ll!l!!l||iilli;il!l!l|ll
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 £HE LAURELS, 
 
 .JRONBRIDGE, 
 SHROPSHi
 
 BELISARIUS, 
 &c.
 
 BELISAEIUS, 
 
 LUDLOW CASTLE, BUILDWAS ABBEY, 
 
 i 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD WYKE. 
 
 HOULSTON AND STONEMAN, LONDON; 
 .JOHN DAVIKS, SHREWSBURY. 
 
 MDCCCXLIT.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following Poems were written, as an amusement, 
 during the tedious and lonely hours when indisposition of 
 body confined the writer to his home: consequently, without 
 the most distant idea of publication. Some of his friends, 
 however, who had read them with attention, considered 
 them to possess sufficient merit to recommend themselves 
 to the notice of the public : this, time will prove. 
 
 " If any one piece is more deserving of attention than 
 another, he conceives it to be Belisarius ; and here he 
 would observe, that the foundation of the Poem, he trusts, 
 wilr" be found historically correct; although the super- 
 structure is entirely the offspring of his imagination. 
 At the same time, he conceives the language used by the 
 fictitious characters introduced, does not exceed the bounds 
 : probability. 
 
 Of the other pieces he shall say nothing farther than 
 that, in the one called the Orphan Boy, he has repre- 
 sented the superstitious belief of David in what is called 
 the corpse candle, as invariably predicting the death of 
 a person in the family of the individual who had seen 
 this ignis fatuus. The belief of its being a supernatural 
 light was, at one time, if not at the present day, generally 
 believed throughout the northern portion of the Princi- 
 pality; not only by the poor and illiterate, but by many 
 who moved in the higher circles of society, and eminent 
 for then- mental acquirements in the sciences and arts. 
 
 Broseley, August, 1K4-L 
 
 $117
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Belisarius. 
 
 Part I. .. .. .. ..1 
 
 £art II. . . . . . . . . 15 
 
 Part III. .. .. .. ..29 
 
 Part IV. . . .. .. .. 43 
 
 Part V. . . . . . . . . 57 
 
 Lines on the Cross . . . . . . 73 
 
 Lines on Ludlow Castle . . . . 79 
 
 The Orphan Boy . . . . . . 85 
 
 Lines on Buildwas Abbey . . . . 95 
 
 Saville . . . . . . . . 101 
 
 Notes .. .. .. .. .. 117
 
 BELISAEIUS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 On th Byzantine fields which rise above 
 
 The placid bosom of the Bosphorus ; 
 
 A city stood. Byzantium once 'twas call'd ; 
 
 But now, from Constantine it takes its name, 
 
 Who render' d it the splendid capital 
 
 Of the vast realms o'er which he bore the sway. 
 
 For this he deck'd it with the works of art ; 
 
 And lavish' cl on it with a lib'ral hand, 
 
 The wealth of Rome ; then mistress of the world. 
 
 Its marble halls, and splendid palaces ; 
 
 Its gorgeous temples ; rais'd to his great name 
 
 Who died to save a guilty world from woe, 
 
 Reflect the radiance of the king of day, 
 
 As 'neath the western hills he seeks repose.
 
 2 BELISARIUS. 
 
 "Tis not of Constantine we now would speak ; 
 But of Justinian ; who held his court, 
 With eastern pomp, within the city walls. 
 
 There was a time the Emperor set apart 
 For revelry and mirth ; to celebrate 
 The natal day of his imperial spouse. 
 
 Within the palace halls the feast was spread ; 
 The massy tables groan'd beneath the load 
 Of rich and dainty fare ; bright sparkling wine, 
 Which, golden goblets fill'd, was gaily quaff' d 
 To Theodora's health. 
 
 But from the feast, 
 Was absent one, the Monarch hop'd to find, 
 Gracing the banquet with his cheering smiles — 
 It was Barsames, his counsellor and friend ; 
 His faithful minister ; his guiding star ; 
 His trusty pilot, who could safely steer 
 The gallant vessel of the Roman State, 
 'Midst rugged rocks, and dang'rous shoals that rise 
 And lurk unseen beneath tempestuous waves. 
 
 Observing this, the angry sovereign frown'd, 
 With stern displeasure at the passing thought, 
 That he, on whom his lib*ral hand had pourd
 
 BELISARIUS. 3 
 
 Unnumber'd favours, should neglect the feast, 
 And prove himself ungrateful to his lord. 
 
 But ere those thoughts found words, Barsames 
 
 appear'cl, 
 With paliid cheek and heavy clouded brow, 
 On which was stamp'd the mark of bitter grief. 
 With rapid steps he sought the monarch's seat, 
 And bending Ioav, kiss'd the imperial robe ; 
 Then en his knee presents a parchment roll. 
 
 " Read this," he cried, " I pray thee, read the roll, 
 Then thou'lt not blame Barsames' officious zeal, 
 If such it might appear ; nor yet his friends ; 
 E'en though they now disturb thy honour' d guests ; 
 Or mar the festive hours of joy and mirth. 
 Believe me, Sire, it is our love for thee, 
 And for those realms o'er which thou'rt call'd to rule, 
 That prompts us thus to interrupt the feast." 
 
 " But why, my worthy friend," the monarch said, 
 " Should we disturb our guests, or damp their joy, 
 And cast a shade o'er happy faces now ? 
 This clay to mirth and pleasure we devote ; 
 The next t' affairs of state we'll lend an ear : 
 Or, if requir'd we'll meet at early dawn, 
 And weigh the matter at our council board. 
 b2
 
 4 BELISARIUS. 
 
 In the meantime, do thou, my good Barsames, 
 Enjoy thyself, in union with our guests, 
 And fill the cup to Theodora's health." 
 
 " Nay, pardon me, my Sire," Barsames replied, 
 " If in my love for thee I might appear 
 To want that due respect I'd ever show ; 
 But when fell Treason dares to lift her head, 
 And Traitors meet within the city walls ! 
 Yea, treach'ry found within thy palace gates ! 
 Shall Barsames then enjoy the royal feast? 
 Shall he withhold from thee his warning voice ? 
 Though at a time like this ; nor point his lord 
 To trait'rous schemes and dangers that surround?" 
 
 " But e'en admitting this," the monarch cried, 
 
 " Will a few hours prove pregnant with those ills, 
 
 Thy fears anticipate ?" 
 
 " I fear they may," 
 Barsames replied ; " I pray thee read the roll." 
 
 The monarch read — his brilliant eye flashed fire ; 
 Like vivid light'ning from dark thunder cloud : . 
 Then rising said, — 
 
 " My guests, and noble friends ; 
 Disastrous news we learn ; the good Barsames
 
 BELISARIXJS. 5 
 
 Hath, with the aid of worthy Caius, found 
 That Treason lurks within our city walls. 
 My friends in arms, my valiant countrymen ; 
 Your aid I seek, your counsel I implore ; 
 To frustrate base and traitorous designs. 
 Which now are form'd to overthrow your laws ; 
 Destroy your statutes, and dethrone your Prince. 
 Our trusty friends, Cassius and Decius, both, 
 With well arm"d troops, will meet at break of day, 
 And wait our orders in the palace courts. 
 Meantime, my friends, we'll meet at council board, 
 And there devise such plans as may secure 
 The peace and happiness of this great realm."' 
 
 The guests withdrew, and soon around the board 
 The sovereign and his privy council met ; 
 When Barsames rose and said, — 
 
 " My honour'd Sire ; 
 Though painful be the task ; yet duty, love, 
 And loyalty unite, to warn our Prince, 
 "Gainst dangers that surround; that plans are form'd 
 To seize thy crown and drive thee from the throne, 
 If not to take thy life, is past all doubt. 
 But where thy foes in secret lay conceal'd ; 
 Or where the traitors met t' arrange their schemes, 
 Was more than we could learn ; "till some nights 
 since,
 
 b BELISARIUS. 
 
 Caius, a soldier of the Royal Guard, 
 
 (And one more faithful or more brave lives not, 
 
 Amongst those troops who wield the sword for 
 
 Rome,) 
 By accident discover*d their retreat. 
 The toil and labour of the day was o'er, 
 The shepherd boy his fleecy charge had penn'd, 
 The artisan had sought his weary couch, 
 And sleep had lull'd the city to repose. 
 Caius, fatigu'd, retir'd betimes to rest, 
 And sought the drowsy god, but sought in vain ; 
 For Morpheus heeded not the soldier's prayer. 
 At length he rose ; then through deserted streets 
 And fragrant groves, he bent his lonely steps, 
 Until he gain'd the heights above the town. 
 The night was calm and mild ; the waning moon 
 Cast her pale beams o'er the now tranquil strait ; 
 And through rich woods the zephyrs breath'd 
 
 perfume. 
 Within the forest glade, a building stood, 
 Whose mould' ring walls the climbing ivy crown' d, 
 And golden moss its time-worn towers adorn'd. 
 Through a long avenue of stately elms, 
 Caius perceived a faint and glimm'ring light, 
 As though proceeding from the ruin'd pile. 
 Impell'd by curiosity, he sought 
 The lonely spot ; and there distinctly heard
 
 BELISARITJS. 7 
 
 The voice of men in conversation deep : 
 But what was said he had no means to learn. 
 Yet much he saw, which gave him cause for fear. 
 Dark deeds were then designed. Alone, unarm'd. 
 He deem'd it prudent to retrace his steps. 
 Again he sought his couch, but not to sleep ; 
 His mind was too intent on what he'd heard. 
 At early dawn, and with the lark's first song, 
 He sought my home, and at the breakfast board, 
 Imparted to me, what he'd seen and heard."' 
 
 " Think'st thou, my friend,"' the Emperor enquir'd, 
 " That he had reason to suspect the place 
 When these misguided men in council met?" 
 
 " 'Twas accident alone,'" Barsames replied, 
 
 " That led his wand'ring footsteps to that spot. 
 
 Now, after consultation, we resolv'd 
 
 T' impart our projects to a chosen few, 
 
 And seek their aid t" accomplish our design. 
 
 A score of the imperial guard we gain'd, 
 
 Who aided us ; and at the time and place 
 
 We fixed upon, met Caius and myself. 
 
 The spot we reach' d ; and through a crevice saw 
 
 A band of well-arm' d men ; and on the boards, 
 
 Round which they sat, lay brightly polish'd swords, 
 
 Which gleam'd in rays from a suspended lamp.
 
 8 BELISARItTS. 
 
 We listen' d long, but could not learn what pass'd : 
 But yet enough we gain'd to satisfy 
 Our friends, these men were traitors to their Prince. 
 No time was lost ; the word advance, was given ; 
 The pond'rous doors were forc'd ; and soon we 
 
 found 
 Ourselves oppos'd, by numbers more than ours. 
 Long the dire conflict rag*d ; both parties fought 
 With more than common zeal. The life's warm 
 
 blood 
 Stream'd on the crimson floor ; where many fell, 
 Both friends and foes, beneath the hostile sword. 
 Still doubtful seem'd th' event ; until the blade, 
 The well prov'd blade, of worthy Caius pierc'd 
 The gallant heart of him, who bravely led 
 The trait'rous band. The rebels fled, and sought 
 Precarious safety in the shades of night. 
 Six of these daring men we took in charge, 
 And safely lodg'd within the prison walls, 
 Where they await the pleasure of our Prince." 
 
 " In separate cells," the Emperor observed, 
 " Let these deluded men be now confin'd ; 
 We yet may learn somewhat of their designs. 
 But who, my good Barsames, is said to be 
 The rebel chief; the first grand moving cause ; 
 The secret spring by which they're influenc'd ?"
 
 BELISAKIUS. 9 
 
 " Rumour, reports, my Liege,'' Barsames replied, 
 •' But on what grounds I'm wholly ignorant, 
 That Belisarius, in secret, guides 
 And aids them with his counsel and advice." 
 
 " This cannot be, my friend," the monarch said, 
 " That one who's fought for Rome ; t' uphold her 
 
 laws ; 
 Maintain her rights ; and to defend the crown ; 
 Whose valiant sons he led to battle field ; 
 And saw them bleed and die by foeman's sword ; 
 Altho' with victory crown" d, can e'er prove false. 
 It cannot be ; there's some mistake in this."' 
 
 " Would it were so," the favourite replied, 
 
 " I pray to God it may. — But yet methinks, 
 
 Some are ungrateful found, and often look 
 
 On favours past as with a jaundic'd eye. 
 
 The mind of man, by proud ambition fir'd, 
 
 Thinks lightly of the honours he's receiv'd : 
 
 But covets more, and more he seeks to gain ; 
 
 So might it be with Belisarius : 
 
 'Tis true he hath acquir'd the highest fame 
 
 For valour in the field : and he it was 
 
 Who led the hosts of Rome against her foes, 
 
 And brought them captive to his Sovereign's throne 
 
 For this, thou hast awarded him thy thanks;
 
 10 BELISAKIUS. 
 
 For this, with liberal hand, thou'st added wealth ; 
 For this, thou'st rais'd him to the highest rank 
 Of martial chiefs ; and given the laurel crown. 
 But would he not exchange the crown he wears 
 For one more bright, more splendid, and more rich, 
 Should that be offer d by a rebel band ? 
 God grant, my Leige, that heaven's protecting hand 
 Might shield thee from the traitor's deadly snare : 
 Avert the storm, which now seems pending o'er 
 Thy throne, thy realm, thy happiness, and life." 
 
 " Barsames, I cannot yield a willing ear, 
 
 To thoughts so base of Belisarius. 
 
 But yet it would be well to watch his acts ; 
 
 His every look ; his every word and deed : 
 
 And hold him here secure within these walls, 
 
 'Till something farther's learnt, to prove the tale, 
 
 Either correct, or altogether false. 
 
 Lucius and Martius, both, at dawn of day, 
 
 Shall to the palace of the noble chief, 
 
 Bear our commands, that he, without delay, 
 
 Should to our courts repair. Should he refuse 
 
 Compliance with our will, then are they arm'd 
 
 With power to bring him here. His treach'rous acts 
 
 Presunvd ; must not afford the slightest plea 
 
 For want of courtesy. — His silver locks, 
 
 His bending frame, bow'd by the hand of time,
 
 BELISARIUS. 11 
 
 Demand respect until he's traitor prov'd. 
 Tell him of what most heinous crime he's charged : 
 And bid him not to fear his sovereign's frown, 
 For he believes the accusation false." 
 
 Thus having said, the Emperor retir'd. 
 
 Lucius and Martius, both, to rouse their troops, 
 
 Set forth : when Lucius thus address'd his friend :- 
 
 " In truth, I like not thus to wage a war 
 
 Against the peace of Belisarius. 
 
 Who, of the crime he's charg'd, I'd boldly swear, 
 
 That he is innocent as is the babe 
 
 Secnrrly sleeping in its mother's arms. 
 
 Long have I seen, with pain, the smother'd flame, 
 
 That in the bosom of the fav'rite burns ; 
 
 I've mark'd the growing hatred that he bears 
 
 To Belisarius ; whom now he loads 
 
 With infamy and guilt unparallel'd. 
 
 I know the chieftain well ; no traitor he ; 
 
 His noble soul would spurn a treach'rous act."' 
 
 " If I remember right," Martius remark'd, 
 ' k 'Twas Belisarius who rais'd Barsames 
 To the high post of honour he sustains." 
 
 " It was, my friend : some fifteen years ago ;
 
 12 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Brave Belisarius led to battle field, 
 
 The Roman army 'gainst a powerful host 
 
 Of warlike chiefs ; and gain'd the victory. 
 
 'Twas there, Barsames, a stripling then he found ; 
 
 Though he had seen much service in the field, 
 
 And was an adept in the art of war. 
 
 He mark'd the gallant bearing of the youth ; 
 
 And saw, with pride, his bold and brave attempt, 
 
 To break the line of the opposing host ; 
 
 Which he achiev'd ; and won a rich reward. 
 
 Confusion now spread through the hostile troops ; 
 
 The Gen'ral seeing this, led on his men, 
 
 And soon the conquest gain'd. The worthy chief. 
 
 In public, thank' d Barsames ; and nobly own'd 
 
 That victory, in part, Avas due to him. 
 
 From that auspicious day, the chieftain deemed 
 
 The youthful warrior, his faithful friend, 
 
 And gain'd for him the favour of his Prince. 
 
 Tho' Belisarius was skill'd in war ; 
 
 Yet he'd not studied much the human heart, 
 
 Or mark'd the workings of the human mind, 
 
 Which led him oft in error's thorny maze, 
 
 Lur'd by the syren song of base deceit. 
 
 Thus time roll'd on : the clang of arms had ceas'd ; 
 
 And lovely peace again resum'd her sway 
 
 O'er all the realm. The worthy vet'ran chief, 
 
 Now far advanc'd in years ; wearied with toil
 
 BELISARIUS. 13 
 
 And weighty cares of state ; sick of the pomp 
 
 And vain parade found in the regal court, 
 
 Humbly he sought permission to retire, 
 
 And leave the busy scenes of active life 
 
 To younger hands, and in seclusion seek 
 
 That calm repose his waning years requir'd. 
 
 At the same time he nam'd his friend, Barsames, 
 
 As one well fitted to sustain the post 
 
 Of honour he declind. Justinian heard, 
 
 With mingled sorrow and surprise, his wish, 
 
 Yet did he not refuse the boon he sought ; 
 
 But granted it, with one condition fraught — 
 
 That when requir'd, he would attend the court. 
 
 And take his station at the council board. 
 
 This was acceded to ; and Barsames fill'd 
 
 The post of honour Belisarius left. 
 
 But this condition of his sovereign Lord, 
 
 Pleas" d not the proud and haughty minister. 
 
 He spurn'd the name he held as counsellor, 
 
 Whilst Belisarius was still in power ; 
 
 The only one on whom his Prince relied. 
 
 From that ill-fated day, the ingrate sought 
 
 To prejudice the royal ear against 
 
 The vet'ran chief: and now he's gain'd his wish. 
 
 He, of ambition, taxes his best friend ; 
 
 And plainly hints that he the leader is 
 
 Of this most base and foul conspiracy,
 
 14 BELISAKITJS. 
 
 Which now exists within the city walls." 
 
 Martius replied, " that he had known the chief. 
 Yet never heard him thirst for regal power : 
 Or seek a higher rank than that he holds. 
 He covets peace with his good family. 
 Within the fruitful fields of his lov'd home." 
 Thus having said, the destin'd spot they reach'd, 
 And rous'd their men from slumbers deep and long. 
 
 END OF PART I.
 
 BELISAEIUS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 When Lucius and his friend had left their tents, 
 
 To meet their troops within the palace gates, 
 
 The morning dawn'd — but 'twas a fearful one ; 
 
 The face of nature seem"d completely chang'd : 
 
 Her features, once so fair and beautiful, 
 
 Now wore a dark and most repulsive frown. 
 
 A new sensation often is produc'd, 
 
 Within the mind of man, by scenes like these, 
 
 Such as no human tongue can e'er reveal, 
 
 Or language find the power to represent : 
 
 Such were the thoughts the noble Lucius form'd, 
 
 As onwards towards the palace courts he pass'd, 
 
 The splendid city lay enveil"d in mist ; 
 
 A dark funereal pall seem'd o*er it thrown,
 
 16 BELISARIUS. 
 
 And silence brooded o'er the massy towers. 
 
 In solemn grandeur rose the king of day ; 
 
 With sable vesture clad. No brilliant star, 
 
 The harbinger of morn, mark'd his approach ; 
 
 Or rosy fingers of the blushing dawn, 
 
 Proclaimed his presence near ; no zephyr breath' d 
 
 Through hanging woods, or fragrant orange groves, 
 
 Which clothe the verdant slopes : no ripple mov'd 
 
 The slumbering waters of the Bosphorus. 
 
 No early lark, on soaring wings aloft, 
 
 Pourd forth her matin hymn in notes of praise. 
 
 The order giv'n, th' imperial mandate sign'd ; 
 
 To bear the chieftain to the regal court, 
 
 The friends depart on their unwelcome charge. 
 
 As day advanc'd, th' oppressive heat increas'd ; 
 
 The cattle sought refreshment in the stream ; 
 
 Where in the shade it gently rolls along. 
 
 The ploughman left his plough ; the shepherd boys 
 
 Their panting flock, to cool themselves beneath 
 
 The spreading branches of luxuriant oaks. 
 
 'Twas not till Sol had left this upper world, 
 To cheer far distant realms ; and night had cast 
 Her sombre mantle o'er this weary land, 
 That the hoarse thunder roll'd in awful peals, 
 And vivid lightning play'd athwart the gloom.
 
 BELISAE.IUS. 
 
 17 
 
 Loud howl'd the wind thro' the Byzantine woods ; 
 And ram, with hail, in mingled sheets descend. 
 The queen of night her silver beams withdrew ; 
 Her starry train refus'd to lend their aid, 
 To guide the wand'rers thro' the forest glades. 
 
 Between the thunder's peal, Lucius observ'd, 
 
 " How far this tempest is with danger fraught, 
 
 "Tis hard to say. — Yet I'd meet this ; nay more ; 
 
 I'd welcome death in any shape or form 
 
 That would not blot the proudest soldier's fame, 
 
 Rather than thus intrude upon the peace 
 
 Of the brave chief and worthy family. 
 
 Martins, my friend, knoAv'st thou Eudosia, 
 
 The lovely daughter of the General, 
 
 Who at the court shines fairest of the fair ?" 
 
 " I do, my friend ; and if her beauteous form 
 Might Avith the graces vie ; yet is her mind 
 More perfect still ; in her, pure virtue shines 
 With brilliant rays. In woes and suff" rings great, 
 Her soul ascends above life's bitt'rest pangs, 
 And under sorrow smiles." 
 
 " In truth, thou'rt warm. 
 My worthy friend, in fair Eudosia's praise. 
 But wait awhile : and mark the sad effects 
 c
 
 18 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Of this our sovereign's will upon her mind ; 
 For, rest assur"d, her strength and fortitude 
 Has ne'er been tried, as now indeed it will. 
 But whilst thou art so warm in her defence, 
 What thinkest thou of Belisarius : 
 That he is just, and generous as brave, 
 All will admit, except it be Barsames, 
 His former friend and fav'rite of his Prince, 
 Who looks upon him with an envious eye. 
 Think'st thou his fortitude will stand the test 
 Of long confinement in a dreary cell, 
 Which cruel destiny awardeth him, 
 For crimes such as his loyal soul would loath. 
 And Avhen he learns that Barsames strikes the 
 
 blow 
 Against his character and spotless fame ; 
 Will not his feeble frame, bow'd down with years, 
 Sink neath the wound inflicted by his friend ?" 
 
 " No, Lucius, no ; in a far din' rent school, 
 Has Belisarius been disciplin'd. 
 He there hath learnt to bear the ills of life, 
 Th'' ingratitude of man, with fortitude, 
 And bow submissive to the will of God." 
 
 The tiav'llers now had rcach'd the Euxine sea, 
 Where on a rising ground, embower'd in woods,
 
 BELISAB.ITJS. 19 
 
 A noble palace stood ; the splendid seat, 
 The peaceful home, of Belisarius. 
 
 The tempest rag'd with unabated force, 
 
 The fiery darts of elementary war, 
 
 Were thickly hurl'd thro' dark and murky air : 
 
 "Whilst the loud roar of heaven's artillery, 
 
 Shook the foundation of the massy pile, 
 
 Where! Belisarius with his family sat. 
 
 Tho' discord reign" d without with potent sway, 
 
 Yet all within was harmony and peace. 
 
 Around the social board, the vet' ran chief 
 Had met his friends. 
 
 - Methinks, 'tis well" he cried ; 
 " That whilst, perhaps, some travelers might have 
 
 stray' d. 
 Far from the beaten path, and lost their way, 
 Amidst the gloomy woods, and thus expos'd 
 To all the fury of the vengeful storm, 
 That we are safe, beneath this sheltering roof. 
 When Time has chang'd our raven locks to white, 
 And bent the body with the weight of years ; 
 When after toil and labour in the field. 
 And our lov'd country needs our aid no more, 
 To meet our friends in happiness and peace, 
 In our lov'd home, is most to be desir'd.
 
 20 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Possessing these, we ought to be content, 
 
 If an approving conscience then declares 
 
 Our duty done ; and that our early years 
 
 Have been devoted to our country's weal. 
 
 "Tis pleasing to a mind opprest with care, 
 
 To seek retirement from the busy world ; 
 
 Its glitt'ring pomp, and fascinating scenes. 
 
 If to receive the proudest meed of praise 
 
 A soldier can desire — his sovereign's thanks, 
 
 His confidence, his friendship, and his love, 
 
 Be all that heart could wish ; — these I enjoy ; 
 
 And shall I prove ungrateful for such boons : 
 
 Rewards unsought, and undeserv'd by me ? 
 
 I priz'd them much ; but coveted still more : 
 
 I sought the plaudits of my countrymen : 
 
 These, too, I gain'd, and highly valued them. 
 
 'Twas not the battles of my Prince alone 
 
 I've fought : my country call'd me forth to wage 
 
 A war against a host of warlike foes : — 
 
 The Scythians, Persians, and Bulgarians. 
 
 It is the weal of Rome I've ever sought : 
 
 It is the public good Pve ever lov'd : 
 
 It is for her I've toil'd, and fought, and bled : 
 
 In her defence my two beloved sons, 
 
 (And two more brave ne'er yet have ta'en the field.) 
 
 Fell at my feet ; with wounds and vict'ry crown'd, 
 
 Beloved Bovs ! shall I lament their fall
 
 BELISABIUS. 21 
 
 When in their country's cause they bled and 
 
 died ; 
 Or mourn that they have found a soldier's grave ? 
 But yet, methinks, an aged father might, 
 O'er their remains, let fall a pitying tear, 
 Without the fear of censure, e'en by foes. 
 Oft have I seen the youthful warriors fall, 
 Like leaves of autumn on a gusty day ; 
 Whilst aged men have brav'd the battles front, 
 And 'scap'd the dangers of the hottest fight. 
 
 But now stem war is o'er, and lovely peace, 
 Bearing the olive branch, smiles thro' the land. 
 In call, retirement will the active mind, 
 Revert to bygone years : It there portrays, 
 In glowing tints, the mem'ry of the past : 
 Again it points to those far brighter days, 
 When in the social circle, free from care. 
 We live content, 'till death shall call us home : 
 For this is not our home. We have a home, 
 Beyond the skies ; mansions of bliss prepar'd, 
 And purchas'd for us by the Son of God. 
 Oh love divine ! of infinite degree ! 
 Amazing love ! Love, worthy of a God !" 
 
 •• True,'' said his friend ; " and may'st thou long 
 enjoy
 
 22 BELISAEITTS. 
 
 Thy sovereign's smile — thy grateful country's love ; 
 And when thou'rt call'd to tread death's gloomy 
 
 vale, 
 Through which we all must pass, then may'st thou 
 
 find 
 A faithful guide to heaven's eternal home." 
 
 'Twas near the midnight hour ; his spouse arose ; 
 His daughter press'd on her fond father's cheek, 
 The parting kiss ; and then retir'd to rest. 
 
 " But hark ! perchance some weary traveller, 
 Within our walls, seeks refuge from the storm." 
 Thus having said, two Captains of the Guard, 
 Well known to Belisarius, appear'd : 
 Joy sparkling in his eye, the Gen'ral said, 
 " Lucius my noble friend, and Martius, hail ; 
 Welcome, are ye, to Arden's ancient halls. 
 But why, my friends, on such a night as this, 
 Have ye thus brav'd the fury of the storm ? 
 Yet ye are welcome, both ; come fill the cup, 
 For ye must need refreshment and repose : 
 But say, how fares the Sov'reign and his Queen ?" 
 
 " At dawn of day, we left them both in health," 
 The noble Lucius said, — and deeply sigh'd ; 
 " But yet in mind most sad. A rebel band
 
 belisakii rs. 23 
 
 Has been found out, near to the city gates ; 
 Whose object is Justinian to depose, 
 And place upon his throne a warrior chief. 
 A few of these misguided men are lodg'd 
 Within the prison walls ; and call'd upon 
 To name their leader, and surrender him 
 To the demands of justice; but in vain. 
 No threat of chains, of rack, or death, moves them : 
 Still are they silent as the gloomy grave. 
 Rumour' reports, that one advane'd in years, 
 One who has led the conquering hosts of Rome, 
 By mad ambition fir'd ; their trait'rous plans 
 Xow urges on ; and by his counsel aids."" 
 
 " Xow can it be suppos'd," the vet'ran cried, 
 
 " That one who's fought t' uphold the laws of 
 
 Rome, 
 And sworn allegiance to his lawful Prince, 
 Could take up arms against his sov'reign lord ? 
 Xo, Lucius, no ! it never must be said, 
 A Roman soldier bears a Traitor's name.'' 
 
 " But yet, my friend," the noble Lucius said. 
 " "When proud ambition rules the human mind, 
 And forms the leading passion of the soul ; 
 Say, if thou canst, what ills might thence arise ? 
 Why did the warlike son of Philip weep,
 
 24 BELISAEITJS. 
 
 When the whole world was subject to his will r 
 
 No higher object could ambition gam, 
 
 Save that of incense offer d as to God : 
 
 This he receiv'd ; and yet the sov* reign wept. 
 
 Now, my good friend, ambition's not thy fault ; 
 
 Yet malice saith it is : e'en now it points 
 
 To thee, as leader of the Trait* rous band/' 
 
 " Great God of heav'n !" the aged warrior cried, 
 '■ Can it be true, that e'en my direst foes, 
 Charge me with crime so infamous as this ? 
 But say — Justinian, sure, believes it false." 
 
 " He does, my worthy friend," Lucius replied, 
 "And thus he bids me say: — Thou need'st not 
 
 fear 
 Thy sov'rcign's frown; yet wishes thy return, 
 Without delay, with us : to give to thee 
 The means of frustrating the base designs 
 Of thy invet'rate foes. Read this, my Lord, 
 And thou wilt find that we deceive thee not." 
 
 " Well, be it so," the Chieftain calmly said ; 
 " At dawn of morn I will depart with thee. 
 In the meantime do ye refresh yourselves." 
 
 Lucius replied, " We have no time to rest :
 
 BELISARIUS. 25 
 
 Our escort waits without thy palace gates : 
 Thy fav'rite steed stands ready for thy use." 
 
 Scarce was there time a few short lines to pen, 
 To Antonina and his lovely girl, 
 Informing them, that by his sovereign's will, 
 He hasten'd forth to Court, and that he hop'd 
 Not long to be detain' d from his lov'd home. 
 
 The pafty now in friendship pass"d the cup ; 
 Then through the spacious halls they bent their 
 
 steps, 
 "Till in the court th* accoutr'd steeds were found. 
 Through the dark shades of Ardems richest 
 
 woods, 
 The travellers wend their lonely weary way. 
 Until the dawn, a verdant plain disclos'd. 
 Majestic rose the gorgeous king of day; 
 In splendid robes of gold and purple clad. 
 With more than usual lustre he advanc'd 
 Through the ethereal plains. The vengeful storm. 
 No traces of its fiery wrath had left ; 
 Save crystal chops which glitter'd on the leaves. 
 Whilst all around was lovely and serene. 
 Onward the travellers pass'd, until at eve'. 
 They gain'd the verdant heights which overlook 
 The proud imperial palace of their Prince.
 
 26 BELISARIUS. 
 
 The palace gain'd ; within a spacious hall, 
 Dark, cold, and damp, the General's received. 
 Tullus, an officer, approach' d his friends, 
 To whom the noble Lucius said, — 
 
 " Tullus, 
 My worthy friend, receive thy honour' d guest ; 
 And as thou lovest me, be kind to him : 
 Respect his years, his valour, and his worth. 
 
 And now, what news, respecting the revolt : 
 Have either of the traitors yet confess'd : 
 Have either yet divulg'd the guilty name 
 Of him, who first inflam'd the restless minds 
 Of these deluded men, with hopes of fame, 
 Of wealth, and power, ne'er to be realiz'd ?" 
 
 " No, Lucius, no ! when lenient means had 
 
 fail'd, 
 The rack was tried, confession to extort : 
 One under torture died ; another now 
 Is fast approaching the eternal world ; 
 Still does the secret rest within his breast. 
 That Belisarius is the guilty man, 
 "Who, by his counsel, led the traitors on, 
 To deeds of treason, violence and death, 
 Gains credit here ; and most believe it true."
 
 BELISAEITTS. 27 
 
 " 'Tis passing strange," the noble Lucius said, 
 " That he whose life has been, from earliest 
 
 years, 
 Devoted to his much lov'd country's weal, 
 Should now take arms against his sovereign lord ! 
 No, Tullus, no ! its false, it must be false." 
 
 Then, turning tow'rds the aged warrior, said, — 
 " My honour' d friend, the bravest son of Rome, 
 On whom the God of hosts has deign'd to look, 
 With ;<n auspicious eye, and aided thee 
 In gaining vict'ry o'er thy country's foes ; 
 May he, in whom thou'st ever put thy trust, 
 Defer. 1 thee from the snares of treach'rous friends ; 
 And in the hapless hour, when thou shall stand, 
 Accus'd of treason, at Justinian's bar; 
 May he be thy defence ; and on the heads 
 Of thy most bitter foes, pour down his wrath, 
 And give thee conquest in the trying hour : 
 And now fareAvell, until we meet again." 
 
 Through lonely, dark, and dreary corridors, 
 
 Tullus led on, to where a low arch'd cell, 
 
 With small, and strong bar'd, windows met the 
 
 eye ; 
 On a stone slab a sickly taper burn'd ; 
 Upon the hearth, on dying embers lay
 
 28 BELISABITTS. 
 
 A piece of wood ; and in a corner plac'd, 
 A wretched bed of straw. The Gen'ral saw, 
 With pain, his damp, his dark, and lonely cell ; 
 Yet murmur'd not ; nor angry word express'd, 
 Against his sovereign's harsh and stern decree. 
 But sigh'd and said, " Great God, thy will be done 
 
 END OF PART II.
 
 BELISAPJUS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The morning came, and at the usual time, 
 
 That Antonina and her lovely girl, 
 
 Sought at the breakfast board, their much lov'd lord, 
 
 They found him not ; but in his place a note : 
 
 This Antonina read in dire alarm, 
 
 Then sunk upon her daughter's neck and wept, 
 
 Whilst her fond heart gave way to boding fears. 
 
 Now to her breast, the fair Eudosia press'd. 
 
 Her mother's pallid cheek; then chas'd away 
 
 Unwelcome tears, and vainly tried to smile. 
 
 Then thus she said ; — 
 
 " Hast thou so soon forgot, 
 How highly thou art priz'd, and lov'd at Court ; 
 Dost thou forget the love the Queen bears thee :
 
 30 BELISARITTS. 
 
 Will she refuse her aid in troubles now ; 
 Will she refuse to lend her powerful plea ; 
 And use her influence with our sovereign Lord ? 
 Can he refuse his Theodora's suit ; 
 When in behalf of thee, she sues for him, 
 Whose spotless life, and yet unsullied fame, 
 Seem, for a time, to sink beneath a load, 
 Of treachery and vice ; perhaps, to rise 
 Again, more bright and fair ?" 
 
 "My dearest girl," 
 The matron quick replied ; " I yet will hope, 
 In Theodora's love, to find relief, 
 From my foreboding fears. A bosom friend, 
 Has Theodora been, when the broad waves 
 Of sorrow flow'd ; when troubles, like a flood, 
 Delug'd my aching heart ; then with my friend, 
 I found a safe retreat from all my woes. 
 Then, can she now, in this distressing hour. 
 Abandon me to grief and dark despair ? 
 Oh, no ! she'll not neglect her hapless friend. 
 At dawn of day, I'll hasten to the Court, 
 Where she her levee holds, and there intreat 
 Her intercession for my Lord's release." 
 
 The morning came ; on wings of love she flew. 
 And at the close of day the city gain'd.
 
 BELISARIUS. 31 
 
 The following morn the Empress held a court ; 
 Who, seated on a rich and splendid throne, 
 Receiv'd her num'rous guests. With flatt"ring 
 
 smiles, 
 The courtiers knelt, and kiss'd the proffer'd hand. 
 At length, th' unhappy wife approach' d the throne, 
 With pallid cheeks, and downcast weeping eyes ; 
 Then bending low, implor'd her sov'reign's aid, 
 To free from prison's gloom, her injur'd lord. 
 And thus she said, — 
 
 " Most honour'd, gracious Queen, 
 My royal mistress, and my dearest friend ; 
 The many favours I've receiv'd from thee, 
 Will, from the tablet of my memory, 
 Ne'er be erased, until this aching head 
 Lies low in dust, within the silent tomb. 
 Permit me, then, with tears of gratitude, 
 Again to offer thee unbounded thanks. 
 If, for myself, I sought a gracious boon, 
 I might presume on those close ties which bind 
 United hearts in friendship's sacred bonds. 
 But 'tis not for myself alone, I plead ; 
 I fain would beg that thou would'st condescend, 
 To use thy int'rest for my honour'd lord. 
 This, for myself, I crave : yet in the name 
 Of Belisarius, dare I not ask, 
 A favour of my Queen: whilst he's accus'd
 
 32 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Of guilt, his proud and noble soul abhors, 
 Or e"en suspected by his sov'reign lord." 
 
 " Who told thee, Lady," Theodora said. 
 
 That he"s suspected by Justinian 
 
 Of treasonable acts and base designs? 
 
 Did not the noble Lucius bear to him 
 
 The Sov'reign's words, that he did not believe 
 
 The charges, brought 'gainst Belisarius, true?" 
 
 " He did my gracious Queen ; and yet 'twould 
 
 seem 
 That he's consider'd guilty of those crimes : 
 Else why confine him in a lonesome cell ? 
 Can it be thought that he, who"s fought for Rome, 
 Who's sav'd his Sov'reign from his secret foes — 
 The worst, because disguis'd in friendship's garb — 
 Could e"er take arms against Justinian, 
 And head a trait'rous band ? It cannot be ! 
 Madam, he asks a trial, just, and fair. 
 To which his birth, as well the rank he holds 
 In the Imperial Guards, gives him a right. 
 He'd beg, that in the presence of his Prince, 
 He, who hath brought the charge, might stand 
 
 oppos'd 
 To him in open court ; and that he might 
 Be there allow'd to speak in his defence.''
 
 BElISARItTS. 33 
 
 The proud and haughty spirit of the Queen, 
 But ill could brook the language she had heard ; 
 Even from one she once had call'd her friend. 
 At length she gave a sign to her to rise, 
 And with a look of cold indiff "rence said, — 
 " Madam, thou hast presumed, and that too far, 
 On Theodora's power ; thou might'st have 
 
 known 
 She interferes not in th' affairs of state ; 
 But leaves those matters with the council board. 
 If Beliaarius is, indeed, prov'd clear, 
 From trait'rous acts, of which he stands accus'd, 
 He need not fear. And if the charge be true, 
 He is ap stranger to the clemency 
 Of his imperial lord ; and well he knows 
 The soft recesses of the royal heart. 
 Madam, the favours I've conferr'd on thee, 
 There was no cause again to name to me ; 
 Nor yet t' express thy gratitude in words. 
 There was a time, when Theodora's love 
 Might have indue' d her to outstep those bounds 
 Strict prudence might require, and thus defeat 
 The purposes the sovereign has in view, 
 Of quelling this most sad and dire revolt. 
 Madam, arise, and now might'st thou withdraw." 
 
 With pallid cheeks, and eyes suffas'd with tears,
 
 34 BELISAKITJS. 
 
 She rose ; and then with painful deep drawn 
 
 sighs, 
 And falt'ring steps, she left the grand saloon. 
 Through splendid halls, and spacious corridors, 
 She quickly pass'd ; when in the vestibule 
 She met Barsames, the Sovereign's minister. 
 
 " My good Barsames," th' afflicted wife exclaim'd, 
 " Say, if thou canst, what is the special crime, 
 For which the noble warrior is confin'd ? 
 For all, as yet, appears but vague report. "' 
 
 " Of this, indeed," the courtier quick replied, 
 " I, like thyself, am wholly in the dark. 
 Nothing, that I can learn, has yet transpir'd, 
 To fix the charsre on Belisarius." 
 
 
 Then, why is he immur'd in gloomy cell ; 
 
 Why is he banish'd from the royal court ? 
 
 My good Barsames, wilt thou not lend thy aid ; 
 
 And use thy influence with Justinian, 
 
 To extricate thy friend from dungeon's gloom?" 
 
 " He was my kindest friend," Barsames replied, 
 " The post of honour' now conferr'd on me. 
 Was by his aid procur'd, I'm well aware : 
 For which he has receiv'd my warmest thanks.
 
 BELISARItTS. 35 
 
 If o'er the Sovereign's mind I hold some power, 
 I could not dare, in this particular case, 
 To exercise it now. I dare not urge 
 Justinian to perform an unjust act, 
 Which in this case he must, if he release 
 The General, whilst others lie confin'd. 
 There is no doubt but Belisarius, 
 When he is brought before our sovereign lord, 
 Will prove himself a worthy son of Rome." 
 
 But did the wily courtier forget 
 
 The language he had us'd at council board ; 
 
 Did he forget the poison he instil' d 
 
 Into t^e royal ear, by basest hints ? 
 
 Oh no, alas ! his plans were laid too deep ; 
 
 He gain'd his wish ; the capture of his friend. 
 
 Again her tears in quick succession flow'd ; 
 Barsames, she found, had prov'd a treach'rous 
 
 friend ; 
 And now she pray'd that God would give her 
 
 strength, 
 To bear those ills to which she was cxpos'd. 
 
 Near to the palace gates, she met with one, 
 Ruis'd by the General to th' highest rank ; 
 And to his sov'reign's smiles ; to him she said, — 
 u2
 
 36 BELISARITJS. 
 
 " Aurelius, my friend, canst thou relate 
 
 The real cause why Belisarius 
 
 Is thus immur'd within the prison walls :" 
 
 " A vague report," Aurelius replied, 
 
 " And which the chief, no doubt, will clearly 
 
 show, 
 To be as false and groundless as thy fears. 
 Madam, indeed, I pity thy distress ; 
 And greatly pain"d that 'tis not in my power, 
 To mitigate thy woes, or soothe thy grief: 
 And rest assur'd, no one more deeply feels, 
 Than I, the poignant pangs thy heart endures. 
 But let us hope that in a brighter hour, 
 We yet may meet again ; "till then farewell."' 
 
 The wretched wife now sought the pris'ner's cell, 
 But sought in vain admission to her lord. 
 The strictest orders had from court been sent, 
 That unto him no one should have access. 
 
 Once more return'd to Arden's hall, she found 
 Her lovely girl, with eyes suffus'd with tears : 
 To her, the mother bitterly complahYd 
 Of base ingratitude. " My dearest girl,"' 
 She said, " who can have suffer' d more than we, 
 From man"s ingratitude ? The traveller
 
 BELISARITJS. 37 
 
 Who found the viper in his lonely path, 
 One bleak and frosty day, benumb'd with cold ; 
 Pitied the dying snake ; then took it up, 
 And plac'd it in his bosom for its warmth. 
 The aeptile mov'd, by genial heat reviv'd ; 
 Then bit che man who sav'd its worthless life : 
 Just so, Barsames ; who from the ranks was 
 
 rais d, 
 By the brave father's power; and plac'd by him, 
 In the nigh post he fills : he now denies 
 The ail he might afford, to serve his friend. 
 Aurelius, too, like a true Parasite, 
 Clung to his generous friend for good support ; 
 Whc tvc the aid requir'd ; then in return 
 Destroy'd the peace of one, he call'd his friend. 
 Thus ivy climbs the strongly knotted oak ; 
 Then drinks the vital stream which nourishes 
 Its spreading branches, and its verdant leaves ; 
 Upon the sapless trunk the ivy thrives, 
 And smiles with pleasure on the lifeless tree. 
 So false Aurelius ; he too had found 
 In Belisarius, a faithful friend ; 
 And now, when call'd upon to shew his love, 
 By aiding him, he turns a deafen' d ear ; 
 And no compassion feels for all his woe. 
 But from the Queen ! I could not this expect ! 
 The lov'd companion of my infant years :
 
 38 BELISARITJS. 
 
 The friend in riper age ; one who hath shewn 
 Her love and friendship, when 'twas needed 
 
 most; 
 From her I did expect some sympathy, 
 If she'd no power to mitigate my woes." 
 
 Scarcely had she been seated in her room, 
 When an express arriv'd : the soldier bore 
 The mandate of his Prince, requiring her 
 To yield possession of the Arden fields, 
 And seek a refuge in far distant lands, 
 On northern borders of the Euxine sea. 
 
 No longer she the Roman matron seem'd, 
 
 Her spirit fail'd her at this trying hour : 
 
 She who could hear the fall of her two sons, 
 
 In battle slain, without a murmuring word, 
 
 And calmly cry, " Great God, thy will be clone ;" 
 
 Now sunk beneath afflictions chast'ning rod, 
 
 And vents the feelings of a troubled mind, 
 
 In bitter sighs and groans. Eudosia, too, 
 
 In fancy hears her father's galling chain, 
 
 As from his bed of straw he rises up, 
 
 To take the little exercise allow" d, 
 
 Then in the council chamber of her Prince, 
 
 She hears the language of his direst foes, 
 
 Poisoning the monarch's ear with falsehood's tales.
 
 BELISARITJS. 39 
 
 If on her weary couch she seeks repose, 
 Then fearful dreams scare tranquil sleep away. 
 She views the block, and sees the murd'rous axe. 
 Uplifted o'er her father's honour" d head, 
 Ready to give the blow : then screams and 
 wakes. 
 
 Beneath the hills the sun was sinking fast, 
 In iiche»t tints of crimson and of gold ; 
 The eve was mild, and all serene around. 
 
 " The sun sets fair, my love," the mother said, 
 " No cloud obscures the splendour of his rays ; 
 Now seen reflected from the placid deep. 
 But tho' he sets so bright, yet ere the dawn. 
 Most fearful storms might rise. The tranquil 
 
 sea, 
 So gentle now, may raise her angry waves ; 
 Hurling the ships, which on her bosom float, 
 Against the shoals and rugged rocks around. 
 Thy morn of life was fail - , my dearest girl ; 
 Thy prospects brighfned as thy years advane'd ; 
 And thy meridian days might still have shone, 
 .More bright, more clear, without a passing cloud 
 T' obscure the fair horizon of thy days : 
 But now what dark and heavy clouds appear 
 To threaten vengeance on our aching heads.
 
 40 BELISAKITXS. 
 
 Alas, my girl ! should thy lov'd father fall, 
 The guiltless victim of his treach'rous foes, 
 No more must thou of noble Adrian think ; 
 For, rest assurd, that youth could ne'er unite 
 In hymen's bonds, with one whose father's call'd 
 A traitor to his country and his Prince : 
 Honour and loyalty forbid the thought. 
 Then think no more, my love, of Adrian." 
 
 With downcast eyes, and richly crimson'd cheeks, 
 The tear drops glitt'ring in her bright blue eye, 
 The lovely girl, more lovely than before, 
 Listen' d in silence to her mother's words. 
 
 Then said, " If it be wrong to think of him — 
 Of one whose plighted hand to me was given — 
 I must obey ; though hard will be the task ; 
 And render acquiescence to thy will." 
 
 " I see thou weepest," Antonina said ; 
 
 " I, too, have wept ; 'till hot and scalding tears 
 
 Have ceas'd to flow adown these furrow'd cheeks. 
 
 Dry up thy tears ; but yet in them I read 
 
 Thy duty and thy love : weep not, my girl. 
 
 Could Belisarius see our tears, or know 
 
 The cruel pangs that rend our aching hearts ; 
 
 Each sigh would add a pang to those he feels.
 
 BELISARIUS. 41 
 
 May'st thou, my love, ne'er feel the bitter grief 
 Thy hapless mother felt, when from the halls 
 Of majesty she turn'd away ; and shun'd 
 By those on whom her fondest hopes had clung."' 
 
 Eudosia pose, and thus she mildly said ; — 
 "Let us now chase the weary hours away; 
 Let us reflect, before we seek repose, 
 That e'en ^he darkest night, when tempests lour; 
 When the hoarse thunder peals along the sky, 
 And i vid lightning's flash athwart the gloom, 
 That these must have an end : again the sun, 
 Bright king of day, will run his race more fair, 
 More glorious still ; then let us hope these 
 
 clouds, 
 Which now enshroud us in this murky vale, 
 "Will be dispell'd, like mists before the sun. 
 That gracious God, in whom we have believ"d ; 
 That Saviour, who hath borne the cross for us, 
 Will not forsake us now, in soitow's hour. 
 We must take up our cross and follow him ; 
 In the bright cross, the royal Constantine 
 Repos'd his trust, when mighty hosts assail'd, 
 And gain'd the vict'ry o'er his num'rous foes. 
 Then shall not we, who on the cross rely, 
 Obtain a conquest, too ? My honour' d Sire, 
 And thou, have led me to believe on him,
 
 42 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Who on the cross expir'd for rebel man ; 
 He Avill make clear the malice of our foes." 
 
 Thus having said, they sought repose, with 
 
 prayer, 
 To be resign'd to heav'n's most righteous will. 
 
 END OF PAET III.
 
 BELISABIUS. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 No »Qoner had the noble Adrian learnt 
 
 The cruel order of the Emperor, 
 
 To seize the lands of .Belisarius, 
 
 And into exile drive the family, 
 
 Than, on the wings of love, he quickly flew ; 
 
 'Till on a plain, \vash"d by the Euxine sea, 
 
 In farthest part of Thrace, he found the spot, 
 
 Where destiny had fix'd the lone abode, 
 
 Of his affianc'd bride. Upon a rock, 
 
 Wash'd by the surges of the foaming deep, 
 
 A castle stood in ruin'd majesty. 
 
 It once was large, and guarded by a moat ; 
 
 Bui little now remain'd of this vast pile, 
 
 Save a small suite of rooms, preserved with can
 
 44 BELISARITTS. 
 
 From Time's destructive hand : but furnish'd ill ; 
 
 Without regard to ornament or taste ; 
 
 Yet might it well suffice for all their wants. 
 
 Its spacious courts are now the lone abodes 
 
 Of prowling beasts of prey. Its stately halls, 
 
 Where once the minstrel sang of olden times, 
 
 Now echo forth the most discordant notes, 
 
 Of screaming water-fowl ; whilst owls and bats, 
 
 Find its dismantl'd towers a safe retreat. 
 
 When Adrian reach' d the solitary spot, 
 
 The shades of night drew on, and cast a gloom 
 
 O'er all fair nature's works : no sounds were 
 
 heard, 
 Save those of birds of night, and rav'nous wolves, 
 Who prowl through forest glades, and o'er the 
 
 moors, 
 At midnight's lonely hour, in quest of prey. 
 Without delay, was Adrian's taste display'd, 
 In fitting up the habitable rooms, 
 With costly furniture ; to render them 
 A fit abode for his affianc'd bride. 
 The long neglected chajiel he adorn' d, 
 With marble altar, and with crucifix 
 Of burnish' d gold. Upon the altar stood 
 The candelabras form'd for waxen lights. 
 The garden, too, he deck'd, with flowering shrubs 
 And choicest flowers, whose never-fading bloom,
 
 BELISAKITJS. 45 
 
 Yield forth their fragrance to the balmy air. 
 Here, in a bower, with eglantine entwhvd ; 
 With blushing rose, and clematis enrich'd, 
 Beneath its shade he sought a cool retreat. 
 On a rough seat reclin'd, he thought of her, 
 "Whom soon he hop'd to see and call his bride. 
 
 At length the time arriv'd, when from the halls 
 Of Arden's rich domains, the anxious wife, 
 And daughter fair, with a selected few, 
 Took their departure from their happy home, 
 To seek a shelter in far distant lands. 
 
 Through verdant lawns and woods ; o'er lofty 
 
 hills, 
 They gently wend their way ; "till in due time. 
 At eventide, they reach'd the destin'd spot. 
 There Adrian met them at the castle gates, 
 And in his arms embrac'd the much lov'd girl. 
 Surprise and joy o'erpower'd the exil'd pair, 
 Who fainting, sunk upon his manly breast. 
 O'er her pale form he bent, until her eyes 
 Spoke grateful thanks, although bedew'd with 
 
 tears. 
 
 At length she said, 
 
 - 
 
 " Say, my good Adrian,
 
 46 BELISARIUS. 
 
 And tell me how it is, we find thee here ; 
 
 We thought thou'dst borne a part, an active part. 
 
 In the gay crowd which royalty surrounds, 
 
 And in the councils of our sovereign lord. 
 
 If thou wert present at the council board, 
 
 When Barsames call'd Justinian's friends to meet, 
 
 Then thou canst say who was the guilty man, 
 
 That brought the charge against Belisarius, 
 
 And of the crime of which he stands accus'd !" 
 
 " I can, my dearest girl," Adrian replied ; 
 " Barsames, the crafty, wily, minister, 
 Brought no specific charge ; but yet enough 
 He said, by hints, and deep designing words, 
 To raise suspicion in the monarch's mind : 
 And yet he calls himself thy father's friend. 
 Barsames well knew, that if in terms direct, 
 He'd brought the charge 'gainst Belisarius, 
 'Twould not have been believ'cl ; but spurn'd at 
 
 once ! 
 But mark his words, ' some are ungrateful found, 
 And look on favours with a jaundic'd eye : 
 The mind of man, by proud ambition sway'd, 
 Thinks lightly of the honours he's receiv'd. 
 Brave Belisarius has gain'd a crown ; 
 The laurel crown, which conquering heroes wear ; 
 But would he not change this, for one more bright ;
 
 BELISAKITTS. 47 
 
 Even the one that now adorns thy brow ? 
 But may no traitor's hand be ever found 
 Within thy city walls, or in thy realm, 
 That would attempt to wrest it from thy head.' ' 
 
 Then Antonina said, — 
 
 " My worthy friend, 
 Methinks there is no vice in life, so great 
 As base ingratitude. From lowest rank, 
 My bor our'd lord, rais'd this ungrateful man. 
 From the uplifted SAVord he sav'd his life. 
 The worthless life of a deceitful friend. 
 His valiant deeds in war deserv'd reward ; 
 These to his Prince, the general made known, 
 And gain'd for him promotion and renown : 
 With wealth, and honour, and his sovereign's 
 
 smile ; 
 And thus it is, he now returns his love !" 
 
 " There was a time ; and that few months ago, 
 When Barsames said, for Belisarius, 
 His wealth, his life, his all, he'd freely give, 
 If call'd upon ; and I believ'd his words. 
 How hard it is to know the heart of man." 
 
 One lovely eve of an autumnal day, 
 
 Within a bower, where blushing roses bloom ;
 
 48 BELISAKIUS. 
 
 Where from the pendant branches of the fig, 
 Hang heavy clusters of its luscious fruit ; 
 And twining tendrils of the climbing vine, 
 Are loaded with its cool refreshing juice. 
 In this retir'd retreat, th' afflicted wife, 
 Eudosia, and her much lov'd Adrian sat, 
 Intently gazing on the Euxine sea ; 
 Which, like a highly polish" d mirror, glow"d, 
 With crimson tints of now departing day. 
 Far in the distance is the stately bark, 
 With wide extended sails, fill'd by the breeze, 
 And pennons waving in the ambient air, 
 As she advances towards the shores of Thrace, 
 With costly cargo from far distant lands. 
 
 Whilst thus engag'd, a Roman chief's announc'd ; 
 
 Bearing sad tidings from the capital, 
 
 Of insurrection ; which disturb'd the peace 
 
 Of the metropolis. " Bid him approach," 
 
 The mother said ; " We will receive him here.'* 
 
 With a respectful bow, the chief advanc'd, 
 When Adrian met a gallant worthy friend, 
 To whom he said, — 
 
 " Lucius, why art thou here, 
 So far from whence the Sovereign holds his 
 court ?"
 
 BELISARIUS. 49 
 
 " My business is with thee,"' the chief replied ; 
 " And to thy ear alone would I impart 
 Justinian's words, and state the Sov'reign's will." 
 
 The friends then through the castle garden stray' d ; 
 When Lucius said, — 
 
 " Twelve months, or more, have ta'en 
 Their rapid flight ; still in the gloomy cell, 
 Where iirst confin'd, the Gen'ral lies untried. 
 The chief conspirators as traitors bled 
 And died, in silence as to whom they deem'd 
 The moving cause and leader of revolt. 
 This circumstance, combin'd with other facts, 
 Was then declar'd to be presumptive proof 
 That Belisarius was their guiding star : 
 But yet from want of evidence direct, 
 He's left within his cell to pain and woe. 
 
 " The people now, in threat'ning terms, demand 
 The liberation of the Gen'ral. 
 Petitions, hitherto, have been in vain ; 
 And now they threaten force. The citizens, 
 In armed crowds, surround the prison walls ; 
 And parties meet before the palace gates : 
 Disbanded troops, who've bravely fought and bled 
 With Belisarius, on the battle field, 
 
 E
 
 50 BEXISAKIUS. 
 
 Have mingl'd with the wild tumultuous throng ; 
 Then with the fire and sword attack'd the gates. 
 Aware of this, the monarch sought Barsames, 
 Who, in the grand saloon, he quickly found, 
 Engag'd in conversation with the Queen. 
 
 " The Empress saw the anger of her lord, 
 And seiz'd the moment of the monarch's ire, 
 To gain the ohject of her inmost soul : 
 A conquest o'er brave Belisarius. 
 'Twas thus she spake, — 
 
 " ' My honour'd lord ; let not 
 The noisy, wild, infatuated throng, 
 Which now disturb the city's calm repose, 
 Disquiet thee. Let not those hideous yells, 
 Nor yet the polish' d swords, or raging flames, 
 Which now surround our walls, divert thy mind, 
 From acting as thy conscience will dictate. 
 Let justice rule ; her strict demands obey : 
 Sound reason calls for this ; yet policy 
 Requires that, with it, mercy should unite. 
 If Theodora, then, might dare advise, 
 Her sovereign lord, in this tumultuous hour. 
 She'd say, give ear to the plebeian cry, 
 And let the populace be now indulg'd, 
 By yielding up the traitor to their will.
 
 BELISABITJS. 51 
 
 Let Belisarius be at once releas'd, 
 
 From the dark cell his crimes so well deserve ; 
 
 Yet not until he's made incapable 
 
 Of seeing friends : much less of leading on 
 
 A furious mob against his sovereign lord. 
 
 This might be done, in such a skilful way, 
 
 That blindness might appear th' effect of age." 
 
 " Justinian long in meditation sat, 
 
 With aching head upon his hand reclin'd : 
 
 He h'ik'd upon the guilty deed propose!. 
 
 As one of cruelty, and most unjust ; 
 
 And never was he at a greater loss 
 
 How io decide. The Empress then remark'd, — 
 
 " 'Why hesitatest thou, my honour" d lord ; 
 Between two evils, ever choose the least !' 
 
 " • I grant,' the monarch said, ' Justice requires 
 Severe example should be made of those 
 Who bid defiance to the laws of Rome ; 
 Tbe guilt of those who forfeited their lives, 
 Was plac'd beyond a doubt, by evidence 
 Direct and clear, no human mind could doubt. 
 Those were men ta'en in arms, at dead of night; 
 Conceal' d within the walls of ruin'd towers: 
 Found in the woods, far from the paths of men: 
 e2
 
 52 BELISARIUS. 
 
 But Belisarius was with them not ; 
 
 Nor yet within the city walls was found ! 
 
 If he's condemn' d t' imprisonment for life, 
 
 Or if its judg'd his crimes should merit death, 
 
 On circumstantial evidence alone, 
 
 The verdict must be giv'n. What, if the chief 
 
 Was seen to pass that far secluded spot 
 
 At midnight hours ? Will that suffice to prove 
 
 That he knew aught of trait'rous designs ; 
 
 Or that he led those base deluded men ? 
 
 Oh, no ! methinks his long imprisonment ; 
 
 The confiscation of his large estate, 
 
 And banishment of his lov'd family, 
 
 To foreign lands, is punishment enough. 
 
 To satisfy all justice may require. 
 
 But thou hast said, mercy should yet be shewn 
 
 In his release ; what mercy would be shewn, 
 
 If of the power of sight he's first deprived ? 
 
 No, Theodora, no ! this must not be.' 
 
 " ' My honour" d Liego,' the crafty fav'rite said ; 
 
 ' If I might dare to give opinion, 
 
 I'd say the evidence, though not direct 
 
 Against the chief, is circumstantial, strong ; 
 
 And that so strong, that if he leadeth not, 
 
 He has been found to aid these dang'rous men, 
 
 By counsel and advice, there is no doubt.
 
 BELISAKITJS. 53 
 
 If this be true, then justice claims his life. 
 But mercy cries, remember his past deeds, 
 How he has fought for Rome, and for his Prince : 
 Yet take the power from him to do thee wrong, 
 By the most simple means — the loss of sight ; 
 Then to his friends thou might' st restore the 
 
 chief, 
 With safety to thyself and to thy realm.' 
 
 " In deepest thought, again the monarch sat ; 
 His f oul abhorr'd the cruel deed propos'd : 
 But yet to save the realm from farther woe, 
 He wish'd the act perform' d : observing this. 
 The Empress said, — 
 
 " ' Why hesitatest thou ? 
 Give but the word, the cruel word, I grant ; 
 But when 'tis done, it will secure to thee, 
 The happiness and peace of this vast realm : 
 Then why withhold thy sanction from an act 
 That giveth little pain ? Yet if it did ; 
 Does the base traitor, who would seize thy crown ; 
 Subvert the laws of Rome ; cause anarchy 
 And civil war to spread throughout the realm : 
 Does he deserve compassion at thy hands ; 
 Or mercy shown to him ? Oh, no, my lord ! 
 Then let me send good Caius unto thee ;
 
 54 BELISAMTJS. 
 
 Let him forthwith, to a chirurgeon bear 
 Thy mandate, for performance of the deed.' 
 
 " The monarch rose ; in thought he pac'd the 
 
 room, 
 Unable to decide : his breast was torn 
 By two contending powers ; he fain would spare 
 The pain, and loss of sight ; but yet the state 
 Demands security against her foes. 
 
 " Shortly the ruddy flames were seen to rise 
 Above the palace gates : the throng had fir'd 
 The Porter's lodge of the drear prison house. 
 No longer now the monarch stands in doubt ; 
 The order gave, and quickly 'twas obey'd. 
 By that one act the monarch's fame was lost ; 
 But more so that of his revengeful Queen ! 
 
 " Still did the tumult rage, and gather strength ; 
 Still were the palace walls beset and girt, 
 With hosts of well arm'd men, with fire and 
 
 sword : 
 Justinian, with his troops of royal guards, 
 Hasten' d to quell the fury of the mob ; 
 And thinks himself secure with their defence. 
 Still is the General in his cell confin'd ; 
 And fear he will 'till thou hast seen the Prince."
 
 BELISAKIUS. 55 
 
 " How, my good friend, does Belisarius bear 
 His total want of sight : but more than all, 
 The base ingratitude of treach'rous Mends ?" 
 
 " With pious resignation to the will 
 
 Of heaven's eternal king ;" his friend replied, 
 
 " He murmurs not, nor yet Justinian blames ; 
 
 But saith he's given ear to falsehood's tales ; 
 
 From tongues he ever thought declar'd the truth : 
 
 And fondly hopes the time will soon arrive, 
 
 That 'ie'11 be undeceiv'd. The worthy chief, 
 
 But little thinks, that 'tis his friend, Barsames, 
 
 Who's loaded him with obloquy and shame ; 
 
 And eaus'd him all the pangs he has endur'd. 
 
 More than the loss of sight, the Gen'ral feels 
 
 The loss of liberty. ' Great God !' he cried, 
 
 ' Is this thy will, that here I rest confin'd ; 
 
 Within the limits of a dreary cell, 
 
 For crimes my soul abhors ? Well, be it so ! 
 
 I murmur not ; yet it is hard to bear 
 
 The loss of liberty. The eagle soars 
 
 Aloft, in yon bright skies, on freedom's wing, 
 
 And gazes on the glorious king of day, 
 
 When his effulgent rays are most intense. 
 
 The lark, as she ascends the azure vault, 
 
 In cheerful notes, pours forth to thee the hymn 
 
 Of praise, and chants her song of liberty.
 
 56 BELISARITJS. 
 
 Mysterious are thy ways, Almighty God ! 
 Yet if it is thy will I suffer thus, 
 With patience Avould I bear the worst of ills, 
 My direst foes can heap upon my head ; 
 But of the crime of which I stand accus'd, 
 Do thou acquit me at Justinian's bar.' ' 
 
 Adrian replied, " I pray to God, he will : 
 Indeed, my friend, thou'st brought sad tidings 
 
 here ; 
 'Twill be sad news for those poor exil'd ones ; 
 Yet still they both must know. I'll them prepare, 
 To meet the Gen'ral at no distant day : 
 And though infirm and blind, his life preserv'd, 
 They'll welcome him with heartfelt tears of joy." 
 
 In a few hours the friends were on their way 
 
 To their proud Sovereign's court : then soon to 
 
 rest, 
 The Roman matron and her girl retir'd. 
 
 END OF PART IV.
 
 BELISAKIUS. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 The friends had reach"d the royal palace gates, 
 And with their sovereign sought an interview, 
 Which soon Avas gain"d : they pleaded earnestly 
 The liberation of the General, 
 And thus disperse the wild tumultuous throng, 
 Without more loss of blood : they gain'd then- 
 wish : 
 And bore the tidings to the vet' ran chief. 
 
 And now observe the gallant warrior led ; 
 His body bending with the weight of years, 
 And white locks flowing in the gentle breeze : 
 His care-worn cheeks, with heartfelt grief were 
 pale ;
 
 58 BELISAKIUS. 
 
 And those fine eyes, which on his soldiers beam'd, 
 
 In bygone years, upon the battle field, 
 
 Were now for ever clos'd. When this was seen, 
 
 The loudest execrations rent the air, 
 
 And vengeance call'd upon Justinian's head ! 
 
 " Reveng'd we'll be, for this most cursed act," 
 
 They cried ! " Revenge, is what we ask and seek ! 
 
 Revenge we'll have ! now bring the tyrant forth : 
 
 His blood shall expiate the cruel deed ; 
 
 A deed disgraceful to a son of Rome." 
 
 Then Belisarius spoke ; " my countrymen, 
 
 My good, my honour'd, sympathizing friends, 
 
 With heartfelt gratitude I now return 
 
 My warmest thanks for the great zeal you've shown, 
 
 To liberate an aged, blind, old man. 
 
 I know ye will believe me when I say, 
 
 That of the crimes imputed to my charge, 
 
 I am as innocent as unborn babe, 
 
 And at the bar of God must stand acquit. 
 
 I must confess, I've been unjustly us'd, 
 
 By having been so long a time immur'd 
 
 Within a loathsome cell, without the means 
 
 Afforded me of pleading my own cause. 
 
 Alas, my friends ! my direst foes prevail'd ; 
 
 But who they are, I know no more than ye ! 
 
 The monarch's ear has been beset with tales
 
 BELISARItJS. 59 
 
 Of falsehood gross ; of calumny most base : 
 
 Yet blame rests not upon Justinian ; 
 
 But with my enemies, who've done the worst.'' 
 
 " It might be so," an aged warrior said ; 
 "But yet. methinks, the Emp'ror should beware, 
 How he gives ear to tales against his friends. 
 Believe me, noble chief, the false Barsames, 
 The crafty minister "s no friend to thee." 
 
 " There was a time," the General replied ; 
 " When Barsames said he'd sacrifice his all 
 For me, his friend, if such had been requir'd. 
 But if Barsames is false, I've yet true Mends ; 
 Else why the ardent zeal you've daily shewn. 
 To free from prison's gloom, an aged man ? 
 And this you've gain'd ! for Avhich again accept 
 The warmest tribute of a grateful heart. 
 I know ye must regret injustice done ; 
 Yet would I beg ye will not seek revenge ; 
 But leave the monarch to his private thoughts 
 In lonely hours ; then conscience will awake, 
 And point his soul to wounds he cannot heal. 
 Conscience will in the royal breast, produce 
 Remorse, and pains more sad than ye could give : 
 E'en though the glitt'ring blade should drink his 
 blood.
 
 60 BELISAKITJS. 
 
 If he has err'd, let us not do the same ; 
 
 If he has err'd, let us pursue the path 
 
 Of strict fidelity, and serve him still ; 
 
 And thus preserve a conscience free from guilt. 
 
 Oh ! then forgive your Prince. I can forgive ! 
 
 Seek not, my friends, revenge. Can ye restore 
 
 By that, what I have lost ? Can ye return 
 
 My ancient palace on the Arden plains ? 
 
 Coidd ye give hack my wealth, or blighted fame ; 
 
 Or yet restore the honours I have lost ? 
 
 Were ye to put your hostile threats in force, 
 
 Would that afford to me the power of sight ?" 
 
 " Brave Belisarius," cried a manly voice ; 
 " Althoiigh thy palace and thy rich domains 
 Are gone, t' enrich the coffers of the state ; 
 Yet we can speedily supply thy wants : 
 Thou'lt need this purse, ere thou in safety reach, 
 The distant dwelling of thy family." 
 
 " Thanks, my kind friend, for such unbounded 
 
 love ; 
 Yet more I now would beg : one of your sons 
 To guide my darken' d steps to Thracian lands." 
 
 A sure and faithful guide was quickly found, 
 To guide the vet'ran to his exil'd friends.
 
 BELISAEIUS. 61 
 
 Many a tedious league the trav'llers walk'd ; 
 Many a weary day the wand'rers spent ; 
 Until exhausted by fatigue, they sat 
 Beneath the spreading branches of an oak. 
 
 " Look, my young friend," the gallant chieftain 
 
 said, 
 " If any village is within thy sight ; 
 Or cottage near, where we might seek repose ; 
 E'en for one night, to rest our wearied frames." 
 
 " There is a glen," his youthful guide replied, 
 •• With rugged rocks and lofty heights enclos'd ; 
 Who:,, \erdant slopes are crown'd with richest 
 
 woods : 
 With towering pine, and fine majestic elms ; 
 Which spread their branches o'er the fiow'ry vale, 
 Through which a clear and murm'ring streamlet 
 
 flows. 
 
 •• Upon a verdant lawn, with flowers adorivd, 
 A lonely cottage stands : green ivy climbs, 
 And woodbine decks its rude and rustic porch. 
 A garden till'd with more than common care, 
 In which the choicest flowers are seen to bloom, 
 Extends itself before the cottage door, 
 And plainly proves the peasant's industry.
 
 62 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Still farther on a village may be seen. 
 Through a long avenue of stately oaks, 
 With its neat spire, rising above the trees. 
 
 " But men approach with rapid steps this way, 
 Some five, or six, or more ! Now hearken, Sir ! 
 What meaneth this ; they cry, ' It must be he ! 
 It surely is, the brave and noble chief!' ' 
 
 At length they reach'd the spot, where on the 
 
 stone, 
 They found the vet'ran chief, opprest with heat ; 
 To whom the elder of the party said, — 
 
 "My worthy Sir; some hours and days we've 
 
 watch'd, 
 For one whom we expect must pass this way 
 To his abode, in northern part of Thrace, 
 And we're inclin'd to think thou art the man ; 
 If so, thy name is Belisarius." 
 
 " Tis true, my name is Belisarius ; 
 
 But why, my friends, ye thus should watch for 
 
 one, 
 Poor, blind, and destitute, I can't conceive? 
 But yet, if woes like mine call forth a sigh, 
 And kindly feelings in a stranger's breast ;
 
 BELISAKITJS. 63 
 
 Then would I fondly hope yc'll not refuse 
 The poor and blind a shelter for the night : 
 These aged limbs require a short repose." 
 
 The peasant's heart o'erflow'd with heavenly joy ; 
 His bright dark eyes were soon suffus'd with tears, 
 And then he knelt and clasp" d the Gen'ral's knee. 
 
 " Rise, my good friend," brave Belisarius cried : 
 " Rise, my good friend ; bow not the knee to me : 
 The friendly tear drop, shed upon my hand, 
 Proves I shall not intrude, if to thy home 
 I follow thee, and rest my worn-out frame." 
 
 No sooner had the party reach'd the cot 
 Than Claudius thus address' d his family : — 
 
 " Bow low the knee, and at this good man's feet, 
 (The bravest chief that ever fought for Rome !) 
 Pour forth the tribute of your grateful hearts. 
 'Twas he who sav'd us from the cruel Huns ; 
 "Tw'as he who sav'd thy father from the sword, 
 Uplifted o'er his unprotected head. 
 'Twas be preserv'd our daughter's honour safe ; 
 And sav'd our sons from slavery and bonds ! 
 How can we e'er repay the debt we owe ? 
 Then think of all the sufferings he has borne :
 
 64 BELISARIUS. 
 
 His long confinement in a dreary cell ! 
 
 The loss of liberty ; for heinous crimes- 
 
 His soul detests, and branded with the name 
 
 Of traitor to his Prince ; for whom he's fought ; 
 
 For whom he's bled ; and now for whom he'd 
 
 die! 
 The confiscation of his rich domains, 
 With banishment of those he holds most dear, 
 Are grievous ills : but yet, methinks, the worst 
 Is loss of sight, by treach'rous friends produc'd ! 
 I see, my friends, ye weep ! Well, be it so. 
 Let those salt tears in copious torrents flow ; 
 'Till ye can blot, from mem'ry's faithful page, 
 The base return your country hath bestow'd 
 On one who's fought for her, and overcome 
 Her num'rous foes ! and charg'd with trait'rous 
 
 deeds, 
 The wisest, bravest, chief, of all her sons." 
 
 Thus having said, two females now approach'd ; 
 
 Each bearing in her arms a lovely boy ; 
 
 Then bending low, they thus address' d the chief, — 
 
 " Oh, deign, my lord, within thy arms, to take 
 These smiling boys ; who now, in thee, have found 
 A second father, and a gen'rous friend. 
 Upon their infant minds will be impress'd
 
 BELISAKITJS. 65 
 
 The sense of honour thus conferral on them, 
 By being bless'd by thee, whose valiant acts, 
 Will, to the end of time, be handed down." 
 
 The smiling boys were plac'd on cither knee ; 
 Their little fingers playing with his locks 
 Of silvry white, which o"er his shoulders floAv'd ; 
 Then would they raise their little hands towards 
 
 heftv'n, 
 As though they begg'd for blessings on his 
 
 head ! 
 The Gen'ral press" d upon their cheeks a kiss, 
 And pray'd that every blessing might attend 
 The:, early years ; and in their riper age, 
 Enjoy the christian's hope — his happiness, 
 Which this vain world could never yet afford. 
 
 The vet'ran said, — 
 
 " My friends, (here's not a man, 
 Within this realm, more happy than myself: 
 There's not a man with whom I'd now exchange 
 My present joys ; my heartfelt happiness ! 
 Not all the honours this vain world confers ; 
 Not all the splendour wealth alone can »ivc ; 
 Not all the fame great warlike deeds deserve ; 
 Could 1 enjoy them all without alloy, 
 They'd fail to yield the peace of mind I feel!" 
 
 F
 
 66 BELISARITJ9. 
 
 The evening meal, when plac'd upon the board, 
 Was homely fare ; of which the chief partook : 
 And shortly after sought, by fervent prayer, 
 Protection through the night, with calm repose. 
 
 At early dawn the travellers arose, 
 
 And after a repast, pursued their way, 
 
 Attended by the peasant's eldest son 
 
 Some distance on the road : the air was mild, 
 
 And breath'd a fragrance round. The Gen'ral 
 
 said, — 
 " Tell me, my friend, how was it thou should'st 
 
 know 
 My worn-out frame ; or that thou should'st have 
 
 learnt 
 My steps towards Thrace must needs have been 
 
 this way ?" 
 
 "A noble youth, my lord," the peasant said, 
 
 " Arriv'd some days ago, and question'd much, 
 
 If we had seen a blind and aged man, 
 
 With silver locks, which o'er his shoulders hung, 
 
 And guided by a gentle, modest, youth ; 
 
 But we had not. ' Then watch for him,' he said, 
 
 ' And lend him all the aid he might require ; 
 
 I will requite thee for thy services. 
 
 For 'tis the noble Belisarius,
 
 BELISARIUS. 
 
 67 
 
 To thy kind care I strongly recommend !' 
 
 Thy name was quite enough. We heard no 
 
 more ; 
 But set the watch, and thee we've gladly found ! 
 And yet it is with pain I thee behold, 
 The victim of accurs'd and treach'rous friends : 
 In thee I see the marks of foul revenge. 
 In my lov"d country's cause I've taken arms ; 
 Beneath thy banner I have fought and bled ; 
 But now I blush to think of blood so spilt." 
 
 " Believe me, friend, there is no land on earth," 
 The Gen'ral said, " where treach'ry is not found ; 
 Who. 2 men fall not the victims of deceit." 
 
 " It might be so ; but such a case as thine 
 Is without parallel, in hist'ry's page ! 
 If I but knew the author of thy woes, 
 I'd leave my wife, nay more, my darling boy, 
 And family, to heaven's protecting care, 
 To search the villain out who's done thee 
 wrong !" 
 
 " Indeed, my gen'rous friend," the warrior cried ; 
 " Excess of pity carries thee too far. 
 Could I consent to what thou would'st desire ? 
 Oh, no ! my friend ; 'tis not revenge I seek ! 
 p2
 
 68 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Let not a gallant soldier thus abuse 
 
 His conquering sword ; keep thy well polished 
 blade 
 
 To use in better cause ! If in the blood 
 
 Of my invet'rate foes, thou stain' st thy hands, 
 ) Would that restore the rich domains I've lost ; 
 
 Would that retrieve my total loss of sight ; 
 \ Or take away one pain from those I feel?'' 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied the youth, " but I would find 
 
 The monster out, and an example make, 
 
 To all the world, of this perfidious man ! 
 
 Were it our Prince, I'd hurl him from his throne ! 
 
 E'en at the holy altar of his God ! 
 
 I'd plunge my dagger in his heart, and cry — 
 
 "Twas Belisarius who gave the blow !" 
 
 In a decisive tone, the vet'ran said, — 
 
 " Say, by what right, young man, dost thou 
 
 presume 
 To execute revenge upon my foes : 
 Have I transferr'd a power and right to thee, 
 Which I'm not master of. And dost thou dare 
 Assume a right, at variance with all law:" 
 
 " But," said the youth, " if our lov'd country's 
 laws
 
 BELISARITJS. 
 
 69 
 
 Be thus administer' d ; and if they grant 
 No safe protection to the virtuous man : 
 Indeed, connive at guilt ! is it not right 
 To disregard those laws, and seek for such 
 That nature and sound reason would point out?' 
 
 The chief replied, " Such reasonings, my friend, 
 
 Banditti use ; and every lawless tribe ! 
 
 If my calamities have thee inspir'd 
 
 With noble sentiments, would* st thou destroy 
 
 Those feelings of thy soul, by one base act ? 
 
 That virtue which thou lov'st, dishonour not, 
 
 By deeds unworthy of a soldier's name !" 
 
 - If," said the youth, '-' their rage had fall'n on me, 
 I might have arm'd myself to bear the worst ; 
 But as it rests on thee, I never can !" 
 
 -• If we expect forgiveness of our faults, 
 
 By an offended God, 'gainst whom we've sinn'd. 
 
 We must forgive our foes,'' the Chieftain said; 
 
 •• Were I dispos'd to meditate revenge, 
 
 Whole nations now would arm in my defence !" 
 
 With wonder and surprise, the young man 
 
 heard 
 The language iis'd by Belisarius :
 
 70 BEXISARITJS. 
 
 Then cried, — " Forgive, respected Sire, forgive : 
 The zeal I've shown, and vehemence I've us'd, 
 Thou must condemn ; yet pardon, and forgive." 
 
 " I do forgive," the worthy vet'ran cried ; 
 " But we must part. My friend, remember oft, 
 That in this world, dire evils will exist ; 
 And if we're call'd to bear the ills of life, 
 Let us beware that we deserve them not ! 
 Farewell, my friend ; we yet may meet again." 
 
 The worthy Gen'ral and his youthful guide 
 Pursued their way, o'er hills and verdant lawns, 
 'Till they approach'd the venerable pile, 
 Where Antonina and his daughter dwelt. 
 
 ■■&•■ 
 
 Upon their route the chief address'd the youth : 
 " My dearest boy," he said ; " thou hast now 
 
 heard 
 The honest language of a real friend. 
 • Friendship's a plant but rarely found on earth ; 
 And when it is, it must be guarded well, 
 From noxious weeds of vice ; and water'd oft 
 By virtue's genial showers ; then will it thrive, 
 Will bud, will bloom, and bear luxuriant fruit. 
 But should'st thou ask, where's virtue's healing 
 spring r
 
 BELISAEIUS. 71 
 
 I answer — far above this earthly sphere ; 
 The fountain head is in the throne of God ! 
 From whence it flows through the celestial 
 
 plains, 
 Until it reaches earth : then from this source, 
 Draw nutriment to succour this choice plant ! 
 If, in this world, one real friend thou'st found ; 
 Happy, indeed, art thou ! Oft is it said, 
 With truth, ' Friends grow not thick on ev'ry 
 
 bough :' 
 Beware thou, then, the semblance of this fruit." 
 
 At eve they reach'd the long expected home, 
 Whfire Adrian met them in the castle court ; 
 Then led the way to where his best belov'd — 
 The fair Eudosia, and her mother sat. 
 But o'er this meeting we must draw the veil : 
 Fancy must paint, what pen cannot describe ! 
 
 The following day a Priest had ta'en his stand, 
 To offer service to the God of heaven : 
 To God, who safely to his friends restor'd. 
 The brave, the worthy, Belisarius. 
 Another solemn service then perform' d ; 
 The Priest, and father, blest the happy pair. 
 It was a solemn scene ! and many hearts 
 Beat high that day, with gratitude and love ;
 
 72 BELISABIITS. 
 
 Who, 'till that sacred hour, had sought revenge ! 
 "Twas thus, the Sire, worn out in Rome's defence, 
 Ret urn* d those ills he patiently endur'd ! 
 'Twas thus, he sought to reconcile his friends, 
 To those who now were objects of his prayers. 
 
 r 
 
 END OF BELISABIUS.
 
 LINES ON THE CROSS. 
 
 "Fkom Judah's tribe, the sceptre shall not pass. 
 Until the Shiloh come !" So spake a seer, — 
 TV patriarch Jacob, on his dying bed. 
 Now when he came, Augustus Ca?sar reign' d 
 O'er Palestine ; yet had the Jews a king ! 
 
 Herod, a man of Idumean birth, 
 
 Was by Augustus named their sovereign lord : 
 
 But ere he gain'd possession of the realm, 
 
 Besieg'd Jerusalem ! Antigonus. 
 
 A Prince of Palestine, and great High Priest, 
 
 Was captive mafic and sent in bonds to Rome. 
 
 Behold, their streets, with hostile Romans fill'd : 
 The fire and sword spread death and terror round 
 Qngovern'd lust stalk'd forth without disguise ;
 
 74 LINES ON THE CROSS. 
 
 And rapine mov'd with more than giant's stride. 
 Fell murder drank the blood of young and old ; 
 It spar'd not sex or age : the hoary head, 
 And infant smiling in its mother's arms, 
 Alike, fell victims to the cruel axe ! 
 
 But soon was discord o'er. The city fell ! 
 The victor's crown' d ! The royal diadem 
 Of Israel's race, now shines on Herod's brow : 
 And he's proclaim' d Judea's sovereign lord ! 
 Thus did the regal sceptre not depart 
 From Judah's tribe, until the Shiloh came ! 
 
 On the rich plains of fertile Palestine, 
 The shepherds fed then- flocks, and watch' d by night 
 The eve was calm and mild ; no sound was heard, 
 Save the cool zephyrs, sighing through the woods ; 
 Or the faint murmurs of a crystal stream. 
 
 But hark ! what soft melodious notes now float 
 Upon the gentle breeze ! Lo ! 'tis the voice 
 Of the angelic hosts ! with golden harps 
 They chant the praises of the heav'nly king ! 
 " Glory to God on high ; and peace on earth ; 
 Good news to men Ave bring ! Then fear us not ; 
 Ye men of Judah, fear us not ! To you, 
 And all the guilty sons of men, we bring
 
 LINES ON THE CEOSS. 75 
 
 Tidings of joy ! good news to all mankind ! 
 
 In Bethlehem's honour'd town is born, this day, 
 
 The Son of God ! a Saviour ! Christ the Lord !" 
 
 Beheld yon star, which now so brightly shines, 
 
 And sheds its lustre o'er the eastern world : 
 
 O'er the green meads of Judah's happy land, 
 
 It wends its way. The wisest men of old, 
 
 Who well could trace the path Orion trod ; 
 
 And follow bright Arcturus, and his sons, 
 
 Throigh the cerulean vault! They, too, coidd mark 
 
 The genial influence of Pleiades : 
 
 But yet these men were strangers to this star ! 
 
 The Magi said. " that its appearance told 
 
 The birth of some great Prince !" Then who so great 
 
 As he, the mighty God ! the Prince of Peace ! 
 
 In search of him, the wise men bend their steps, 
 
 Guided by this bright star, towards Palestine ; 
 
 'Till over Bethlehem its brilliant rays 
 
 Are seen to rest ; and there they find the babe ! 
 
 The Son of God ! incarnate Deity ! 
 
 Lo ! in a stable, where the oxen feed. 
 
 The Virgin Mother tends her only Son, 
 
 In a rude manger laid ! 
 
 " Hail, Prince of life ! 
 For ever hail," they cry ! " Deign to accept
 
 76 LINES ON THE CROSS. 
 
 The offerings we bring. Gold, frankincense. 
 
 And myrrh !" Then they bow down and worship him. 
 
 The Shiloh came ; his own receiv'd him not ! 
 He came — a man of sorrows and of grief : 
 The destin'd suffrer of the direst woes ! 
 He died for sin, upon th' accursed tree ! 
 For sin ; but not his own ! for he was pure : 
 For sin ; but not his own ! for he was God : 
 For sin ; but not his own ! but those of men : 
 Of men, who nail'd him to the hallow'd cross : 
 Of men, who pierc'd his side ; from which deep 
 
 wound, 
 Flow'd blood and water, in a mingled stream ! 
 To cleanse the soul of man, of all its guilt : 
 To set the captive free, and bid it live ! 
 
 The captive soul, when free'd from Satan's yoke, 
 Fights 'neath the banner of the sacred cross ; 
 Its direst foes — the foes of God and truth : 
 The wayward passions of apostate man. 
 Faith in the cross, supports the christian's hope ; 
 Faith in the cross, upholds the martyr's zeal : 
 Faith in the cross, gives an immortal crown. 
 If in a warfare, where the soul's engag'd, 
 The christian soldier fights beneath the cross 
 And gains the vict'ry o'er his deadliest foes ;
 
 LINES ON THE CROSS. 77 
 
 Then can it be, indeed, accounted strange, 
 That in those wars, -when men with men engage, 
 For their lov'd country's weal ; the sacred cross, 
 The emblem of their faith, and hope, is borne 
 Befo; c the martial hosts, on battle field ? 
 
 Indebted to the cross, was Constantine, 
 
 For conquest o'er the warlike hosts of Rome : 
 
 And placing on its walls the sacred flag. 
 
 A bold attempt was that the monarch made. 
 
 To rescue, from a proud usurper's hand. 
 
 Th' imperial city, and the diadem, 
 
 With a small force of valiant, faithful, men. 
 
 Hi. . . en doubted what might be the end 
 
 Of the approaching fight : but he, with hands 
 
 Uplifted to his God. with fervour sought 
 
 Pure wisdom's ways, to guide his wav'ring steps. 
 
 On the green banks of Tiber's rapid stream, 
 His valiant troops, in tented fields, are found, 
 With patience waiting the approach of morn. 
 The eve was calm ; no passing cloud appear' d, 
 '1'' obscure the azure of the heavenly arch, 
 
 'he king of day ; whose fading beams 
 Were sinking fast, beneath the distant hills. 
 Now, mark yon light, which in the heaven appears; 
 A light more brilliant than the mid-day sun;
 
 78 LINES ON THE CROSS. 
 
 And sheds its rays o'er the contending hosts. 
 In this bright light, the sacred cross is seen, 
 In flame of purest light ! On it 's inscrib'd — 
 " By this great sign, thou shalt o'ercome thy foes !' : 
 
 In contemplation lost, the monarch stood ; 
 
 His wond'ring troops beheld the cross with awe : 
 
 Yet were by it encourag'd to proceed. 
 
 The morning came ; the hostile armies met : 
 Before the troops of Constantine was borne, 
 The sacred banner, floating high in air. 
 
 Soon was the sacred standard seen to wave, 
 O'er the proud walls of Borne. Maxentius fell ; 
 And in the Tiber's stream the body's lost. 
 
 The warrior's crown'd ; but he no merit claims 
 For this most signal conquest o'er his foes ; 
 But to the sacred cross all honour gives. 
 Now, at the cross, the Sov'reign bends the knee : 
 Believes in Christ's Almighty power to save ; 
 And owns Messiah as his sovereign Lord.
 
 LINES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 
 
 The morning cock proclaim" d th' approach of day ; 
 
 The cheerful lark's melodious notes were heard, 
 
 Chanting aloft her matin hymn of praise : 
 
 Rous d from his slumbers, and from pleasing dreams, 
 
 Herbert arose, and left his downy couch, 
 
 To breathe the fragrance of the morning air. 
 
 O'er the green banks of murm'ring Teme he stray'd, 
 
 Through verdant lawns, and dew bespangl'd meads, 
 
 Until the dawn reveal 'd proud Dinan's walls. 
 
 Rising in ruin'd grandeur from the plain. 
 
 With these in view, could he retrace his steps : 
 Could he forget the time, when Dinan's halls, 
 Responded to the sounds of festal mirth? 
 
 But see! o'er yonder hills, the king of day, 
 In splendour mounts his gay and gorgeous car,
 
 80 LIKES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 
 
 With burnish'd gold, and brilliant rubies deck'd, 
 
 In robes of Tyrian dye, and crimson dress'd, 
 
 He guides his fiery steeds through azure fields, 
 
 In those bright realms where Luna holds her court, 
 
 With hosts of gay attendants in her train. 
 
 At his approach, her modest courtiers fly, 
 
 And in his smiles fair Luna's glory's lost. 
 
 There's not, in England's isle, a lovelier vale, 
 Than that wherein the waters of the Teme, 
 And Corve, unite ; then wend their way through 
 
 meads. 
 Where vilets bloom, and gentle lambkins play ; 
 "Till in the bosom of Sabrina's stream, 
 They flow to Ocean's ever welcome arms. 
 
 In this sweet vale, a rocky height ascends. 
 On which proud Dinan's ruin'd castle stands ; 
 Whose moss-grown stones, and high embattl'd 
 
 walls, 
 Have brav'd the cruel hand of ruthless Time, 
 Since by the Norman sword, brave Harold fell ; 
 Whose deeds in arms, deserv'd a better fate. 
 
 'Tis strange, if true, that the Confessor, call'd 
 A Saxon king — by Anglo-Saxons lov'd : 
 Should, to a Norman Duke, bequeath his crown.
 
 LINES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 81 
 
 But if 'twas so, 'twas not the sov" reign's will, 
 That plac'd the sceptre in the conq'ror's hand ; 
 But -» ict'ry, hardly won. Amidst a host 
 Of warriors, the royal Harold fell. 
 
 Soon was the victor found, on Albion's throne, 
 Conferring favours on his Norman friends : 
 On linger, Shrewsbury's Earl, he then bestow'd 
 Fair Diaan's land. 'Twas he who built this pile ; 
 This splendid edifice ; which through the lapse 
 Of centuries, withstood the winter's blasts; 
 The tempest's rage, and forked lightning's fire. 
 Time has done more to raze its massy walls, 
 And kuy them low in dust, than batt'ring ram, 
 Or warlike engines of the days of yore. 
 
 There was a time, when in its royal halls, 
 The songs of Palmer, from the holy land, 
 Declar'd the glorious deeds of England's king. 
 How gallant Richard fought, and the brave hosts 
 He led to combat, on the fertile plains, 
 Of far-fam'd Palestine — the seat of war. 
 
 There was a time, when a young minstrel boy, 
 Of noble birth, and gentle mien, — a Page, 
 Bclov'd and nurtur'd in Prince Edward's court. 
 Unus'd to toil, or the harsh clang of arms ; 
 
 G
 
 82 LINES ON LTJDLOW CASTLE. 
 
 Yet could he sing of war ; of steel-clad knights, 
 Which, in the tournament, had often won 
 The smiles and favours of his lady love. 
 
 There was a time, when ancient Cambrian bards, 
 Attun'd their harps to sing the soldier's praise, 
 Of gallant chiefs, who bravely fought and fell, 
 In their lov'd country's cause ; then chang'd the 
 
 theme, 
 And in prophetic lays, declare those wars 
 In which each noble guest would take a part, 
 And share alike the victor's laurel crown. 
 
 But now no more shall Palmer's voice be heard, 
 
 Relating tales of the crusader's deeds ! 
 
 No more shall minstrel sing of Lady's love ; 
 
 Or knights of chivalry, in armour clad. 
 
 No more shall hoary bard, with harp in hand, 
 
 Predict the wars to come in future years. 
 
 The youth had gain'd the high and rocky land, 
 On which this splendid ruin proudly stands ; 
 Then wander'd through its lone and spacious halls 
 Deserted now, save by the birds of night ; 
 Who in the climbing ivy build their nests. 
 Its rooms of state the bats and owls possess ; 
 And in its verdant courts the lev'rets play.
 
 LINES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 83 
 
 Within the chapels' consecrated walls ; 
 Upon a stone, where once the altar stood, 
 Herbert reclin'd, and thought of bygone years. 
 Silent was all around ; more silent far, 
 Than at the midnight hour, when owlets hoot ; 
 Or from the stream the noisy bittern booms. 
 No wand'ring footsteps sound within its aisles ; 
 No ploughboy whistles near ; no lambkin's bleat, 
 Or watch-dog's bark, disturbs the still repose. 
 
 But soon he hears fine ton'd harmonious bells, 
 
 Now chiming forth the morning hymn of praise, 
 
 From the high tower of Ludlow's splendid church. 
 
 In these sweet sounds he hears, or thinks he hears, 
 
 The softest notes, which from the organ flow ; 
 
 Or matins chanted by the pious nuns. 
 
 The sighing wind, in gentle moans he hears, 
 
 Wending its way beneath the vaulted roof: 
 
 The sounds appear to him the dire lament, 
 
 O'er the funereal pall, which cloth'd the bier 
 
 Of Arthur Prince of Wales ! a royal youth — 
 
 Brave Henry's son — of Lancasterian line. 
 
 Thus was this scion of the union rose 
 
 Of England, sever'd from the parent tree, 
 
 To wither, and to die, in Dinan's land. 
 
 Herbert at length arose ; retrac'd his steps 
 g2
 
 84 LINES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 
 
 On the green banks of Teme's slow winding 
 
 stream : 
 Nature around look'd cheerful and serene ; 
 The lark still caroll'd in the azure skies, 
 Singing the praises of th' eternal king. 
 Shall man alone be dumb : shall he alone, 
 Of all the works of God, refuse him praise ? 
 He, upon whom, the Almighty father pours 
 His richest blessing, free, and undeserv'd ? 
 Ingratitude, the basest of all sins, 
 Yet ingrate man defies thy power, Oh, God ! 
 Thy wrath he fears not, and thy word he spurns 
 Thus calling vengeance on his guilty head ! 
 
 Great God of Love ! to thy great name I bow ; 
 Kneel at thy feet, and supplicate thy aid, 
 Where never suppliant sued and sued in vain. 
 
 Such were the thoughts that pass'd through 
 
 Herbert's mind, 
 Returning home from Dinan's ruin'd pile.
 
 THE OEPHAN BOY. 
 
 He who admires the works of nature's hand, 
 And travell'd far in Cambria's hilly land, 
 Might have observ'd a far extended plain, 
 Wash'd by the surges of the angry main : 
 There, on a rising ground, a building stood ; 
 Its strength, the reckless hand of time, had prov'd ; 
 Firm as the aged oak, on Cambrian lands ; 
 Or as the wave- worn rock on which it stands. 
 
 Of the large pile, this once had form'd a part ; 
 Whether of fortress, whence the barbed dart 
 Was huiTd by foeman's arm, or warrior's hand, 
 "Gainst those who dar'd attack this happy land; 
 Whether the hallow' d house of fervent prayer ; 
 Where pious monks, their votive off 'rings bear ; 
 This, from a cross of highly sculptur'd stone, 
 Might be inferr'd ; and that the sons of Rome,
 
 86 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 Had rais'd an altar to the heav'nly king ; 
 Surrounding which, their solemn anthems sing. 
 Its massy walls, the hoary lichen clothes, 
 And purple heath, in gay profusion blows ; 
 Around its base, sweet blushing roses bloom, 
 And scented clematis yields rich perfume. 
 
 One winter's eve, the wind with hollow sound, 
 Mourn' d fearfully, the lonely dwelling round ; 
 The snowy flakes, in drifted heaps appear, 
 And fast the sleet descends through murky air : 
 The queen of night affords no feeble ray, 
 To guide the traveller on his lonely way. 
 
 Far towards the east, lies low and marshy 
 
 ground ; 
 Where muddy lakes, with well stock'd fish are 
 
 found ; 
 In large, and num'rous flocks, wild fowl arise, 
 And take their flight through dark and scowling 
 
 skies. 
 Strange noises rend the gloomy midnight air, 
 And scare the rustics home, impell'd by fear ; 
 Whilst from the lakes, the bittern's awful boom, 
 Sounds loud and long, as though the silent tomb, 
 Sent forth a voice — a voice as strong, yea more, 
 Than bellowing bull or lion's angry roar.
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 87 
 
 David, a shepherd, now a hoary sire, 
 Sat with his spouse beside a cheerful fire ; 
 A tall and handsome lad, their only son, 
 And girl, whose spring of life was just begun ; 
 As was their wont, when daily toil was o'er, 
 And told of tales, that happen'd heretofore. 
 
 •' A fearful night," the aged father said ; 
 
 " God-grant no erring footsteps might be led, 
 
 To brave the tempest's blast, and winds that 
 
 roar, 
 So fearfully across this lonely moor. 
 May no foid fiend mislead their steps this night, 
 Or lure them on, with pale and treach'rous light : 
 Oft have I seen, at eve, across this plain, 
 A wand'ring fire, a pure ethereal flame. 
 
 " Returning home, from toil, one dreary night ; 
 Near to my home, I saw a pale, blue, light ; 
 With wondering eyes, I follow' d where it led ; 
 Until it reach" d the precincts of the dead. 
 There, by a new-made grave, it took its stand, 
 In a lone churchyard's consecrated land ; 
 Where sleeping bodies rest, from trouble free, 
 Till that dread hour which seals their destiny. 
 Then to the sacred fane it bent its course, 
 And its blue fire was lost within the porch.
 
 88 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 " Again return' d, again the light I found ; 
 Retrac'd its steps across the hallow'd ground ! 
 Through the same roads — through the same lanes 
 
 it pass'd, 
 To where 'twas first ohserv'd ; and then at last, 
 The light, with paler rays, its influence shed ; 
 Then sought repose amongst the silent dead ! 
 
 " Within my dwelling lay a lovely boy, 
 On a sick bed ; his eyes, with heavenly joy, 
 Beam'd bright with hope, that he should soon 
 
 arise 
 To glorious mansions, far above the skies. 
 From what I'd seen, I knew his hour was come, 
 To leave this world, for a far better one ! 
 When I return'd, and found the much lov'd boy 
 From pain releas'd, who can describe the joy 
 I at that moment felt ! ' I'll not despair ; 
 There's hope,' I cried ; then spent the night in 
 
 prayer." 
 
 The son enquir'd, — " Dost thou believe, my Sire, 
 That light to be a supernatural fire ? 
 The English say such lights are never found, 
 Save near some bog, or low, and marshy ground ! 
 From bodies dead, they oftentimes appear ; 
 Or sidph'rous vapours, kindled in the air."
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 89 
 
 " Mistaken notion this," the father cries ; 
 
 " The English think themselves supremely wise ; 
 
 But facts are stubborn things : and know they 
 
 not, 
 "Why the corpse candle leads to such a spot ! 
 As well they know it does ; yet will not own, 
 Its real cause, a supernat'ral one." 
 
 Thus having said, a heavy knock was heard ; 
 " Unbar the door, my boy ; 'tis as I fear'd ; 
 The lambent lights, which wander o'er the moor, 
 Have led a wand'rer to our humble door. 
 Well be it so ; he shall partake our cheer, 
 And with true friends, find cordial welcome here." 
 
 With trembling limbs, from toil and cold combined, 
 
 A stranger sought a refuge from the wind : 
 
 Sir Edward Montague, for it was he, 
 
 WTio'd brav'd the dangers of the raging sea. 
 
 His ship, from foreign lands, that night was toss'd, 
 
 By angry waves, against the rocks, and lost. 
 
 Of the unhappy crew, some few were sav'd ; 
 
 Whilst others sunk, and found a wat'ry grave. 
 
 He gain'd the land ; then wander' d o'er the moor, 
 
 Until he found the hospitable door. 
 
 An only son, eleven years, or more, 
 
 He'd left, t' engage in wars on India's shore ;
 
 90 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 But now return'd, with anxious hope and joy, 
 To clasp within his arms his much lov'd boy. 
 
 Scarce was he seated, when surpris'd, he said ; 
 " Whose portrait's that, which hangs above thy 
 
 head ? 
 Great God of heaven ! it sure resembles one, 
 I dearly lov'd on earth ; but she is gone 
 To brighter skies, to fairer worlds on high ; 
 Where joys abound, untainted by a sigh !" 
 
 " I do not know," the aged shepherd said ; 
 
 " I do not know ; nor did the dying lad 
 
 Who gave it me ; nor yet from whence it came ; 
 
 Nor had he knowledge of the person's name. 
 
 ' Take this,' he said, ' and from it thou might\st gain, 
 
 AVhat I have sought to learn, but sought in vain ;' 
 
 Yet from the striking likeness 'tween the two, 
 
 I doubt not that from her his life he drew." 
 
 " She had a son, if 'tis the same I guess ; 
 If now alive, might be fifteen, scarce less ; 
 A lovely boy, when smiling on my knee ; 
 My dearest son, what would I give for thee !" 
 
 The shepherd said, — " I fear thy son's no more, 
 But safely landed on the heavenly shore ;
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 91 
 
 In yonder church-yard, lies a youth as fair, 
 If 'tis not he, as was thy youthfvd heir ! 
 But listen, now ; I p'rhaps, can something state, 
 To throw some light on thy son's hapless fate. 
 
 " On such a night as this, three years ago, 
 Deep on the moor, lay the untrodden snow ; 
 The north wind howl'd, in fitful gusts around ; 
 Drear was the blast, and mournful was the sound. 
 "Twas then, a lovely youth had miss'd his way, 
 And on my threshold, faint and weary lay ; 
 A dozen springs he might have seen, not more, 
 A form more graceful, I ne'er saw before ! 
 His features such, e'en angels might admire ; 
 And his bright eyes shone with celestial fire ; 
 Yet softened were their rays by grateful tears, 
 That sooth' d his soul, and calm'd his anxious fears. 
 When on a couch, secure from stormy blasts, 
 His pallid cheeks resum'd life's hue at last ; 
 Then heaving deep, a sad and painful sigh, 
 The crystal tear-drop glitt'ring in his eye ; 
 
 ( od ! my father, and my friend,' he cried, 
 this the way my feeble faith is tried ? 
 Well, be it so ; unto thy will I bend ; 
 Be thou my shield, and with thy arm defend. 
 'Tis thou, oh God ! thou only canst repay. 
 The heartfelt kindness I've receiv'd this day.'
 
 92 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 " Ne'er did a parent, with more zealous care, 
 Watch the sick bed, or breathe more fervent pray'r, 
 Than did myself, on that distressing night, 
 When Edward's soul, to realms of bliss took flight. 
 
 " The night advanc'd ; the invalid awoke, 
 And took my hand in his, then gently spoke, — 
 ' My dearest friend, the time is now arriv'd 
 That we must part ; but could I have surviv'd 
 A few short hours, I would to thee relate, 
 Some few of those events Avhich mark'd my fate, 
 But 'tis too late ; yet, after death thou'lt see 
 Papers and books, might be of use to thee. 
 This portrait take, and from it thou may'st gain, 
 What I have sought to find, but sought in vain. 
 
 " ' If I look back to when my infant years, 
 Requir'd a father's love, a mother's fears, 
 To guard then boy from error's wide domain ; 
 To keep him safe from error's galling chain ; 
 To lead his mind to love pure virtue's ways 
 And guide him safely through his early days 
 Then do I grieve. No mother's tears of joy, 
 Fell on the neck of her beloved boy ! 
 No mother's fond caress I ever felt ; 
 Or at her knee, in lisping prayer, I knelt. 
 No father's fost'ring care, I ever knew ;
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 93 
 
 No parent's hand, to guide me, as I grew. 
 On the wide world, in early childhood cast, 
 My mind was pain'd in thinking of the past, 
 And of the future, too ! My boding fears 
 Presag'd nought else, hut ills in riper years : 
 My real wants were well supplied, 'tis true ; 
 Yet by whose lib'ral hand I never knew ! 
 One thing I've learnt — my errors to deplore ; 
 To seek my God, and love him more and more, 
 Than ail the wealth and honours here below ; 
 Or all the dazzling pomp earth can bestow. 
 But now farewell ; for see, yon angel waits, 
 To bear my soul to heaven's eternal gates ! 
 I come ; the contest's o'er — the vict'ry's won ; 
 Saviour, my friend, my God, to thee, I come !' 
 
 " Thus having said, he heav'd a gentle sigh ; 
 His soul took flight to realms of bliss, on high ; 
 In yonder hallow'd ground, poor Edward lies, 
 'Till that great day, when he to heav'n shall rise." 
 
 " It must be he," the stranger cried ; " My son ! 
 Could I have found thee well, thou dearest one, 
 No human tongue could tell the heartfelt joy, 
 I should have felt, in seeing thee, my boy. 
 Thanks, gen'rous man ; at no far distant day, 
 Thy kindness to my boy, I'll thee repay."
 
 94 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 The following morn, the stranger sought the 
 
 ground 
 Where Edward lay ; and on a stone he found, — 
 " Beneath this slab, a lovely youth now rests. 
 Whose soul has sought a home amongst the blest 
 He in the paths of heavenly wisdom trod, 
 And in his early years he found his God. 
 The Orphan Boy was early call'd away, 
 To see the light of never-fading day/' 
 
 On the cold stone, the weeping father knelt ; 
 His flowing tears proclaim*d the grief he felt. 
 At length he cried, — " Although thou"st ta'en my 
 
 son, 
 To thee, I bow, great God ; thy will be done !"
 
 LINES ON BUILDWAS ABBEY. 
 
 Near yonder spot, where Wrekin's far-fam'd hill, 
 
 Rises abruptly from Salupia's plain, 
 
 A ruin'd abbey stands. Majestic pile ! 
 
 Majestic in decay ! Thy massy walls 
 
 Have stood the shock of ages ! Borne the 
 
 blasts 
 Of winter's storm ! The tempest's boisterous 
 
 rage ; 
 And lightning's vivid bolt ! The hand of Time, 
 Which bids defiance to the works of man, 
 And levels with the dust the stately hall, 
 The monarch's palace, and the peasant's cot, 
 Thou hast withstood ; but not the power of 
 
 man!
 
 96 LINES OS BUILDWAS ABBEY. 
 
 Thy site — enchanting spot ! a verdant lawn, 
 A gentle slope, wash'd by Sabrina's stream, 
 Which wends its way to Ocean's welcome 
 
 arms ; 
 Through flow'ry meads, where modest cowslips 
 
 bloom ; 
 Where primrose pale, and hare-bells deck the 
 
 fields ; 
 Where fairy elves, in Luna's brightest rays, 
 Hold their nocturnal feasts, and often leave 
 The figure of their dance, in verdant rings. 
 Rich hanging woods, thy sacred site adorns, 
 In which sweet Philomel delights to dwell. 
 
 When the bright king of day has sunk to rest, 
 Tinging the summits of the distant hills, 
 With Tyrian dyes ; then in the softest notes 
 She warbles forth her ev'ning hymn of praise, 
 And in her song, will not the christian join ? 
 Will not his thoughts ascend to realms above, 
 Where all is joy, eternal peace, and love r 
 
 Great God. of heav'n ! in nature's beauteous 
 
 book, 
 Teach me to read thy wisdom, love, and power; 
 To view thy hand in lofty hill and vale ; 
 In sandy deserts, as in fertile plains ;
 
 J 
 
 LINES ON BUILDWAS ABBEY. 97 
 
 In storms and tempests, midst the lightning's 
 
 fire. 
 If on the weary couch of sickness laid, 
 And pain prevents the usual meed of rest, 
 To c. ,1m the troubl'd mind, and renovate 
 Nature's exhausted powers ; still may I view 
 Thy hand, exerted for the good of man : 
 But more than all, would I thy goodness see, 
 When Justice, Love, and Mercy, in one act 
 Combin'd, to save from woe, rebellious man ! 
 Thy love's unfolded in the richest boon, 
 Amongst thy many gifts — the gift of him, 
 "Who suffer' d, bled, and died, that man might live. 
 
 To thy great name, this edifice was rais'd, 
 Where thousands heard the life-bestowing word, 
 And cried — " Hail, Prince of Life ; for ever 
 
 hail! 
 Thou art the King of Glory ! Prince of Peace ! 
 Thee we adore, and crown thee Lord of all !" 
 
 Mcthinks I hear a soft melodious sound 
 Of music floating on the balmy air ; 
 Is it the vesper hymn, by virgins yung 
 To well-tun'd harp or organ's dulcet notes? 
 Or thy harmonious bells, whose soften'd peals 
 Floats on the gentle breeze ? Oh, no ! a dream, 
 11
 
 98 LINES ON BTJIEDWAS ABBEY. 
 
 A pleasing dream : imagination all ! 
 No more within thy walls shall organ sound : 
 No more within thy choir shall virgins chant 
 The matin, or the vesper hymn of praise ! 
 
 Majestic pile ! all that remains of thee 
 Is but the shadow of thy former self ! 
 See the great tower of thy now roofless church ; 
 With lichen cover'd, and Avith moss o'ergrown ; 
 Whilst fragments of thy thick and massy walls 
 Usurp the place where once thy altar stood : 
 Where solemn mass by pious priests was said. 
 And hymns, to heaven's eternal king, were sung. 
 There the faint echo mocks the raven's croak ; 
 Or the sad waitings of the birds of night. 
 At close of day, the bittern oft-times booms, 
 And scares the rustics from thy lonely shades. 
 The neighbours say, that in the moon's pale 
 
 beams, 
 A figure wanders, of no earthly mould. 
 Within thy hallow' d walls, in robes of white ; 
 And when the early dawn appears — departs ! 
 
 Great God ! canst thou forgive the ruthless 
 
 hand, 
 Of England's cruel king ? who even dar'd 
 Profane thine altars ; lay thy temples low :
 
 LINES ON BUIIDWAS ABBEY. 99 
 
 Thy faithful servants rob : then drive them 
 
 hence — 
 Far from their flocks and friends ! Oh, yes ; thou 
 
 canst ; 
 Thofc canst forgive, through the great sacrifice 
 Made by the Son of God, for guilty man ; 
 And yet be just. Amazing wisdom, love, 
 And justice, meet ! Mercy, the brightest, best, 
 Of heaven's high attributes, is now display"d, 
 By this great deed, in its most brilliant rays ! 
 Yet 1« t it not be said that England's church 
 Requir'd the aid of glitt'ring sword, nor yet 
 Of cannon's pond'rous ball, to break, by force, 
 The adamantine chains that bound her close 
 Unto the heavy yoke of papal Rome. 
 Her pure and holy doctrines, then as now. 
 Would find their way to many stubborn hearts ; 
 And bend the will of man, subdue his rage, 
 And lead him conquer' d to the throne of God ! 
 
 It must be so, ere that great day arrives, 
 When, with the lion, gentle lambkins play ! 
 When rav'nous wolves shall in the sheepfold 
 
 dwell : 
 When children play around the serpent's den ; 
 And infant hands shall guide the beasts of 
 
 prey ! 
 
 h2
 
 100 XINES ON BTJILDWAS ABBEY. 
 
 Hasten thou, then, that happy time, oh, God ! 
 
 Let love unite the hearts of all mankind, 
 
 Then peace, and heavenly joy, on earth, shall
 
 
 SAVILLE. 
 
 Fab. towards the west of Albion" s verdant isle, 
 
 Up« a rock, wash'd by a murm'ring stream, 
 
 On which the swan her downy pinions plum'd, 
 
 A massy pile, in stately grandeur stood — 
 
 A castle once, — surrounded by a moat ; 
 
 But now choice shrubs usurp the water's place. 
 
 Within its lonely halls, the owl, and bat, 
 
 In solemn silence seem to meditate 
 
 Upon the vanity of earthly good, 
 
 The livelong day ; and then when darkness spreads 
 
 Her gloomy veil, o'er nature's lovely face, 
 
 They sally forth, with loud discordant notes. 
 
 Near this lone spot, a noble mansion stands 
 Of modern date, the seat of Weston's Earl ; 
 The country round presents the richest scenes ;
 
 102 SAVILLE. 
 
 The hills are cloth'cl with fine majestic woods, 
 And in the distance the blue sea appears. 
 
 The wealthy Peer, now far advanced in years, 
 Had once a son and heir to this domain — 
 A noble, gen'rous youth, whose graceful form, 
 With polish'd manners, and a lib'ral hand, 
 Had gain'd for him a host of flatterers ; 
 Who, by degrees, had led him into vice, 
 And in forbidden paths so far to tread, 
 As exil'd him from his once happy home. 
 
 Full fifteen years had ta'en their rapid flight, 
 From time t' eternity ; yet of his son, 
 The father had not heard. 
 
 One winter's eve, 
 The stormy north wind blew, in fitful gusts, 
 Across the lawns, through dark and gloomy woods 
 It moan'd most piteously ; the falling sleet, 
 And drifted snow, lay deep upon the plains. 
 
 Near to a fire, the venerable peer, 
 In contemplation sat. He rais'd his eye 
 To where the portrait of his son was plac'd ; 
 He thought of him, and then he deeply sigh'd, 
 And chas'd away the tears that pity drew.
 
 SAVIXLE. 103 
 
 Whilst thus engag'd, a stranger's ushered in, 
 Clad in the dress of naval uniform, 
 Who took the hand of Weston" s Earl, then said, — 
 " How fares my Lord, how fares my noble friend ? 
 If thou'st forgot thy once lov'd Edward's voice, 
 I wonder not ; for time has chang"d us both."' 
 
 " Campbell, my friend," the aged peer replied ; 
 ki My dearest friend ; or else my eyes deceive !" 
 
 " The same," the Captain said : " since last we 
 
 met, 
 .Mi' h hardship have I seen, by sea, and land, 
 To change the well known features of thy friend ; 
 But now those times are o'er : all that I seek, 
 Is peace and happiness amongst my friends." 
 
 Much had the friends to say, of bygone years, 
 Of childhood's happy days, of manhood's prime, 
 And what had since ta"en place in riper age : 
 
 At length the Captain touch'd upon a theme, 
 Which call'd the tear-drops to the father's eye — 
 He spoke of his lost son ; and then enquir'd 
 If, of his long lost heir, he'd lately heard ; 
 "If not," lie said, "he could some tidings give, 
 That well might soothe the fondest parent's fears."'
 
 104 SAVILLE. 
 
 The Earl replied, " No tidings have I heard.'" 
 His trembling frame, his agitated nerves, 
 Declar'd the strong emotions of his soul. 
 
 Observing this, the captain mildly said, 
 " Compose thyself, my Lord, and be prepar'd, 
 To hear the best of news of thy lost son, 
 And thank thy God that he is safe and well ; 
 Nay more — that he's a servant of the cross, 
 And hath embrac'd the christian's holy creed ! 
 Though not the one held by the see of Rome ; 
 Nor yet of that maintain' d by England's church : 
 Nor doth he differ far ; save in those forms, 
 And sacred rites, both churches wish observ'd. 
 But Edmund seeks not forms ; but yet he owns, 
 No better form has been by man devis'd, 
 Than that the Church of England well supplies ; 
 Yet Edmund seeks his God without such aid." 
 
 " Great God of heaven !" the worthy Earl then 
 
 cried ; 
 " Mysterious are thy ways to sinful man : 
 Oh, holy virgin, hear ! accept of thanks ; 
 The grateful tribute of a beating heart. 
 To thee I've pray'd, that on my son thou'dst look ; 
 Watch o'er his path on earth, and intercede 
 On his behalf, with heaven's eternal king.
 
 SAYILLE. 
 
 105 
 
 Oh, holy virgin ! lend a pitying ear : 
 
 Still I would beg — still farther would I pray 
 
 That he again might reach his long lost home. 
 
 And, like the prodigal of holy writ, 
 
 Return repentant to his father's house ; 
 
 Then would I clasp him to my throbbing breast, 
 
 And cry, — k Most righteous God, thy will be done !' 
 
 Then having seen my boy alive and well, 
 
 I could resign all transitory joys, 
 
 Expfcting greater ones, more permanent, 
 
 In the eternal world ; then die in peace.'" 
 
 " If 'tis thy wish to see thy erring son, 
 Chang' d as he is," the gen'rous Captain said ; 
 " Then might' st thou hope again to see him here ; 
 For I have seen him, and conversed with him. 
 And now, my friend, ere I proceed to state 
 What I've both heard and seen, of thy lost heir. 
 Thou must, upon thy feelings, place a curb, 
 Else I can not proceed." 
 
 - I will do so ; 
 But yet the tears that flow, from such a cause, 
 Give great relief, and ease the troubled mind." 
 
 " Well, now, my friend," the gallant Captain said. 
 " 'Tie now nine months, or more, our sloop of war
 
 106 SAVILLE. 
 
 Was sailing on the vast atlantic main, 
 When it was injur' d hy a fearful storm ; 
 The morn was close, no zephyr mov'd the air ; 
 The sun arose in dense and murky cloud, 
 From which our tars presag*d a storm was nigh ; 
 And so it was : for ere the king of clay 
 Had sought repose, the fierce and angry winds 
 With fury rag'd a perfect hurricane. 
 In the south west the forked lightnings play'd, 
 And thunders pealed throughout the darken' d air 
 The rain in torrents pour'd, whilst heavy waves 
 Arose like mountains high, and lash"d the rocks, 
 'Gainst one of which our gallant vessel struck ; 
 With a tremendous crash, our mainmast fell, 
 And death, in its most awful form, appear d ! 
 Our valiant tars, who, undismay'd, would meet 
 The glitt'ring Made, or face the cannon's mouth, 
 Now shook like leaves assail'd by stormy winds. 
 At length the tempest ceas'd ; our shatter'd bark 
 Was moor'd in safety in the nearest port. 
 
 " Near to this port, I found a Quaker friend, 
 
 (One I had known from early infancy,) 
 
 A worthy man was he ; and shipwright, too. 
 
 Therefore, with him I left the arduous task 
 
 Our vessel to prepare again for sea : 
 
 We long convers'd of the good olden time,
 
 SAVILLE. 
 
 107 
 
 When he and I were boys : at length he said, — 
 ' Thou know'st Lord Weston well : know'st thou 
 
 his son? 
 I think thou must. I answer'd that I did.' 
 And then he told a plain unvarnish'd tale, 
 Which, in my breast, rais'd feelings ill controll'd." 
 
 " One morning, in the smiling month of May, 
 I early rose," he said ; " e'en with the lark, 
 And wander'd far, through dew bespangled lawns. 
 Until I reach'd the port. A Merchantman 
 Had just arriv'd from Britain's verdant isle, 
 Wnl. costly goods, and passengers, aboard. 
 Of those who landed on our shore was one, 
 A noble, handsome, and a manly youth, 
 ' Of nineteen years, scarce more ; with downcast 
 look, 
 And falt'ring steps, approaching me, he said, — 
 
 ' Permit me, Sir, to ask thy friendly aid, 
 
 That I, far distant from my native shores, 
 
 May find a home, and honest livelihood here ; 
 
 Believe me, Sir, in me you now behold 
 
 An hapless exile from his native land. 
 
 Par brighter hours, and happier days, I've seen, 
 
 And might have seen them still ; but, oh, my God 
 
 What folly lias been mine ; nay more — what vice.
 
 108 SAVILLE. 
 
 Methinks, were I to call to mind the past, 
 "Twould banish reason from her seat, and plunge 
 Me in despair. Oh, dreadful, painful thought ! 
 Oh, pity me ! and sympathize with one 
 Who's had no pity on himself; Oh, save, 
 Save him from thought — from busy memory, 
 Which harrows up his soul, and leads him to 
 
 despair. 
 Oh, lend thy aid, and he will ever bless 
 The friendly hand that soothes his bitter woes.' " 
 
 " Tell me, my friend," the Quaker kindly said, 
 
 " The source from whence thy misery has sprung ; 
 
 What is the nature of the heavy crime 
 
 That haunts thy soul, and preys upon thy mind ? 
 
 And what the reckless deed that drives thee here ? 
 
 If, then, thy woes are not beyond relief ; 
 
 If they spring not from a corrupted heart — 
 
 A heart inur"d to every sort of vice, 
 
 Then will I lend my aid to heal thy woes."' 
 
 " Upon his knees, the humble suppliant fell, 
 O'ercome by feelings he could not controul ; 
 His grateful heart o'erflow'd with gratitude, 
 And would have thank'd his kind and generous 
 
 friend : 
 But vain were all attempts : his pallid lips
 
 SAVILLE. 109 
 
 Refus'd to let th' expressions freely pass : 
 But yet his tears, by far more eloquent, 
 Breath'd the deep feelings of his inmost soul."' 
 
 " Rise, my young friend,'' the worthy shipwright 
 
 Srdd, 
 
 " Rise, my young friend ; whate'er might be thy 
 
 crimes, 
 I feel assur'd they spring not from a heart 
 Whi.re vice has rais'd her throne, and holds her 
 
 sway; 
 The language that from thee I've lately heard, 
 Is nr>t the language of her votaries. 
 Now let me say, to no man bow the knee ; 
 To God alone, is there such homage due." 
 
 " To thee, kind Sir," the penitent replied, 
 
 " I would confess my crimes ; but, oh, great God ! 
 
 Oh ! how can I relate the deeds I've done ! 
 
 Forgive, forgive, oh, thou who died'st to save 
 
 A guilty world ! canst thou forgive the crimes 
 
 Of one whose hands are stain'd with human blood !" 
 
 " The Quaker heard, with horror and dismay, 
 The sad confession of his heinous guilt, 
 And cried, — ' Stop, did I hear thy words aright ? 
 A murderer, sayest thou ! Of whom and how ?
 
 110 SAVILLE. 
 
 Young man, speak freely, and fear nought 
 from me." 
 
 " Then hear me, Sir," the wretched youth replied, 
 " I will relate the whole ; yet must I beg, 
 Thou wilt not seek to know the name I bear, 
 Or that of my lov'd friends, in Britain's isle. 
 What loads of grief my father must endure, 
 If, of the crimes that drove me from my home, 
 He's been inform' d : but Avhy say, if? That word 
 Implies a doubt ! There cannot be a doubt, 
 But he has heard my now dishonour'd name, 
 Branded with infamy : then must he curse 
 His guilty son — the murderer of his friend. 
 
 " When mem'ry calls to mind my mis-spent life ; 
 When I retrace the paths of vice I've trod, 
 And think upon the guilty life I've led, 
 My conscience speaks, my brain seems rack'd with 
 
 fire, 
 And reason, for a time, rejects her SAvay. 
 In the gay world my early life was spent, 
 And at the gambler's board too often found, 
 At midnight hours ; and at the shrine of vice 
 I've sacrific'd my health, and peace of mind. 
 In play, I lost my gold ; my income fail'd, 
 Large as it was, to satisfy my wants,
 
 SAVILLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 And then I drew upon my father's purse, 
 'Till I durst ask no more. One last attempt, 
 To regain what I'd lost, I made, and fail'd. 
 
 " Upon a single card I risk'd my all ! 
 
 And in a moment's time my all was lost ; 
 
 Then, like a madman, through the rooms I rav'd ; 
 
 I curS'd my fate, and tore my hair with rage : 
 
 I curs'd the cards, and charg'd my friend with 
 
 fraud ; 
 Then hasten' d home, and soon a challenge wrote. 
 
 " On the nest morn, and with the sun's first rays, 
 
 We, and our seconds, met ; there, in a field, 
 
 Far from the paths of men, we took our stand. 
 
 The signal giv'n, we fir'd, my pistol ball 
 
 Through the strong arm of my opponent pass'd, 
 
 And lodg'd within his breast. In death he fell ! 
 
 My conscience rous'd, accus'd me of my guilt, 
 
 And tax'd me with the murder of my friend ; 
 
 ( 'ausing such pangs as only can be known 
 
 By those who've felt the same ; they can't be told ! 
 
 Without delay, the nearest port I reach'd, 
 
 And found a vessel ready to set sail 
 
 To distant lands ; but where, I heeded not, 
 
 So that it bore me from my native land. 
 
 By adverse winds, I'm driven on this shore,
 
 112 SAVILLE. 
 
 Where I would gladly stay, if I can gain 
 Sufficient to supply my daily wants.' " 
 
 The Captain paus'd ; the noble Earl exclaim'd, 
 " Campbell, thou saidst that thou hadst seen my 
 
 son ; 
 It must be him thou now art speaking of." 
 
 " The same, my Lord," the worthy Captain said ; 
 " Impell'd by anxious hope, the following day 
 I sought the shipwright's friend and protege, 
 And found him seated at his evening meal, 
 After the labour of the day was o'er, 
 In a green porch, which grac'd his cottage door. 
 
 " His lovely wife, but still more lovely boy, 
 
 Partook of this repast of humble fare. 
 
 At my approach he rose, and to his cot 
 
 Gave me a hearty welcome. He enquir'd 
 
 If I'd seen thee, or heard from thee, of late r 
 
 He wept, when of thy grief he thought or spoke, 
 
 And of thy pains, yet unsubdued by time, 
 
 Which he'd inflicted on the best of men, 
 
 And mourn'd, with heartfelt sorrow, his past 
 
 sins : 
 I then propos'd an interview with thee, 
 Which he declin'd, for reasons thus assign' d : —
 
 SAVILLE. 113 
 
 " ' I'll grant,' he said, ' that I should pardon crave, 
 And gladly shew my duty, and my love. 
 By sacrificing all I hold most dear. 
 If that could make atonement for my faults, 
 Or soothe the woes I've brought upon my Sire. 
 But, thou, my friend, must surely recollect 
 That he stands high in rank, and nobly born ; 
 And that he holds the Cath'lic creed of Rome. 
 That good and virtuous man, I greatly fear, 
 Would spurn me from his presence, when he found 
 The change that's taken place in my pursuits ; 
 My dress, and mode of life ; but what is worse, 
 The light in which he'd view the Quaker's creed ; 
 Therefore, I'd not disturb his tranquil hours, 
 Or harrow up the feelings of his soul, 
 And thus renew his grief, by seeing me. 
 Oh, no, my friend, no further urge the point ; 
 I yet will hope, that at the last great day, 
 The noble Earl will meet his son in bliss ; 
 And thus enhance the joy he needs must feel, 
 In seeing one reclaim'd from vice and woe.' ' 
 
 Again the Captain ceas'd ; the Earl enquir'd, 
 
 " Where, my good friend ; oh, where is Edmund 
 
 now ? 
 Long I've forgiven him, and love him still ; 
 Let me again embrace my long lost boy, 
 
 i
 
 114 SAVILLE. 
 
 And heav'n shall have the praise. I ask no 
 
 more. 
 
 " He is within thy reach," the Captain said, 
 " Once more he's landed on his native land ; 
 Nay, more, within the halls of Weston park, 
 He, with his lovely wife, and smiling boy, 
 Are waiting now the will of thee, my Lord !" 
 
 " Great God of heav'n ; oh, holy virgin, hear !" 
 
 The happy parent cried ; " lend me thy aid, 
 
 And give me strength to meet my wand'ring son." 
 
 Soon were the father and his only son 
 
 Lock'd in each other's arms ; the wife stood near, 
 
 Her brilliant eyes, with tears of joy sufFus'd ; 
 
 The lovely boy clung to his father's knee, 
 
 But soon was he transferr'd to the good Earl, 
 
 Who, on his cheeks, impress'd a fervent kiss. 
 
 " Edmund, my dearest son," the father cried, 
 •' Thrice welcome art thou to thy parent's heart, 
 And welcome to thy long deserted home : 
 From hence thou need'st not go, nor seek disguise, 
 To shield thee from the stern demands of law. 
 He, whom thy ball left on the field as dead, 
 Is now alive and well, and still thy friend :
 
 SAVILLE. 
 
 115 
 
 He hath forgiven thee the thoughtless deed, 
 By which he's lost the power to wield the sword, 
 As heretofore, in his lov'd country's cause : 
 To save his valued life, his arm he lost."' 
 
 " Father of heaven, thou art for ever good!'" 
 
 The nohle Edmund cried ; " deign to accept 
 
 The humble tribute of a grateful heart. 
 
 And now, my honour'd Sire, we will remain 
 
 At Weston park, with thee. In my lov'd wife, 
 
 Thou'lt find a daughter's love — a daughter's care. 
 
 She'll watch thy every want, and smooth the path 
 
 Of r^y declining years ; and our dear boy 
 
 Will oft amuse thee in thy leisure hours. 
 
 As it regards myself, — can I repay 
 
 The debt of gratitude, I owe to thee ? 
 
 And now, my honour'd Sire, be thou not griev'd, 
 
 If, as thy heir, the world must know me not ! 
 
 No longer I can mingle in the crowd, 
 
 Which flutter round the courts of royalty ! 
 
 No longer mix with giddy multitudes. 
 
 Who in the haunts of dissipation tread ; 
 
 Such scenes as those have lost all charms for me ! 
 
 Neither can I adopt the honour'd name 
 
 That courtesy gives to Weston's first-born son : 
 
 No other name than ' Edmund Saville,' now 
 
 Cun e'er be borne by me ! In future years,
 
 116 SAVILLE. 
 
 My darling boy, if he survives, might bear 
 The rank, and title, which to me belongs, 
 As thy sole heir, for he no Quaker is ; 
 But a young member of the British Church !" 
 
 " Well, be it so,'" the happy father cried ; 
 
 " I've found my long lost son ! Be thou my prop, 
 
 And chief support, in my declining years." 
 
 Around the festive board the parties met, 
 Hilarity and joy smil'd sweetly round; 
 The glad domestics, of this noble house, 
 Shar'd in the happiness that beam'd around ; 
 And then at night, ere they retird to rest, 
 Gave God the glory due unto his name.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 BELISARIUS. 
 
 Page 1, Line 4. 
 
 But now from Constantine it takes its name. 
 
 After Constantine the Great had taken possession of 
 Rome, he transferred the seat of empire, for some reason, 
 to Byzantium, afterwards called Constantinople. This city 
 he beautified and adorned with the most magnificent 
 edifices, and having thus rendered it equal to his wishes, 
 dedicated it, in the most solemn manner, to the God 
 of Martyrs. — Goldsmith. 
 
 Page 2, Line 15. 
 
 It was Barsames, his counsellor and friend. 
 
 Barsames was minister of the treasury, and favourite 
 of Theodora. — Maemontel. 
 
 Page 30, Line 12. 
 
 In Theodora's love to find relief. 
 
 Antonina was admitted to an intimacy and deamess 
 with Theodora : the companion of all her social pleasures, 
 and depended upon support from that quarter. She be- 
 lieved Theodora was her friend. — Makmontel. 
 
 Page 35, Line 22. 
 
 Near In the palace gates, she met with one. 
 
 Farther on, she met with one who owed his all to her, 
 and who, on the preceding day, was devoted to her service. 
 She made an attempt to expostulate with him; but without 
 deigning to hear her, said, " 1 know your misfortune, 
 and am sorely mortified. I must leave you, Madam ; but 
 be assured, there is no one more zealously attached to 
 you." — Marmontel.
 
 118 NOTES. 
 
 Page 51, Line '3. 
 
 Yet not until he's made incapable. 
 
 The tumult enraged the Emperor; Theodora perceiving 
 it, managed artfully to seize the moment of his passion, 
 knowing that he then only was capable of injustice. 
 " Well," said she, " let him be given up to the populace, 
 after he's made incapable of commanding them !" The 
 horrible advice prevailed ; it was the decisive judgment 
 against Belisarius. — Makmontel. 
 
 LINES ON THE CROSS. 
 
 Page 73, Line 1. 
 
 From Judah's tribe the seepire shall not pass. 
 
 The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, or a lawgiver 
 from between his feet, until Shiloh come : and unto him 
 shall the gathering of the people be. — Genesis, xlix. 10. 
 
 Page 75, Line 6. 
 O'er the green meads of Judah's happy land. 
 
 " It is not likely," says the learned Gill, " that Christ 
 was born, as it is commonly supposed, at the latter end of 
 December, in the depth of winter ; since at this time, 
 shepherds were out in the fields, where they lodged all 
 night, tending their sheep." 
 
 The first rain is in the month Marchesvan, which 
 answers to our latter part of October and former part of 
 November ; from the flocks not being brought into the 
 city, it appears that Christ must have been born before the 
 middle of October, as the first rains were not yet come. 
 
 Page 78, Line 4. 
 
 By this great sign, thou shall o'ercome thy foes. 
 
 As the sun was declining, there suddenly appeared a 
 pillar of light in the heavens, in the fashion of a cross, with 
 this inscription, " in this o'ercome." — Goldsmith.
 
 NOTES. 119 
 
 LINES ON LUDLOW CASTLE. 
 
 Page 81, Line 9. 
 
 Fair Dinan's hind on Roger, Shrewsbury's Earl. 
 
 Ludlow Castle was built by Roger de Montgomery, Earl 
 of a irewsbury, soon after the conquest. All the country 
 thereabouts was given to him by the Conqueror. This 
 cattle was given by Henry II. to Fulke Fitzwarine, caU'dde 
 Din an. — Phillips. 
 
 Page 81, Line 23. 
 
 BjHoit'd and nurltir'd in Prince Edward! s Court. 
 
 Edward, Prince of Wales, eldest son of Edward the 
 Fourth, held his court here ; being sent by his father, as 
 Hall says, " For justice to be done in the marches of 
 Wales, to the ende, that by the authoritie of his presence, 
 the wilde Welshemene, and evil disposed personnes, should 
 refrain from their accustomed murthers and outrages." It 
 was here tbe two sons of Edward the Fourth resided when 
 then- uncle Richard sent for them to London. — Phillips. 
 
 Page 83, Line 20. 
 
 Of Arthur, Prince of Wales. 
 
 In the reign of Henry the Seventh, the castle was 
 inhabited by Prince Arthur, the King's eldest son, who died 
 there, Anno 1502, aged only sixteen years. — Phillips. 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 Page 8G, Line 22. 
 
 Whilst from tin; lakes, the bittern's awful boom. 
 
 " It is impossible," says Goldsmith, " to give those who 
 have not heard the booming of the bittern, an adequate idea 
 of its solemnity! It is like the interrupted bellowings of 
 the bull; but hollower, and louder, and is heard at a mile's 
 distance, as if issuing from some formidable bring that 
 resided al the bottom of the waters.
 
 120 NOTES. 
 
 LINES ON BUILDWAS ABBEY. 
 
 Page 95, Line 1. 
 
 Near yonder spot, where Wrekin's far-famed hill. 
 
 This bill is celebrated for the extent and majesty of its 
 horizon, which stands unrivalled in England; its circuit 
 being more than 400 miles, and embraces objects in 
 eighteen counties. — Butleb. 
 
 Page 95, Line 3. 
 
 A ruin'd abbey stands. 
 
 Buildwas Abbey lies about a mile from the foot of the 
 Wrekin, and close to the river Severn. It was founded in 
 the year 1135, by Roger, Bishop of Chester, for monks of 
 the order of Suvigny, united afterwards to the Cistercians. 
 It was dedicated to St. Mary and St. Chad. 
 
 Page 96, Line 13. 
 
 In which sweet Philomel delights to dwell. 
 
 The nightingale is found in the woods in the neighbour- 
 hood of Broseley, Benthall, &c, but it is said she has never 
 been heard so far north as Shrewsbury ! " In North Wales," 
 says Goldsmith, " they are totally unknown." This appears 
 singular, as Montgomery is considerably to the south west 
 of Broseley and neighbourhood, where they are found. 
 
 JOHN DAV1ES, PRINTER, SHREWSBURY.
 
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