over the grave, where all the past and future, 
 With their attendant joys and hopes, so bright, 
 Must be interred ; and yet, with marriage pomp, 
 And hymeneal songs; and, now they smile 
 Bright mockery ! to win from sad despair, 
 Or throw a light, into its gloomy dungeon, 
 And taunt the wretch forlorn, who sitteth there ! 
 Forlorn oh no ! to light the fiendish faces, 
 Which sternly glare, around his cell, and say, 
 Escape, is vain the steps too long and dark, 
 By which, to grope into the gladdening day. 
 Then hence, thou light, thou 'rt not the star of 
 
 hope ! 
 
 The moon, now shining from an envious cloud, 
 With silvery light, defines my form, 
 Fainter it grows, and steals away in darkness. 
 So are my joys ; boldly distinct, they were, 
 In hope's creative light, all now is dark ! 
 
 Ormond. Henry, have you prepared the nup- 
 tial ode. 
 
 The muse must smile upon our happiness ; 
 We will not be united, till the poet 
 Give sanction to the priest. 
 
THE POET. 47 
 
 Captain Gower. Hast thou nought to say, of 
 
 maiden blushes, 
 
 And stolen glances, bright with love's pure fire ? 
 Long may it burn on our domestic hearth ! 
 Nought of happy bowers ? where, hand in hand, 
 Through life, aye young, the husband and the 
 
 wife, 
 
 Retire to revel in the bliss, which flows 
 From either heart, exhaustless ; whilst around 
 The happy pair, the feathered songsters flutter 
 To sing of love. Come, wreathe a laurel fair, 
 Around the future, and draw a magic circle, 
 Prohibiting all practises of foes, 
 To blast its lovely flowers. 
 
 Poet. My harp, no more is struck, to notes of 
 
 Thy marriage ode, seems now my funeral dirge ; 
 Those wedding garments change, oh, is it fancy ? 
 To robes of death ! Instead of blessed angel 
 Hov'ring here a frightful vision, without form 
 And aspect draws a still denser darkness 
 Around its outline ! ' Tis death O welcome ! 
 Thou, art indeed, an angel from despair, 
 To free the soul, which yieldeth to its power ! 
 
48 THE POET. 
 
 Mother. My son, be not distressed, else thy 
 
 poor mother, 
 
 Will mourn over thy cherished grief of heart, 
 Rather than joy, with her sweet daughter bride ; 
 This, sure, is more than poet's melancholy. 
 
 Poet. Ay mother, you have seen me sad, when 
 
 fame 
 
 Deceived my ardent love ; or when those thoughts 
 Which spurn a mortal's comprehension, 
 Gleamed in the distance, then vanished into long- 
 ings, 
 
 After high flights, above this lower sphere ; 
 These, left a pleasing and ennobling sadness 
 Sadness, because I knew that borne away 
 On genius' wing, 1 still was earthly, and foreign 
 To the high regions of my flight; but this, 
 This is sadness; for now alas I know 
 That I am less than earthly ; that earth's hopes, 
 And sweetest joys, are far above my reach. 
 
 Mother. Henry hast thou no friends the 
 
 dearest joys 
 
 Of life, and am I not your mother, still ? 
 Here is her bosom, open to your sorrows. 
 
THE POET. 49 
 
 Poet (embracing her) My mother ! thou, art 
 
 indeed my dearest joy ; 
 But there is a grief which hides all joy, 
 My broken heart will tell the rest. 
 
 Mother. Oh ! Henry this is fancy's wilful 
 course. 
 
 Poet. Fancy ! speak, bursting heart, and short 
 
 career ! 
 Fancy ! 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. Dispel these clouds, which 
 
 sadly intervene 
 
 To mar our mirth ; beauty, and love's reward, 
 Should move your heart, in joyous sympathy ; 
 No objects here to thrill your fellow feeling ? 
 
 Poet. Excuse untimely sadness, I will joy ; 
 I have a sympathy for objects here ; 
 (Aside.) Yes, for those tombstones, and the youth- 
 ful dead, 
 
 I love them ; gladly would I now repose, 
 And soon I must ! and yet, so young ! no more ! 
 I am resigned ; so eager for a lasting name 
 Amongst the great J these cannot make life dear 
 H 
 
50 THE POET. 
 
 To him, whose love in proud ambition raised, 
 Hath hazarded his all. 
 
 Priest. My lord, the night draws on. 
 
 With your consent, I will attend my duty, 
 And constitute the ceremony. 
 
 Sister. My dear Miss Fitzroy, you first, 
 Must bear the imposition of the yoke. 
 
 Priest. May both survive to bear it long, 
 
 And pleasantly. Captain Gower, your hand, 
 And yours, Miss Fitzroy. 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. Mary thou art the sole, sur- 
 viving image, 
 Of her, who's now in heaven, peace on her 
 
 name ! 
 
 Yet, thus I part w r ith thee ! For her dear sake, 
 May happiness, strew flowers along life's path, 
 And give to thee, sweet buoyancy of soul. 
 And thou, my son, she's thine ; most precious 
 
 legacy ! 
 
 As the old miser grieves, his untold treasure 
 To bequeath, so I, mine only daughter; 
 But thou art worthy such a gift ! 
 
THE POET. 51 
 
 Priest. Who objects ? 
 
 Poet. I forbid ! no no come, join their 
 
 hands; 
 
 I rave unutterable grief. This is the last 
 Sufficient impulse, to my falling fate ; 
 And now I sink. Hold ! for I must speak. 
 (Falls on his knees, before the bride.) 
 I love ! Ha ! vain are the struggles of despair, 
 Of man with destiny, it makes me mad ! [rises. 
 
 Robber (advancing,) Mad ! it makes me bold ! 
 She* 11 never be his wife, nor bear his name, 
 However short the time. Hold ! I forbid ! 
 I am the messenger of unrelenting fate, 
 Invested with its power, and oh ! 'tis stern! 
 
 Priest. What means this interruption, so un- 
 timely ? 
 
 Robber. Paid hypocrite, and licensed pander! 
 It is most timely ! Hold ! I forbid the marriage ! 
 Here is my trusty witness. 
 
 (Fires a pistol, and the poet falls.) 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. Villain ! Murderer ! 
 
52 THE POET. 
 
 Robber. Ha ! has my revenge too failed, 
 And missed its destined object ? Damnation ! 
 And shall my vaunting rival carry off his prize ! 
 No ! while there are fiends, and hellish spirits 
 Within my breast, to stir the fiercer powers ; 
 This dagger, is the unerring instrument 
 Of dire revenge, and thus it seeks blood ! blood I 
 
 (Pushes to Captain Gower, and attempts to 
 stab him; is wounded by Lord Fitzroy.) 
 
 My ceaseless curse and hate ! 
 I ' 11 stab again ! Revenge ! I will not die 
 Till- . [dies. 
 
 Lord Fitzroy. His fury now is spent; the 
 ruffian's dead. 
 
 Poet. Thank heaven ! 'tis well ; 
 
 Heaven's likewise kind to me, I'll soon 
 
 Mother. It cannot be, my son! Oh! shall I 
 
 hear 
 
 The accents of your much-loved voice, no more ! 
 They were a charm ; even in your absence, 
 They came upon my ear, like angel's song ; 
 My answer was returned, as in your presence ; 
 I smiled, and beckoned to my fancy's vision. 
 
THE POET. 53 
 
 Death ! it cannot be ! I am a widow ; 
 Oh heaven ! let not thy fate, add childless ! 
 
 Poet. Mother, you've life before you, and 
 
 must dream. 
 
 I have the grave- -the grave and can I dream ? 
 Hope, to me, here is painful, and its flight 
 Too distant, from this dark reality. 
 Yet, even the grave, is not to me more sad, 
 Than would the smiling earth have been ; a star, 
 Which dimmed all other orbs, in its own brightness, 
 And drew my ardent worship forth, has chosen 
 Another sky ; and all is dark, nought seen, 
 But other's happiness, and mine own misery. 
 I must confess, I'll soon be silent ! My lord 
 Your lovely daughter, oh! despise me not 
 For poet's love's ambitious ! her I loved ! 
 And fancy framed sweet amaranthine bower, 
 Where we together sat, but now I'm all alone; 
 The bower is changed ; no joy, no loveliness ! 
 The grave I look not upon me, let me die ! 
 
 LordFitzroy. It is a mournful scene to look upon, 
 And yet the silvery moon throws sudden glimpses,. 
 And adds unearthly lustre to his face, 
 He smiles 
 
54 THE POET. 
 
 Poet (starting suddenly up.) Where am I oh 
 
 whence this heavenly light ? 
 Moon ! shine a little longer and herald me 
 Through the dark limits of this life, to climes 
 Of everlasting brightness. 
 
 Yet earth is lovely, 
 
 And beautiful her children, though of dust ; 
 It passes from my sight, oh could I live ! 
 I still do long for fame ! curse on my love! 
 I still adore fair nature the bright sun 
 Ha! let me not think of it, let it be quenched ; 
 It kindles ambition's fires within this breast ; 
 The tow'ring hills the glens of verdant summer, 
 The streams with sunbeams sparkling; memory 
 Oh ! break thy glass or I'll become a fiend ! 
 And these my friends, they weep ; were I to weep, 
 These drops of blood, could not express my anguish. 
 Leave me ! 1 cannot die, with youth and beauty 
 Around me. Life life is a mortal's all. 
 Away ! your grief is great, but 'tis not that ! 
 I love, yet envy you and now begone ! 
 One last embrace! who clasps me ? I feel yet 
 Cannot see, my mother. 
 
 [dies. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 POEMS. 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 BESIDE the brook, winding* athwart a vale, 
 
 Where nature, seemed to keep her joyous court, 
 
 'Mid purest sunshine, and eternal spring, 
 
 Rose a sweet cottage. Can aught but fairies, 
 
 Own a home so lovely? You gaze in joy, 
 
 Upon the gently sloping eminence, 
 
 Where, the object of the Naiad's worship, 
 
 It stands, greeting heaven's earliest light. 
 
 The lattice, is the medium for all 
 
 Our senses. We see the endless beauties 
 
 Breathing around. And melody, we hear 
 
 From birds, the brook, the vale, and unseen heaven. 
 
 Whilst fragrance, is the soul of all, and steals 
 
 Into our own. And fruit, hangs for our taste, 
 
 Sweeter than ever courted fabled gods. 
 
 Within, are sights and sounds, all mortal too, 
 But more attractive ; for two lovely boys 
 (The elder, five years have not lent a shade 
 i 
 
58 REMORSE. 
 
 To darken his fair tresses) trip in sport ; 
 Then at the porch, lie down in either's arms, 
 With faces turned upon the smiling skies. 
 Who now bends o'er them ? whilst her golden locks 
 Mingle with theirs : and on their foreheads fair 
 Her lips are pressed. They know a mother's kiss. 
 Another form is near ; he smiles, but faintly, 
 With pensive brow, and strangely glowing eye. 
 His breast he strikes, with frenzy ill concealed ; 
 Then languid, turns his eyes from bright sunshine, 
 And like a shadow, steals into the cottage. 
 
 The mirth without, 
 
 Is changed ; and sadness, not relieved by tears, 
 Clouds every brighter thought of youth and love. 
 The mother, seems to chide herself for joy, 
 And gently leads them to their sire, to cheer 
 The sorrow darkening o'er his heart. 
 I will not follow them, but sit me down 
 Beside the river's flow, and breathe a prayer, 
 That heaven would smile upon his withered heart ! 
 'Tis rumoured all around, 
 That in the jealousy of former love, 
 He stained his hands and heart with crime, 
 Defying law and heaven. He wandered near 
 This beauteous glen, and love has bound him here, 
 
REMORSE, 59 
 
 His angel wife seemed then the intercessor, 
 
 And he knew happiness. Remorse broke through, 
 
 And in his joy he's miserable. 
 
 But hush ! a harp sounds wildly to my ear ; 
 ? Tis his and nature gave it to his youth 
 Sweet strung and breathing heaven's harmony, 
 
 " 'Tis day your sweetest looks are mine, 
 You place our babes upon my knee ; 
 
 They smile with innocence of thine, 
 And prattle gaily ; all for me ! 
 
 " They see that I am darkly sad, 
 And fain would watch a rising tear, 
 
 To kiss it off, and make me glad ; 
 But oh ! that horrid phantom's here ! 
 
 " Yet fiend ! I could endure your power 
 
 Were I, my gloomy self alone ; 
 I 'd laugh, when all your visions lour, 
 
 And even mock Remorse's tone. 
 
 " These awful shapes to memory true, 
 Would be my friends, and that pale face 
 
 And gory locks, yes, Helen, you 
 I 'd love, in a wild lonely place ! 
 
60 REMORSE. 
 
 " How beautiful your locks, so red 
 With blood ; and memory would give 
 
 One little lock, until night wed 
 Me to yourself, with you to live. 
 
 "I'd woo despair, upon my bed J 
 Of flint, and revel in her charms ; 
 
 My Helen, bleeding, dying, dead, 
 Would feed my passion in her arms. 
 
 " But here, hope's buddings round me grow, 
 And cling unto despair's dark trunk ; 
 
 'Tis here, remorse can be my foe, 
 And from its visions I have shrunk ! 
 
 " Sweet wife, you lead me to the stream ; 
 
 To me it murmurs nought of peace ; 
 You sit me down but ah ! no dream 
 
 Falls on my mind, with sights of bliss. 
 
 " For now, with hands and heart all stained - 
 Away ! that ray upon them gleams ; 
 
 With nature's purity, I'm pained ! 
 Away ! curse on day's holy beams ! 
 
 <( 'Tis night thy lips are on my brow ; 
 
 Thy hand upon my burning breast, 
 To cool the fever of my pain, 
 
 And sooth me into happy rest. 
 
REMORSE. 61 
 
 " 'Tis vain for 'tis not there not there 
 My heart of anguish is the seat ; 
 
 In vain a wife's own loving care, 
 Now every moment you repeat. 
 
 " No tears of mine, bedew your face, 
 
 Why should you therefore kiss the source ? 
 
 No groan has startled your embrace, 
 You need not crush it by love's force. 
 
 (i You start nay, I am not to die, 
 
 Let not this thought your bosom grieve ; 
 
 With health, the breast on which you lie, 
 Is warm ; I shudder that I live. 
 
 u My bed is down ; would it were rock ! 
 
 Then might I know of guilty rest ; 
 Give me the tempest's rudest shock, 
 
 And not the heaving of your breast I 
 
 " Let me, through wildest nature roam, 
 And wander by the ocean's roar ; 
 
 What do I here ? a happy home, 
 For one who's innocent no more ! " 
 
 Months passed away, until one beauteous eve, 
 Nature was hushed to watch the last farewell 
 Of the bright sun, its earnest loving smiles : 
 
62 REMORSE. 
 
 Full it shone through the lattice, ou the man 
 
 Of woe. It startled him, as in the grave 
 
 He'd lain for ever, and he saw its beauty 
 
 Still deeper in his Mary's eyes. He cried, 
 
 " The cave ! the ocean's roar ! and midnight storms 
 
 For me ! Darkness like mine own blasted heart !" 
 
 And rushed from out his cottage to the wilds ; 
 
 He ne'er returned : his young wife pined away, 
 
 For her's was hope and beauty given by love ; 
 
 And love, for her, lingered no more on earth. 
 
 Yet had she fancied that a well-known face 
 
 At twilight's hour had thrown a shadow 
 
 Into the room. At intervals she saw it, 
 
 Yet no questions dared she ask, or movements 
 
 Make : it seemed a ghost. 
 
 The night on which she died so like the one 
 On which her husband left her for the wilds, 
 Her looks were to the window; when that face, 
 With eyes fixed, motionless in wild despair 
 Again appeared ; and then an awful shriek 
 And straight her husband strangely changed, 
 Stood to her gaze. 'Twas his last effort. 
 His arms were stretched out to his faithful wife 
 
A DREAM. 63 
 
 No more to be embraced. One groan he breathed, 
 Then lifeless lay beside his dying* wife. 
 
 # # # * 
 
 Her arms around his neck ; her eyes to heaven 
 As claiming happiness from both she died. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 METHOUGHT, along a crowded street, I went, 
 Where ladies gay, with witching smiles of love, 
 Moved, like fair spirits of the spring : the air is rent 
 All suddenly with shouts : and lurid lights above, 
 Gleamed in a denser mass, nigh to a block, 
 Where stood a man of fate ; a hideous form, 
 With eyes, which mortal's doom, or joys, do mock ; 
 His voice spoke destiny, like midnight storm, 
 And to the enquirer, changed the dreams he made. 
 A fierce shout rose, with horrid sounds of flight, 
 I stood alone with earth's foul fiend arrayed 
 In blacker terror to my troubled sight ; 
 I fled but close behind, a hellish breath 
 Whispered, in cruel triumph, fly from death ! 
 
64 
 
 MY FATHER'S GRAVE.* 
 
 THE moon shines fair, the breezes sweep 
 All gently now, then wildly rave ; 
 
 They nerve my soul and yet I weep 
 I stand beside my father's grave ! 
 
 These eyes ne'er gazed upon his face, 
 Except, when memory was young ; 
 
 And now of him, there is no trace, 
 His name alone dwells on my tongue. 
 
 My infant lips, my mother drew, 
 
 And pressed to his, all cold in death ; 
 
 A joyful sound, I seemed to woo, 
 
 Then laughed, because there came no breath. 
 
 Seated upon this sod, I strive, 
 
 By fancy's magic light, to view 
 My Father, as he was, alive, 
 
 If only, to pronounce adieu ! 
 
 * This appeared in a Periodical originally. 
 
MY FATHER'S GRAVE. 65 
 
 Oh ! for one gaze ! the sorcerer's art, 
 If that availed,, should be my task ; 
 
 From busy scenes, I'd gladly part, 
 The boon, by rites, I 'd fearless ask ! 
 
 For happy home the darksome cave ; 
 
 For loving friends the spirits wild ; 
 If blackest incantation, gave 
 
 My father's form unto his child. 
 
 I dare not breathe the wish aloud, 
 
 'Tis vain! or (maddening is the thought) 
 
 I'd even snatch away his shroud 
 One hurried gaze, is all I've sought ! 
 
 The loathsome skeleton, to me 
 
 Would cause no shuddering start or fear ; 
 But hold ! himself I could not see, 
 
 Nor clasp him, in my arms, most dear ! 
 
 This mouldering dust, is nought of thee, 
 My sire, who gave me mortal birth ; 
 
 No more indeed, than is to me 
 A portion, of my mother earth. 
 
 The past is gone, with smiles and' love 
 Of many friends, and yet their forms 
 
 Descend, all earthly from above, 
 
 And cling to me, through life's wild storms. 
 
66 MY FATHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 They sit around me, as of old ; 
 
 Even now I hear their thrilling voice ; 
 Methinks me in lov'd arms they fold ; 
 
 In memory's magic I rejoice ! 
 
 One form alone, is never seen, 
 Amongst the circle of the past ; 
 
 Had I my earnest wish, I ween, 
 
 My sire would be, the first and last. 
 
 For ever vacant stands his chair, 
 Beside the cheerful fire at home ; 
 
 Where loved ones of the past, smile fair, 
 And never, like the living, roam. 
 
 Where he was wont, to wander near 
 The fertile crags, by sunset's fire 
 
 I oft have stood, without a tear, 
 
 Fondly, to hail my approaching sire. 
 
 But ah ! he came not, and I felt 
 
 That vain, was fancy's brightest flame, - 
 
 And now, my proudest feelings melt, 
 To think, my father's but a name ! 
 
 Dear parent ! from thy seat on high, 
 Descend in vision, to my soul ; 
 
 Let all ideal sorrows fly, 
 
 And bid the filial tear to roll ! 
 
67 
 
 THE PRIEST AND PENITENT. 
 
 Priest. YOUR sins are vile, my son, but you 
 
 repent, 
 
 And to absolving- grief, your soul gives vent ; 
 'Tis right that you should weep. 
 
 Penitent. Weep! I cannot weep! 
 
 Grief has no language, yet its thought is deep ; 
 Tears quench the raging fire of common grief, 
 But will not, should not, come to my relief. 
 All day I see her, as she walked the earth, 
 The beauteous being of a nobler birth ; 
 Like angel, from a happy seat, above, 
 She came to me, in all the power of love ; 
 But o'er the vision fair, spreads darkest gloom, 
 She shrieks I wave a sword, to seal her doom. 
 Her cries, were music to my ear, and vain 
 Her struggles, for I mocked my victim's pain. 
 Yes, faithless heart, your pangs are joy to me ; 
 Revenge is mine, with all its maddening glee, 
 Its power, once more, shall nerve these deadly arms, 
 And send thy lover, in death's pallid charms. 
 The joys of love, will make your sufferings vain, 
 So, be it ! for this end, I ' 11 stab again ! 
 
68 THE PRIEST AND PENITENT. 
 
 Now, thank me, with a shriek, for this sweet doom; 
 When lo ! the moon, escaped the envious gloom, 
 And lighted up, the features of my wife, 
 In all the beauty of her virgin life. 
 I laid my head upon her blood-stained breast, 
 Which quivered, like a dying sound, to rest ; 
 She faintly clasped me soon with rage I burned, 
 And shook her from me, as black thoughts re- 
 turned ; 
 
 Yet death was there ! I knew she could not live ; 
 She softly muttered, " Husband, I forgive ;" 
 I stooped to listen ; then the moaning wind, 
 Was silent, as in pity of my mind ; 
 But, silent, too, was her sweet silvery voice, 
 Which once had waked each feeling to rejoice. 
 I pressed my lips to hers, but shut in death, 
 From them there came no sound, or welcome breath : 
 I started up footsteps were heard more near 
 They came, I would not fly, I knew no fear ; 
 To dare the worst, prepared, I firmly stood, 
 And viewed a form emerge from the dark wood ; 
 With hasty steps he reached the fatal place, 
 And shrieking, fell into my wife's embrace ! 
 " So you are happy, and oh ! you to part 
 Would be an act of cruelty, such smart 
 I'll spare ; to this the husband gives consent." 
 
A MOTHER, &c. 69 
 
 I struck, and in the blow, my fury spent ! 
 " 'Tis well a brother and a sister dear !" 
 He dying gasped. No more I dared to hear. 
 The torments of that hour will never cease, 
 They sting me yet I cannot know release. 
 
 A MOTHER, 
 
 OVER HER SLEEPING CHILDREN. 
 
 YES, there they lie, like angels young ; they sleep 
 Calmly, as cradled in their native skies ; 
 O'er their bright faces happiness, all deep, 
 Smiles, ere by the world's fierce frown it flies. 
 The future opens, and around me, stand 
 My sons, in manly youth, and daughters fair. 
 What pride ! and yet, no more, a mother's hand 
 Can smooth the pillow, and forbid despair ! 
 Another change ! old faces, and bent forms 
 Appear ; oh ! and are these my lovely flowers ! 
 Oh time ! spare them, thy withering storms, 
 And cease to rage around domestic bowers. 
 It cannot be ! Kind death ! with me embrace 
 Their cherub form, and guard their beauteous face. 
 
70 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 MORTALITY, the soul of man, 
 Chains to its blasting clay, 
 
 And ever, since the world began, 
 Hath ruled it, night and day. 
 
 When darkness, leadeth to the throne, 
 The lovely Queen of night, 
 
 With glorious jewels in her crown, 
 The stars of heaven bright. 
 
 She to the lover gives a bliss, 
 Calm, rapturous, and deep, 
 
 And bids him think of Ellen's kiss, 
 When lo ! he's cursed with Sleep. 
 
 The poet sits, and wooeth fame : 
 
 A vision meets his eye, 
 A future being, with a name, 
 
 " Posterity and I." 
 
 More vivid, is the vision bright ; 
 
 The colours, are more deep, 
 Of endless life ; when o'er his sight, 
 
 Mortality, sends Sleep. 
 
SLEEP. 71 
 
 And yet, his only friend is fame, 
 
 To cheer him in distress, 
 Midst penury no other name 
 
 He knows, his lot to bless. 
 
 Or should he muse on Nature's mind, 
 
 Breathing- around its joy, 
 Its lovely spirits, all refined 
 
 From matter's gross alloy. 
 
 His hand reality will give, 
 
 Yet touch them free, and pure ; 
 He gazeth on them, now they live, 
 
 Visions, yet they'll endure ! 
 
 More wild they gleamed, his eye is bright, 
 
 (Oh, can it ever weep ? ) 
 With joy but dimness shrouds his sight, 
 
 And then he sinks to Sleep ! 
 
 Farewell to him, the beauteous land, 
 
 Then opening to his eyes; 
 Its gates, shut by sleep's cruel hands, 
 
 No more to fancy rise. 
 
 Thou, Sleep, an opiate for woe, 
 
 Art, to the wretched breast, 
 And yet of man, thou art the foe, 
 
 There's poison in thy rest. 
 
72 
 
 THE NUN. 
 
 THE vow is made she to the lattice goes, 
 Sunshine, Heaven's garment, bright and pure, adorns 
 All nature : but her own dark shade arose, 
 Clad in the cloister's robes ; alas, she mourns, 
 And half repents, that now, no more, the sun, 
 For her, will weave his beauteous beams of light ; 
 They shine, in vain, for prisoner, or for nun ; 
 The chain, the cowl, the hood, their influence blight. 
 
 The river sweetly flows, in music glad, 
 And seems to call her forth, to wander near 
 Its pleasant sounds ; to captive they are sad : 
 She starts, and down her cheek, there rolls a tear. 
 Like joyous river should have flowed her days. 
 In dancing hope, and smiling peace ; alas, 
 Like stagnant lake, across which, shine no rays ; 
 Within her cell, how gloomily they pass ! 
 
 Beside the river, tender lillies smile, 
 In freshest fragrance of their early love, 
 And from its gushing sympathy, do wile 
 A tear, and brightness from the skies above ; 
 
LOVE. 73 
 
 She now remembers, when her parent fell 
 Back in her arms, he blessed the lovely flower, 
 And died. But ah ! she is within the cell, 
 How can she bloom ? Where is her pleasant bower ? 
 
 " Farewell," she cried, and drew from out her breast, 
 A portrait, and thereon, she fondly gazed ; 
 The troubled heavings, now found gentle rest, 
 The image to her kissing lips, she raised ; 
 " Each thought, shall be of him, no more of earth, 
 Since he's in heaven. At midnight's lonely hour 
 I'll watch, when spirits of a higher birth 
 Descend he'll come and take me to his bower." 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 WHAT'S Love ? On earth, a mortal's breath, 
 
 And life, encircling Beauty's form ; 
 Which, aye, preserves it, safe from death, 
 
 Fresh, in an everlasting morn ; 
 And yet, it knows not of its power, 
 
 But longs for closer, dearer tie ; 
 And dreads some future, awful hour, 
 
 As if, what's e'er beloved, could die. 
 L 
 
74 SONNETS. 
 
 A BRIGHT farewell, the sun gleamed o'er the vale, 
 As in regret, to leave its beauties green, 
 And the sweet breath of a calm evening gale ; 
 So have I looked on this, my childhood's scene, 
 When home I left. But now, once more I tread, 
 Where oft my feet in boyish glee did trip. 
 Again youth glows, and feelings, long since dead, 
 Awake. Here is the mound, where oft to leap, 
 My gay associates came ; and now I stand 
 Upon its top, where fabled warriors lie ; 
 My limbs move all elastic, and my hands 
 Are raised, in vain ! I sit me down to cry, 
 Youth ' s gone ; I'll never know my former joy ; 
 The proud man weeps, at the once happy boy, 
 
 THE Poet looks upon the heaven, and it alone, 
 Engages all his passion, and high thought ; 
 Earth, and its fading beauties, now have gone, 
 Or, if not altogether, they're forgot, 
 Amongst them lie, in dread array, his fears, 
 Struggling with hope, and all his feelings past ; 
 
SONNETS. 75 
 
 Earth, with mortality, man's curse appears ; 
 His gloomy dung-eon dreadful as 'tis vast ; 
 When lo ! a lovely form gleams on his sight, 
 And yet, earth-born, in nature's brightest charms ; 
 Heaven vanishes, and earth, has more delights 
 To fix his love ; he clasps her in his arms ! 
 She's dearer than a seraph of the skies ; 
 Heaven's hopes, yield to the brightness of her eyes. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 THE smiling heaven, and verdant earth, sweet bliss 
 Enjoy. The youthful tree, in beauty's pride, 
 Shoots forth, in blossomed leaves, which gently kiss 
 The loving breeze, and flourish fair beside 
 The spirits of the air. The running brook 
 Gushes, in living fondness, near the flower, 
 To pour its tears of joy, and through them look 
 Upon the smiling sward, and nature's bower. 
 But I am sad, and yet, the sun I love, 
 And light's all glorious beauty in the skies, 
 But what to me ? I cannot soar above 
 To where they are, nor, happy, shut mine eyes. 
 Earth, too, has human forms, and Nature's sights, 
 I gaze I long and vanish all delights. 
 
76 
 
 LOST INNOCENCE. 
 
 A lovely woman, sitteth all alone, 
 Beside the flowing stream, in sorrow's guise, 
 Yet from her bosom, comes no rending groan, 
 Nor tears, have dimmed the brightness of her eyes ; 
 But ah ! the soul, an anguish cannot tell 
 By such interpreters, she scorns their aid, 
 The deathless feelings hate the feeble knell 
 Of woe and sights in funeral garb arrayed. 
 
 Still, though they dare not weep, they cannot smile, 
 But wildly glow with the soul's burning grief; 
 Nature, in vain, her sorrow to beguile, 
 Shines beauteously ; remorse has no relief! 
 What is her guilt ? these hands are passing fair, 
 No stains of blood of sin, no frantic deed : 
 But gently have they in their filial care, 
 Oft played around, an aged father's head. 
 
 " Murder ! *' she cries, " that is an awful thought, 
 But yet, I might have used its hellish arm, 
 And in the midnight hour, the couch have sought, 
 Where lay my sire, secure from all alarm : 
 
NAPOLEON. 77 
 
 In sleep, he smiles ; his child stands by no kiss, 
 For his dear lips no tear for locks of snow ! 
 The fatal weapon gleams ! This had been bliss, 
 Repentance is for blood. For my sin ? No ! " 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 NAPOLEON, stood upon the rock, 
 And sternly glanced around ; 
 The ocean's rage, its sides did mock, 
 
 As it resistance found ; 
 "This rock shall teach me to endure 
 All sufferings, in myself secure ;" 
 
 He wildly trod the ground ; 
 For memory shewed his glories past, 
 And hope, retiring, said they were the last. 
 
 " The master of the world confined, 
 
 To a small lonely spot ; 
 The powerful ruler of mankind, 
 
 Oh ! were this but forgot ! 
 Forgot ! I love to linger near, 
 The scenes of battle, ever dear, 
 
 Where fierce my warriors fought : 
 Yet is my restless soul too vast, 
 To live upon the glories of the Past ! " 
 
THE SEDUCED- 
 
 WE now must part, and oh, the grief ! 
 
 Which wildly swells my breast with pain, 
 Tears, cannot give it a relief, 
 
 And now, repentance, is in vain. 
 
 I ask thee not, for beauty's charms, 
 Which thou hast rifled from my face, 
 
 Nor yet the friends, in whose loved arms r 
 I oft have found a hiding 1 place. 
 
 I ask not, to become thy wife, 
 
 Oh no ! this lot, can ne'er be mine, 
 
 Fondly to cherish thy sweet life, 
 And taste of bliss, beyond divine. 
 
 My innocence is gone ! this thought 
 Remorse, will never quit ; in vain 
 
 All change of refuge, I have sought, 
 It gnaws me, with unceasing pain. 
 
 The hate of friends, I well could bear, 
 And scorn of my exulting foes ; 
 
 But furious thoughts, my bosom tear, 
 Oh ! what I ' ve suffered since they rose ! 
 
THE SEDUCED. 79 
 
 Whilst you, have revelled in delight, 
 Anguish, has been your victim's lot ; 
 
 But yet, perhaps, your dreams by night, 
 Have told you, 1 am not forgot ! 
 
 Methinks, your brow grows sometimes sad, 
 Your eyes, in mournful radiance shine ; 
 
 Even when you laugh, and call me mad, 
 And kindly chide this grief of mine. 
 
 I must not stay, to hail your bride, 
 And bid her welcome to a home ; 
 
 'Tis sorrowing guilt, not jealous pride, 
 Which prompts me, far away to roam. 
 
 Perhaps, when seated all alone, 
 You'll sadly think upon her lot, 
 
 Who speaks of thee, in tenderest tone, 
 And thanks thee, she is not forgot. 
 
 Or gazing on the gentle eyes, 
 Of her you love ; in fancy's rays, 
 
 A vision, may before you rise, 
 
 Whose beauty once received your praise. 
 
80 
 
 THE LOVER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 WE now must part ; avert that eye, 
 
 In which my history is seen : 
 And with thee, let all wishes fly ; 
 
 We cannot be, what we have been ! 
 
 Thou art the light, which cheered the past, 
 'Tis pleasant, beauteous yet, I ween ; 
 
 But the enchantment could not last, 
 The future, sought another scene. 
 
 Another, soon, becomes my wife ; 
 Go go yet still retain thy love ; 
 
 I ' d have it be thy fate through life, 
 Thy only deity above. 
 
 Our past loves, fondly I will nurse, 
 
 And should thy once fond heart, grow cold, 
 
 Or love again, an endless curse, 
 Ere long, my agony has told ! 
 
 I'd bear to know the broken heart 
 
 Was thine ; I'd love to hear your sigh ; 
 
 Your smile would be a poisoned dart, 
 A curse, and then a wish to die ! 
 
81 
 
 AGE. 
 
 ON a bright summer eve, when all was gay, 
 And, young in nature's beauty, and her love ; 
 When the retiring sun, a farewell ray, 
 Of deepest fondness, gleamed from skies above, 
 Then brightened in a dearer flash on earth ; 
 When fragrant flowers, in grief withdrew to hide 
 The beauties, which he quickened into birth, 
 I wandered forth, an old man by my side. 
 
 Along the streamlet's course, through vallies green, 
 
 Were boys, and maidens, sporting in full glee, 
 
 Who swiftly fled, yet courted to be seen, 
 
 In sympathy, I sighed to be as free. 
 
 I turned me to mine aged friend, the tears 
 
 Were brightening in the dim, closed eye ; 
 
 They could not flow, though many passing years, 
 
 Had locked them in the fount, which now was dry. 
 
 His cheek grew pale, he staggered to the ground, 
 Beside a willow, dropping Heaven's own sweets ; 
 I kneeled to fan his brow, when a loved sound, 
 In music's earnestness, my senses greets ; 
 M 
 
82 AGE. 
 
 I turned, and a fair girl, some faded flowers 
 Held forth, then scattered them upon his face ; 
 All beautiful she seemed, from angel's bowers, 
 Though like her flowers, changed for this mortal 
 place. 
 
 Her ringlets waved over his hoary head, 
 
 Like immortality, a son of earth, 
 
 To raise from his sunk state, whence long have fled, 
 
 The lineaments of his celestial birth ; 
 
 Into his lips, of love she breathed the soul ; 
 
 He raised his eyes, in dreamy pleasure, fixed 
 
 Upon that form ; visions appear to roll, 
 
 And magic scenes, with past and present mixed. 
 
 " Yes, thou art she, whose gentle heart I won, 
 When from our playmates, we retired to love ; 
 This is the very hour, thus shone the sun, 
 But clouds now veil its lustre from above ; 
 And dread reality appears ; a grave, 
 She's there ! another look, these fading flowers, 
 Were cropped upon its sod ; Helen, I rave ! 
 I would have reached thee, by hope's shadowy 
 towers. 
 
 " But sixteen years had passed with thee, and now, 
 Thy lover is fourscore, oppressed with age ; 
 
LINES, &c. 83 
 
 The eye thou loved to meet is dim ; the brow 
 Thou oft has kissed, is wrinkled. Love is rage 
 When 't is despised. Thou canst not look from high, 
 Upon my tottering steps, and fondly love. 
 Oh earth ! thou hast my curse, until I die, 
 And then we'll gaze upon thee, from above." 
 
 LINES 
 
 BENEATH THE PICTURE OF AN ITALIAN BEAUTY. 
 
 YES view those dark and flashing- eyes, 
 Which glance in love or ire ; 
 
 Soft, as the summer of her skies, 
 Or deadly, as their fire. 
 
 Her beauteous mouth, can curse or bless, 
 
 Her hand, is fair and bold, 
 Can now, a lover's head caress, 
 
 And now, a dagger hold. 
 
 Beware beware that heaving breast, 
 
 'Tis the volcano's bed ; 
 Yet, is it love's most rapturous rest, 
 
 By sweet embraces fed. 
 
ESAU. 
 
 THE wild man stood before his father's tent, 
 In hunter's garb, all gracefully arrayed ; 
 The chase, fire to his roving eye, had lent, 
 And now to gain admission, he essayed ! 
 
 " My father! " and he knelt to the old man ; 
 " Oh ! bless thy son ! " no kindly voice replied ; 
 He sickened, and his visage became wan, 
 The gushing fountain of his hopes was dried. 
 
 For now the sire, spoke of his brother's wiles 
 Successful ; when the wild man started up ; 
 Despair was in his breast, without love's smiles ; 
 Of joy, Jacob again had quaffed his cup. 
 
 " No more ! " he cried. " Deceit, thou'st conquered 
 And once again, extinguished every bliss ; [me, 
 I have a sword, its vengeful edge dost see ? 
 'Tis hot, in blood in blood it longs to hiss ! 
 
 " He 's gained a blessing, the best boon on earth ; 
 Oh ! may it prove a curse, sure pledge of woe, 
 Blighting all lovely visions, at their birth ! 
 But, Father, hast thou none for me ? No ! no ! " 
 
SONG. 85 
 
 The wild man wept, the Stoic was a child ; 
 Tears rolled o'er his revenge ; " oh hast thou none 
 I am thy son ! then raise that countenance mild, 
 No ! I am cursed, my birthright, too, is gone !" 
 
 SONG. 
 
 WHEN the shades of twilight hover, 
 
 Near your blooming rosy bower ; 
 
 Think of your lover, 
 And of the hour, 
 
 When we met, 'neath the smiling moon, 
 
 Sadly to part, and all so soon. 
 
 The loved embrace, the sigh which spoke to sigh, 
 And your sweet voice, like heavenly music close ; 
 So still, the air can scarcely hear it die, 
 And thus to part, as the bright stars arose. 
 
 When remembrance gives you bliss, 
 Think'that lovely shone the heaven, 
 When a soft kiss 
 To Helen was given ; 
 'Twas the last vow, as we parted, 
 And 'twill cheer the broken-hearted ! 
 
86 
 
 THE LOVER'S REVENGE. 
 
 Go faithless one, into your bower, 
 
 And list your husband's tone, 
 Go smile in beauty's thrilling power, 
 
 Whilst I must grieve alone. 
 
 Yet is my image in your soul, 
 
 My curse upon your head, 
 And, as long years, their course will roll, 
 
 Revenge, will not have fled ! 
 
 Your hopes, all beauteous now may bloom, 
 
 But know 'tis o'er a grave : 
 Soon shrouded, in sepulchral gloom, 
 
 Of me, they'll wildly rave ! 
 
 Vesuvius, has its lovely flowers, 
 
 Volcano fierce to deck, 
 'Tis summer with its cooling bowers, 
 
 Hark ! to the thundering wreck ! 
 
 Yes burning lava, is beneath 
 
 All happiness, you know ; 
 Now gaze upon the verdant wreath, 
 
 Then think of what's below ! 
 
THE LOVER'S REVENGE. 87 
 
 You'll wander, to the parting spot, 
 
 Which heard the lover's vow, 
 Alas, so soon to be forgot, 
 
 ' T is not forgotton now ! 
 
 In childhood's sports, two spirits bright, 
 
 We gazed on cither's eye ; 
 Our breasts heaved to the beauteous light, 
 
 Our lips ne'er formed a sigh. 
 
 Whene'er you think upon the past, 
 
 This fairy dream will rise, 
 Till memory's shrouded ; it will last 
 
 Till death has sealed thine eyes ! 
 
 Still will you see the smiling boy, 
 Who watched you as your shade ; 
 
 Still will his face, beam love and joy, 
 He sees his little maid ! 
 
 In youth, where'er your footsteps turned, 
 
 Another step was there ! 
 Oh ! how my soul, all wildly burned, 
 
 To clasp a form, so fair ! 
 
 Your ringlets played around my cheek, 
 Your soft breath fanned my brow, 
 
 Your arms around me folded meek ! 
 'Tis not forgotton now ! 
 
88 THE LOVER'S REVENGE. 
 
 Oh, could you throw away the hand, 
 Which grasps at highest fame, 
 
 Along with me, proudly to stand, 
 And share my noble name ! 
 
 Oh ! could you ever leave that breast, 
 Which, wildly beat for you ; 
 
 Which oft, has pillowed you to rest, 
 Safe from the night's cold dew. 
 
 "Tis o'er! and yet of me you'll think, 
 
 And of our love so pure ! 
 And from a husband you will shrink ! 
 
 Oh ! my revenge is sure ! 
 
 And, should we ever meet, your tears 
 
 Will be revenge's dew ; 
 A broken heart, to me most dear, 
 
 Will then be known by you ! 
 
89 
 
 THE WIZARD. 
 
 WITHIN a cave, where nature is denied 
 
 The smiles of heaven, and fragrance of the earth ; 
 
 Where mid-day horror, with night's shades, have 
 
 vied 
 
 To steal away each sight, and thought of mirth, 
 And to her brightness give a darker birth, 
 Like melancholy, yet without a tear, 
 For happier scenes, or even a blazing hearth ; 
 Amidst such gloom, to his wild spirit dear, 
 Sits an old man, to stranger, equal cause of fear. 
 
 The fierce winds raved, you listened to their power, 
 But far above their fury, thrilled the sound, 
 Of harp prophetic ; in that magic hour, 
 Nought breathes of calm mortality, around ; 
 But by the Wizard's spells, the very ground, 
 Seems tenanted with voices, echoes wild, 
 In converse, all unearthly ; strange sights frowned, 
 Formed out of shadows dark, but not more mild 
 The old man's wrinkled face, which never smiled. 
 
 Time had not dimmed the brightness of his eye, 
 Which gleamed in lightning, from the tresses hoar, 
 More keenly, than when locks of raven dye, 
 
 N 
 
90 THE WIZARD. 
 
 Played round the fire, its beauty to adore ; 
 An awful power seemed to it given, yea more, 
 Than glanceth o'er the Present, and the Past, 
 Conferred by Nature's study, not by lore, 
 Upon the future, light, which might not last 
 To shed and yet enough fair hopes to blast. 
 
 That eye ne'er quivered at the future's woes, 
 
 But wild, dilated, glanced in pride around ; 
 
 And as the harp strings vibrated a close, 
 
 To prophecy, it was not mournful sound, 
 
 A sigh, for the sad hearts his tale did wound. 
 
 And as at night, alone, his watch he kept, 
 
 Pity, in vain, to him an access found, 
 
 For those whose hopes he quenched ; or when he 
 
 slept, 
 He never dreamt of those, who through him wept. 
 
 His hands were stiff, and yet the notes arose 
 
 In wildest symphony, as if by fate 
 
 The harp was struck, to tell its direful woes, 
 
 And, by a human hand, refused to sate 
 
 Its dark desires, and on a mortal wait. 
 
 A bird of omen lengthened out the sound, 
 
 And every object threatened cruel hate, 
 
 No gentle breeze, breathed sigh, the cave around, 
 
 Nor brightening sky, to dark despair fixed bound. 
 
91 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 'Tis autumn ; through the leafless woods, no voice 
 Is heard, but the bleak wind, like spirit lone, 
 Muttering its mournful tale ; no birds rejoice, 
 And Nature erst so gay, breathes forth a moan. 
 The river, now is sad, its fairies wild, 
 No longer on its light wave, dance : the flowers 
 Have fled, which oft their heavenly eyes beguiled, 
 And by its side, no more bloom pleasant bowers ; 
 But midst the solitude, there is a sound, 
 Which charms the soul, and calls up happy sight ; 
 There is a foot, can consecrate the ground, 
 And a sweet smile, more dear than summer's light ; 
 'Tis lovely Woman's voice, and foot, and smile, 
 The lonely feeling, to soft joy, they wile. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 MAN'S soul is mortal on the earth, 
 And leaves behind, no name ; 
 
 What then shall give it second birth, 
 Or what embalm it ? Fame. 
 
92 FAME. 
 
 What is she ? oh ! she is earth born, 
 Yet scorneth passing time ; 
 
 Hsr seat immortal flowers adorn, 
 Above mankind, sublime. 
 
 And all her sons, are worshipped there, 
 They know no darksome grave ; 
 
 Through ages, flourish they all fair, 
 See ! swords, still grace the brave ! 
 
 Whilst living, though I hear my name 
 
 Echoed with rapture free, 
 Yet, still, I'd never think it fame, 
 
 Till Helen smiled on me ! 
 
THE 
 S C HOL AK. 
 
*** THIS IS ANOTHER ATTEMPT TO ILLUSTRATE POETICAL 
 CHARACTER ; IN DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES HOWEVER, THAN 
 THOSE DESCRIBED IN THE FIRST FRAGMENT OF THIS VOLUME. 
 AN IDEA MAY BE FOUND OCCASIONALLY REPEATED. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 
 
 ' Tis summer morn, when earth is gay, 
 And smiles to heaven in mutual love, 
 
 Sweet music, hath announced the day, 
 And still does greet it, from above. 
 
 The Poet walks a bright eyed boy, 
 In lovely glens, near gentle stream, 
 
 And nature's spirit, gives him joy, 
 He looks on her, and learns to dream. 
 
 Fair visions, glide before his sight, 
 
 They smile, from every flower, and tree ; 
 
 His bosom thrills, with soft delight, 
 He follows them, and yet is free : 
 
 For now, another band appears, 
 
 More winning, than the past hath been, 
 
 For their fair forms, he has no fears, 
 Nor e'er regrets the former scene. 
 
96 THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 
 
 They chase each other, like the shades, 
 Which play upon the mountain's breast, 
 
 No one, his changing mind pervades, 
 They all are good, they all are best. 
 
 In some romantic dell, he lies, 
 Pillowing his head, on lovely flowers : 
 
 He gazes, on the glorious skies, 
 
 And gently sighs, for angel's bowers. 
 
 He sees behind a sun-tinged cloud, 
 
 Heaven's brightest cherubs youthful forms, 
 Their heavenly music sounds aloud, 
 
 And charms away the gathering storms. 
 
 He seems alone, with spirits wild, 
 
 Who softly, poetry inspire, 
 He yields him to its influence mild, 
 
 And now, is girt, with heavenly fire. 
 
 He's happy yet nature's fair sights, 
 And not her secret beauties knows, 
 
 A longing, for intense delights, 
 In his glad bosom, never glows. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 97 
 
 Three changing years have run their course, 
 Laden for youth, with passion's food, 
 
 The gentle's strung with its wild force, 
 The joyous, hath a different mood. 
 
 The sun now sets, the poet stands, 
 
 With burning eye, and feverish heart, 
 
 And thinks of Nature's beauteous lands, 
 Where mind from matter is apart. 
 
 But in her voice, wild secret charms, 
 
 Enwrap his soul in love and fear, 
 He longs, to rush into her arms, 
 
 She's gone and yet, becomes more dear* 
 
 He's mortal, son of this low earth, 
 
 Yet seeks a spirit far above, 
 In might, and beauty, earthly birth ; 
 
 Intense and strong his daring love ! 
 
 There's not a wind that wafts the sweets 
 Of heaven and earth, but fans his flame ; 
 
 There's not a sound, his ear which meets, 
 But softly breathes the magic name. 
 
 'Tis not a dream the spirit's one 
 Clad in earth's choicest robes of green ; 
 
 Adorned in radiance from the sun, 
 And sparkling, in his heavenly sheen. 
 
98 THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 
 
 For man's embrace, yet far too bright, 
 Mortality to touch, too pure, 
 
 Forbids approach, yet courts the sight, 
 Her charms, the youthful poet lure. 
 
 She speaks he listens to her voice ; 
 
 She smiles he gazes on the light ; 
 " But one embrace, and I'd rejoice, 
 
 Alas ! you shun me, spirit bright." 
 
 Another change comes o'er his mind, 
 He wanders in the twilight's glow ; 
 
 Fame's visions float on every wind, 
 And lure the longing youth to woe. 
 
 His bosom beats, for poet's fame, 
 
 To thrill the world with sweetest song ; 
 
 Amongst the great, to claim a name, 
 And to posterity belong. 
 
 To place himself above the earth, 
 And yet, to see its sons draw near, 
 
 To worship him of higher birth, 
 
 And him, like Shakespeare to revere ! 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 99 
 
 He longs to soar on wings of fire, 
 And from the mighty, laurels take ; 
 
 To strike the muses' sounding lyre, 
 And harmony's sweet notes awake. 
 
 The thought is maddening, he aspires, 
 
 To sit sole king of genius' race ; 
 Earth cannot yield his full desires, 
 
 Milton's too low ! a higher place ! 
 
 At deep midnight, when stars appear, 
 
 The Poets of the world on high ; 
 He sitteth, in his chamber drear, 
 
 And gazeth on the silvery sky. 
 
 He borrows from their kindling light, 
 And genius then, receives its power ; 
 
 Creations fair ideas bright 
 Become substantial in that hour. 
 
 Again he views them will they claim, 
 The wondering world's attentive gaze, 
 
 And meet with everlasting fame, 
 And triumph over time's decays. 
 
 He sways a rod shall it divine, 
 And others shrink and disappear ? 
 
 Shall laurels bright, around it twine, 
 And flourish, ever youthful here ? 
 
100 THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 
 
 Another change succeeds and now 
 He sits in yonder happy bower, 
 
 Along with one of pensive brow 
 
 And gentle eye sweet timid flower ! 
 
 Their eyes have met, their bosoms thrill, 
 With strange emotions quick and strong, 
 
 A wilder glance, and all is still, 
 In sympathy, both sweet and long. 
 
 And oft they wander, hand in hand, 
 With mutual bliss, and love subdued, 
 
 In solitude's enchanting land, 
 
 Yet its fair sights, they scarcely viewed. 
 
 They gaze upon the moonlight sky, 
 
 And there, fond hope doth see its star ; 
 
 But oh ! the light in either's eye, 
 To their young love is brighter far ! 
 
 The ocean of their bliss, ne'er knows 
 The magic influence of the moon ; 
 
 But by the eye of love, it flows, 
 At every change, retiring soon. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 101 
 
 They have a world formed out of love, 
 Themselves, the ruling powers therein ; 
 
 And yet, sometimes, the sun above 
 Shines on it, in his glorious sheen. 
 
 The moon smiles too, all chastely bright, 
 The stars their hallowed influence pour ; 
 
 Yet, when they frown, there still is light, 
 Hope's luminaries shine the more. 
 
 Alternately, these passions burn, 
 Too fierce for mortars feeble frame ; 
 
 All former glowing thoughts return, 
 Connected with eternal Fame. 
 
 The timid step, the sunken cheek, 
 
 Now meet fresh nature's sweet advance ; 
 
 And how unlike its spirit meek, 
 
 The unearthly wildness of his glance ! 
 
 'Tis midnight ; in his chamber lone, 
 He sits, and views the taper light ; 
 
 It glimmers sickly, then is gone, 
 Thus genius vanishes, though bright. 
 
102 THE SCHOLAR'S YOUTH. 
 
 The mystery of his life appears, 
 In the frail taper's dying glow ; 
 
 His fate, its termination nears, 
 Can he arrest its speed ? Ah no ! 
 
 He rushes out to breathe the air, 
 The howling winds affright his soul ; 
 
 The heavens are shrouded in despair, 
 " My fate has driven me to the goal ! " 
 
 " Fame love what are ye now to me ? 
 
 Oh, dearer far, than in the past ; 
 Smile on me yet, dreams though ye be, 
 
 And short mortality outlast ! " 
 
 Sad fancies, gloomy visions flit, 
 In wild array, and now are gone ; 
 
 By hope's enchanting torch, all lit, 
 Alas ! bright forms are not alone ! 
 
 For still dark shadows wander o'er, 
 With them, the future's sunny land ; 
 
 And what was bright, is bright no more ; 
 Despair reigns, with her numerous band; 
 
 These clouded prospects he could brave, 
 Were he to live, and show his power ; 
 
 But, midst them is a gloomy grave, 
 He falls in no far distant hour ! 
 
103 
 
 THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 
 
 THE setting sun, on a fair summer's eve, 
 Threw brightness all around, and with his charms, 
 Wooed earth into an ecstacy : the river 
 To his ardent gaze, shewed every pearl, 
 And beauteous treasure, as if perchance to win 
 The lord of day, from her great rival, ocean, 
 And chain him to her bed, with glorious sights. 
 Yon mountain, shews a breast, so beautiful, 
 To stay his gaze, and he draws nearer it, 
 To kiss its flowers, with a sweet farewell ray 
 Of holy love, and jealous, bid them close 
 Their charms, and not reveal them to the moon. 
 On young fair brow, raised to the western sky, 
 The light shone, like the gladdening soul within, 
 And mixed all brightly with the loving eye, 
 Which gleams to hope's sweet visions, and known 
 
 bliss. 
 
 But there was one, all youthful and beloved 
 Of nature, whose spirit was amongst strange sights, 
 And sounds he never could reveal to man, 
 Or to himself, who at this very hour, 
 In concert with the music, which he heard, 
 
104 THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 
 
 From heaven, had often struck to sweetest notes 
 His harp, wild and mysterious as the breeze. 
 Upon the setting sun he'd often gazed, 
 Till night's dark curtain slowly fell, but now 
 He sitteth on a couch beside the door, 
 With pallid face, and feeble limbs, and yet 
 His eye brightens, ambition seems again 
 To light his hopes but soon he turned away. 
 
 Moonlight now shows the darkness, and more calm 
 The Poet's soul as to the sky he looks, 
 And breathes upon the harp, his dying wish. 
 
 Oh ! give me not the cloudless sky, 
 The joyous splendour of the sun, 
 
 When I am called upon, to die, 
 Ere yet, my life is scarce begun. 
 
 Summer's green fields, and flowery lawns, 
 And scenes, in youthful verdure proud, 
 
 Appear all lovely when day dawns, 
 And far too bright to be my shroud. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 105 
 
 They call up in my heart, desires, 
 I would not, that they ere began ! 
 
 The sun illumes ambition's fires, 
 Oh how unlike the fading man ! 
 
 Nature ! I love thy fair attire, 
 
 When of gay hopes, this breast possessed, 
 Its soothing visions does inspire 
 
 Nature, than thine, more brightly dressed. 
 
 Mine eye was keen as the fair light, 
 Which glimmered late upon your brow ; 
 
 And as far darting was its sight, 
 Alas ! dim is its lustre now ! 
 
 The stars are not so deeply bright, 
 
 But twinkle faintly, timid lamps ; 
 They cannot dazzle, nor affright, 
 
 Between day's glow, and night's thick damps. 
 
 The moon, a mockery of the sun, 
 
 Seems now ; I care not for its light ; 
 
 Its rays already have begun, 
 
 Hope's fairest prospects all to blight. 
 
 Night veils the loveliness of day, 
 
 Its flowery robe, its sunny smile ; 
 And all the witching charms of May, 
 
 At night's approach, cease to beguile. 
 
106 THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 
 
 Yes, give me night, with a pale sky, 
 When nature seems in silent dread ; 
 
 And then I'd lay me down to die, 
 Darkness a pillow for my head ! 
 
 The earth, is now a shadowy land 
 Of doubt, with features darkly sad ; 
 
 ' Tis shut against hope's smiling band, 
 Nought but the sun can make it glad. 
 
 The mind, too, has its beauties brief, 
 Creations of pure hope and love ; 
 
 But o'er them, steals a saddening grief, 
 
 They change, when night frowns from above. 
 
 I'm now resigned, the darkness reigns, 
 Come death, and strike me to the heart ; 
 
 My soul ambitious, never deigns 
 To look on earth, and sigh to part. 
 
 But haste ! for soon the day appears, 
 Lighting the beauties of the sky ; 
 
 And hope will brighten o'er all fears, 
 With such enchantments, could I die ! 
 
 Languid he stretched him, on his couch to die, 
 All happy, since earth's beauties wild had gone; 
 No more to give their image to his soul. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 107 
 
 How sweet that pallid face ! as if in death 
 He nearer came, to Heaven's eternal light. 
 Yes see the deep transforming- power, and now 
 The mortal youth, is changing features with 
 A happy Seraph ! 
 
 But hush ! he hears 
 
 A gentle tread ; and anguish strange, his frame 
 Convulses; soft whispers, too, approach his ear, 
 And love stands there, to weep stern death away, 
 Or bid him veil his horrors. " Leave leave me! " 
 He wildly cried ; " to placid rest ! " He spoke ; 
 But then his lovely maid knelt o'er his couch, 
 And earth, once more, was imaged in his soul. 
 
 Again he's all alone, and earth's last music 
 Breathes from his shivered harp. 
 
 Oh give me not the smiles of love, 
 To greet me on a dying bed ; 
 
 In rising to the heaven above, 
 May every earthly hope be fled. 
 
 No gentle nurse must sooth my pain, 
 And watch, sweet angel every sigh ; 
 
 Her voice would sound my knell in vain, 
 She ne'er could teach the Man to die. 
 
108 THE SCHOLAR'S DYING WISH. 
 
 Like hope embodied, there she flits, 
 
 I am a son of Earth again ; 
 The fiery passions, soon she lits, 
 
 I spurn the mortal's galling chain ! 
 
 I cannot die ; the charm has power 
 To form a world of breathing love ; 
 
 Where Hope resides in fragrant bower, 
 And never soars to climes above. 
 
 But lay me down as here, alone, 
 With no sweet eye on me to smile ; 
 
 Where no kind words repress a groan, 
 No gentle hands the pain beguile. 
 
 My brow is feverish, but calm bliss 
 
 Pervades each thought, to fate resigned ; 
 
 And should loved lips impress a kiss, 
 'Tis gone ! wild passions rule my mind ! 
 
 Woman ! I love thy gentle heart, 
 Thy features, changing to its mood ; 
 
 Were I not soon from thee to part, 
 Alone on earth, both fair and good. 
 
 The time was, when thy sunny eye, 
 O'er me, sweet influence did not lack ; 
 
 Mine too, in kindling sympathy, 
 
 Swift glanced its loving ardour back. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S GRAVE. 109 
 
 Yes ! there was one, I loved her well, 
 With deep blue eye, and silvery voice ; 
 
 And she resides in memory's cell, 
 I will not enter and rejoice ! 
 
 No ! let me breathe my last alone, 
 
 And dead to nature and to love ; 
 No one to hear my parting groan, 
 
 How happy I to soar above ! 
 
 THE SCHOLAR'S GRAVE. 
 
 IN a sweet glen, of endless spring, 
 
 Which seems beyond this world's foul sphere, 
 In purer sky, the warblers sing ; 
 
 Hush ! for a sweeter singer's here ! 
 
 One, who oft roamed this beauteous vale, 
 And poured his thoughts in burning song ; 
 
 The silent echoes him bewail, 
 
 They cannot now his voice prolong. 
 
110 THE SCHOLAR'S GRAVE. 
 
 The trees wave gently o'er his grave, 
 Adorned with verdant wreaths of fame ; 
 
 Life's withering blasts no more to brave, 
 He rests, immortal in his name. 
 
 The sun loves here to throw his rays, 
 For he disliked the silent gloom ; 
 
 The little flowers, he loved to praise, 
 
 Grateful, have sprung to deck his tomb. 
 
 He could not have reposed, where towers 
 The mountain, rugged in its height ; 
 
 Sternness, on every ohject lours, 
 And fond affection feels a blight. 
 
 Nature, for her poetic child, 
 
 Of daring powers, though tender frame, 
 Must wreath a laurel fresh and wild, 
 
 And shower her beauties round his name. 
 
 He lived enchanted with her charms, 
 Till love eclipsed Life's feeble ray, 
 
 Now let him rest in her loved arms, 
 Midst night serene, and shining day. 
 
 The fragrant temple where he sought 
 To pay his vows, declare his love, 
 
 Will not refuse a holy spot 
 
 For worshipper who's now above. 
 
THE SCHOLAR'S GRAVE. Ill 
 
 But, sweeter than such influence dear, 
 
 The frequent visits of his maid, 
 The blue eye glistening with a tear, 
 
 For hopes which flourished but to fade. 
 
 When he departed magic sounds 
 And happy visions, fled with him, 
 
 And in the Future's distant bounds, 
 Each lovely prospect became dim. 
 
 And now, she sitteth near his tomb, 
 
 Like faithful Genius, sent to guard 
 The treasure, in death's constant gloom, 
 
 And thus, in watching, finds reward. 
 
 
 
 He, living held the magic wand, 
 
 Which brought her pleasures ever new, 
 
 And placed her in a sunny land, 
 'Tis broke, to happiness adieu. 
 
 She loved the Poet in his hour 
 
 Of Inspiration, wild and sweet, 
 When o'er his soul it rushed in power, 
 
 She loved his kindling eye to meet. 
 
 When from his lips sweet music fell, 
 All saddening objects became bright ; 
 
 She saw fair visions in this dell, 
 Sailing the air in clouds of light. 
 
112 THE SCHOLAR'S GRAVE. 
 
 He struck his harp, and spirits came, 
 Obedient to the powerful spell 
 
 Which rules in air in land and flame, 
 Alas to them a long farewell. 
 
 The loved magician is no more, 
 His subjects ,in. oblivion sleep ; 
 
 No longer, heard in tempest's roar, 
 No longer, in the stormy deep. 
 
 His love in heaven's own light so sweet, 
 Beholds no angels with their smile ; 
 
 In yonder grove, no fairy feet, 
 Which oft the solitude beguile. 
 
 At morn no spirits on the hill, 
 To hail the beauties of our earth, 
 
 And in the sparkling, quiet rill, 
 She hears no goddess in her mirth, 
 
 Yes he is gone ! whose potent mind, 
 Gave nature, living form and speech ; 
 
 The dull inanimate combined, 
 Illusion's highest art to reaeh. 
 
THE 
 INFIDEL 
 
[THE Author has to regret, that the little interest which might 
 have attached itself to " THE INFIDEL," had it been complete, 
 and finished, must be sadly diminished, if not altogether lost, 
 by an accident, which destroyed the greater part of the manu- 
 script, when this volume was preparing for the press. He has, 
 therefore, by prose, supplied the incidents which occur between 
 the fragments of poetry ; without, however, weaving the piece 
 into the continuity of a tale. 
 
 The Author, need scarcely repeat the caution, which he gives 
 his Reader, in the Preface, not to imagine that the sentiments 
 of the Infidel, are, in the least, congenial to his own. Without 
 disguise, the Author avows that the Infidel SHALL blaspheme. 
 But no one, will surely be chargeable with the folly, not to speak 
 of the injustice, of believing, that, therefore, the AUTHOR blas- 
 phemes. To all who know him, the identity would appear as 
 ridiculous, as it would fictitious.] 
 
THE INFIDEL: 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 IN a romantic vale, in the West of England, sheltered by 
 hills covered with trees, was the residence of an old gen- 
 tleman, whose only companion, in such a scene of solitude, 
 was his beloved daughter. In one of their short rambles 
 up the river, which flowed near to their cottage, they had 
 met a young stranger, by birth an Italian. On entering 
 into conversation, they were struck with an undefinable 
 interest towards him, and, at their urgent request, he ac- 
 companied them to their dwelling. Months had passed, and 
 still the stranger remained with them. 
 
 The opening scene is in the garden, where, in her bower, 
 is seated the old man's daughter. 
 
 Mary. The hour draws nigh : 
 
 The moon sheds forth the holy calm and brightness, 
 On which we pledged to gaze together ; oh 1 
 The sky is beautiful, in heaven's power, 
 And glows, and breathes, soul of the universe ! 
 Some dark shades, half revealing to the moon, 
 
116 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Shapes of Immortality's own lustre, 
 
 Tinge the serene of heaven, and draw our fancy, 
 
 There to repose mid secret loveliness, 
 
 And revel in strange joy. But Edward's mind 
 
 Where flit the brightest spirits all around, 
 
 In smiles of wildest love, its inmost core, 
 
 Is object, of a sweeter bliss to me. 
 
 Let angels, boast of couch of happiness, 
 
 On the fair bosom of the sky, among 
 
 The clouds, pouring the richest balm of joy ; 
 
 I lie, enshrined within the thoughts and love 
 
 Of his high soul, in fondest ecstacy, 
 
 Midst Genius' whispers, and Affection's kiss, 
 
 There all that lives, embraces me with love, 
 
 And to my sympathies administers. 
 
 The music of eternity I hear, 
 
 Breathing heaven's wild intensity of love, 
 
 And yet, to me, inferior and earth-born ! 
 
 Pm not a meet companion, to his thoughts 
 
 Of daring grandeur, and his soul of pride ; 
 
 But he is dearer still, for I can worship ! 
 
 To call forth Woman's love, a man must be 
 
 Her lord, and then, he has an angel's power 
 
 Over her every thought; she'll cling around him, 
 
 Like ivy to a monument, and follow 
 
 In love's green growth up to his daring height, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 117 
 
 Though not as equal : he'll woo her to his side, 
 And chain her there, by spirit's melody. 
 The eye of love as it turns upward, brightens, 
 Then fixes all its passion, ne'er to change : 
 Proudly dilates, as on the hopes of heaven, 
 And watches the adored through every danger 
 Attending his high course ; nought can engage it, 
 No rival object. Such love is mine ! 
 
 Some months ago, a stranger, 
 He drew all my love's worship : to his fate 
 I wished to cling ; though dark, it seemed not earthly ; 
 His daring genius might envelope it 
 In thickest clouds, yet they were clouds of heaven ! 
 His form appeared not cast in mortal mould, 
 Nor his proud soul ; yet had he mortal's grief. 
 Alas ! not long before, a mother dear, 
 Had left this world, and her he wildly mourned. 
 Grief was not mortal's weakness, but the soul's 
 Longings for union, with existences 
 Of power and beauty endless, since earth's joys 
 Were vanished ; yet he seemed more spiritual, 
 When his bright eye revealed a rising tear : 
 Oh then ! I could have shown a woman's love, 
 To kiss with sympathy, his troubled soul, 
 And give my bosom, to his aching head. 
 At night, I thought me of his burning brow, 
 
118 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 And how I longed to fan it with my love. 
 Our little cottage pleased him, and he pleased 
 My sire, who felt for all his grief ; but not 
 As keenly as his daughter and we passed the day 
 In tender offices of sweetest friendship. 
 Months passed away, he spoke to me of love. 
 In wildest joy, I scarce could listen to 
 His words. I showed no maiden's answering art ; 
 He knew he was beloved. I could not breathe 
 Forth speech ; my soul alone was capable 
 To tell him, how I loved ; and as he pressed 
 My breast to his, he felt its loving throb ; 
 Soul spoke to soul, and scorned interpreters. 
 All outward sense seemed shut, when on my lips, 
 A burning gentleness was breathed. Awoke 
 From the soul's rapture sweet, I gazed around, 
 Edward was gone, and all seemed happy dream, 
 Now vanished ; and I sat me down to weep, 
 Where, but a moment past, I had been blest 
 With ah ! they were vain delusions ! but no ! 
 His words recalled, gave me my former bliss ! 
 His arms, were still around me, heart to heart, 
 Again, I felt the virgin kiss of love ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 119 
 
 Edward, at that moment, entered the garden, and seated 
 himself beside his beloved Mary ; but there were evident 
 marks of recent agitation, on his countenance ; his frame 
 likewise trembled, and his voice faltered, when he ad- 
 dressed her. After a short silence, bitter, and full of 
 anguish to both, he told her, that they then met for the 
 last time, that now he must wander through the world 
 uncheered ; without a friend to smile love upon him, when 
 living, or kindly to drop a tear over him when dead ; that 
 her father had been conversing with him, as was his cus- 
 tom, upon religious subjects, and that he dared not play 
 the hypocrite, or disguise that he was an Infidel ; and that 
 the old man had then cursed him as the plague, which had 
 entered his dwelling, to blight and destroy all innocence 
 and happiness, and ordered him to depart instantly, and 
 for ever. Wild was Mary's grief, and dark her despair, 
 when she now knew, that she had bestowed the deepest 
 feelings of her heart's love on an Infidel. The very word 
 had fallen upon her ear, and had entered her soul, like 
 the pestilential Angel, to wither all the bright hopes, 
 which had grown around every thought and feeling, 
 fondly watched, and cherished by her. 
 
 She recalled all the past, and then Edward's apparent 
 devotion, came to comfort her for a moment. 
 
 Mary. Edward! 
 
 Within the holy Church, you oft have sat 
 With love of heaven, subdued ; and as our song 
 At eve's approach, swelled from the thankful heart, 
 Your eyes, beamed with a Maker's love. 
 
120 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Edward. With love of you alone ! 
 
 Oh ! 'twas sweet, to view that countenance, raised 
 In purest confidence, though to a shade. 
 The music of your voice, charmed all my thoughts, 
 And though with it, I never could ascend, 
 To your supposed Jehovah, and his heaven, 
 It made a heaven below. That shining head, 
 Bending with its fair tresses, to his worship, 
 All meek and low, seemed then more dear to me, 
 Than had it lain upon my breast ! 
 
 I loved the beauty of your worship, I, 
 An Infidel ! but only with my Mary ! 
 I closed mine eyes when the sweet hymn arose, 
 And then the various sounds, seemed voices loved, 
 Of breathing spirits round me. But sweeter, 
 Though less loud, was yours, so musical ! 
 The others, to me seemed as hovering 
 In love, above, beneath, and all around 
 Your voice. 
 
 And as your eyes gleamed adoration pure, 
 Upon the virgin's lovely features, sad, 
 Yet smiling peace ; I too, in worship gazed 
 Upon a face, more beautiful, your own! 
 Nor ceased to think, how fondly would the heart, 
 Which breathed its love, round shadows, dark and 
 distant, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 121 
 
 Embrace a near reality ! 
 
 And as we knelt 
 
 Your breath did fan my cheek, with fragrance sweet ; 
 You prayed for me in love and then your eyes 
 Stole to the stars, arising to your hopes ! 
 
 Mary. Oh Edward ! you an Infidel. 
 Beneath so fair a sky! the moon and stars 
 Declare 
 
 Edward. Nought but their own beauty, 
 They shine in darkness, and they sweetly point 
 To nothing but themselves. Heaven and earth 
 Are but the mirror of their beauteous self. 
 
 Mary. Oh ! can you gaze upon the heavens, 
 And think not of eternity, and rest. 
 Around that wide expanse, so beautiful ! 
 Infinity of life, hath breathed a calm, 
 And there, on earth, the troubled soul will gaze 
 Till happy thoughts of rest, in father-land, 
 Have swiftly come, from that blue arch, to wipe 
 The tear away, and smile eternal Peace ! 
 
 Edward. I oft have stood beside the shore, 
 And as the billows raged in fury wild, 
 
 R 
 
122 THE INFIDEL, 
 
 The gusty spray, lashing around my form, 
 
 I longed to leave the noisy scene I stretched 
 
 Mine eye, forth o'er the watery deep, and then 
 
 It rested on an island far away, 
 
 With marble cliffs, all purely glistening, 
 
 Amidst earth's richest green ; and music sweet 
 
 Came floating o'er the deep, with hailing welcome, 
 
 A blue cloud rested o'er it ; spirits gay, 
 
 Seemed standing in its arch, with smiles of love, 
 
 Their hands scattering unearthly beauties ! 
 
 Whilst white winged birds, skimmed in the happy 
 
 air, 
 
 And a strange light diffused itself o'er all, 
 And made the cloud, the Island's glorious crown ; 
 Oh ! how I longed there to alight amongst 
 My hopes ! and walk transformed from earth. 
 And thus it is with man ; he looks around 
 This frowning world ; and fancy, to his gaze 
 Pictures a land of rest, and calls it heaven ! 
 No ! Annihilation is our future state, 
 And all our being's like the night, and we 
 Therein sleep on, in matter's lifeless mould. 
 Life then, is not a dream, but waking hour 
 Of misery until, blessed thought ! we sleep 
 Again. Sometimes that hour is happy, since 
 'Tis coloured with some secret knowledge of 
 
THE INFIDEL. 123 
 
 Rest's happiness and then we fondly wish 
 To fall asleep and wake no more ! 
 
 Mary. Eternity, is shadowed in your soul. 
 
 Edward. Talk not of shadows, which obscure 
 
 my soul, 
 
 Reflected from a dark eternity ; 
 No ! no, they come not thence. 
 
 Go view the mists of earth, 
 By which heaven's radiance and its own, 
 Is shrouded ; rise they not from earth itself ? 
 So it is with my mind ; from its own darkness, 
 Gather the shades, which flit sadly around. 
 The brightest light within the mind, oft leaves 
 One part, in shade, to revel in another ! 
 Then terror hovers near what's dark, as oft 
 When standing on a gloomy mountain's top, 
 The sun beclouded, threw no cheering beams ; 
 I felt the coldness, and the dreary view 
 Oppressed me though far off, in lovely glens, 
 Light was on all. 
 
 The earth, has all its varied causes 
 Within itself; the sweeping winds, the dew, 
 The light, and earthquakes ; both its smiles and frowns. 
 So has the mind ! 
 
124 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Mary. Edward I hear an echo in my soul 
 Of a Creator. 
 
 Edward. Oh ! 'tis but fancy ! 
 
 Stand upon the shore, and murmurings strange 
 Of hollow voices, come across the deep, 
 The caves return the sound unearthly ; yet 
 
 Are they all of earth ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 See, now the night is dark ! but I '11 go hence ! 
 
 I'll sooner brave the winds, and the cold damps, 
 
 Nay, death itself, in all his agonies, 
 
 Mid houseless scene for here here 
 
 Still breathes the old man's curse. 
 
 And yet from you from you, Mary, to part ! 
 
 Mary. We'll meet again ! 
 
 Edward. We will ! why should we part ? 
 The curse again will drive me forth ! 
 We meet ! your eyes are raised, and wildly look 
 To heaven : there shall we meet ? no, no, 
 We meet no more ! 
 
 That evening, he left the quiet home of the old man, with 
 the curse following him, and, in his own opinion, debarring 
 him from all human fellowship. He was absent for 
 months, and that absence was insupportable. He returned. 
 
THE INFIDEL. 125 
 
 The old man was on his death-bed; who, with his 
 latest breath, revoked the curse he had formerly pro- 
 nounced upon the Infidel, and bestowed on him a Father's 
 blessing; at the same time, solemnly entreating him to 
 abandon his Scepticism. 
 
 The two lovers, after their " mourning had been ended," 
 became husband and wife. 
 
 Edward. Let us, beneath this pleasant foliage, 
 Sit on soft moss. Mary, you know that tree ? 
 
 Mary. Its boughs are flourishing, 
 
 In summer leaves ; so is the memory, 
 Of the sweet hours, we have together passed, 
 Under its shade ; when, as our love was young, 
 Unto the changing music of the grove, 
 We fondly listened, 
 
 Edward. Your eye, the interpreter of all 
 
 The loving sounds, met mine. Before that time*, 
 I've dreamt of wood nymphs fair, pure as the 
 
 stream 
 
 Near which they loved to sport, all free of foot 
 As the swift breeze, yet never knew I love. 
 I oft have gazed upon the dark-eyed Greek, 
 Who flashed forth love, or vengeance, and almost 
 Would force you to her embrace. Her eye shines 
 
126 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Forth in passion, but ah ! with troubled light, 
 And in it, seems no gentle delicacy. 
 I've gazed upon the fair Italian, 
 Softer, but not less vehement in love ; 
 Warm, as our loving country's sunny gales ; 
 Land of volcanos, and of smiling skies. 
 But, Mary ! your love is as the dew-drop 
 Cold, and yet genial to my heart ! 
 My life, my all, my only happiness ! 
 When first I called you mine, by holy tie, 
 And when you lay upon my breast, I dreamt 
 That you were lost, and oh ! the darkness wild ! 
 
 Mary. Come, dearest, and chant to me, 
 Your wife, the Bridegroom's dream. 
 
 Edward. On couch of softest touch, though 
 
 not of earth, 
 
 But as a lovely cloud, or heavenly bower, 
 I seemed to rest, while sweetest sound of mirth 
 Stole on the softening langour of the hour. 
 Before me sprung, 'twas not of earthly birth, 
 Shedding around, Heaven's scents a timid flower : 
 A dim soft light, hung trembling o'er the whole, 
 In throbbing joy, which answered to my soul ; 
 
THE INFIDEL. 127 
 
 And yet no setting sun, pale moon, sweet star, 
 Illumed the scene, nor artificial light ; 
 'Twas Love's own smile, bewitching from afar, 
 Where higher heaven, is beautiful and bright. 
 Cynthia unveiled, might ride in her fair car, 
 And Sol might scatter darkness, in his might ; 
 I 'd quickly turn me to that sweeter ray ; 
 'Twas like a gleam of everlasting day. 
 
 And lo, a brighter flash, 'tis gone, and now 
 A lovely form of youth, beside me lies. 
 'Twas my own maid, I knew the shining brow 
 Of calmness fair, and her love-beaming eyes. 
 One dear embrace, one softly uttered vow 
 She wildly points, a form is seen to rise; 
 It turned upon us a cold, scanning look, 
 We parted, sighing at the stern rebuke. 
 
 Her father walked away. A long embrace 
 Again joins soul and sense ; we fondly cling, 
 As 'twere our last. Desire flushed o'er her face, 
 And wilder fondness, to her limbs did bring. 
 What gentle madness ; hold ! again in place 
 Of light, the form stands darkly threatening. 
 Away ! frown not on us ; I am your son. 
 We part, 'tis gone, and once more, we are one, 
 
m THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Heart throbbed to heart, and limb to limb, in joy. 
 We spoke not words were vain our souls dis- 
 miss 
 
 All slow interpreters, and yet, the virgin coy, 
 Like infant at the breast, murmured wild bliss. 
 Tears roll in ecstacy, yet are they not alloy, 
 But drops of dew upon delight, to kiss 
 The burning 1 heart, and pleasure add to sense, 
 To sooth our love, yet make it more intense. 
 
 What care I for the lovely light ? Her eyes 
 Shine solely upon me, and sounds all wildly sweet, 
 Fall on my ear unheard, though by the skies 
 Prolonged in holy echo. Let them greet 
 All who rejoice in them, for we despise 
 Such vanities, though of fair Heaven, and rise 
 To world of thrilling happiness. We love, 
 Nor hear sweet Nature laughing from above. 
 
 Her father's warning form appears, it waves 
 Us from each other, but we cannot part. 
 In vain his eyes glow fierce, in vain he raves ; 
 In cither's breast we hide, and feel no smart ; 
 We see, we hear him not ; delight us saves 
 From sights and thoughts of fear, and fills our heart 
 And every sense ; we've bliss amidst the storm, 
 Two spirits dreading nought from earthly form. 
 
THE INFIDEL. 129 
 
 As oft, when gathering clouds presaged the blast, 
 I've trod the shore, and longed, yet feared to leap 
 Amongst the playful waves ; a moment's past, 
 And I am floating on the boundless deep ; 
 The storms descend, and roll the surges vast, 
 The angry lightnings o'er their heads do sweep 
 In fearful gleams, heedless I love the sea, 
 My heart clings fondly to its majesty. 
 
 So revel we in joy, till, by its power, 
 
 I lie insensible upon her breast, 
 
 Whose loving motion lulled me in that hour, 
 
 To sweet oblivion, and sleep's gentle rest. 
 
 I start, she 's gone, the shades of darkness lour 
 
 Upon the late fair scene ; my bosom's prest 
 
 By some sad power ; I wildly shriek, and rise 
 
 In horror from my couch, nought meets mine eyes. 
 
 She's gone. I search in agony of soul ; 
 Alone, all desolate my life and love. 
 In one brief moment months appear to roll. 
 Alternate light and darkness have above 
 Held their divided reign ; no laws control, 
 That hope and fear should change my mind. I rave 
 With feelings of despair, and fond regret, 
 In utter hopelessness, I wildly fret, 
 s 
 
130 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 And now the scene is dark. I grope my way, 
 Yet hope begins to throw its cheering light, 
 And ray in quick succession followed ray, 
 Till every feeling danced with joy, all bright. 
 I reached what seemed a cave, shut out from day ; 
 " She's here/' was whispered; oh! for angel's 
 
 might, 
 
 To place her by my side ; when a cold kiss 
 Breathed death upon my lips, and chilled my bliss. 
 
 ' Twas she I clasped her in my arms, when lo, 
 
 Life warmed in my embrace, she raised her eyes, 
 
 From my delighted bosom ; oh ! they glow 
 
 With never dying love " here other ties 
 
 Bind us," she gently said, the grave, no no 
 
 Upon us gleamed a light, from the dark skies, 
 
 A little cherub in her arms lay mild, 
 
 She archly raised it, and I knew my Child ! 
 
 Whene'er I wandered forth, 
 To welcome Nature's blessings to my heart, 
 Strange madness reigned within ; I would be great, 
 Yet nothing could enjoy. I seemed to be 
 In an invisible palace whence I caught, 
 A sudden glimpse of beauty, all above 
 
THE INFIDEL, 131 
 
 A mortal's thought ; and heard sounds of the soul ; 
 
 Yet what availed they me ? distant they were, 
 
 And never to be grasped. 
 
 Oft have I, by the midnight taper, wooed 
 
 The forms of beauty, all in heaven and earth, 
 
 With ardent worship, till the sun arose, 
 
 To startle my weak eyes, and pallid face ; 
 
 And as the poor man whistled to his labour 
 
 All happy I blessed his ignorance ! 
 
 Night came again, and in my chamber lone 
 
 I sat, and gazed in painful longing on 
 
 The night's fair Queen as in her majesty 
 
 She reigned, and all this mystery of life, 
 
 Seemed, as by her revealed, whilst secret grief 
 
 Saddened my thoughts. But now, your gentle 
 
 form 
 
 Encircled by my arm, my soul reposes, 
 And, close embraces, all of happiness, 
 Which I could hope. 
 
 Mary. Still know you not Nature's sweet im- 
 pulses 1 
 Do they not quicken Love ? 
 
 Edward. Of old, it was my food, my health; 
 and life. 
 
132 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Once, sickness stretched me languid on my couch, 
 My soul was dark, because ne'er lighted by 
 Nature's sweet smiles. I pined away till borne 
 To the dear lattice of my home ; the garden 
 Gave health and beauty to my soul, and frame. 
 
 And when I walked abroad, 
 How leapt my soul, to welcome each old feeling, 
 Arising from each object, and to them 
 My love whispered all hail ; on me they shone 
 With deeper love ; beneath my silent feet, 
 The grass rustled all softly ; the river 
 Murmured a welcome, low, yet gently deep. 
 
 Beside the Tiber's beauteous flow, my thoughts, 
 From unseen fountains, rushed in sympathy : 
 And various as the music of the tide, 
 And ever changing, as the setting rays, 
 Upon its calm; these thoughts were strange and high. 
 And when night's curtain fell, I entered Rome, 
 The Eternal City there the moonshine sweet, 
 Vied with the blazing lamps, to show its beauty ; 
 And as the street, loud echoed to my tread, 
 There seemed a greatness from the city's heart, 
 Ancient, and answering to mine own. 
 
THE INFIDEL, 133 
 
 The palaces arose, like sky built domes, 
 Reared in the moonshine, soon to disappear, 
 And as sweet virgins, at the lattice sat 
 To list some lover's music, in the breeze, 
 They, to my fancy, were the spirits fair, 
 Who visit earth, in Hope and Love. 
 
 I knew a slave, who toiled upon the Tiber's banks, 
 He gazed upon it, as it ever flowed, 
 And never dried up in its yellow course ; 
 So was his slavery the little birds 
 Sported in joyous liberty and he 
 Stamped as a man, by nature, marked by man, 
 A slave. No joys, except a little hour 
 At home, which taught him yet to hope. 
 A grey haired dreamer ! 
 
 Oh ! he loved night, and welcomed its dark shades, 
 And as the deep blue sky, which seemed to circle 
 In the far distance, his loved father-land, 
 Faded amongst the mists, he sought his home. 
 
 Mary. And there was happy ? 
 
 Edward. A time. His children sported gay, 
 But oh ! he knew, they soon must wear the chains ! 
 
134 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Mary. The moon would shine on them, 
 As on the free. 
 
 Edward. Whene'er the moon arose, 
 'Twas but to blight their joy ; vainly the curtain 
 Closed then against its light, revealed its beams ; 
 The little children started at the rays 
 Which shone within, for then their sire was called 
 Again to toil, till the cold midnight's dew 
 Had chilled his frame, or some kind eloud appeared 
 And intervened its shady power ; till when 
 No light was visible, except the taper 
 Within his home, which sought his quick approach. 
 
 But, Nature, thee I love ; and Earth's bright 
 
 scenes, 
 
 Are transcripts of my hopes 
 Oh I Earth to me is dearer than the sky ; 
 Look at the clouds, however bright in beauty, 
 And tell me, that a bower is there, for me ; 
 'T would never lead me from my cottage dear. 
 The rainbow's colours, fade before Earth's green ; 
 The expanse of ether, is all beautiful, 
 With clouds, floating in gorgeous majesty ; 
 But the glen, sweeping round us, far and wide, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 135 
 
 With towering bills, and all adorned with flowers ; 
 
 Where every object, is a friend to me, 
 
 Is dearer, and more beautiful ! 
 
 Earth is our mother, we will love her ! 
 
 Mary. And Heaven, our God, and we will 
 
 worship Him. 
 Heaven is the seat of angels. 
 
 Edward. So fables say, and if such spirits be, 
 Why do they, 'tis told, relinquish Heaven, 
 To visit earth, so oft ? 'Tis not in Love, 
 But Envy. Gladly would they here, for aye, 
 In some sweet glen, or mountain top, hay, nay, 
 Not there, that is too near their prison, heaven ! 
 You think the angels happy ? 
 
 Mary. In bowers of light itself, though not of 
 
 sun, 
 
 Or moon, listing to Heaven's music, they 
 Repose ; or travel, with a sunbeam's speed, 
 The Universe, to charm the distant vales, 
 Even of our Earth, in converse with its race. 
 Above life's storms, and mortal woes, calmly 
 They move. A happiness they give to us, 
 And Fancy dreameth of their form and voice. 
 
136 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Edward. 'Tis earth, which to us gives, 
 
 The notion of existence spiritual ; 
 The wind breathes, and it is a seraph's harp, 
 All heavenly, struck by heavenly hands. 
 The human voice, at times, in sweetest note, 
 Seems but the speaking soul. 
 You deem the angels happy ? So do birds, 
 In stormy season, when they love a shelter, 
 And flutter near the window, where is one, 
 Within a cage, with food and safety ; oh ! 
 They wish exchange of liberty, for bars ; 
 But if they knew the pain, which, were they caged, 
 They 'd feel, when lovely summer comes, with skies 
 To smile upon their wings ; and blossomed trees 
 Courting them to alight, and charm with songs 
 Its solitude, whilst other birds, in mirth 
 Fly all about ; no more to pair, no more 
 To watch their young. And it is thus, with man. 
 When the rude storms of time roughly assail, 
 We wish to know a shelter, though a prison, 
 And deem the angels happy ; sighing oft, 
 To share their lot. But when the storms are o'er, 
 How could we gaze upon the earth below, 
 Where all our love, and hopes, lie scattered ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 137 
 
 Mary. Awake! awake, the morning shines, 
 And the sweet birds, sing thee a joyful hail. 
 The roses, yield thee fragrance ; oh ! but those 
 Upon thy cheek, are pale ; and nought will colour 
 
 them, 
 
 Not even, a loving mother's kisses warm, 
 No, nor a mother's voice, can wake her boy. 
 Baby, a longer, and a sweeter sleep, 
 Thou now enjoyest, than when upon this breast ; 
 I need not hush thee now, for Silence deep, 
 Sits by the couch, your mother ; and long rest, 
 No more to be disturbed, is o'er thy limbs. 
 
 Priest. 'Tis kind in heaven, 
 
 To keep it from the dread realities, 
 Which haunt a waking life ; an infant's dream 
 Seems sweet ; pure beings hover o'er it, 
 And point to visions, never met on earth ; 
 They touch his dimpled cheek, so innocent ! 
 'Tis sad then, that rude storms, and ruder hands, 
 Should wake him to a mortal's misery. 
 
 He was an exile, 
 
 And only in his dreams, lay in the bower 
 Of his sweet country. 
 
 Edward. Upon his mother's breast, there was 
 his heaven ! 
 
 T 
 
138 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Her eyes were the sweet angels ; and her lips, 
 
 Whispered strange thoughts, into his infant soul. 
 
 Her arms, were all his native bowers. Good Priest, 
 
 Your's is not comfort, were it true ; from us 
 
 He's gone, our cherished self, yet purer far. 
 
 Mary, 'twas a strange link of love ! 
 
 For when, in all thy virgin purity, 
 
 Above this mortal life, its ties and joys, 
 
 I deemed, thou couldst not gaze upon a child, 
 
 Thine own. A lovely spirit, yet a mother ! 
 
 The thought, luxuriant, and yet true ! 
 
 But now, 'tis gone ; I cannot comfort thee, 
 
 Nor hope myself. But yesterday, at eve, 
 
 I wandered forth, among the fragrant flowers, 
 
 In our sweet garden, all saddening thoughts 
 
 Had vanished. I knew I walked alone, 
 
 But then I dreamt, that you were here, within, 
 
 Fondling our babe, and, all the while, gazing 
 
 On me, supremely blest with Woman's love, 
 
 And teaching his young eyes, to do the same. 
 
 The flowers around, bloomed like my hopes ; the 
 
 moon 
 
 Arose, fair bride of night, and I returned, 
 And there, upon the threshold of our cottage, 
 My ears alive to joy, no infant cry was made ; 
 No mother's soothing hush, nor sportive lay, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 139 
 
 Was heard, and, bursting ope the door, when lo ! 
 Within thy arms, our child reposed, dead!-- 
 
 dead ! 
 
 Pressed to thy bosom, in thy frantic grief ! 
 Thou couldst not weep, and I could nought but rave. 
 Horror ! our lifeless child ! 
 
 Mary. Edward, recall it not; that fearful 
 
 trance 
 
 In which so long you lay ; the vacant look, 
 Changing- to joy, when in mine arms, our child 
 You saw, and cried, " 'Tis false ! where is the 
 
 grave ? 
 
 He is not there ! but in his mother's arms ! " 
 Would, that my breast, had been thy grave, my child! 
 I had been happy to have held thee here, 
 Though thou hadst ne'er awoke, nor breathed, to 
 
 cheer 
 
 A mother's soul. I would have sat as marble, 
 Without all motion, and no darling one, 
 Should draw attention, from my sleeping child. 
 But ah ! the grave, is now his mother's breast ; 
 The cold, cold clay, will soon embrace this form, 
 And not this loving heart, all warm ; the worm 
 Shall riot on the cheeks, which I so oft 
 Have kissed, in pride. 1 could for ever, gaze 
 
140 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Upon thy faded beauty, and, \vithjoy, 
 l f d kiss thy bloodless, blackening lips. 
 How beautiful in death ! The earthly mould, 
 Is heavenly in its birth. The youthful soul 
 Seems not collected in itself, but o'er 
 Each little feature scattered ! 
 
 Priest. Content ye ! 
 
 He's with the God of happiness ! 
 
 Edward. How can your God be happy ? 
 
 Happiness, 
 
 Consists in change ; his feelings are the same, 
 His thoughts, as when from all eternity ! 
 What knows he more 1 Unchangeable he is, 
 There lies his misery. All things to know, 
 Is to know nothing. To make him happy, 
 Objects there should have been, above his ken, 
 That by desire and effort, worthy of 
 A God, high as His nature, and above His throne 
 He might have joyed in new discoveries. 
 Your God is miserable. Your fabled foe, 
 Satan, is happier in his ignorance, 
 And joys in seeing Eden, new, unknown. 
 But thanks ! my child is not with God, for he 
 Is not 
 
THE INFIDEL. 141 
 
 Priest. Nay, blaspheme not. God is good, 
 And must be happy, and your little one 
 Now tastes the joys of heaven, through Him who 
 
 said, 
 
 " Let children come to me." He is within 
 The blessed Redeemer's arms. 
 
 Mary . And we shall join him there, all happy. 
 
 Edward. No, no, old man. You make me mad 
 With your delusions. Happiness in heaven ! 
 Did it exist, where is the happiness ? 
 Is there a moment, in all its sunshine 
 Endless, and immortal youth, like to that 
 Which we have felt on earth. Do, truly say, 
 Can man love God, as he hath done his brother; 
 As woman he hath loved ? Would you exchange 
 The hours which you have spent, in childish sport 
 Upon a parent's knee ; and his embrace, 
 For Father Abram's breast, and Jewish beard ! 
 Oh ! Mary, would you give these hours of love, 
 With me, for an eternity of heaven ? 
 Ha ! that look now answering me in pride, 
 And, this embrace, prefers me ! 
 
 Mary. Edward ! there's pleasure in my thoughts 
 of heaven, 
 
142 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Though I cannot express it. As in youth, 
 When, midst gay Nature's scenes, a sudden impulse 
 Pleases each sense, and clothes the mind in robes, 
 Far brighter than the spring, and yet, the cause 
 We know not. 
 
 But as the mind expands, we know the source 
 Of our delights ; so here, on earth, we feel, 
 Yet cannot tell, of heavenly joys. Oh ! Edward ! 
 Adore our God ; He made us, and our child ! 
 
 Edward. I would adore him, if he made but 
 
 thee, 
 So fair, so beautiful ! But 
 
 Mary. Yes, and our little one ! 
 
 Edward. Nay, 'tis he who has unmade him, 
 And where should be my adoration ? 
 Must my heart swell with gratitude, and love 
 To him, whilst pressing to its core, our child, 
 Slain by his hand! nay must I kiss that hand, 
 Crimsoned with his young blood ? and must this 
 
 grave 
 
 My boy, become a temple where to him, 
 Demon, who slew thee, I must pay my thanks ; 
 Nay priest, frown not I do defy him, 
 O'er my dead offspring ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 143 
 
 Priest. Edward, 1 pity thee ; an old man's tears 
 Flow at thy misery of soul oh think 
 Upon thy God! 'tis he alone, can calm 
 The troubled waves, which rage within thy breast. 
 But let us to the churchyard ! 
 
 Edward. There, my boy, 
 
 To seek for thee a grave, which oft we'll visit ; 
 So shall the sunshine, and the lovely flowers 
 In season : Mary, I'll soon return to kiss 
 Our babe once more, and then to comfort thee, 
 Thou'rt still my hope ! 
 
 [Exit with the Priest. 
 
 Mary. What have I now to do? 
 
 In all my occupations, vacancy 
 I feel, as well as in affections sweet. 
 No more must I, watch for thy waking cry, 
 And minister to all thy wants, then lay 
 Me down, with thy sweet breathing form, upon 
 My breast, whilst Edward's arms were round us 
 
 both. 
 
 No more, when from thy rosy sleep thou wak'st, 
 I '11 lave thy little hands, grasping at mine, 
 And thy fair face, with the clear waters, whilst 
 Thou smilest like a spirit of the deep, 
 Thy gentle fingers, playing on my breast. 
 
144 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 No more, I'll lull thee to a quiet sleep, 
 
 And thank my God, and ask his seraphs bright, 
 
 To guardian the pillow of my child. 
 
 But ah ! I feel, that soon I'll follow thee, 
 My boy. Love's thoughts, and visions, when too 
 
 bright 
 
 Are fatal to a mortal but Edward ! 
 Oh what to thee of happiness and hope 
 Survives ? good God ! oh ! let me live, to light 
 The powerful visions of his soul, with joy, 
 And breathe a calm, over his feelings. 
 And should I die before my Edward, 
 All I could wish, my only heaven would be, 
 To flit for ever by, an unseen presence, 
 To watch his changing moods, and fondly breathe 
 Into his soul, a vital loveliness, 
 And give him dreams, of future happy union. 
 I'd even wish, that there, love's flowers might 
 
 bloom 
 
 Again though not for me! I'd bear to gaze 
 Upon my withered flower, by him forgot ! 
 But there, I know, 'twill yield eternal sweets; 
 Though withered, Heaven's own dews of hope, will 
 Shelter all its beauties, that remembrance 
 Will never brighten aught more fair. 
 And yet should other love, flourish within, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 145 
 
 What's sacred to me now, I 'd cherish it, 
 And as, his dear head's pillowed on her breast, 
 As it hath oft, on this, in ecstacy ; 
 Should she, as I, press it wildly, all proud 
 Of the high bliss, I 'd thank her ardent love, 
 And, fondly clasp them both, in my embrace. 
 
 [Enter EDWARD.] 
 Edward. It is a beauteous spot, close by thy sire. 
 
 Mary (aside.) That place was mine, next to 
 
 my father's, 
 
 Within his arms. Father, you know not now 
 The little stranger, who must sleep so near thee. 
 But soon, in the cold grave, I '11 take him to 
 My breast, and ask thee, to embrace my child 
 Thy grandson. 
 
 Edward. The yew, shades it in pleasing me- 
 lancholy ; 
 
 Amongst its leaves, the murmuring breeze, attuned 
 To sympathy, with grief's low moan or sigh, 
 Breathes an unearthly melody. 
 
 Mary. We oft will visit it, and yet, 
 
 u 
 
146 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 I never went to gaze upon the grave, 
 Of my dear parent ; my courage left me ; 
 Methought I walked upon his footsteps, to 
 The tomb. The thought seemed impious. 
 
 ' Edward. Upon the sod, we'll sit, and when we 
 
 raise 
 
 Our eyes from it, and think of what is buried, 
 They view our cottage, with no lovely child 
 Not this ! to sport beneath its flowery porch ; 
 And from it sounds no prattle, but Death's hum. 
 Yet, Mary, we will love our baby's grave, 
 In after years; and, constant though our tears 
 Fall, as the dew, we soon may learn to smile. 
 Each day, shall see us mourners, like the yew, 
 Shading the grassy mound, but not like trees, 
 Blasted with thunder. Each day 
 
 Mary. No, Edward, no ; long there I cannot 
 
 be. 
 
 Yes, there I soon must be, a visitor ? 
 A tenant of the grave, and then, o'er me 
 You'll gaze alone. What horror's in your eye ? 
 
 Edward. To think I look on death, when on 
 my wife ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 147 
 
 Nay, where's his visage ? Your's is beautiful ! 
 Mary, you mock me, or oppress yourself 
 With melancholy thoughts, and yet, your eyes 
 Drop tears upon my hand ; a strong presage 
 Creeps, like a shadow, o'er my soul, and should 
 It cannot be ! Methinks, I see thee borne, 
 Unto the tomb! Hold off! embrace me not, 
 Till in a common grave ! 
 
 Mary. I trust to live. But, Edward ! 
 Weakness is o'er my frame. 
 
 Edward. So shall the shroud, as now 'tis o'er 
 
 my heart ! 
 
 For you, there is no misery, nor bliss ; 
 The sun, or love, shines not within the grave. 
 For me, wild madness, maniac's ravings, 
 Yet, knowing who I am ; what shall I be ? 
 Not man ! a creature, crawling near thy tomb ; 
 No word, but curses ; my body, as my soul, 
 Visibly breathing rage, and hell's despair. 
 
 Mary. Edward, be calm. I will descend, 
 And be your angel wife, through all your lot. 
 
 Edward. You will not know the fiend, your 
 husband ! 
 
148 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 I change already could you see my heart, 
 As I do feel it ! 
 
 Mary. My love, I will not die. 
 
 It may be but a weakness, and distemper, 
 Engendered by keen sorrow, for our boy ; 
 'Twill vanish at my Edward's smile. 
 
 Edward. Again I hope, and am a man. Mary, 
 You will not die. The sun smiles on your face. 
 I 'm happy ; but see, its rays are brighter^ 
 Upon the marble features of our babe ! 
 
 Mary. It pains me. I'll curtain out the sun. 
 
 Edward (aside.) Fears now possess my soul, 
 And they are gloomier, from my joyous hopes, 
 That she will live ; but, if my hopes prove false, 
 What is for me, despairing ? oh ! the grave ! 
 The grave ! the place of rest, should never be, 
 For those already dead, they have their rest. 
 But for the living sad yes leave our babe, 
 And let me, in his grave, be buried ! He 
 Is already resting ; never more shall 
 Storms disturb his calm. Oh ! that his grave 
 Were mine ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 149 
 
 Edward. The shadows, draw around our cot- 
 tage, night, 
 
 No more, as wont, to be dispelled by smiles, 
 
 Or made all lovely, night comes to veil despair ; 
 
 Yet in this silence, fear tortures me more. 
 
 Her breath, makes a strange music to my heart. 
 
 Hush! 'tis death's whispers; the room seems 
 haunted, 
 
 With more than my own fancies. I shudder ! 
 
 From their distraction, let me fly ! But where ? 
 
 Oh where ! this heart is not this is the pain 
 
 I fly^ the breezes cannot fan it, where Mary 
 
 Is in healthful bloom, and distant from the grave. 
 
 I rave! be calm. I will not leave her there ; 
 
 My bosom shall be hers, unto the last ! 
 
 Oh ! would it pillowed her, in the dark tomb ! 
 
 Mary, mine arms embrace thee ! 
 
 [He lies down, and clasps her in his arms. 
 (After a long silence.) The moon shines on 
 her face, all sweetly, 
 
 Wooing the fair sight, for many a night 
 
 To tarry on her earth ; or, as commissioned 
 
 To impart its kindling light, and happy life 
 
150 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Of beauty, to her fading face. But oh ! 
 Be dim, bright lamp, lest thou reveal to me, 
 Strange hues, and horrid changes. I'll not look! 
 I dare not ! Oh ! how oft, in ecstacy, 
 When the body seemed to be a mind, and 
 Feeling forbade all action, have I gazed 
 On her, smiling amongst thy rays, but now ! 
 Hush her lips touch mine, and wildly shudder, 
 All from within themselves. 
 
 Death's in these lips oh that I kissed its breath, 
 And now, inhaled its withering horror ! 
 It would be sweet from thee ! Welcome this hope ! 
 Oh ! God if that thou be, give me mortality, 
 And I will worship thee ; I, with my soul 
 Which scorns superior power, will bow, 
 And call thee my God, and the Infidel's ! 
 What mean I I rave I cannot clasp her now, 
 And think she is no longer mine ! She seemeth 
 What too soon, she shall be dead. 
 This couch is gloomier, than if it were 
 Her tomb I'd rather lie upon the sod, 
 Which springs in greenness, o'er my buried Mary ! 
 
 [Rushes out 
 
 Mary (dreaming.) Thou smil'st on me, and 
 yet thy cherub face 
 
THE INFIDEL. 151 
 
 Meets mine, as if I were inferior, 
 Nor gazeth fondly, on thy Mother's bosom; 
 My chikl ! wilt thou, not give me one embrace ? 
 These arms have oft Father, thou too, art cold, 
 I'll leave you all, for Edward! Where is he 1 
 And where's our lovely cottage ? nought is here, 
 But dazzling light, and faces, brighter still ! 
 Behold a dark form these eyes, I know them ; 
 Still do they gaze on me alone ! and now 
 In wild despair are fixed. 
 
 They send earth to my soul ; oh ! fair angel, 
 Let me pass thee, and follow Edward's fate ! 
 Frown not ! ye call it fortitude to cling 
 Through life's rude storms, unto a husband's lot ; 
 And when he dies, content to share his tomb ; 
 While, sheltered from the blasts, she might have 
 
 bloomed 
 
 Secure ; and o'er their grave, ye shed Heaven's dew. 
 Then bless my sure resolve, to quit all happiness, 
 Except with Edward ; yes and now I go, 
 To share his fate eternal I his Mary, 
 He ne'er will curse ; he's gone, they've banished 
 
 him, 
 
 And I am left (in her anguish she awakes) 
 Ha ! it is not terror's dream ; I am alone ! 
 Yet is not here, the light but the fair moon, 
 Shining through the lattice of our dear home 
 
152 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Our own sweet cottage here are the flowers 
 Upon my couch, which Edward gathered late. 
 These perfume even death 1*11 name my foe ! 
 He should not come to me, for I'm in heaven, 
 Whilst I behold my Edward : and death cannot 
 
 there 
 Blight any flowers ! 
 
 All now I wish is Edward's presence ! 
 Even, when my thoughts should be of heaven. 
 Why has he left me ? soon, soon, he will return ; 
 'Tis strange, I think of earth, and its delights, 
 And yet my mind is calm, and pure, as when 
 'Tis fixed on heaven and now its beauties rich, 
 In softest sympathy of Memory, 
 And Hope, the wild enchanters of our race, 
 Steal o'er me, whilst a thousand voices sweet, 
 Attuned to more than mortal hope and joy, 
 I list : Our nature's musical, answ'ring 
 To many unseen hands, and spirit's touch. 
 I'm nigh the grave but let me gaze around, 
 And ask remembrance of each object. 
 
 Moonshine thou smil'st on my eyes 
 Thou smil'st on my heart, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 153 
 
 I would fain clasp thy rays, before I depart. 
 Where thy beauty's unseen, yet still there thou art ; 
 
 The yew knows thy glimmer ; 
 
 Thy light is no dimmer, 
 
 Through the dark leaves. 
 That touches in my heart, a string, which vibrates 
 A melancholy sound. The blessed moonshine, 
 Ere that full moon may wane, will fall upon 
 A form, which lingers by my grave and oh! 
 A comforter so cold, and wan, will mock 
 His grief. Oh ! could I in it, descend, and 
 Commune with him, in his sorrow. 
 Sleep steals o'er every sense again. Rose, 
 Where's Edward ? Kind Rose, compose my head ; 
 The pillow's soft I'm giddy, all o'er-powered. 
 Edward ! Oh ! Rose, and should it be the sleep 
 Of death, and I awake no more, at his return, 
 Give him my latest thought, for 'tis of him ; 
 I am his wife obedient, and fain 
 Would answer to his call. Oh ! darken not 
 The window, till life and hope be fled. Love, 
 Edward ! [sleeps. 
 
 Pose. Sweet mistress, let me cover your fair 
 
 arms. 
 She is asleep, her arms, stretched out to clasp 
 
154 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Her loving husband ! May they not be cold, 
 When he returns. 
 
 [Scene the boiuer, in the garden, and EDWARD, 
 awaking from insensibility . ] 
 
 Here, her face rose in the cold moonshine, 
 And smiled in sad, yet bright unearthliness. 
 Her eyes seemed stars, divested of that glow, 
 With which they always gazed on me, and yet 
 Purer, and more compassionate by far. 
 It was her last adieu, and her fair hands, 
 As unsubstantial as the moon's pale rays, 
 Though, like the ones, which oft have fanned my 
 
 brow, 
 
 Waved to my love, and gently wooed it forth, 
 Then vanished. She's dead, dead, and I am here ! 
 The phantom called me on to follow it ; 
 I will, and my heart's blood shall track the path ! 
 This is a holy thought, and I can breathe it, 
 Here, to myself, and those pure stars. To me 
 Life is not precious, and from earth, my mother, 
 Who kindly fostered us, I ask one grave, 
 With a few flowers, sweetly to mark our love. 
 Oh ! had I seen her dying, with those eyes, 
 Resting on mine, I 'd answered to the gaze, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 155 
 
 And by my death, had given assurance 
 Of present union in the grave. 
 
 But as she died, perhaps, 
 She doubted me ; I'll go, and kiss her cold, cold 
 
 lips, 
 And o'er the dead, breathe, and accomplish my 
 
 desire ! 
 
 Not dead, but sleeping ; she yet must live ! 
 Her hand returns my touch, her lips my kiss, 
 She waketh not. Mary, thine eyes will ope 
 
 To me bright visions, and I shall but see, 
 
 Her arms are fondly folded, to embrace 
 
 Some object. She breathes my name ! God ! 
 
 I thank thee 
 Upon my knees 
 
 Mary. Edward, my love ! yes, here. What ! 
 on thy knees ? 
 
 Edward. Thou wilt survive, therefore 
 
 1 thank your God ! 
 
 Mary. Edward ! you kiss my cheek, all fondly, 
 
156 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 But so has death, and his reaches the heart, 
 Like yours. I feel it here ! 
 
 Edward. Curse on my thanks ! your beauty, 
 
 and your love, 
 
 Snatched from my lonely heart. Oh ! my Mary ! 
 Death has breathed on your lips, else had they not 
 Given utterance to such withering words ! 
 Yet are they sweet, as when I pressed them first, 
 At our betrothal ! No no you cannot die ! 
 You weep; why then I'll rave, here here 
 Heart, answer to her grief! [strikes his breast. 
 
 Mary. Be calm. As oft we sat together, 
 Whilst our baby laughed to both, I dreaded 
 To be torn from the dear scene for heaven ! 
 And now he's gone ; yet, Edward ! more I dread, 
 To leave thee, solitary in despair. 
 This frame sinks languid ; but oh ! my soul 
 Is strong, and love for thee is all my soul \ 
 Oh ! could I now transfuse it in your heart, 
 It might survive, so deep is it, for aye, 
 And make me thus, fully atone for death. 
 This moment, worth a whole eternity, 
 To your dear fate should be. 
 
 Your brain burns, let me kiss it 
 Be calm, love ! 
 
THE INFIDEL. 157 
 
 Edward. My heart ! kiss not my brow, though 
 
 fev'rish, 
 
 Nor play around it, with thy fragrant breath ; 
 It fans to fury the wild flames within ; 
 'Tis not my brain, but calm my heart ! 
 
 Mary. Heaven, visit thy dark soul, in love. 
 
 Edward. Mention it not, or name 
 Thy other phantasy, and call on hell, 
 To pity me. Give me the worm to feed 
 Upon my grief, and 'twould indeed be one 
 Which never dies, I'd make it live for aye, 
 In gluttony. 
 
 Mary. Blaspheme not, in thy grief; we'll meet 
 
 again, 
 Dearer, and happier, from such absence. 
 
 Edward. You pray for absence, Mary, you who 
 
 loved 
 
 So fondly where can we meet? and oh ! where 
 Can we be happier ? 
 
 Mary. In heaven. 
 
 Edward. As lovers ? husband and wife ? 
 
158 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Mary. As friends of the great King, 
 And we, together from the crystal battlements 
 Will gaze upon, where hung this earth, and think 
 Of this dear spot but then without regret, 
 And sounds, like those we heard, at twilight's hour, 
 Shall greet us, as we tread the golden streets, 
 Of the Eternal City, and visions, 
 Which here, we cannot know, but in our dreams, 
 Will haunt our endless life ; Realities. 
 
 Edward. No more, you love me not. 
 
 Mary. Edward! thou 'rt cruel to my love : can I 
 Forget thee ? No Fll ever hold thee dear, 
 So will the beauteous seraphs of that world. 
 
 Edward. Talk not to me, of heaven, with its 
 
 paved gold, 
 
 And crystal battlements. Is not our cottage, 
 Where all the gentle breezes, love to play, 
 Amongst the flowers, and wild trees sheltering 
 Its lattice and the outstretched lawn, and hills, 
 Whence music falls, at morn and eve, to cheer 
 Our home, it is more beauteous than your heaven ; 
 Your fabled king is but a vile goldsmith, 
 Or jeweller, and cannot charm the eye, 
 
THE INFIDEL. 159 
 
 With aught, save strange device, gold massy gates, 
 A sparkling crown. Talk not of seraph's pure, 
 When you to me, will not be what you are ! 
 
 Here is my heaven 
 
 Upon this breast oh ! live, and no God's smile 
 Shall give you happiness like mine ; 
 Talk not of glorious worship ; man's mind 
 Breathes nought but songs, and adoration there. 
 Cast me to hell, grim power, if that thou be, 
 Midst tortures fierce, and I am happy, if 
 Thee, I can defy. 
 
 And thou art going to him ? there to lie, 
 For ever in his bosom ! Deity 
 I am your rival ! no, no, 'tis Abraham, 
 Who gains your love and me, yet young, you leave 
 For the old Patriarch ! 
 
 I rave I cannot taunt thee, Mary ! 
 Thou soon must sleep, with matter's lifeless forms, 
 Whilst I (aside) but where is my late resolve ? 
 
 again, 
 
 It rises sterner, and to its nature 
 Bends my soul 
 
 Mary. My love, you turn from me in cold dis- 
 dain ; 
 
 I am your wife for ever, yet afraid 
 That I blaspheme. But God forgive my love. 
 
160 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Edward. One kiss (aside) the last, sweet as 
 
 the first, the last! 
 
 Tormenting thought ! Mary, now look on me, 
 And think on me alone, as my young wife. 
 
 Mary. You wear another look than Edward's 
 The husband of jny soul. I think on thee, 
 The object of love's youngest hopes, the father 
 Of the lost one ! I think on thee alone, 
 Though heaven 
 
 Edward. Name it not, or 1 will curse thee ! 
 Nay, weep not. No ! I meant not to be harsh ! 
 But madness wild despair, possess me ! 
 And I entreat thee (he kneels) think on me alone ! 
 As I on thee, till (aside) she gazes fondly ; 
 That look now nerves my soul. Mary, you think 
 Of me? 
 
 Mary. More fondly, than, when 'gainst a fa- 
 ther's curse, 
 
 My love grew round thee ; or, when by his blessing, 
 Our fates were one. And you remember, love, 
 Of our sweet walks ; mine eyes ne'er turned from 
 
 yours, 
 Not even to gaze upon the stars, you showed me. 
 
THE INFIDEL. 161 
 
 More fondly, than, when in your arms, I placed, 
 Our new-born one 
 
 Edward (aside. ) The music of her voice, falls 
 
 on my soul, 
 
 Like memory's latest tones, I cannot strike 
 With such a charm, yet must I ! 
 
 Mary. Edward in death, I love 
 
 Edward . That word again! Mary, now 
 
 [stabs himself and dies. 
 
 Mary (after gazing upon him, in the stupor of 
 grief.) I cannot shed a tear ; 
 
 The fatal deed is done. Oh God ! my Edward ! 
 'Twas for me. Yes, he could not see me die, 
 And then lie down upon a widowed bed. 
 Yet he, my life, a suicide ! Oh ! God, 
 Forgive him ; he was all reverent of 
 Deity, though he denied the name ; and 
 Doubts, shadowing the visions of his mind, 
 Were punishment enough. There, now he lies. 
 There his dear head on the floor, all bloody ! 
 It must be on my bosom ! Oh ! 'tis he, 
 Keeps down my thoughts of heav'n. I '11 rise 
 Y 
 
162 THE INFIDEL. 
 
 From off my couch, but I am very weak 
 Yet (rises) no ! it cannot be [falls back. 
 
 I must not join him ! 
 Oh ! must this separation be for aye ! 
 One pang I'm spared. Perhaps, he had been 
 
 snatched 
 From off my bosom hence ! horrid thought ! Fair 
 
 mercy, 
 
 Thou hast, already, borne him to his God 
 And mine. Oh ! for a last embrace ! Dear Rose, 
 Bear me to Edward ! [she is placed beside him. 
 I'm feeble, yet can I clasp him fondly; 
 One look ! and then I'll think of heaven. 
 He's beautiful, and these beloved lips 
 Seem once again to breathe my name. The worms 
 Shall banquet here. Oh ! Edward ! [dies. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 JR. Cocker, Printer, Wigan. 
 
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