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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 L^ 
 
 I r
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE EARL OF RAVENSWORTH 
 
 Nli\VC.\Sl'LK-ON-TVNE : 
 V. AND W. DODSWORTH, COT.I.IXf IWOOI) STREET. 
 
 1877. 
 
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 A. /I e. 
 
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 . A^^^6 /-^^^^ ^^f-^""^^^ 
 
 ^ - y^//
 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 I.— MliTRICAL J'ALES. 
 
 II.-^ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIFXES. 
 
 III.— SONNETS. 
 
 W. CHARADES. 
 
 8GG'/? 
 
 c
 
 TO 
 
 MY DEAR CHILDREN 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUMK 
 
 IS 
 
 DEDICATED AND BEQUEATHED 
 
 BY 
 
 THEIR AFFECTIONATE FATHER, 
 
 ^e^-i^^<^ >^>> 
 
 Z- 
 
 June, is;
 
 C O N T E N T S 
 
 The Porter of Seville 
 -The Divtr 
 
 The Old Hunting Schloss 
 The Steward's Tale . 
 The Spectre Bridegroom 
 The King and the Abbot 
 Fatality . 
 
 The Curse of Bendonald 
 The Luck of Edenhall 
 Rizpah 
 
 The Minstrel's Curse 
 Ad Reginam 
 To the Queen . 
 To an Eaglo 
 To the Fame Islands 
 Icebergs at Sea 
 The Moors 
 
 Song of the Ueer-Stalker 
 Farewell to the Highlands 
 The Waterside . 
 To the North Wind . 
 The Snow. 
 The Scythian Winter 
 Stasias in Matrem Carissiniam 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 5 
 11 
 13 
 16 
 
 20 
 26 
 3-2 
 41 
 43 
 4.1 
 51 
 5-2 
 54 
 5(3 
 59 
 i!3 
 60 
 G!) 
 71 
 74 
 7G 
 7S 
 80
 
 A Voice from Poland 
 
 Alrana's GaiJen 
 
 The Bells of Bottieux 
 
 The Hoses of Towlon Moor 
 
 Viat Lux . 
 
 Le Diraanche h. Paris 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 The Morn of Parting 
 
 AVoman's Love . 
 
 Parody from the Witches' 
 
 The Eeturn . 
 
 The Polish Exile 
 
 The Widow's Lament 
 
 Bamborough Castle . 
 
 From tlie German 
 
 From Claudian . 
 
 The Savoyard . 
 
 1813 and 1841 . 
 
 From the German 
 
 The Fox and the Eose 
 
 The Doe and the Donkey , 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 Charades . . 
 
 Masque, by Beu Jonson 
 
 133 
 153 
 
 FAGB 
 
 83 
 85 
 86 
 90 
 92 
 95 
 97 
 99 
 101 
 102 
 108 
 111 
 113 
 115 
 116 
 117 
 119 
 121 
 123 
 124 
 129 
 to 150 
 to 170
 
 ERRATUM. 
 
 From Clauuian— page US, stanza 3, for " grows" read 
 " groves."
 
 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 THE PORTER OF SEVILLE. 
 
 -<3>- 
 
 The Porter sate at the Convent gate, 
 
 And a stalwart youth was he : 
 His shoulders were broad and his limbs were straight, 
 And he bounded beneath the heaviest weight 
 
 With a lightsome step and free. 
 
 And gay was the glance of his sparkling e'en, 
 
 And merry the Porter's song. 
 And his glossy black hair like the raven's sheen 
 Hung down on his collar of velvet green 
 
 In clusters rich and long. 
 
 A.nd now he sate down by the Convent wall 
 
 Reclined on a bench of stone, 
 And smoked his cigar in the twilight's fall, 
 And murmured his thanks to the good St. Paul 
 
 That his daily work was done. 
 
 But why hath he started from off his seat, 
 
 And why doth he gaze and peer 
 At the casement barred that o'erhangs tlie street, 
 And what are those accents low and swoct 
 
 That have reached the Porter's ear ?
 
 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 " Gentle Spaniard would' st thou do 
 
 A deed of charity, 
 And save from perilous scathe and woe 
 
 The maid that appeals to thee; 
 The wicket behind thee stands ajar, 
 
 And the winding stair will lead 
 By the silent light of the evening star 
 
 To the cell where I bid thee speed." 
 
 Cold ran the Porter's blood I ween, 
 
 When she spake of a deed to be done. 
 But fair was the face that his eyes had seen, 
 And sweet and soft had the accents been 
 
 That were breathed by the dark-eyed nun. 
 
 And soon he banished his doubts and fears, 
 
 Thoui>h stern the monastic rule ; 
 For the heart that relents not at woman's tears. 
 And turns with disdain from a woman's prayers 
 
 Is the heart of a craven fool. 
 
 Ah Porter ! bethink thee what ills are wrousrht 
 
 By the glance of a bright black eye ; 
 But the snare is laid and the bird is caught, 
 And reason and prudence are set at nauglit 
 
 When the pulse of life beats high. 
 
 So he turned him through the wicket anon, 
 
 And he mounted the winding stair; 
 Till he reached the cell where the dark-eyed nun 
 Stood like an image of breathing stone 
 
 So stately so pale and fair. 
 
 Haughty her glance and stern her air, 
 A.iid her eyes gleamed wild and bright, 
 
 And flashed through the braids of her coal black hair, 
 
 As flashes the beam of the planet star 
 Through the deepening gloom of night.
 
 THE PORTER OF SEVILLE. 
 
 She raised a lamp from behind the door, 
 
 And flung the taper's ray 
 Where a sackcloth robe on the chamber floor 
 All draggled and rent and stained with gore 
 
 Like a funeral garment lay. 
 
 And propt against the pallet bed 
 
 He beheld ! oh sight unblest, 
 The corpse of a monk but newly dead, 
 With a dagger's blade all reeking red 
 
 In the murdered victim's breast. 
 
 " Away with that carrion," fierce she cried, 
 
 " Go bear thy burthen straight 
 Through the cypress grove and the garden wide 
 That encircle the convent's eastern side. 
 
 To the unlatched postern gate. 
 
 " And cast him down from the rampart wall, 
 
 To the depths of the still green pool 
 Where the toad and the serpent croak and crawl, 
 And the wild dogs troop at the twilight's fall 
 Theii* frothing jaws to cool. 
 
 " Yet hold that thy spirit may bear thee up 
 
 Through the bold and dismal task, 
 Here drain to its last and spiciest drop 
 This rich draught mantling in the cup 
 
 From Oviedo's cask." 
 
 Trembling he drank, and he felt each vein 
 
 Throb high with the kindling heat, 
 That thrilled almost with a thrill of pain 
 Through each tingling nerve from his dizz}^ brain 
 A.down to his very feet.
 
 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Ho bowed at the knees of tliat lady bright, 
 
 And uiadly 'gaii to pray 
 That she his love with her footstep light 
 Should follow him on in his daring flight 
 
 To some region far away. 
 
 To those fabled isles of bliss that lie 
 
 Beyond the Atlantic waves, 
 Where the feathered palm trees brush the sky, 
 And aromatic breezes sigh 
 
 Through ocean's pearly caves. 
 
 " Be hushed " she cried " submit to fate, 
 
 Pronounced is fate's decree : 
 First do thine errand bold youth and wait 
 For wait thou wilt beside the gate, 
 
 Leave leave the rest to me." 
 
 Some words he stammered he scarce knew what, 
 
 And to his lips he bare 
 Her small white hand which seas could not 
 Cleanse from the stain of one crimson spot, 
 
 That had left its token there. 
 
 Awa3'- from that cell the porter hied, 
 
 And bore his burthen straight 
 Through the cypress grove and the garden wide 
 That encircled the Convent's eastern side, 
 
 To the unlatched northern gate. 
 
 And down he hurled the lifeless mass 
 
 Sheer from the rampart's height, 
 Where waves the rank and sedgy grass 
 Along the edge of the dull morass 
 
 In the witchfire's wandering light. 
 
 Now Porter lay thee down and sleep ! 
 
 Thence shalt thou rouse thee never — 
 For the poisoned cup hath begun to steep 
 Both sense and soul in the slumber deep 
 
 That shall seal thine eyes for ever.
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 (Feom the German.) 
 
 " Is there a knight or squire so bold 
 To phinge into the dark abyss, 
 
 And dare to snatch this cup of gold 
 Forth from its breakers fathomless ? 
 
 Whosoe'er may fetch it up 
 
 Let him keep the golden cup." 
 
 The monarch tossed the glittering prize 
 From the rock whereon he stood ; 
 
 And followed it with yearning eyes 
 Into Charybdis' howling flood : 
 
 " Who has the heart, I ask once more, 
 
 To plunge into the whirlpool's roar ?" 
 
 But the knights and squires around 
 Hear his voice and hold their breath, 
 
 And gaze upon the gulf profound 
 Yawning like the gate of death. 
 
 When the monarch asks again, 
 
 " Will not one of all my train 
 
 Explore the secrets of the main ?" 
 
 Still never a word spoke squire nor lord ; 
 
 But a page at the king's behest 
 Stept out from among the trembling throng 
 
 And loosened his broidered vest : 
 Whilst all who the desperate purpose saw, 
 Stared on the reckless youth with awe.
 
 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Calm on the brink he stood and steady, 
 Gazing on the tortured waves 
 
 Which erst the Chary bdean eddy 
 Had whirled within her oozy caves, 
 
 And now upon the echoing shore 
 
 Regurgitates with hideous roar. 
 
 And the briny ocean bubbles and hisses 
 
 Like water when cast on fire, 
 And gushes and spouts from the deep abysses 
 
 In columns flung higher and higher^ 
 And all unexhausted the cauldron seems 
 Pouring forth a succession of boiling streams. 
 
 Lulled at length is the wrath and trouble. 
 When a strancje and fearful well 
 
 Yawns in the midst of the froth and bubble 
 Like the fathomless pit of hell : 
 
 And again the waves with eddying spasm 
 
 Are sucked into the whirlpool's chasm. 
 
 And the youth before their returning roar. 
 
 Hath commended his soul to heaven — 
 Bursts a wild cry from the standers by 
 
 To behold him downwards driven, 
 And over the swimmer fair and brave 
 Entombed in the mj^sterious wave 
 Are closed the jaws of a watery grave. 
 
 Stilled was the pool, not a ripple stirred, 
 
 But beneath the surface smooth 
 The murmur of pent up strife v/as heard. 
 And from lip to lip passed the doleful word 
 
 Farewell stout-hearted youth ! 
 Still grumbled and growled the sullen sea 
 And the pulse of each heart beat painfully.
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 Men felt that e'en though the crown lay there 
 
 And he who from the deep 
 Should bring it, might the bauble wear — 
 
 There let it ever sleep ! 
 Kingdom nor crown could ne'er redeem 
 One victim from Charybdis' stream. 
 
 Full many a gallant bark hath sent 
 
 When the merciless whirl had caught her, 
 
 Her shivered keel and her timbers rent 
 Back from that boiling water. 
 
 Which now like the hurricane's wild commotion 
 
 Belches in wrath from the roarintr ocean. 
 
 And again it bubbles and foams and hisses 
 
 Like water when cast on fire, 
 And gushes and spouts from the dark abysses 
 
 In columns flung higher and higher, 
 And again the tortui*ed sea's vibration 
 Shakes the rude rocks' deep foundation. 
 
 But lo from the torrent submarine 
 
 A snowy gleam emerges, 
 And an arm and a fair white throat are seen, 
 And feebly the swimmer floats between 
 
 The channel's eddying surges ; 
 'Tis he with his left hand holding up 
 In token of triumph the golden cup. 
 
 His bosom heaved long with convulsion strong. 
 When he greeted the light of day, 
 
 And a shout burst forth from the joyful throng 
 He lives he returns, hurrah ! 
 
 The brave the beautiful liath risen 
 
 Unharmed, unchanged liom his briny prison.
 
 8 metric; AL TALES. 
 
 He clings to the rock and his happj'' friends 
 
 Upraise him from the water, 
 And low on his knees the diver bends 
 And the golden cup to the king extends — 
 
 Who beckons his lovely daughter, 
 And she filled it up with the sparkling wine, 
 And encouraged the youth with her voice and sign 
 To tell the terrors of the brine. 
 
 " Oh sire let all be content whose breath 
 
 Is drawn from the gladsome air, 
 In the waters beneath there is gloom and death, 
 
 Let mortal man beware 
 And never again desire to see 
 What heaven hath wrapt in mystery. 
 
 It bore me down like the lightning's flash, 
 
 And lo from a rocky cleft 
 A tearing stream did against me dash, 
 
 And that double shock bereft 
 All power of motion and drove me round, 
 In the giddy whirl benumbed and drowned. 
 
 But God to whose holy name I prayed 
 
 In that moment of awful need, 
 Shewed me a reef upon which I stayed 
 My sinking strength, and I clung for aid 
 
 To the stems of the coral weed. 
 And the golden cup in its branches hung 
 By the force of the eddying currents flung. 
 
 Huge rocks and gulfs beneath me roll'd 
 
 Immersed in purple gloom. 
 And my eyes looked down with shuddering cold 
 
 Mid a silence like the tomb, 
 On the reptiles and fish and Polypi, 
 That swam in the currents whirling by.
 
 THE DIVER. () 
 
 The water was black with hideous clusters 
 
 Of jelly-fish crab and worm, 
 The prickly urchins the star-like asters, 
 
 And the sword-fish's dreadful forin, 
 And the prowling shark, the wolf of the sea 
 Glared with his glaucous eyes on me. 
 
 And there I hung on the coral scaur, 
 
 My every pulse subdued, 
 From sympathy and succour far 
 
 In the dismal solitude : 
 The only feeling heart among 
 The trackless ocean's scaly throng. 
 
 When rapid as thought the shark drew near 
 
 Self-poised in the whirling current, 
 And oped his dread jaws, in the madness of fear 
 I let go the grasp that retained me there 
 And abandoned myself to the torrent. 
 Whose stream irresistible boi'e me up 
 Unwounded though breathless again to the top." 
 
 With wondering mind replied the king, 
 " This goblet youth is thine — 
 
 And to the cup I'll add a ring 
 Adorned with jewels fine, 
 
 If thou wilt venture once again 
 
 To the deeper chambers of the main." 
 
 But then outspoke that lady fair, 
 With coaxing voice «he [)leads, 
 
 " Oh father tempt him not to dare 
 Again such desperate deeds — 
 
 Say hath not the modest page's fame 
 
 Put knight and squire alike to shame
 
 10 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Thereat the monarch seized the cup 
 
 And flung it in the water, 
 " Now if once more thou fetch it up 
 
 Behold my peerless daughter, 
 Who pleads for thy sake at her father's side 
 Shall embrace thee to-night as thy gentle bride." 
 
 Oh then was the power of love displayed, 
 And fire from the youth's eye flashe.s 
 
 As he sees the lovely the weeping maid 
 Turn faint and paler than ashes. 
 
 It goads him to madness the prize to win, 
 
 And for life or for death he plunges in. 
 
 The eddies whirl round with a sullen sound, 
 And arc spouted again to the shore, 
 
 And hitlier and thither the waves dash together. 
 But the youth he returns no more — 
 
 Only a blood -red stain is seen 
 
 Streaking the course of the waters green. 
 
 ,^^. 
 
 ^
 
 11 
 
 THE OLD HUNTING SCHL088. 
 (From the German.) 
 
 The guests were all to the forest gone 
 
 To hunt the deer with hound and horn, 
 In the ancient Schloss I sat alone 
 
 Awaiting dreamily their return. 
 Th' autumnal sunset's pale red beam 
 
 Streamed through the narrow casement barred, 
 And all as still as death did seem 
 
 Save the trees that sighed in the Castle yard. 
 
 The frames antique of tarnished gold, 
 
 The chimney's stone carved foliage, 
 The dark and faded tapestry's fold, 
 
 Seemed remnants of a former ao-e : 
 The quaint old clock began its chime, 
 
 An ancient love tune was the strain, 
 And I dreamed of those who in olden time 
 
 Had heard that tune with mirth or paiu. 
 
 The portraits seemed to leave their frames, 
 
 And throng with shadowy forms the floor, 
 And steel clad knights and stately dames 
 
 Swam through the vaulted corridor : 
 I saw the silks the gold brocade, 
 
 The ample hoop the jewelled band, 
 When on my shoulder there was laid 
 
 The pressure of an icy hand.
 
 12 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 I turned and there, so help nie God, 
 
 A lady stood with features pale, 
 And hands like a sepulchral clod, 
 
 In mourning robe and sable veil ; 
 She looked, but oh that piteous look ! 
 
 That glazed and half extinguished eye ' 
 Seemed as thouQfh this world I forsook 
 
 And glanced into eternity. 
 
 She beckoned me — no step I heard 
 
 No rustling train that swept the floor. 
 She gave no greeting spoke no word, 
 
 But open flew each chamber door 
 As on she went, I followed dumb 
 
 Through state ajiartments chill and lone 
 By staircase, passage, tapestried room. 
 
 And vaulted arch and walls of stone. 
 
 She turned and entered a deep recess. 
 
 On a slab in a gloomy chamber there 
 Lay a gold embroidered etui case, 
 
 By a curtained bed with hangings fair. 
 With her corpse-like hand she seemed to point 
 
 To the table first and then the floor, 
 I reeled and shuddered in every joint, 
 
 To see on the planks a blot of gore. 
 
 When I rose the phantom appeared not, 
 
 She had melted like mist into empty air : 
 I stood transfixed to the fatal spot, 
 
 With leaden foot and with bristling hair : 
 My heart was ice my head swam round, 
 
 When the hunter's chorus echoing loud. 
 And the bugle's call and the baying hound 
 
 Aroused me, and trembling I joined the crowd.
 
 13 
 
 THE STEWARD'S TALE. 
 
 The night was dark — in the chimney nook 
 
 The steward and I we sat together, 
 While the fitful blast the turret shook, 
 
 And the owls shrieked shrill in the gusty weather 
 And while in owning the vision dread 
 
 I gave my burthened soul relief, 
 " You have seen her then," he only said, 
 
 And thus he told the tale of crrief 
 
 " She was a rich and haughty dame, 
 
 In childhood mated to one unloved, 
 Austere and jealous of hei- fame, 
 
 Howe'er by pride or passion moved ; 
 Her eye the menial crew restrained. 
 
 Few could its angry glance withstand, 
 She never sang nor laughed, but reined 
 
 Her hunting steed with a manly hand. 
 
 Her daughter was of a different mood, 
 
 An only child of gentle mind, 
 Like a lovely rose in its native wood 
 
 That flings its fragrance to the wind : 
 Her hair waved gold in the breezes wild, 
 
 Her deep blue eyes like violets were. 
 My grandsire saw her when a child, 
 
 And could not name her without a tear.
 
 14 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 A youth to the Castle came — ore long 
 
 A change in that fair young girl was wrought, 
 Her pleasure was now to hear his song, 
 
 And read the riddle of his thought ; 
 She loved in silence, but when the spring 
 
 Brought back the flowers and woke the grove, 
 It touched her young heart's awakening, 
 
 She loved and fell, who is safe from love ! 
 
 Dumb was the mother's wrath, but deep, 
 
 The daughter wept the youth implored, 
 In vain they kneel, in vain they weep. 
 
 He fled and perished by the sword. 
 But when the purple vintage glowed, 
 
 Athwart that tower was drawn a veil ; 
 And there the young life's current flowed, 
 
 Like a frozen stream in a sunless dale. 
 
 One night the trembling menials spoke 
 
 Of stealthy steps and whisperings nigh, 
 Then stifled groans the silence broke, 
 
 And then an infant's wailing cry ; 
 Then all was silent — through that door 
 
 The countess stept all deathly pale, 
 You saw the bodkin, ask no more. 
 
 That fatal blood spot tells the tale. 
 
 The young heart broke — with wonted pride 
 
 The funeral pomp the}'" celebrate ; 
 The silver lamps burnt on either side, 
 
 And the mourners were ranged in seleran state 
 Like a statue of stone her mother came, 
 
 And laid without ever a sob or tear. 
 With unfaltering hand, but with eyes of flame, 
 
 The virgin wreath on her daugliter's bier.
 
 THE steward's TALE. 15 
 
 Before a twelvemonth past, once more 
 
 The funeral pageant forth was led ; 
 The countess to her grave they bore, 
 
 But rest she found not with the dead. 
 For when in autumn's pale twilight 
 
 Is heard the sound of vesper chime, 
 That bloody spot calls forth her sprite. 
 
 To haunt the scene that saw her crime." 
 
 He paused — I durst not quit the place, 
 
 Nor turn my eyes from the blazing coal, 
 For fear of that chill ghastly face, 
 
 That look which froze the inmost soul : 
 The driving rain on the casement pane 
 
 Beat, as t'^ie tempest sank and rose, 
 I seized my light — " Old man good night ! 
 
 Let us pray for the guilty soul's repose."
 
 16 
 
 THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 Night glooms upon the Rhine, and dark 
 
 The solemn sti-eam rolls by, 
 While on his wave a little bark 
 
 Is floating listlessly. 
 
 Within an armed cavalier 
 
 Looks vacantly around, 
 Th-^re's a stain of blood on his golden hair, 
 
 As from a recent wound. 
 
 Quoth he, " Behold your fortress old 
 That frowns upon the Rhine, 
 
 The ladye faire that castle's heir 
 This nisfht shall she be mine. 
 
 Her promise she hath pledged to me, 
 Hath plighted me her vow, 
 
 What if she broke the words she spoke- 
 All all is over now." 
 
 With bitter scorn like one forlorn, 
 And void of hope spake he ; 
 
 And if the while he seemed to smile, 
 That smile was drear to see.
 
 THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 17 
 
 And now each guest to the marriage feast 
 
 Within that ancient hall 
 Is welcomed there, but the ladye fair 
 
 Sits lonely on the wall. 
 
 Not a skiff or boat remains afloat, 
 While the dance is never stayed — 
 
 But the pensive bride hath escaped aside 
 To the garden's tranquil shade. 
 
 And while the song in chorus rung, 
 JShe dreamed of days gone by, 
 
 And wept to hear tlie bridal cheer 
 That chimed so merrily. 
 
 Then the gay bridegroom, as he doffed his plume, 
 
 Stept up in the silent night, 
 And spoke so kind to her troubled mind 
 
 That again her heart was light. 
 
 " Why weep ye by the tide ladye — 
 
 Why weep when all are gay ? 
 When the stars shine bright in the blue midnight, 
 
 And the rushing waters play. 
 
 With the bridal wreath in your tresses dark 
 
 You look like a nymph divine, 
 Come sail with me in the little bark 
 
 Upon the rippling Rhine." 
 
 She followed him down to the little boat, 
 
 And sate her in the bow — 
 And quickly the knight set the skiff afloat, 
 
 As he let the moorings go.
 
 18 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 " Ah me the sounds of the songf and dance 
 On the wings of the wind are gone, 
 
 No more in the stream do the windows gleam 
 So swiftly the boat sails on : 
 
 What mountain range so wild and strange 
 Stretches onward wide and far, 
 
 What sudden tlirill doth my bosom chill 
 As we pass yon rugged ^caur ! 
 
 And forms unknown on its crest of stone 
 
 Look down on our bounding skiff", 
 And throng the heiglit in the dim moonlight, 
 
 All ghastly and pale and stiff"." 
 
 But still in the gloom sate the dull bridegroom. 
 
 And never a token gave. 
 As he steered the bark through the waters dark, 
 
 And gazed on the sullen wave. 
 
 Again she spake—" See the morning break 
 Through the red and lurid cloud — 
 
 Wild .sounds I hear in the misty air, 
 And the cocks are crowing loud. 
 
 Why sits my love so pale ! and why 
 
 Doth the red blood soil thy hair — 
 Oh for mercv now no liridefjroom thou !" 
 
 But a phantom knight is there. 
 
 Then he rose from his seat, and the storm that beat 
 
 On the surging wave and wood, 
 Is stilled at his glance o'er the wide expanse 
 
 Of forest and Held and flood.
 
 THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 19 
 
 And a strange delight mixed with wild affright 
 Through her heart and her fancy strayed, 
 
 As she gazed at him in feature and limb 
 Her earliest love portrayed. 
 
 He called her his own, in his arms of stone 
 
 He encircled her fainting form. 
 And his bride he prest to his icy breast, 
 
 Then vanished away in the storm. 
 
 The sun rose high in the Eastern sky 
 
 Amid vapours of bloody red. 
 In a drifting boat, that was seen afloat. 
 
 The ladye fair lay dead.
 
 20 
 
 THE KING AND THE ABBOT. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 I'll tell you a story as droll as may be, 
 There once lived a king and a stern king was lie, 
 And there once was an abbot, a prouder lived never, 
 But his shepherd though humble was ten times as clever. 
 
 Austere was the monarch the whole twelvemonth round, 
 Oftimes in his armour he slept on the ground, 
 And often he dined on coarse bread and black broth. 
 And often was famished for want of them both. 
 
 But the abbot he took of himself better care, 
 Very sound were his slumbers and dainty his fare,^ 
 His round visage glowed with good feeding and mirth, 
 And two men could hardly encompass his girth. 
 
 The Sovereign's visits were sudden and rare. 
 But one day when the Abbot was taking the air. 
 At the head of a soldierley train he rode by, 
 With the sun blazing bright in a hot summer sky. 
 
 " Oh — ho :" cries the monarch, " Sir Abbot good speed !" 
 And he smiled a grim smile as he reined in his steed ; 
 " How goes it Sir Prelate ! methinks pretty fair — 
 You don't lose your flesh with your fasting and prayer. 
 
 " But you sure must be plagued with abundance of leisure. 
 And a little more work will be so much more pleasure ; 
 For iliey say you're a man of such marvellous learning. 
 That the grass while it grows can't escape your discerning.
 
 THE KING AND THE ABBOT. 21 
 
 " So now I will give your oracular jaws 
 Three hard nuts to crack without much time to pause ; 
 In the space of three months you must finish the task, 
 And when that time is over three questions I'll ask. 
 
 " And first when I sit on th' imperial throne, 
 With my jewels and royal habiliments on, 
 Surrounded by all that is gorgeous on earth, 
 You must tell me how much to a farthing I'm worth. 
 
 " And next I require that this secret be found — 
 How long it would take me to ride the world round : 
 The time for this feat to a minute you'll say, 
 For I know that such riddles to you must be play. 
 
 " And thirdly Sir Prelate, you'll guess and declare 
 The thoughts of my mind to the breadth of an hair ; 
 Thus I fairly shall prove thee, but only in sooth 
 These thoughts must be void of one tittle of truth. 
 
 " And if these three problems you fail to divine, 
 No longer shall you be an abbot of mine ; 
 But a jackass shall carry you over the land, 
 With instead of a bridle, his tail in your hand." 
 
 Then oflf rode the monarch with gibe and with sneer, 
 But the priest tore his hair with vexation and fear ; 
 No criminalever looked more woe begone 
 When his trial was past and his sentence came on. 
 
 He sent to th' academy, sent to the college, 
 Made all the philosophers rub up their knowledge, 
 Bribed all the professors, but lost his digestion, 
 For never a doctor could answer one question.
 
 22 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 As the abbot meanwhile for interpreters seeks, 
 The hours grow to days and the days grow to weeks, 
 And the weeks grow to months, till the last day draws nigh— 
 And pale dawns the morn to the priest's jaundiced eye. 
 
 Poor soul ! with sunk eyes and with wan haggard face 
 He sought in the forest the loneliest place : 
 And there on a pathway all rugged with rock, 
 Hans Bendich the shepherd was feeding his flock, 
 
 "My lord abbot," quoth he, "you're sore shrunken and haggart 
 You're wasted just like the burnt end of a faggot — 
 Holy Virgin and saints ! what's befallen our master. 
 By my certie you've suffered some grievous disaster." 
 
 " Oh my worthy Hans Bendich ! you rightly have guessed 
 'Tis the king that has banished all peace from my breast, 
 And has fixed in my teeth three such hard nuts to break, 
 As Satan himself could not manage to crack. 
 
 " The first is, that when on th' imperial throne 
 He sits with his royal habiliments on. 
 Surrounded by all that is gorgeous on earth, 
 I'm to say to a farthing how much he is worth. 
 
 " And next he demands that the secret be found 
 How long it would take him to ride the world round ; 
 To a minute the time I'm expected to say, 
 For he swears that such riddles to me must be play. 
 
 " And thirdly I'm doomed, wretched man, to declare 
 The thoughts of his mind to the breadth of an hair. 
 Then he truly shall judge me, but only forsooth, 
 The.ie thoughts must be void of one tittle of truth.
 
 THE KING AND THE ABBOT. 23 
 
 And if I can't answer these hard questions three, 
 He vows that no longer an abbot I'll be : 
 But a jackass shall carry me over the land, 
 With instead of a bridle, his tail in my hand. 
 
 "Sir is that all" Hans Bendich with laughing replied — 
 " Take comfort, I'll soon the right answers provide 
 Your cap and your robes and your cross let me borrow, 
 Never fear — you shall still be an abbot to-morrow. 
 
 " For though I'm not able in Latin to jabber, 
 I can peep through a millstone as well as my noighbour — 
 And some things you wiseacres can't have for money 
 I sucked in with her milk from my mother like honey." 
 
 -The abbot he leaped like a kid with delight — 
 Ai.d soon was Hans Bendich so richly bedight 
 W ith mitre and mantle, and crozier and ring, 
 Then boldly he went to the court of the king. 
 
 And there on his throne the proud sovereign sate 
 W th his sceptre and crown, and his jewels of state ; 
 " Now tell me" Sir Abbot " and mind tell me true 
 How much I am worth as I'm valued by you." 
 
 " hot thirty broad pieces our Lord was betrayed. 
 And now as your majesty will be obeyed, 
 Since the price of His blood must be greater than thine, 
 Your value 1 rate at just twenty-and-nine." 
 
 " Ahem" said the monarch " there's something in that 
 To humble our grandeur and lessen our state : 
 But by my go(^d sword and my lionour I vow, 
 I never esteemed myself dog cheap till now.
 
 24 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 " But have you an answer to question the second ? 
 
 The time for a ride round tlie world have you reckoned ? 
 
 Not a minute too much or too little you'll say 
 
 For I'm sure that such riddles to you must be play." 
 
 " Sir King — if you'll get up and ride with the sun, 
 
 And follow his car till his circuit be run, 
 
 I'll wager my cross and episcopal robe, 
 
 That in twenty-four hours you will ride round the globe." 
 
 Ha — ha ! laughed the king, " you can jest in your need, 
 With ifs and with huts you have foraged the steed, 
 When a man of his ifs and his huts has good plenty, 
 He may plenish his pockets with coin when they are empty. 
 
 " But now for the third, good Su' Priest, or alas 
 I fear you may yet have your ride on the ass — 
 What think I that's false — answer quickly, and mind 
 That you leave all your ifs and perhaps's behind." 
 
 " Your Majesty thinks I'm the Prior of St. Ruth" — 
 " Yes and certainly that can't be far from the truth." 
 Your pardon dread sire you're too little observant. 
 My Lord Abbot's at home I'm Hans Bendich his servant." 
 
 " What not my Lord Abbot" — the monarch replies. 
 While joy and astonishment beam in his eyes ; 
 Thou not my Lord Abbot the better for thee, 
 For the Prior of St. Ruth soon Hans Bendich shall be. 
 
 " I'll invest thee with mitre and mantle and ring, 
 
 But to carry thy master a donkey we'll bring, 
 
 So let him endeavour Quid Juris to know, 
 
 For they who would reap should first labour to sow.
 
 THE KING AND THE ABBOT. 26 
 
 " Sire grant me your pardon ! 'twould scarcely be better," 
 
 For 1 can't read or cypher or scribble a letter, 
 
 Still less could I manage in Latin to preach, 
 
 What the boy hath not learnt, the man never can teach." 
 
 " That's a pity my worthy Hans Bendich for me, 
 Then ask tor yourself what the favour shall be — 
 For I'm vastly content with your excellent wit, 
 And fain would I grant you the boon you think fit." 
 
 " Sir King just at present my wishes are few. 
 But trusting your majesty's favour is true, 
 I will ask for myself as an honest reward, 
 Your forgiveness and grace for my I'everend Lord." 
 
 " And that you shall have, honest fellow, instead. 
 For I see that your heart is as good as 3^our head, 
 The abbot we'll pardon for Hans Bendich's sake. 
 And you to your master the tidings shall take." 
 
 " But we now make it known to that right Lordly Prior, 
 That Hans Bendich no longer shall Serve him for hire, 
 But a fifth of the abbey's revenues shall keep 
 For the future in plenty the feeder of sheep."
 
 26 
 
 FATALITY. 
 
 " Awake my sire ! the ruddy morn 
 Gleams bright o'er earth and sky, 
 The dewdrops on the tangled thorn 
 
 Like diamond clusters lie, 
 And hark the hunter's echoing horn 
 
 Rings loud and merrily." 
 
 Slow from his couch the Pacha rose, 
 
 And answer made he none, 
 But sate and gazed in stern repose 
 
 Upon his princely son : 
 
 And there the stalwart stripling stood, 
 
 Equipped in hunting gear, 
 Grasping with eager hand the wood 
 
 Of his long hunting spear. 
 
 Beneath his close and polished casque 
 
 His raven ringlets twine. 
 From his broad baldrick hangs the flask 
 
 That loads his carabine. 
 
 Light rings of steel all interlaced 
 
 Protect each sinewy limb. 
 The tight-drawn girdle clasps his waist 
 
 Small, flexible, and slim. 
 
 Like Meleager there he stood, 
 
 And as Adonis fair. 
 When clad in arms they sought the wood 
 
 To rouse the slumbering beai\
 
 FATALITY. 27 
 
 " Hark to the bloodhound's stifled bay, 
 
 See on the dusty plain 
 My Juba rears to start away, 
 
 And shakes his snowy mane. 
 
 The sun is up — beneath his fire 
 The steaming scent will fade, 
 
 Give, me thy blessing, Royal Sire 
 The chase is still delayed." 
 
 " Now rest this day my noble boy ! 
 
 Come nearer to my heart, 
 For other thoughts my soul employ 
 
 I cannot let thee part. 
 
 The sunbeams' fiery stroke may chance 
 
 On thy loved head to fall, 
 I dread the wound of heedless lance 
 
 Or erring rifle ball ; 
 
 Go seek the shelter of the brake, 
 Go where thy barge floats near 
 
 Among the sedges of the lake 
 Cool, calm, and crystal clear — 
 
 And Leila there her harp shall bring. 
 
 And in the cedar grove 
 At noontide's scorching hour shall sing 
 
 The lays of peace and love." 
 
 " Ah ! say not so my noble lord ! 
 
 Such slothful days I scorn ; 
 I love the clash of lance and sword, 
 
 I love the hound and horn ;
 
 £8 metricaIh tales. 
 
 I love to scour the desert sand, 
 And drive the beasts of chase 
 
 Till brought to bay they panting stand, 
 O'ertaken in the race. 
 
 This very night from Atlas' height 
 
 Two mighty lions came, 
 And prowled around our tented ground, 
 
 With glaring eyes of flame; 
 
 Two milk-white steers, the herdsman's pride, 
 
 Beneath their talons bled : 
 Revenge ! revenge ! on Atlas' side, 
 
 I'll slay them where they fed." 
 
 The father's cheek turned ashen hue. 
 His frame with terror shook. 
 
 The clammy sweat like drops of dew 
 Out on his forehead broke : 
 
 Ajid once and twice he strove to speak. 
 
 Bat twice he strove in vain, 
 Till tears rolled down his furrowed cheek, 
 
 And brought his voic§ again. 
 
 o 
 
 " Now sit thee down at ray bed-side, 
 Forgive an old man's fears — 
 
 Thou art the only prop and pride 
 Of my declining years. 
 
 I love thee for my lost Gulnare, 
 For her sake, and thine own, 
 
 I love thee as the promised heir 
 Of jMauritania's throne.
 
 FATALITY, 29 
 
 Last night I dreamed a fearful dream, 
 
 And thrice it came and went, 
 And thrice I heard some spirit scream 
 
 A wild and shrill lament : 
 
 I saw thee by a lion torn, 
 
 I saw thy death-stroke given, 
 
 Nay Akbar ! frown not so, nor scorn 
 A vision sent by Heaven." 
 
 But then out broke that fiery youth, 
 " What doating tales are these ! 
 
 And would'st thou palm on me for truth 
 Nocturnal phantasies ? 
 
 Am I a child, a timid slave, 
 To tremble when the wind 
 
 May shake the lattice bars, or wave 
 The tapestry behind ? 
 
 Where is mine ancient nurse to reach 
 Her babe a helping hand ? 
 
 Or old Mahommetl's rod to teach 
 Obedience to command ?" 
 
 " Enough," the wrathful Pacha cried 
 
 Upon thy life forbear ! 
 Refrain thine insolence and pride 
 
 Thou bold unduteous heir ! 
 
 " Ho guards !" he clapped his hands — "retire 
 
 And leave me to my rest — 
 I'll teach thee to respect thy sire, 
 
 I place thee in arrest."
 
 80 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 The mantling Hush ot shame o'erspread 
 The stripling's contrite brow, 
 
 He kneeled, and humbly on the bed 
 He laid his sabre low : 
 
 And choking with the stifled sob 
 Of mingled grief and pride, 
 
 He meekly kissed his father's robe 
 Then turned him from his side. 
 
 And now behold the youth removed 
 
 Within his lonely room, 
 Far from the scenes he dearly loved 
 
 Behold him fret and fume : 
 
 Till pacing up and down he sees 
 Upon the wall portrayed, 
 
 And shadowed o'er with giant trees 
 A glorious hunt arrayed. 
 
 The god-like Alexander there 
 
 Bucephalus bestrode, 
 And roused the lion from his lair 
 
 In Atropatia's wood : 
 
 Him followed with a gorgeous train, 
 Hephoestion and Parmenio brave, 
 
 And many a courser scoured the plain, 
 And many a turbaned slave. 
 
 There crouched the forest's lion king 
 With eyes of sanguine glow, 
 
 And bristling mane in act to spring 
 On his advancing foe.
 
 FATALITY. 31 
 
 " Vile brute," the youth exclaims, " no doubt 
 
 Thy grisly painted form 
 Haunted the Pacha's dreams and brought 
 
 On my poor^head the storm : 
 
 Take this for thy reward" — he drove 
 
 His fist i' the lion's face 
 With heedless vehemence, and clove 
 
 In twain the mimic'chase : 
 
 Ah fatal stroke ! a treacherous poiDt 
 
 Behind the airas skein, 
 Transpierced his wrist's unguarded joint 
 
 Through artery and vein ; 
 
 Burst the warm life-blood from the wound 
 
 In torrents on the floor. 
 And sprinkled all the tapestry round, 
 
 With jets of crimson gore. 
 
 Vain were the leech's healing cares 
 
 To that torn arm applied, 
 Vain his distracted father's prayers, 
 
 He languished, sank and died.
 
 32 
 
 THE CURSE OF BENDONALD. 
 
 Sir Hubert sat in the Hunter's chair, 
 With a brow of gloom, and a heart of care ; 
 
 And he gazed from its caverned arch 
 Upon Coigach's rugged cliffs, and o'er 
 The cloudy skirts of the huge Benmore, 
 And alonn- the creeks of the wild sea-shore, 
 And the chain of lakes, and the mountains hoar, 
 
 To the distant Assynt march. 
 
 The Hunter's chair was a natural cell, 
 Beneath a crag's high pinnacle, 
 
 With a transverse stone within ; 
 And there when the fiercest tempests rave. 
 And lash into foam the lake's wild wave — 
 The shepherd who fears such storm to brave. 
 May rest for a while in the lonely cave, 
 
 And sit with a warm dry skin. 
 
 And here when the summer sunset's ray 
 Poured a golden light on the rocky brae, 
 
 And gleamed on the purple heath ; 
 Oft have Bendonald's Chieftains spied 
 The dun deer browse on the mountain side, 
 And numbered their an tiered stags with pride, 
 As they bathed their sleek and dappled hide 
 
 In the crystal loch beneath.
 
 THE CURSE OF BENDONALD. 33 
 
 But not for this sat Sir Hubert there, 
 
 Nor sought for such purpose the Hunter's chair, 
 
 Though his steel-bow rested nigh ; 
 And two noble stag-hounds of visage grim, 
 With their frame of wire, and length of limb, 
 
 Lay watching their master's eye. 
 
 Far other and darker thoughts, I trow, 
 
 Set the stamp of care on Sir Hubert's brow. 
 
 For he mused on the fearful ban 
 That for ages had hung o'er his fated race, 
 And smitten with death the blooming face 
 Of each youthlul heir that was born to grace 
 
 Bendonald's ancient clan. 
 
 Now three hundred years are past and gone 
 
 Since the Hag that was burnt on the Hunter's stone 
 
 Had uttered the curse of old ; 
 And whether t'was sanctioned by Heaven or Hell, 
 I dare not pronounce, but sooth to tell, 
 Ever since that hour the terrible spell 
 
 Had accomplished the doom foretold. 
 
 And this is the tale of the Witch that died 
 In the midst of flames on Mal-Nuchrie's side. 
 
 At the top of the Hunter's cairn ; 
 When the angry Chief of the forest and glen 
 Had summoned his troop of twice twenty men, 
 
 To perform his mandate stern. 
 
 MacEwan the Chief had hunted in vain 
 Over mountain and moor with all his train, 
 
 For five long weeks and a day ; 
 And his arrows so keen had all missed their mark. 
 And his stag-hounds had galloped from day light to dark, 
 And returned in the gloaming all wearied and stark. 
 
 Nor had held one deer to bay.
 
 34 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Kach day that he traversed the forest and moor, 
 More savage he grew, and more fiercely swore, 
 
 That tlie legions of Hell had combined 
 To do him despite, that before him they flew 
 Through the mists of tlie morning, a shadowy crew, 
 And frightened the antlcred l:erds from his view, 
 And leaving a sulpliurous taint on the dew, 
 Had bewildered the scent of his JSleuth-hounds true, 
 
 And rode on the eddying wind. 
 
 MacEwan the Chief was cruel and hard; 
 
 He pummelled his huntsman, and stabbed his bard — 
 
 When Doiiald his son came nigli, 
 And whispered with awe that the wrmkled Hag, 
 Who dwelt in the nooks of Bendrachen's crag, 
 Had blunted his arrows, and saved the stag. 
 And pent up the wind in a deer-skin bag. 
 And baffled the scent, and bewildered the drag, 
 
 And darkened his gaze-hound's eye. 
 
 MacEwan the Chief, he trembled with ire, 
 His breath came tliick, and his eye shot tire. 
 
 And his lips were white with foam — 
 " Betide me, betide me, wliate'er betide, 
 Soon I'll unkennel the witch," he cried ; 
 And soon he mounted the steep hill side, 
 And swore that the withered crone should ride 
 
 On flames to her hellish home. 
 
 And while she muttered, " Avaunt, avaunt," 
 He dragged her forth from her hated haunt, 
 
 And up to the mountain lone. 
 Where a pile of pine-logs stands prepared, 
 And a kilted band of his vassals guard 
 ^ViLh l)]azing torches, and daggers bared. 
 
 The face of the glowing stone.
 
 THE CURSE OF BENDONALD. 35 
 
 And ere they ended her wretched h'fe, 
 They gashed her veins with the dagger knife 
 
 Till the black blood sprang theieuut ; 
 And while she tossed her arras in air, 
 And madly tore her streaming hair, 
 They mocked her feeble and dying prayer 
 
 With barbarous laugh and shout. 
 
 And then they cast upon the pyre 
 Her heaving corpse begirt with fire ; 
 
 And borne on the gatherinfj storm 
 Ihe ravens in mid-air croaked aloud, 
 And wheeled and stooped down on the sulphurous cloud 
 That swathed as with a reeking shroud 
 
 Her blistered and blackening form. 
 
 When, as the thunder burst above, 
 A flaming spectre was seen to move 
 
 Right upward athwart the smoke ; 
 And as she hovered the clouds among, 
 High o'e)' the terror-stricken throng, 
 The echos with fiendish laughter rung. 
 And thus her demon-prompted tongue 
 
 Its malediction spoke. 
 
 " Woe, wrath, and revenge on the barbarous man 
 " Who lords it over his trembling clan, 
 
 " And woe to Bendonald's race — 
 " For never from this time forth shall an heir 
 " Survive to reward his parent's care, 
 " But shall die in the bloom of his promise fair, 
 "And with weeping, and wailing, and wild despair, 
 
 " Shall be laid in his burial place.
 
 36 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 " And when three hundred years be past and gone, 
 " The heir at the age of twenty- one 
 
 " fehall be numbered among the dead ; 
 " When a stasf shall be slain from the Hunter's stone 
 " By the hand of the father who weeps for his son, 
 " The vengeance shall end which to-day has begun, 
 
 " And the shafts of fate shall be sped." 
 
 She vanished — the thunder roared amain, 
 The lightning flashed, and the drenching rain 
 
 Plashed down on the smouldering pile ; 
 And the noisome heap of ashes was cast 
 By the winds abroad on the desert waste, 
 And a troop of ravens and corbies past 
 In undulations strange and fast, 
 With a rushing sound on the northern blast, 
 
 To Thule's Hell-born Isle. 
 
 In the self-same hour a shivering came 
 With ague-fits on young Donald's frame, 
 
 And bright flashed his kindling eye. 
 And his tongue was cloven with burning thirst. 
 And soon it was seen that the Witch accurst 
 Had chosen her victim, and stricken him first 
 
 Of Bendonald's heirs to die. 
 
 And whether 'twas horror, or whether 'twas grief, 
 A blindness fell on the childless Chief, 
 
 And MacEwan the stern was seen 
 To grope his way round his desolate hearth, 
 That never micrht ring with its ancient mirth. 
 And cast himself down on the cold damp earth, 
 
 Bewailing the days that had been.
 
 The curse of bendonald. Zi 
 
 Now Sir Hubert was not like MacEwan of old, 
 His heart it was tender, l)is spirit was bold, 
 
 And his temper was gracious and mild ; 
 And though from his youtli he'd a forester been, 
 Yet oft in the glen might Sir Hubert be seen 
 To sport with his children, and dance on the green, 
 And gaze with delight on the fair face and mien 
 
 Of young Kenneth his first-born child. 
 
 Yet still as he looked you might sometimes trace 
 An expression of sadness steal over his face, 
 
 And cloud the fond father's brow ; 
 For now had three centuries past and gone 
 Since the Hag was burnt on the Hunter's stone. 
 And young Kenneth had lived to be twenty-one ; 
 And he feared that the Witch's malison 
 Still hung o'er his race, and threatened his son 
 
 With a secret but terrible blow. 
 
 And thus to forebodings dire a prey 
 
 On the morn of young Kenneth's natal day, 
 
 He arose, and tended his lonely way 
 
 To Mal-Nuchrie's heights of snow ; 
 And it seemed as he went, that a phantom like air 
 Overshadowed his path on the mv)untain bare 
 Till he reached the rock of the Hunter's chair, 
 When he told his beads, and vowed in his prayer 
 To devote to St. Hubert a chapel fair, 
 
 If the Saint would befriend him now. 
 
 Devoutly and humbly Sir Hubert prayed 
 To God and his Patron Saint for aid ; 
 
 And scarce had he ended his prayer 
 When a stag, in the pride of his autlered grace, 
 The noblest of all the forest race. 
 Came bounding towards his resting place, 
 
 Where he sat in the Hunter's chair.
 
 SS. METRICAL TALES. 
 
 He rememhored the token — he thought of the spell, 
 He knew that young Kenneth his boy was well, 
 
 And he trusted his prayer had been heard. 
 Oh, confidence fatal ! — oh, moment of woe ! — 
 He planted his foot on the rock below, 
 And covering the deer with his steel cross-bow, 
 He marked the true spot for a deadly blow 
 
 With an aim which too rarely hath erred. 
 
 The bow-string twanged shar[), and the beautiful stag 
 On the instant fell over the ridge of the crag, 
 
 When a cry smote Sir Hubert's ear, 
 So agonized, piteous, convulsive, and loud, 
 It palsied his limbs, and it curdled his blood. 
 And fixed him like stone to the spot where he stood 
 
 All unnerved and bewildered with fear. 
 
 But soon he rushed forward, and stood on the ledge 
 Of rock that o'erhung the precipitous edge, 
 
 With Bevis and Oscar before ; 
 But the noble hounds shuddered and moaned with affright, 
 For the charm that the Witch's foul glamour and spite 
 Had cast on his vision, was banished outright. 
 And he saw stretched beneath him, oh terrible sight ! 
 
 Young Kenneth all bathed in his gore. 
 
 He made but one effort, and cast himself down 
 On the heather beside his expiring son 
 
 In the frenzy of grief and despair ; 
 Perceiving at once that the prophecy's strain 
 Was accomplished indeed, that a stag had been slain 
 By the hand of the father, who weeps but in vain 
 
 For the death of his first-born and heir.
 
 THE CUESE OF BENDONALD. 89 
 
 Then a darkness obscured the whole heaven's expanse, 
 He saw not, he heard not, but sunk in a trance, 
 
 On the breast of his bleeding son ; 
 And the folds of his vestment were dabbled in blood. 
 Yet his faith and his courage all trials withstood, 
 And he inwardly prayed to the Giver of good. 
 And to holy St Hubert, the Saint of the wood, 
 
 And murmured " Thy will, Lord, be done." 
 
 When sudden his spirits and senses were cheered, 
 For lo ! in a vision St. Hubert appeared, 
 
 All equipped in his hunting gear ; 
 And with eyes of coni])assion and meekly bowed head. 
 Like an angel he stood o'er the living and dead. 
 And sadly awhile contemplated 
 The ravage which vengeance demoniac had made — 
 
 Then he touched the youth's breast with his spear. 
 
 " Arise and be thankful," he uttered, and straight 
 With the look of a Saint, and majestical gait, 
 
 He turned, and was lost to the glance ; 
 But who shall describe the fond father's surprise. 
 When he saw from his death couch young Kenneth arise, 
 And stretch out his arms, and re-open his eyes. 
 Like a victim redeemed from sacrifice. 
 
 Or a dreamer uproused from his trance. 
 
 And when to his bosom his son he held fast, 
 He scarce could believe that the miracle past 
 
 Had been real, substantial, and true ; 
 Nor to Kenneth himself was a circumstance shewn, 
 Not a blow had he felt, not a pang had he known, 
 Foi' straight with the l)OW-sliot his senses had tlown- 
 But a scar of blood red on his white bosom shone 
 
 At the spot where the bolt had gone through.
 
 40 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 And even to this very day 'tis pretended 
 
 That the sons of Bendonald, from Kenneth descended, 
 
 Still bear the I'cd stain on their breast — 
 As a sign handed down by the mercy of heaven, 
 That the crimes of MacEvvan the stern were forgiven, 
 And the foul Witch's curse from their family driven 
 
 By the arm of St. Hubert the blest. 
 
 And the heart of Sir Hubert rejoiced, and of all 
 Who abode in the glens from Loch Damph to Achall, 
 
 And the coves of the sea-beaten shore ; 
 And the halls of Rliidorrach and Breb en-letter runcr 
 To the pipe of the minstrel, the dance, and the song, 
 And the quaighs tiowed in bumpers repeated and strong 
 To the health of Sir Hubert an' I Kenneth the young, 
 
 The pride of Mac-Ewan-na-mohr.
 
 41 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 Of Edenhall the j^outhful Lord 
 
 For a sumptuous feast gave trumpet call, 
 
 Then rising at the festive board 
 
 He pledged both knights and ladyes all 
 A toast in the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 Tlie Musgrave spoke, but with downcast look 
 
 That Castle's ancient Senescball 
 Forth from its silken casket took 
 
 The precious cup of bright crystalle 
 
 Surnamed the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 " To this time honoured goblet's praise 
 Pour out the red wine of Portugal" 
 Trembling the old man poured, and all 
 
 The guests were aware of the purple rays 
 That flashed from the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 Again he spoke up, as he raised the cup, 
 This goblet rare of the rock crystalle 
 " The fairies of yore to my grandsire gave 
 At a fountain's brink, and bade him engrave 
 In characters fair to be seen b}' all, 
 If ever this glass shall break or fall 
 Farewell to the Luck of Edenhall." 
 
 Thus it comes to pass by a chalice of glass 
 Our family fortunes are held in thrall, 
 
 While we love to quaff the red wine, and laugh 
 Till we shiver the glass in our ancient hall, 
 The first in the dance and the last in the brawl, 
 Now prove we the Luck of Edenhall,
 
 42 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Tlie charm'd cup it rings as the nightingale sings 
 
 In a tone suit and varied and musical, 
 Then it swells like the roaring of a cataract pouring, 
 Till it rolls like the thunder when the clouds burst asunder, 
 
 Tiiat splendid charm'd chalice of Edenhall. 
 
 " The Musgrave's bold race scorns a frail piece of glass 
 For a shield and a sword and a fortihed wall, 
 
 Too long has it lasted — let the value be tested — 
 
 Strike the glass, strike the glass — with this last stroke of all 
 Here goes the famed fortune of Edenhall." 
 
 The glass shrilling broke, and the edifice shook 
 
 Through the length and the breadth of that stately hall, 
 
 And a tiery flash with the ruinous crash 
 
 Streamed through the breach of the breaking wall, 
 With the broken Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 And the enemy came with his sword and flame 
 Kushing in like a flood o'er the rampart wall, 
 
 And he fell by the sword that impetuous Lord, 
 With clenched hand grasping in his fall 
 The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 But at dawn of day with tresses grey 
 
 The Castle's ancient Seneschall 
 Through the blackened ruins was seen to stray, 
 Seeking the bones of his Lord where he lay 
 
 With the shattered Luck of Edenhall. . 
 
 " The tower of stone is overthrown" 
 Feebly murmurs that Henchman lone, 
 
 " The stately column and massive wall 
 From their pride must pass like a shivered glass 
 
 Yea I the globe itself shall in Irao-ments fall 
 
 Like the broken Luck of Edenhall." 
 
 1852.
 
 43 
 
 RIZPAH. 
 
 " " And Eizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it fur 
 her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped 
 upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the biids of the air to 
 rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night." — 2 Samdel, 
 chap, xxi., V. 10. 
 
 She sate through the sun's meridian glare 
 
 Till the midnight dews dropped o'er her — 
 In the silence and sadness of stern despair, 
 Save when she uplifted her voice to scare 
 The beasts of the field or the birds of the air, 
 From the ghastly scene before her. 
 
 She sate from the days when the yellow corn 
 
 To the reaper's stroke was bendinc; — 
 Till the sheaves on the harvest wains were borne, 
 And the bleak winds howled through the night forlorn, 
 And the rains ushered in th' autumnal morn 
 
 With its misty shroud impending. 
 
 The childless mother — the widowed wife 
 
 On a sackcloth mat reposing— 
 Weeps for the bygone [)eriod, rife 
 With vengeance and murder and deadly strife 
 That cast their gloom on her weary life 
 
 In the cloudy twilight closing.
 
 44 METHICAL TALES. 
 
 What thoughts were hers in her speechless woes 
 
 In her long, long nights of waking ? 
 Whose were those blackening corpses, whose 
 The stately forms that before her rose ? 
 Visions of happier days were those 
 That dealt the last and heaviest throes 
 To her heart with anguish breaking. 
 
 She beheld her boys in the bloom of youth — 
 
 She beheld their royal Father : 
 Till her mind comes back to the fatal truth, 
 To the mandate that stifled the voice of ruth, 
 To the sword, and the gibbet trees uncouth, 
 
 To the clots of blood that bathe her. 
 
 But the Harper of Israel heard, and gave 
 
 A last boon to Aiah's daughter — 
 The only boon that she cared to crave — 
 And she gathered the bones of the young and brave, 
 And beside them slept in a peaceful grave 
 
 On the banks of Jordan's water, 
 
 July 28tk, 1845.
 
 45 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 ^ " Ornnes 
 
 Urgentur, ignotique long& 
 Nocte, carent quia vate saero." — Horat: 
 
 In days of yore a castle stood upon a stately height 
 It looked o'er all the far countrie to th' ocean blue and bright, 
 And all around were gardens trim, and orchards blooming fair. 
 And fountains flung their jets aloft, like rainbows in the aii-. 
 
 And there on his ancestral throne a puissant monarch sate, 
 With sour and angry countenance in stern and solemn state, 
 And fury reigns within his heart, and terror in his look, 
 And vengeance in his sentences, and bloodshed in his book. 
 
 A pair of noble minstrels tow'rd the castle bent their way, 
 The son a youth with golden locks, the sire with tresses grey, 
 The elder bore an ivory harp upon a managed steed. 
 The blooming boy beside him ran with stripling's strength 
 and speed. 
 
 With solemn voice the father spoke, " Now be prepared my 
 
 son, 
 Be ready with 3^our noblest songs, caU up your richest tone. 
 And be the subject grave or gay, exert your utmost art, 
 This day we'U try to soften the proud King's stony heart."
 
 4(li METRICAL TALKS. 
 
 Already stand the troubadours within the portal's screen 
 Before them sit on lofty thrones the monarch and his queen — 
 The king in dread magnificence like a lurid Northern Light, 
 The queen in radiance pale and mild, as the silver orb of night. 
 
 And now the old man sweeps the strings, he strikes them 
 
 full and clear, 
 And rich and richer swell the chords upon the ravished ear — 
 And like th' angelick chorus thrills the tenor sweet and 
 
 strong, 
 And like the Diapason rolls the sire's majestick song. 
 
 They sing of hawpy spring time, of love's enchanting days, 
 Of ireedom, and man's dignity, of constancy and praise — 
 They sing of all delightful things that S(Jothe the troubled 
 
 breast. 
 They sing of honours lost and won^ of conflict and of rest. 
 
 The throng of tinselled courtiers forget their wonted scorn, 
 The bravest warriors bow the knee, confess themselves and 
 
 mourn. 
 The gentle queen dissolves away in pleasure mixed with pain, 
 And gives a rosebud from her breast, in guerdon for tlie 
 
 strain. 
 
 " My subjects you've seduced and would you tempt my queen 
 
 astray" 
 The scowling monarch thundered forth, to jealous rage a 
 
 prey- 
 He hurled his knife like lightning's flame, and smote the 
 
 stripling's side, 
 From whence instead of music's flow, gushed forth the 
 
 crimson tide.
 
 THE minstrel's CURSE. 47 
 
 His head drooped down like lilies pale when overcharged 
 
 with rain 
 He sank into his father's arms and never spoke again — 
 One dying glance he upward cast, a glance that seemed to tell 
 A tale of love and agony — a long and last farewell — 
 
 Then shuddered all that abject swarm, with gloom and fear 
 
 opprest 
 To see the gentle youth expire upon his father's breast. 
 Who throws his mantle over him and sets him on his horse 
 And binds him upright on the selle, a pale and lifeless corse. 
 
 He leaves the hall of murder, through the castle gate he 
 . springs, 
 
 He Hits his ivory harp on high and snaps its golden strings — 
 Against a marble column's base he dashes it asunder, 
 And thus denounced a proi)het's curse in accents like the 
 thunder. 
 
 " Wo ! Wo ! to you proud halls — no more within your fatal 
 
 bound 
 " Shall minstrel's harp be heard again, nor song, nor cheerful 
 
 sound, 
 " ISo ! only sighs and moaning and the heavy tread of slaves — 
 " Until the blast of vengeance howl o'er ashes, dust, and 
 
 graves. 
 
 " Wo ! Wo ! ye blooming gardens ! in the lovely light of May 
 " I show you this disfigured corpse, this pale and bloody 
 
 clay — 
 " That you like him may v^ithcr your fountains all run dry, 
 " Your gay Parterres for evermore in desolation lie.
 
 48 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 " Wo ! to thee accursed murderer ! of kings the curse and 
 
 shame ! 
 " In vain be all thy strivings after wreaths of guilty fame — 
 " But be thy very name o'ervvhelmed in everlastinij night 
 " Like a dying soul's expiring sigh cut off by early blight." 
 
 The father hath denounced his curse, and Heaven hath heard 
 
 the call — 
 The massive walls, the pillared halls, in shapeless ruin fall — 
 One marble column stands alone, the type of ancient power, 
 That marble column cracked and bowed may sink from hour 
 
 to hour. 
 
 Instead of gay Parterres around — behold a blasted heath 
 No tree nor shrub gives friendly shade — no river flows 
 
 beneath : 
 The tyrant's very name unknown to history or to verse ! 
 AH is lost, and all forgotten- -this is the Minstrel's Curse. 
 
 April 20th, 1845.
 
 ODES 
 
 AND 
 
 OCCASIONAL PIECES
 
 ODES AND OCCASIOI^AL PIECES 
 
 AD REGINAM. 
 
 INDICI IMPERII SCEPTRO NUPER HONESTATAM. 
 
 O Decus nostrum, Columen tuorum, 
 Anglise Regina potens, niarisque ! 
 Indise tandem Domina Imperatrix, 
 
 Digna vocari ! 
 Te canit regum sobolem priorum 
 Scotia Alpina vigilans ab arce, , 
 
 Plaudit adverssB vctus hostis eras Hi- 
 
 bernia felix. 
 Unico quondam mulier marito 
 Lseta, nunc plorans obitum, sepulcro 
 Te decet largas posuisse lauros, 
 
 Fun ere dignas. 
 Jam tibi fuscis rediens ab Indis 
 Navigat tluctus maris sestuosi 
 Aureum portans diadema Matri, 
 
 Filius Hseres. 
 Dona montaiii Satrapre profundunt, 
 Dona fert omnis chorus Iiisularum, 
 ^quor et Tellus sua quseque abunde 
 
 Munera mittunt. 
 Pax tuos gressus Pietasque ducunt, 
 I'empla consurgunt, populique sanctos 
 iEdium discant celebrare ritus, 
 
 Te duce Victrix. 
 
 1876.
 
 01 
 
 TO THE QUEEM. 
 
 ON HEK majesty's LEAVING ENGLAND FOR THE CONTINENT, 
 
 Great Queen of Britain's Isles and Sea, 
 Of all tlie Titles borne by thee 
 
 The last is not the least. 
 For virtues more than honours famed, 
 At length thy subjects see thee named 
 
 Queen of the gorgeous East. 
 
 Fair Daughter of her ancient Kings, 
 On all her mountains Scotia sings 
 
 Thy praise in heartfelt strains, 
 And wearied with domestic strife 
 Hibernia wakes to happier life, 
 
 Upon her emerald plains. 
 
 Rejoicing once in nuptial state, 
 But mourning now th' untimely fate 
 
 Of Him thy bosom's Lord, 
 It well becomes thy love to raise 
 ISew honours to thy Hero's praise, 
 
 In life, in death adored. 
 
 Lo ! welcomed to his native land, 
 Thy Son from India's torrid strand, 
 
 Yclad with new renown 
 In his brave ship serenely glides, 
 And bears along tli' Arabian tides 
 
 His Mother's Eastern crown.
 
 TO THE QUEEN. 53 
 
 Their gifts the mountain Rajahs bring, 
 And deck with gems their future King, 
 
 The multitude of Isles 
 From sea and land their tribute pay, 
 While Heaven protects his homeward way 
 
 With Summer's sunlit smiles. 
 
 Peace guides thy steps, and Piety 
 In robe unspotted claims for thee 
 
 The homage of the crowd. 
 The Nation's universal voice 
 btill hails their Queen, and mobs rejoice 
 
 At sight of one so good. 
 
 Then go, great Quet-n, in triumph go ! 
 May all the winds iioui Heaven that blow 
 
 Befriend and speed thy course : 
 May vernal Suns pro[)itious .shine, 
 And each day bring to thee and thine 
 
 ^ew stores of health and force. 
 
 1S76.
 
 !)4 
 
 TO AN EAGLE. 
 
 .^therial bird ! that on the mountain's peak, 
 Reposing in the sun thy mighty pinions, 
 
 Look'st from thy throne of clouds o'er cliif and creek, 
 
 Or with expanded plumes and sharpen'd beak, 
 Rangest at will thy undisturb'd dominions. 
 
 Majestic monarch of the sky ! 
 
 How mean appears man's destiny, 
 
 When, sailing in the blue profound, 
 
 Thou wheel'st in measur'd circles round ! 
 
 Or borrowest the lightning's speed. 
 
 Such as of old rapt Ganymede 
 
 Beheld thee darting from above 
 
 The winded messenger of Jove ! 
 
 Him thy resounding plumag*^ bore 
 
 Aloft from Simois' winding shore, 
 
 To minister in blest abodes, 
 
 An earthborn cupbearer to gods ; 
 
 While his reft flock, o'er Ida driven, 
 
 Gazed on their guardian's flight to heaven. 
 
 Bird of rapine ! bird of glory ! 
 Who, in the page of Grecian story, 
 Hath followed Amnion's warrior son 
 To Issus' plain from Macedon, 
 Nor wondering mark'd thy victor wing, 
 High poised above the heroic king ! 
 He, borne along the waves of war, 
 Dash'd on the mitred Persian's car. 
 And hail'd thee from his steed of fire. 
 Proud omen of his awful sire. 
 
 Lordly bird of high dominion ! 
 Under thine imperial pinion 
 Rome her banners wide unfurl'd, 
 Mistress of a prostrate world '
 
 TO AN EAGLE. 65 
 
 Fiuiu Calpe's cliffs, and Afiic's sand, 
 To sea-girt Thule's bounding strand ; 
 From the banks of fair Garonne, 
 To thy dark ruins, Babylon, 
 Hear her shouts victorious ring, 
 Triumphant mark her eagle wing. 
 
 ' Bird of conquest, bird of sorrow I 
 A later tyrant dared to borrow 
 The splendoui of thy magic name, 
 And nobly won the wreath of fame. 
 O'er Alpine snows, and Adda's flood, 
 Trace his ruthless path in blood ; 
 Austrian maids shall long abhor 
 Red Marengo's conqueror. 
 Him Vienna's sons await, 
 Mourning at her broken gate : 
 'While her Danube's mazy flow 
 A moment checks th' advancing foe — 
 How sternly calm th' invader sits 
 Amid thy carnage, Austerlitz ! 
 How scornful hears, on Jena's plain, 
 A royal heroine plead in vain ! 
 His star is waned — his race is run ! — 
 Where is dread Napoleon ? 
 Gallia's eagle backward driven, 
 Quail'd beneath an arctic heaven ; 
 Europe's conqueror subdued, 
 Lies in his rocky solitude : 
 A thousand leagues of salt sea foam 
 Have borne him to his island home ; 
 
 Here his crimes and sorrows cease 
 
 The mighty exile sleeps in peace. 
 
 And haply thou, sad bird and lone. 
 
 With drooping wing and rufiied plume, 
 
 Above the warrior's lowly tomb, 
 
 Sit'st like a spirit, on thy mountain throne, 
 
 To guard from touch profane his monumental stone.
 
 5t> 
 
 TO THE FARNE ISLANDS. 
 
 Bleak Isles ! where Piety in ancient days 
 
 Her altars founded on the sea-beat shore, 
 And whifee-robed monks sang their Creator's prais(3 
 
 Amid the tempest's whirl and billow's roar ; 
 What though no more that solitary space 
 
 Shall ring with loud Hosannas to the Lord, 
 And sea fowl nestle in the sacred place 
 
 Where once the sacramcDtal cap was poured, 
 Yet still upon your rugged beach there stands 
 A holy Temple undefiled, not made with hands ; 
 
 Nor fashioned by the builder's rule and square 
 
 ISTor reared as earthly Fanes, with stone and lime. 
 But a fair frame, though murtal, that doth bear 
 
 Th' Almiglity's impress on her brow sublime ; 
 For as the virgin Una nndismayed 
 
 Met the grim lion in the lonely wood, 
 And brought the lordly savage to her aid. 
 
 Tamed by the dignity of maidenhood ; 
 Who sheathed his clawis, and lulled his roarings wild 
 And crouching at her feet, la}' quiet as a child ; 
 
 So did She moved by gentle Pity feel 
 
 A more than mortal courage man her breast. 
 Nor feared to navigate her Iragile keel 
 
 Where eddying breakers reared their snowy crest, 
 And demons rode upon the midnight storm 
 
 Bursting in thunder on the fatal rock. 
 Where clunof for refuge many a shrieking form 
 
 Their vessel shivered by the ghastly shock 
 Which plunged at once into eternal sleej) 
 Their late companions whelmed beneath the surging deep,
 
 TO THE FARNE ISLANDS. 57 
 
 In that dark hour of danger and despair 
 
 When winds and waters strove with sea and sky, 
 She only heard the drowning wretch's prayer 
 
 She only saw their helpless agony — 
 And guided by an Arm unseen, a Power 
 
 That bids tlie storm be still and rules the wave, 
 She succour brought to those who deemed the hour 
 
 Of fate inevitable at hand, and gave 
 New life, new hope, where Death triumphant stood, 
 And clutched his trembling prey and drank his victim's blood. 
 
 Oh ! noble effort, deed of deathless Fame ! 
 
 From which the strength of man had shrunk appalled, 
 But that in woman's heart there burnt a flame 
 
 ,By Mercy fired, by Prudence un-enthralled, 
 The flame of Charity, of Faith, and Love 
 
 That lights to deeds illustrious the way. 
 Sent by the Holy Spirit from above 
 
 To sublimate our grosser part of clay, 
 And still in Godlike bosoms loves to dwell, 
 Like ancient Vesta's fire, unquenched, unquenchable. 
 
 Honour to thee fair Maid ! for never more 
 
 Shall Pilgrim view St. Cuthbert's island surge, 
 And pause upon the melancholy shore, 
 
 That rinrrs its victim's everlastinsr dirge, 
 But mem.ory's power shall bring before his eyes 
 
 The horrors of that agonizing night, 
 And to creative Fancy shall arise 
 
 That form heroic with her pinnace slight, 
 "Who dared amid a thousand perils save 
 Her helpless fellow-men from an untimely grave.
 
 58 
 
 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Honour to thee, and happiness, fair Maid ! 
 
 May each succeeding year from hence be fraught 
 With blessings due to services unpaid 
 
 Save by the meed of conscience, and the thought 
 That thou a chosen vessel of the liord, 
 
 Redeemed and sanctified by Christ His Son 
 May'st reap in other realms a rich reward, 
 
 Approved by Faith, in "vvorks already done, 
 Receive this humble Tribute ! nor disdain 
 A harp that long hath slept, and ne'er may wake again. 
 
 Oct., 1838.
 
 59 
 
 ICE-BERGS AT SEA. 
 
 Dread monuments of ancient winter's reign ! 
 
 Mysterious visions ! solemn, cold and vast, 
 
 Drifting before the Hyperborean blast • 
 Upon the surface of the stormy main, 
 Whence are ye come, and whither are ye sent ? 
 
 What Power unseen impelled you forth 
 
 From the bleak icefields of the North, 
 
 And witnessed that stupendous launch 
 
 Amid the thunders of the avalanche 
 O'er mazy gulfs and frozen continent ? 
 Then stayed your course upon the restless waves 
 Which rage and echo round your crystal caves ? 
 
 Agents of th' Almighty's will 
 
 I follow you in fancy still 
 
 Floating calm, though tempests sweep 
 
 The bosom of the surging deep, 
 
 Wearing on your rugged brow 
 
 Winter's diadem of snow, 
 
 Breathing I'ound your chill career 
 
 Your own unchanging atmospliere. 
 
 And shinincr when the solar beam 
 
 Quivers in the ocean stream, 
 
 As the J^Iedusan ^gis shone 
 
 Freezing every heart to stone. 
 But when the murky midnight flings 
 
 Her mantle o'er the deep, 
 And to the wearied helmsman brings 
 
 A snatch of transient sleep ; 
 When the moon hides her waning light 
 And stars are lost in thickest night, 
 What hearts are wakened to despair ! 
 What shrieks have rent the silent air •
 
 CO ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 When reeliusx from the fatal shock 
 Some orallanb vessel homewards bound 
 Sailing along the blue profound, 
 By fog and gloom enveloped round 
 
 Hath plunged upon that icy rock ! 
 A thousand fathoms down she goes, 
 The yawning whirlpools o'er her close — 
 No vestio-c left — unless when tost 
 On that inhospitable coast 
 All bruised and blackened welters there 
 The form of drowning mariner, 
 While floating on the billow's crest 
 The sea birds tear his swollen breast, 
 Or hovering round with ceaseless clang 
 Exult in his expiring pang. 
 
 What eye hath seen, wliat tongue can tell 
 
 The wondrous forms that yet may dwell 
 
 Within these rocks unchangeable ? 
 
 For though in solemn state alone 
 
 Death sits upon his icy throne. 
 
 Yet his dread minister decay 
 
 Here leaves untouched the tyrant's pre}^, 
 
 Nor doth corruption dare to haunt 
 
 These grots of living Adamant — 
 
 Witness those mighty relicks strown 
 
 On far Siberia's frozen zone 
 
 Of Mammoth huge or Mastodon ! 
 
 Witness yon ice-bound rock, which rent 
 
 To fragments in its sheer descent 
 
 Disclosed a giant form within 
 
 Clad in the self-same flesh and skin 
 
 That once had braved these gales that blow 
 
 From banks of everlasting snow, 
 
 That once had roamed these regions wide, 
 
 And bathed in ocean's azure tide. 
 
 Ere man himself had sprung to birth 
 
 Upon a monster-peopled earth.
 
 ICE-BERGS AT SEA. 61 
 
 Nor marvel that in wild amaze 
 Groups of Tuns^usian hunters gaze 
 On remnants of an ancient world 
 Before them in confusion hurled — 
 Awe-struck to see that carcase bare, 
 Proboscis huge and matted hair, 
 Colossal tusk and massive tooth 
 Capacious paunch and ribs uncouth, 
 Whose taint hath lured from distant rocks 
 The grizzled wolf, and yelping fox, 
 And carrion fowl that thirst for blood 
 To feast on prediluvian food. 
 
 In ages past, ere yet this globe 
 Combined of primal elements 
 Lay teeming 'neath a verdant robe 
 Distinct in seas and continents, 
 Or ever the vivific sun 
 With daily circuit had begun 
 The firm concrete to fertilize. 
 Or gentle dews, and showery skies 
 Their sweet and changeful influence shed 
 On the green earth's compacted bed, 
 Huge ice-bergs might be seen to pass 
 Erratic o'er the fluent mass. 
 Or left by the subsiding flood 
 Imbedded in chaotic mud. 
 Nor deem that these are fancies vain 
 Engendered in a poet's brain. 
 Or such day dreams as might occur 
 To planet-struck philosoplier. 
 For lo ! upon the wide champaign 
 Of Poland's and Silesia's plain, 
 And in those wildernesses where 
 Beneath another hemisphere. 
 The desert Pampas stretch below 
 Majestic Andes' wall of snow,
 
 (J2 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Plains where the lassoed Gauchos ride 
 
 In freedom by La Plata's side, 
 
 And condors in their airy course 
 
 Attack and tear the wearied horse, 
 
 Huo-e e:ranite boulders sometime rent 
 
 From Alpine ridge and battlement 
 
 Lie scattered o'er the sandy waste 
 
 Memorials of the wondrous past. 
 
 And still from those crystalline spires 
 
 That crown th' Antartic " Isle of Plres " 
 
 Disrupted glaciers falling spread 
 
 Confusion wide o'er ocean's bed 
 
 AJl laden with the mountain spoil 
 
 Of granite rock, and frozen soil, 
 
 Before whose launch the refluent surges borne 
 
 Roll back Magellan's wave, and lash the cliffs of Horn. 
 
 Nov., 1849.
 
 63 
 
 THE MOOES. 
 
 The moors ! the moors ! the bonny brown moors I 
 Sliining and fresh with April showers ! 
 
 When the wild birds sing 
 
 The return of spring, 
 
 And the gorse and the broom 
 
 Shed the rich perfume 
 
 Of their golden bloom, 
 'Tis a jo}^ to revisit the bonny brown moors. 
 Aloft in the air floats the white sea-mew. 
 And pipes his shrill whistle the grey curlew, 
 And the peewit gambols around her nest 
 And the heath-cock crows on the mountain crest, 
 And freely gushes the dark brown rill 
 In cadence sweet from the lonely hill. 
 Where mingling his song with the torrent's din 
 As it bubbles and foams in the rocky linn, 
 Twitters and plunges the water-crow 
 In the pool where the trout are springing below : 
 And the lambs in the sunshine leap and play 
 With their bleating dams on the grassy brae 
 With a withered thorn for their trysting place, 
 To mark the goal where their footprints trace 
 The narrow course of their sportive race ; 
 Oh ! know ye the region in spring more fair 
 Than the banks and the glens of the moorland bare ! 
 
 The moors ! the moors ! the fracjrant moors I 
 When the heather breaks forth into purple flowers ! 
 
 When the blazing sun 
 
 Through the Crab hath run. 
 
 And the Lion's wrath 
 
 Inflames his path. 
 What garden can vie with the glowing moors.
 
 64 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 The licrht clouds seem in mid-air to rest 
 
 On the dappled mountains misty breast, 
 
 And living things bask in the noontide ray 
 
 That lights up the summer's glorious day, 
 
 Nor a souuh of wind, nor a sound is heard 
 
 Save the faint shrill chirp of some lonely bird, 
 
 Save the raven's croak or the buzzard's cry 
 
 Or the wild bee's choral minstrelsy, 
 
 Or the tinkling bell of the drowsy flock 
 
 Where they lie in the shade of the caverned rock. 
 
 But when the last hues of declining day 
 
 Are melted and lost in the twilight grey. 
 
 And the stars peep forth, and the full orbed moon 
 
 Serenely looks down from her highest noon, 
 
 And the rippling water reflects her light, 
 
 Where the birch and the pine tree deepen the night. 
 
 Oh I who but must own his proud spirit subdued 
 
 By the calm of the desert solitude, 
 
 So balmy, so silent, so solemnly fair 
 
 As if God were riding the mountain air. 
 
 And night commune with man on the moorland bare. 
 
 The moors ! the moors ! the joyous moors ! 
 When autumn displays his golden stores — 
 
 When the morning's breath 
 
 Blows across the heath 
 
 And the fern waves wide 
 
 On the mountain side, 
 
 'Tis gladness to ridti 
 At the peep of dawn o'er the dewy moors. 
 For the sportsmen have mounted the topmost crags 
 And the fleet dogs bound o'er the mossy hags. 
 And the mist clears off as the lagging sun 
 With his first ray gleams on the glancing gun. 
 And the startled grouse and the black-cock sjiring 
 At the well-known report upon whirring wing.
 
 THE MOORS. 65 
 
 Or wander we north where the dun deer go 
 
 Unrestrained o'er the summits of huge Ben-y-glo, 
 
 And Glen Tilt and Glen Bruar re-echo the sound 
 
 Of the hart held to bay by the deep-mouthed blood-hound. 
 
 And the eagle stoops down from Shechallion to claim 
 
 With the fox and the raven his share of the game. 
 
 But a cloud hath o'er-shadowed the forest and waste 
 
 And the Angel of Death on the whirlwind hath past, 
 
 *And the coronach rings on the mountains of Blair 
 
 For the lord of the woods and the moorlands bare. 
 
 The moors ! the moors ! the desolate moors ! 
 
 When the mist thickens round and the tempest roars. 
 
 When the monarch of storm 
 
 Rears his giant form 
 
 On some rock-built throne 
 
 That he claims for his own, 
 To survey the wild war on the desolate moors. 
 For the winds are let loose, and the sound is gone forth 
 To aw^aken the troops of the frozen North ; 
 And the lightning and hailstone and hurricane fly 
 At a wave of his arm through the dark rolling sky, 
 And his footsteps are trampling the fog and the cloud 
 That envelop the earth in a funeral shroud ; 
 And the sheep and the shepherd lie buried below 
 The wide spreading folds of his mantle of snow ; 
 And the breath of his nostril encumbers the wood, 
 And his fetters of crystal arrest the flood ; 
 And he binds in its fall the cataract^ 
 And makes level the gulfs of the mountain tract, 
 Till his work is complete, and a dread repose 
 Broods over a boundles-s waste of snows, 
 And the wild winds bewail in whispers drear 
 The decay and the death of the by -gone year, 
 
 1833. 
 
 *In allusion to the death of the Duke of Atholl.
 
 06 
 
 SONG OF THE DEER-STALKER. 
 
 IN ATHOLL. 
 
 Awake and be stirring, the daylight's appearing 
 
 The wind's in the South, and the mountains are clearing, 
 
 A thousand wild harts in the forest are feeding, 
 
 Some few of those harts before night shall lie bleeding. 
 
 Make ready both rifles, the old and the new, 
 And sharpen the edge of the rusted " Skene-dhu" 
 Let your telescopes gleam in the rising sun, 
 We'll have need of them eie the daylight be done. 
 
 George Murray was off before light to Glen Tilt, 
 And Faskally's Laird has just tied on his kilt, 
 And Peter and Charlie are waiting below 
 The cloud-mantled summits of High Ben-y-Glo. 
 
 Now spur on your ponies, and haste to the slaughter 
 Where the Tilt and the Tuarfe mix their eddying water 
 The ravens have spied us, and croak as they wheel 
 O'er the antlered heads of their destined meal. 
 
 Now brace up your sinews, give play to your lungs, 
 Keep open your eyes, and keep silent your tongues, 
 And follow with cautious, and stealthy tread 
 The foresters' footsteps wherever they lead.
 
 SONG OF THE DEER-STALKER. 67 
 
 Here pause we a moment — while yonder slope 
 He surveys with the balanced telescope — 
 By heaven ! he sees them — just under the hill 
 The pride of the forest lie browsing and still. 
 
 " Yon moss must be past ere we gain our shot — 
 'Tis full five hundred yards to the fatal spot" — 
 So near has he reckoned that as we crawl by, 
 Lo the points of their horns on the line of the sky. 
 
 We have traversed the flat, and we lurk behind 
 A rock to recover our nerve and our wind, 
 Hist ! the calves are belling, and snuffing the air 
 Two jealous old hinds to the front repair. 
 
 But the herd are alarmed, and over the height 
 The leading hinds have advanced into sight — 
 " Hold— hold your hand, till the antlers appear, 
 For the heaviest harts are still in the rear." 
 
 Crack, crack, go the rifles — for either shot 
 A noble hart bleeding sinks on the spot— 
 The third ball has missed, but the hindmost stag 
 Was struck by the fourth, as he topt the crag. 
 
 Uncouple the lurchers— right onward they fly, 
 With long out -stretching limb, and with fire-flashing eye 
 On the track of his blood they are winging their way, 
 Yon deer in one minute shall stand at bay. 
 
 Magnificent creature ! to reach thee I strain 
 Through forest and glen, over mountain and plain, 
 Yet now thou art fallen, thy ftite I deplore 
 And lament that the reign of. thy greatness is o'er.
 
 G8 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Where now is that courage, late bounding and high, 
 That acuteness of scent, and that brilliance of eye, 
 That tleetness of foot, which out-speeding the wind 
 Had so often left death and destruction behind ? 
 
 Thine heart's blood is streaming, thy vigour gone by, 
 Tliy fleet foot is palsied, and glazed is thine eye ! 
 The last hard convulsion of death has come o'er thee, 
 Magnificent creature ! who would not deplore thee. 
 
 Coir-na-Minghie has rung to the rifle's first crack. 
 And the heights of Ben-vedi shall echo it back — 
 Glen-Croinie's v\ild caverns shall start at the cheer 
 Of the blood-hoimd that traces the fugitive deer. 
 
 t 
 
 By the gods, 'tis a gallant beginning, hurra 
 
 Diana hath smiled on the hunters to-day ! 
 
 In the sports of the morning come, Goddess, and share, 
 
 And Bacchus shall meet us returning to Blair. 
 
 1833.
 
 69 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 Farewell to the land where the blue misty mountains 
 
 Environ the prospect on every side, 
 Where each Corri pours forth its perennial fountains 
 
 To swell the broad river's precipitous tide. 
 
 Farewell to the roebuck and red-deer bounding 
 Along the brown heath like a meteor afar — 
 
 Farewell to the dark-kilted clansmen surrounding 
 The lords of the forest in Athol and Mar. 
 
 Farewell Invercauld ! to thy proud cliffs inclosing 
 Sweet valleys that slumber in sunshine below — 
 
 Farewell to the lodge of the forest reposing 
 Beneath the broad shadows of high Ben-y-glo. 
 
 Farewell to the pine trees, where satiate with slaughter 
 The eagle stoops down from the gathering storm — 
 
 Such as fling their rude branches o'er Dee's foaming water 
 Or clothe tlie steep bases of snowy Cairngorm. 
 
 Farewell to the bright lakes of Katrine and Lomond 
 To the birches that shade each meandering burn, 
 
 Farewell to the tower where the Clueftain of Drunimond 
 Surveys his domains over distant Strathearn.
 
 70 
 
 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Farewell to the *palace, where rays of past glory- 
 Like autumnal reflections of sun-set still sliine 
 
 On those walls where the banquet, the song, and the story 
 Recall to remembrance the days of " Lang Syne." 
 
 Farewell to the kind-hearted Lady of Freeland, 
 
 To each friend of the dance, of the chase and the fell, 
 
 The Hunter that wends his way home from the Hieland 
 To each and to all of you breathes a farewell. 
 
 Oct., 1836. 
 
 *Scone Palaoe.
 
 71 
 
 THE WATERSIDE. 
 
 To the waterside, to the waterside ! 
 At the early dawn, or at eventide. 
 In the blaze of noon 
 Or beneath the moon 
 Still let us go by the waterside, 
 And there the passing hours beguile 
 
 With not unpleasiug melancholy talk. 
 How, like the stream, our life the while 
 
 Flows gently down its channel as we walk, 
 And bears along its course the hopes and fears. 
 The pleasures and the pains of past and present years. 
 Or, seated on a rocky ledge, 
 
 We listen to the breeze's sigh. 
 That through the green and bending sedge 
 
 Doth make JEolian harmony ; 
 Or mark it chase the fleeting shadows 
 
 Whirled in simultaneous error 
 Of weeping trees and verdant meadows. 
 Procumbent o'er the watery mirror, 
 Which anon were clear and steady, 
 
 Save where the light phosphoric broke 
 In flashes from the casual eddy. 
 
 Curling round a sunken rock. 
 And think that thus the breath of age 
 
 Scatters th' enchanting dreams of youth, 
 Which seemed to spread as bright a page, 
 As fair an image of the truth. 
 Alas ! the sun that rose so fair 
 Hath hid in clouds his golden hair. 
 The midday storm hath swept around. 
 Friends have proved false, and fortune frowned ; 
 The dream is fled, the image gone, 
 And we are in the world alone.
 
 72 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES, 
 
 Or let us banish thoughts of sorrow, 
 Mirth shall welcome in the morrow. 
 
 Now soft vernal showers befriending 
 
 The fisher's p^entle craft unlock 
 A down the furrowed hills descending, 
 Rich pasture for the finny flock : 
 'Mid the torrent's fiercest spout 
 
 See the mighty salmon wallow : 
 See the variegated trout 
 
 Springing in the pebbly shallow, 
 Care and sorrow flee away ! 
 
 Let politicians fret and wrangle ! 
 From the morn's first ray to the close of day, 
 
 We will angle, we will angle ' 
 Ye pale-eyed students ponder over 
 
 Tomes of jihilosophic lore, 
 Go, hang thyself, des[)airing lover ! 
 Courtly mioions cringe before 
 The magic rod by office borne, 
 
 Look here, at your own image look ! 
 A bauble hangs you up to scorn. 
 Like fish upon a gilded book : 
 Never struggle to be free, 
 A riband cramps your energy, 
 Purchased at too dear a cost, 
 Fidelity and honour lost. 
 Money-scraping citizens 
 Hived within your dingy dens". 
 Sum your debts, and count your gains, 
 Gold and silver bring their pains ; 
 But streams in vernal joy au nee flowing, 
 And breezes o'er the dim woods blowing. 
 And birds the early dawn saluting, 
 And fishes through the bright waves shooting, 
 Ephemeral insects upward stnaming. 
 Gay flowers in dewy pastures gleaming. 
 And stately herds, whose lengthened shadows 
 Slant far athwart the sun-lit meadows ;
 
 THE WATERSIDE. 73 
 
 These, miser, these are Nature's treasures, 
 With these are never-failinor pleasures- 
 Treasures that the poor inherit — 
 Pleasures that exalt the spirit, 
 And raise us from a world of sin and care 
 To Him who dwells above and hears our humble prayer. 
 May He protect our course, a Guardian kind 
 Vouchsafing' still the sunshine of the mind ; 
 Smooth each obstruction that in early years 
 Our progress ruffled down the vale of tears, 
 And cheei' our passage to that unknown sea 
 That opens darkly on Eternity ; 
 Then guide our Spirit to that blissful shore 
 Where Sin and Death are not, and Time shall be no more.
 
 74 
 
 TO THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 Breeze austere ! that comest forth 
 
 From the chambers of the North, 
 
 Ridintr on the restless seas 
 
 That lash the storm-swept Orcades, 
 
 Clothing next in robe of white 
 
 Proud Grampian cliffs, and Pentland's height ? 
 
 Thence careering far and fast 
 
 Over Cheviot's snowy waste, 
 
 Sweeping oft in various current 
 
 Down each mountain, glen, and torrent ; 
 
 Driving next o'er Tynedale fells 
 
 Through wooded Yorkshire's leafy dells, 
 
 O'er Lincoln wold, and Cambridge down 
 
 Welcome to the crowded Town, 
 
 Though London's puny children fear 
 
 Thy frowning brow, and breath severe, 
 
 And shiver like the aspen pale 
 
 Bending in th' autumnal gale. 
 
 Viewless Spirit ! onwards driven 
 Welcome to a Southern heaven ! 
 Did'st thou linger by the side 
 Of Aln, or Coquet's pebbly tide, 
 And take a momentary stand 
 In mountainous Northumberland ? 
 AVho are they that wandering there 
 With sunburnt cheek and flowing hair, 
 Young barbarians of the moor 
 Greet thy A-isage stern and hoar 
 And chase thine echoes through the pines 
 That wave o'er Thrunton's craggy lines, 
 Nor dread thy salutation rude 
 On Kiraside's heathery solitude.
 
 TO THE NORTH WIND. 75 
 
 Viewless Spirit ! turn again 
 From the noisy liaunts of men ? 
 Nor forget in flying forth 
 To tell these children of the North 
 How their father prison-pent 
 Pants for a purer element, 
 As the fettered eagle sighs 
 For desert cliffs and boundless skies. 
 Tell them how he dreams of hills 
 Forests lone and glittering vills 
 And fairy forms, that round him glide 
 Gathering flowerets by his side. 
 And oh ! dread Spirit softly pour 
 Thy blast across the shrouded moor 
 That fences in the stream of Aln 
 Down his tributary vale. 
 Nor in p-leams insidious drest 
 Creep into the Virgin's breast 
 Nor blight the budding rose that streaks 
 With hues of health her glowing cheeks, 
 Nor dim the lustre of the ey e 
 That sheds its grace on infancy. 
 But spare the lamb that totters round 
 Her mother on the frozen ground, 
 Nor smite the nestling bird that springs 
 To life beneath its [)arent wings, 
 Nor nip the tender plants that rear 
 Their buds to greet the early year. 
 But give them all thine energy 
 In health to live in age to die. 
 
 "O" 
 
 Mai/, 1838.
 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 From realms of purest aether 
 November's scowling cloud 
 
 Hath borne me downwards hither, 
 The dead earth's form to shroud. 
 
 Careering o'er the Atlantic, 
 I mingle with the roar 
 
 Of breakers dashing frantic 
 On frozen Labrador. 
 
 And on the iceberg sailing, 
 I hear the drowning cry 
 
 Of shipwrecked crews bewailing 
 Their stranded argosy. 
 
 At Cotopaxi's portal. 
 On Chimborazo's dome, 
 
 I sit where step of mortal 
 Hath never dared to come : — 
 
 Where soars the mighty condor, 
 A speck in middle sky, 
 
 And men gaze up with wonder 
 That aught can live so high. 
 
 In lone Helvetian valley, 
 'Mid Alpine solitudes, 
 
 I clasp the goatherd's chalet, 
 I shake the groaning woods.
 
 THE SNOW. 77 
 
 Beyond the Greenland mountains, 
 Beyond the Polar waves, 
 
 Where ocean's azure fountains 
 Congeal in crystal caves ; 
 
 Beneath the moonlight sleeping 
 I spread my curtain where 
 
 Their carnival are keeping 
 The walrus and the bear. 
 
 Where Life exists no longer, 
 And silence holds her reign, 
 
 And Want and Cold and Hunger 
 For victims wait in vain : 
 
 In unapproached dominion 
 Beyond them all, alone 
 
 I fold my feathered pinion 
 Around my Arctic throne. 
 
 Yet one soft warning spoken, 
 One sunny glance may view 
 
 My rod of empire broken. 
 And melt me into dew. 
 
 -M!
 
 78 
 
 THE SCYTHIAN WINTER. 
 
 FROM VIRGIL, III. GEORGIC. 
 
 Not SO where Scythian Tribes in deserts stray 
 And broad Mceotis' frozen pool survey, 
 Where Rhodope withdraws her mountain flank 
 From Ister's turbid stream and icy bank ; 
 There flocks and herds are folded, nor appear 
 Leaves on the trees nor grass for half the year. 
 But every land -mark, every path is lost, 
 In shapeless heaps of snow and blinding frost, 
 And clad in storms unbroken Winter reigns 
 Wide o'er the desert hills, and boundless plains. 
 Nor ever doth the sun dispel the gloom 
 When rising pallid from his Eastern room. 
 His tardy coursers climb the sky, nor when 
 He bathes his chariot in the Western main. 
 The icy crust congeals on running streams, 
 And o'er the surface roll the harnessed teams ; 
 And inland seas where navies lately rode, 
 Now seem t'invite the ponderous waggon's load. 
 And brazen vessels crack, and clothes for wear 
 Turn rigid in the keen and biting air ; 
 While in the cellars men before they dine 
 With hatchets cleave the blocks of humid wine 
 In solid ice are bound the liquid lakes. 
 And tangled beards are stiff" with icy flakes. 
 
 Meanwhile down pours the snow — the woolly sheep 
 Perish by scores, and in the drifted heap 
 The mighty ox, o'ertaken by the storm. 
 Floundering in vain lays down his prostrate form ; 
 And herds of stags benumbed lie buried low, 
 Their pointed antlers bristling through the snow.
 
 THE SCYTHIAN WINTER. 79 
 
 These not with eager hounds nor treacherous snare, 
 Nor painted feathers dangling in the air, 
 Do men pursue, but as they strive in vain 
 With panting breast to burst that icy chain, 
 The hunter at close quarters with his knife 
 The groaning quarry stabs, and ends the strife. 
 Thence to their caves deep dug beneath the soil, 
 They drag with cheery shouts the bleeding spoil ; 
 And sheltered from the blast spend night and day 
 In mirth and jollity, and tipsy play. 
 Huge logs of oak and elm still piling higher, 
 To feed the fuel of their smouldering liie ; 
 And imitate the fruit of Southern vines. 
 With sour fermented drinks and home-brewed wines. 
 Such barbarous tribes beneath the Polar star, 
 In Arctic deserts wage continued war 
 With adverse element and angry sky, 
 i^nd clad in skins the Winter's wrath defy. 
 
 January ^th, 1875.
 
 80 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 IN MATREM CARISSIMAM. 
 
 Sages have said that nought on earth 
 Is fixed, or permanent, or true, — 
 
 That all is change to death from birth, 
 A shadowy dream, a fleeting view. 
 
 And poets sing of fading flowers, 
 
 Of chequer'd skies, and restless seas ; 
 
 Of pleasures transient as the hours 
 That glide along the passing breeze ; 
 
 While man himself keeps silent pace 
 With Nature's ever-varying doom. 
 
 And runs the universal race 
 
 Between the cradle and the tomb. 
 
 That race he runs with toil and care, 
 
 With throbbing heart and lab'ring breath ; 
 
 Whose road is sin, whose hopes are air, 
 
 Whose joys are pains, whose goal is death : 
 
 Sees as he runs, each changing moon 
 Her destined change of seasons bring ; 
 
 Each night's repose succeed to noon, 
 Each winter lead the year to spring :
 
 STANZAS IN MATREM CARISSIMAM. 81 
 
 And should he turn aside to cherish 
 
 Some fairer flower that decks the way, 
 A moment sees its beauty perish, 
 
 Or taints its fragrance with decay. 
 
 A few short hours remain to drink 
 
 Life's troubled dregs, of bitter taste ; 
 A pause upon the churchyard's brink, 
 
 A throb — a pang, and all is past. 
 
 Is there then nought secure or fixed ; 
 
 No resting place this side the grave ? 
 No shelt'ring olive bough betwixt 
 
 The shifting sand and whelming wave ? — 
 
 No bright Oasis of the waste. 
 
 Where weary travellers awhile 
 Reposing from their breathless haste, 
 
 May greet a sympathizing smile ? 
 
 Yes — if from birth the will of Heaven 
 
 Decree to man a life of care ; — 
 From the same instant God hath given 
 
 A mother's heart our pain to share ; 
 
 A mother's hand to guide our steps, 
 A mother's eye to watch our ways ; 
 
 A mother's voice to teach our lips 
 
 The suppliant's prayer, the hymn of praise. 
 
 And. from the hour when first her breast 
 Pillow'd in warmth our infant head. 
 
 To that when everlasting rest 
 
 Shall shroud her in its narrow bed :
 
 82 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 In every change of tide or time, 
 In summer's heat, in winter's snow, 
 
 In every age, in every clime. 
 In guilt, in danger, or in woe : 
 
 Though foes may hate, and friends may leave us, 
 Though all our hopes delusive prove ; 
 
 Though women smile as they deceive us. 
 And rend the heart they swore to love. 
 
 Whether in pleasure's lap of down. 
 We idly waste the precious day ; 
 
 Or, chill'd by dark misfortune's frown, 
 Lament those hours we've cast away ; 
 
 Whether our young ambition soar 
 
 To worship glory's rising star, 
 Nor dreams the idol we adore 
 
 May crush us 'neath her iron car ; 
 
 In sickness, solitude, or shame, 
 Whate'er betide this mortal state, 
 
 A mother's heart is still the same 
 In each vicissitude of fate. 
 
 There is the bough whereon is placed 
 Brief refuge from a stormy life ; 
 
 There the Oasis of the waste, 
 A sunny spot, secure from strife. 
 
 And when inexorable Death 
 
 Shall mix her ashes with the sod, 
 
 Her soul shall plead for those beneath, 
 Before the judgment throne of God.
 
 83 
 
 f.- 
 
 A VOICE FROM POLAND. 
 
 OSTKOLENKA. 
 
 . Dark shadows as of coming rain 
 
 Obscured the close of da}^, 
 When stretched before my view the plain 
 
 Of Ostrolenka lay. 
 
 Seemed that the light of Poland's star, 
 
 Her day of hopes and fears, 
 That once had flung '\i^ radiance far, 
 
 Was setting now in tears. 
 
 But clear and calm the stream pursued 
 
 His course towards the sea, 
 Late with the noblest blood imbued 
 
 Of Poland's chivahy. 
 
 So Time rolls onward still, and bears 
 
 Along His ceaseless flow 
 The annals of revolving years. 
 
 Their deeds of crime and woe. 
 
 As on I went, a fabric proud, 
 
 A pyramid of stone. 
 Marked where the Scythian's armed crowd 
 
 Stood when the strife was done. 
 
 Marked where the soldier with his horse 
 
 Slept in a trophied grave. 
 Fought his last fight, and ran the course 
 
 Of each imperial slave.
 
 84) ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And thus, I thought, on Shinar's plain 
 The tower presumptuous rose, 
 
 When God dispersed its builders vain, 
 Denouncing them His foes. 
 
 Scattered about o'er mound and fosse, 
 
 In perishable wood, 
 Emblem of faith, the lowly cross, 
 
 A frail memorial stood. 
 
 As if the Czar's colossal power, 
 Had set his token here, 
 
 And Poland in her dying hour 
 Had fled for refuge there. 
 
 For there, they said, the martyred Pole 
 
 Fell on his native sod, 
 And gave for Freedom's sake his soul 
 
 A sacrifice to God : 
 
 Thought, as his life-blood trickled forth, 
 
 Of Sobieski's fame, 
 When champions of the hardy north 
 
 Saved Christendom from shame : 
 
 Thought of his own despairing land 
 
 When Kosciusko fell. 
 What time the fierce barbarian's band 
 
 Stormed Praga's citadel : 
 
 And breathed a thankful prayer that he 
 
 Had burst a tyrant's chain, 
 And fought and died a patriot free 
 
 On Ostrolenka's plain.
 
 85 
 
 ALCINA'S GARDEN. 
 
 (From Ariosto.) 
 
 The place where lighted down Ruggiero's steed 
 Folding his feathered pinions, was a plot 
 
 Of such surpassing beauty, that indeed 
 
 Upon the Earth's wide surface, you may not 
 
 (Whithersoe'er your wandering footsteps lead) 
 Behold a more enchanting lovely spot, 
 
 Fair cultured plains, soft undulating hills, 
 
 Green meadows, shady glens, and crystal rills. 
 
 Sweet groves were there of laurel, and of palm, 
 The scented myrtle, and the cedar tall. 
 
 And fruits, and flowers of orange and of balm 
 En wreathed in various forms and beauteous all, 
 
 Which in the summer noon a grateful calm 
 Breathed all ai'ound beneath that leafy pall, 
 
 Among whose boughs secure the Nightingale 
 
 Poured forth by day and night her fitful wail. 
 
 Among the roses red and lilies white 
 
 Which freshly bloom on that enamelled mead, 
 
 Rove hares and coneys undisturbed with fright, 
 And lordly stags lift high their antlered head, 
 
 Nor fear the treacherous toils, nor arrow's flight 
 But unsuspicious ruminate when fed. 
 
 And nimble Roe, and Kids skip all around, 
 
 Which ever in such Alpine solitudes abound. 
 
 1868.
 
 86 
 
 THE BELLS OF BOTTREUX 
 
 A CORNISH LEGEND. 
 
 INTRODUCTION: 
 ADDRESS TO A WILD WOOD DOVE. 
 
 Lend me thy wings, sweet dove ! 
 
 That through the liquid air 
 And labyrinthine grove 
 
 Dost spread thy pinions, where 
 A tender loving mate 
 Thine advent doth await, 
 And fills with wailing notes the forest round. 
 Where plaintive Echo sits, and mocks that plaintive sound. 
 
 So on the rolling deep, 
 
 The home-bound mariner 
 By wave-worn Calpe's steep 
 
 Or stormy Finisterre, 
 Unfurls his canvas wide, 
 
 And fearless skims the foam, 
 Through shoals on either side 
 Where buoys and beacons guide 
 
 The venturous seaman home : 
 Whom loving wife and tender children strain 
 Close to their very hearts, with " Welcome home" again. 
 
 Not always doth the bark 
 
 Her destined harbour reach, 
 Nor cleave the waters dark 
 
 In safety to the beach ; 
 The sentence stern and sad 
 
 That oft o'ertakes the bad, 
 Learn ye ! who listen to the lay 
 
 That tells the hapless fate 
 
 Of that ill-omened freight. 
 Beneath the billows whelmed in Cornish Bottreux' Bay. 
 
 Fair was the breeze and calm the sea 
 
 That sped the gallant bark, 
 To her destined haven in Bottreux Bay 
 
 Between noontide and dark.
 
 THE BELLS OF BOTTREUX. 87 
 
 Charged was that bark with a holy freight 
 
 Of newly-cast church bells, 
 For the tower that looks down from Bottreux' height 
 
 On the tide as it falls and swells. 
 
 And now at full sail the vessel wore, 
 
 With the harbour right in view, 
 Bound the beetling cape of that rocky shore 
 
 Which encloses the bay of Bottreux. 
 
 " Thank God for His mercies !" the Pilot cried, 
 
 Our cargo's safe I ween ; 
 " We've weathered the dangers of wind and tide, 
 
 And are welcomed home again. 
 
 " No more Tintagel's tower shall boast 
 
 That her's is the only chime, 
 " To rouse the echoes of this rude coast 
 
 At sunset or matin prime. 
 
 " Though in days of old from Pendragon's hold, 
 
 From Tintagel's palace hall, 
 " They tolled the dirge o'er the sullen surge 
 
 For King Arthur's funeral. 
 
 " See where our townsmen throng the shore. 
 
 To join with us in praise 
 " And thanks to that Almighty Power, 
 
 Who watches all our ways." 
 
 " Nay, rather give thanks to the good sound planks," 
 
 The boisterous Captain spoke ; 
 " To the planks we tread, and the sails overhead, 
 
 And our Cornish hearts of oak.
 
 88 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 " These are the only gods we care 
 
 To tbank for a lucky trip, 
 " Then keep for the land your canting and prayer, 
 
 Keep silence on board my ship." 
 
 " ]May sir," said the Pilot, " 'tis surely well 
 
 To think on the Lord at sea, 
 " When the winds and waters rage and swell, 
 
 With breakers on the lee ; 
 
 When the moon hides her waning light 
 
 And stars are lost to view. 
 And gathering rain-clouds veil the night, 
 
 In robes of blackest hue : 
 
 " Shall we not breathe a fervent prayer. 
 
 That His Almighty Power 
 " May guard the ship with constant care. 
 
 And shield us in such hour ?" 
 
 But still with curses fierce and loud, 
 
 That godless man replies. 
 And with brutal oaths, and vauntings proud. 
 
 And scornful blasphemies. 
 
 Then from the black abyss* below 
 
 Uprose a phantom form. 
 And waved to the curl-cloud gathering slow, 
 
 And summoned the rising storm. 
 
 Right overhead the waterspout 
 
 Burst full on that fated boat. 
 With a cyclone blast, that whirled her about 
 
 Like a leaf on the waters afloat ; 
 
 *KnoAvn as the Black Pit.
 
 THE BELLS OF BOTTREUX. 89 
 
 Aiid a peal from heaven's own arsenal 
 
 Was heard as the bark went down, 
 Like the warning angel's trumpet call 
 
 To haughty Babylon. 
 
 Down went that bark with her hapless crew, 
 
 And her freight of silver bells, 
 Which ne'er shall be rung from the heights of Bottreux, 
 
 On the tide as it falls and swells. 
 
 But a broken spar to the Pilot's aid 
 
 Was sent by some friendly hand, 
 Or that God to whom he trusted and prayed. 
 
 And he drifted safe to land. 
 
 And still when the storm rages high overhead, 
 
 Those bells with measured toll, 
 Send a warning voice from their ocean bed, 
 
 Far away on the billows roll. 
 
 And the helmsman who hears those solemn tolls. 
 
 Will put his helm a-lee. 
 And breathe a prayer for the guilty souls 
 
 That are sunk in the deep, deep sea.
 
 90 
 
 THE ROSES OF TOWTON MOOR: 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 At/xa poSov TiKTU VL(f)doe's 8e rad dvOc-jua XevKa. 
 
 The battle of Towton Moor between the Parties of York and Lancaster, the 
 former headed by King Edward IV., the latter by King Henry VI., was 
 fought on Palm Sunday, A.D. 1-161, and ended with the utter defeat of the 
 Lancastrians. While these were advancing to the charge at the onset, a 
 violent snow-storm, driving full in their faces, blinded the Archers, and 
 rendered useless their discharge of arrows against their opponents. These, 
 following up their first advantage, drove the Lancastrian army before them 
 after an obstinate contest of nine hours' duration. The victorious Yorkists 
 gave no quarter during the disastrous retreat, and it is said that 36,000 souls 
 perished on this bloody field. Tlie plain of Towton Moor to this day is 
 covered with wild roses, red and white, which spring up every season, and are 
 said to be ineradicable from the soil, but refuse to take root elsewhere. 
 
 Oh the red, and the white Rose, as all the kingdom knows 
 Were emblems of the foes in a sad and cruel work — 
 When old England's noblest blood was poured out in a flood 
 To quench the burning feud of Lancaster and York. 
 
 For then the rival Roses worn by the rival Houses 
 This poor distracted nation into rage and frenzy drove, ' 
 Tore the children from the mother, tore the sister from the 
 
 brother. 
 And the broken hearted lover from the lady of his love. 
 
 When the Percys, Veres, and Nevilles, left their castle halls 
 
 and revels 
 To rush like raging devils, into the deadly fight 
 And loyalty and reason were confounded by the treason 
 That cast into a prison the King of y ester night.
 
 THE ROSES OF TOWTON MOOR. 91 
 
 Oh the red and the white Rose upon Towton Moor it grows, 
 And red and white it blows upon that swartli for ever-more ; 
 In memorial of the slaughter when the red blood ran like 
 
 water, 
 And the victors gave no quarter in the flight from Towton 
 
 Moor. 
 
 When the banners gay were beaming and the steel cuirasses 
 
 gleaming, 
 And the martial music streaming o'er that wide and lonely 
 
 heath, 
 And many a heart was beating that dreamed not of retreating 
 Which ere the sun was setting, lay still and cold in death. 
 
 When the snow that fell at morning lay as a type and warn- 
 ing . 
 All stained and streaked with crimson like the roses white 
 
 and red, 
 And filled each thirsty furrow with its token of the sorrow 
 That wailed for many a morrow in the mansions of the dead. 
 
 Now for twice two hundred years when the month of March 
 
 appears 
 All vinchecked by plough or shears spring the roses red and 
 
 white. 
 Nor can the hand of mortal close the subterranean portal 
 That gives to life immortal these emblems of the fight. 
 
 And as if they were enchanted not a flower may be trans- 
 planted 
 From those fatal precincts haunted by the spirits of the slain, 
 For howe'er the root you cherish it shall fade away and perish 
 When removed beyond the marish of Towton's gory plain. 
 
 But old Britannia now wears a rose upon her brow 
 That blushing still doth glow like the Queen of all her race. 
 The Rose that blooms Victorious and ever bright and glorious 
 Shall r-ontinue to reign o'er us in her mercy, love, and grace. 
 
 I8r)8.
 
 92 
 
 FIAT LUX. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MY DEAR FRIEND LORD WILLOUGHBY 
 
 DE ERESBY AFTER THE OPERATION OF COUCHING 
 
 FOR CATARACT. 
 
 " Let there be light" the Eternal Word 
 
 At earth's creation spoke, 
 Primreval night submissive heard, 
 
 And light through Chaos broke. 
 
 And all the Heavenly Host on high 
 
 God's angel ministers, 
 Loud anthems sang in harmony 
 
 With musick of the spheres. 
 
 And from the watery waste below 
 
 The mist of darkness cleared, 
 Before that Word retiring slow 
 
 As the }oung earth appeared. 
 
 Pleased at the new and glorious sight 
 
 The great Creator stood, 
 Divided darkness from the light 
 
 And saw tiiat it was good. 
 
 And still we see each changing moon 
 Her change of seasons bring, 
 
 Each night's repose succeed to noon. 
 Each winter lead to spring;
 
 FIAT LUX. 93 
 
 And still we bless the glorious light 
 Offspring of Heaven first-born, 
 
 And hail with joy the promise bright 
 Of each returning morn. 
 
 Then oh ! how sad the lot of him 
 Blind wanderer on his way, 
 
 Whose visual orb suffused and dim 
 Denies its wonted ray. 
 
 To whom each day as night is dark, 
 And each fair prospect hid, 
 
 And at one entrance every spark 
 Of knowledge quite forbid. 
 
 Yet men have lived of ancient date, 
 To whom the Muse hath given 
 
 Such visions in their eyeless state 
 As seem sent down from Heaven. 
 
 Thus Homer sang of gods and men, 
 
 And Milton spirit-fired 
 Soared into heights beyond the ken 
 
 Of mortal uninspired. 
 
 And Willoughby perchance to thee 
 
 Some inward radiance shone 
 Of power to chase the world's ennui. 
 
 And check the rising groan ; 
 
 Such consolation sure was thine 
 In those long hours of night, 
 
 Which Hope and Patience — maids divine 
 Cheered in their tardy flight.
 
 94 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Thine were the steady heart and eye 
 
 The scutcheon without stain, 
 Borne by the brave Lord Willoughby 
 
 In wars of swarthy Spain. 
 
 And sure they stood thee in good stead 
 
 Of youth's forgotten glow, 
 When fourscore years their snows had shed 
 
 Upon thy silvered brow : 
 
 For when the hour of trial came, 
 
 That steady heart and eye 
 Unflinching still remained the same 
 
 While friends stood trembling by. 
 
 " Let there be light" the artist spoke 
 
 And at his magic word 
 The light once more through shadows broke 
 
 On Eresby's patient Lord. 
 
 Jamiary, 1865. 
 
 <^ A\A r\ 7
 
 95 
 
 LE DIMANCHE A PARIS. 
 
 (dialogue.) 
 
 Demain c 'est le Dimanclie ! oh what a day of fun ' 
 Of all de days in all de week, dis beat dem every one : 
 • II y aura cent et mille choses, for us to go and see, 
 You'and our cousin Hippolyte, et la chere Amelie. 
 
 Dese stupides Anglais go to Church, but we'll to our Cafe, 
 And smoke cigars till twelve o'clock and eat our dejeuner. 
 Den jump into an omnibus, for at Versailles you know 
 Dey run de race of Derby, and dey make le jeu des eaux. 
 
 And den by de chemin de fer which drop us at St. Cloud, 
 We take our petite promenade b^' couples, two and two, 
 And at la Folie d' Asnieres we finish de soiree, 
 And dance and sing and drink and flirt until de break of day." 
 
 " Ah mon Ami, dis cannot be — have you not heard de news, 
 How two balloons are going up pour monter aux cieux, 
 De one is from de Champ de Mars vid honnete Mr. Green; 
 De oder from de Hippodrome vid Madame Celestine." 
 
 "■ Bah les ballons ! toujours de meme, deja e'en est assez — 
 I wish Sir Green shall break his neck — le vil perfide Anglais — 
 Viens je te prie mon cher Ami, pour voir jaillir les eaux, 
 Et sur la plaine de Satory, la course des chevaux." 
 
 " Ah quelle opiniatrete ! sachez que le ballon 
 Qui va partir du Champ de Mars, vill not go up alone — 
 But brave Sir Green de sa machine suspendu dans les airs. 
 Will derc be seen with Madame Green, all in a coach and pair. 
 
 And on de dickey dere will be a flunkey and a maid. 
 And a postboy on de horses' back in jockey boots arrayed, 
 And dus de equipage will fly to Meudon or Marly, 
 And den drive back along de road pour souper a Paris.
 
 f>G ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 But if too gi'eat shall be de weight of llunkey and of maid, 
 Or if by jockey and bis horse do voj-age be delayed, 
 Sir Green is so deteruiine'd de ne manquer k son bat 
 Dat he shall let dem one by one tomber en parachute." 
 
 " Ah mon Ami ! que dis tu Iji ^ oh sacrebleu, diable I 
 Ah quil est drole ce joli Green, mais c'est inconcevable I 
 Tiens (;a I men cher, demain we go unto de Ciiamp de Mars, 
 Pour voir la famille Green monter en voyage to de stars." 
 
 The Sabbath morn ai'rives at last and bright the sun looks 
 
 down 
 Thro' an atmosphere serene and clear upon the sparkling town 
 But few he sees on bended knees a Christian's faith declare, 
 And few that seek the house of God in penitence and prayer. 
 
 For crowding down each avenue and promenade, and street, 
 There moves along a countless throng to see this wondrous 
 
 feat, 
 And there among the first arrived upon the dusty quay 
 Were Jean Bourgeois and Hippolyte et la chere Amelie. 
 
 And there they stand with visage tanned and bearded to 
 
 the eyes 
 On tiptoe raised around to gaze on water, earth, and skies, 
 AVhen a voice was heard " Que cherche t'on — le ballon est 
 
 creve' — 
 Parti dans cinq ou six pieces— enfin — all blown away." 
 
 " Ah I maudite soit la poussierc, et maudit Mister Green, 
 Soient maudits tons les vils Anglais, et Madame Celestine I 
 Oh ! dam, nous avons perdu tcute cette belle journee, 
 Pour voir one horse and carriage, et la machine ruinee. 
 
 June iMi.
 
 97 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Sometimes in summer hours are seen 
 
 Light clouds by viewless currents driven 
 To glance athwart the blue serene, 
 
 And vanish in the sun-lit heaven ; 
 Or at the tranquil close of day 
 In starry twilight meteors play 
 
 Sure heralds of the coming storm, 
 Whose wakened wrath and wild career 
 Smite nations with unwonted fear. 
 
 And ravage Nature's form. 
 
 From Carmel thus a darkening hand 
 
 Elijah saw above the main, 
 Which o'er Samaria's thirsting land 
 
 Wide-spreading poured a mighty rain, 
 Ere her polluted king his door 
 Regained in Jezreel, when before 
 
 His fervid wheels the Prophet trod, 
 And conscious Israel's streaming eyes 
 Bewailing past idolatries 
 
 Repentant turned to God. 
 
 Thus too in gayest hours will pass 
 
 A sad and strange presentiment, 
 And shadowed on the mental glass 
 
 In turbid visions will be blent 
 Imaginings of woe unknown 
 With dreamy indistinctness shewn ; 
 
 Which yet with bitterness alloy 
 The wine cup mantling on the lips, 
 And cast a damj) and drear eclipse 
 
 On scenes of light and jo}'.
 
 i)8 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Call it not vain — in you fail' form 
 
 What treachery lurks, what falsehood speaks, 
 The lio-htnini^s of a distant storm 
 
 Flash ill those eyes, and tinge those cheeks ! 
 Around, what dire diseases wait 
 The secret ministers of fate, 
 
 While Death triumphant over all 
 In gloomj^ solitude enthroned 
 Spreads o'er the dim horizon round 
 
 His universal pall. 
 
 Be hushed rash moralist ! foibear 
 Th^'self to sharpen passion's sting. 
 
 Nor blast with wintry presage drear 
 The raptures of the blooming spring ! 
 
 Enough for thee unstained to go 
 
 Through realms of pleasure, pain, or woe. 
 Enough to fix thy wavering faith, 
 
 Resigning thee to Him on high 
 
 Who robbed the grave of victory 
 
 And took the sting from Death. 
 
 1830.
 
 99 
 
 THE MORN OF PARTING. 
 
 SHEERNESS. 
 
 My sailor boy i lie still and sleep 
 
 Nor thus uneasy start, 
 Enough for me to wake and weep 
 
 The hour that Lids ns part. 
 
 Tlie morning gun its heavy knell 
 
 Hath rolled aci'oss the bay, 
 Sad to these ears the neighbouring bell 
 
 Proclaims the dawning day ; 
 
 Lie still and sleep, my sailor boy ? 
 
 The time approaches nigh. 
 When thou no longer shalt enjoy 
 
 A bed's calm luxury. 
 
 The wave shall rock thy slumber soon, 
 
 The cot thy cradle be, 
 And shrilly piping winds attune 
 
 The requiem of the sea. 
 
 Strange forms shall cross thy nightly rest, 
 Stranu'e sounds assail thine car, 
 
 And scare thee from thy pendent nest 
 Albeit unused to fear. 
 
 And many a moon shall wax and wane, 
 
 And many a tempest roar, 
 Ere thou and I may meet again. 
 
 On this thy native shore.
 
 100 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 If God indeed permit tbat day 
 
 Of meeting to arrive, 
 And guide thee home a stripling gay 
 
 To find thy sire alive. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell what chance and change 
 Three long long years may bring, 
 
 Or who may dare thus far to range 
 On Hope's Icarian wing ? 
 
 The wasting pangs of tierce disease 
 
 I'he battle or the storm 
 May quench the mightiest energies 
 
 May blight the fairest form. • 
 
 Full oft when wintry tempests drive 
 
 The scud athwart the sky. 
 And heaving ocean seems to strive 
 
 In restless agony. 
 
 When the moon hides her waning light. 
 
 And stars are lost to view, 
 And gathering rain-clouds veil the night 
 
 In robes of blackest hue ; 
 
 The hearts of oak that plough the sea 
 Shall then my thoughts employ, 
 
 And then I'll breathe a prayer for thee 
 My gallant sailor boy. 
 
 July, 1839.
 
 101 
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE. 
 
 I mark the shadow's dense of even 
 
 Obscure the sinking sun, 
 While slowly o'er the western heaven 
 
 Night spreads her mantle dun. 
 
 Yet one unlooked i'or sunbeam darts 
 Its light athwait the gloom, 
 
 Like the last grace that death imparts 
 To Beauty's faded bloom. 
 
 So Woman's smile *the close can cheer 
 
 Of Sorrow's darkened day 
 So gild the clouds of doubt and fear 
 
 With Hope's inspiring ray. 
 
 I climbed the mountain's top-most crag 
 
 I trode the wasted heath, 
 And felt my weary foot-steps flag 
 
 The fiery sun beneath ; 
 
 One spot there was of liveliest green 
 
 To glad the wanderer's heart, 
 Where purest rills of diamond sheen 
 
 From caverned sources start. 
 
 'Tis Life — that scathed and blighted ground 
 
 Where man is doomed to rove, 
 The Fount that scatters freshness round 
 
 That Fount is Woman's love.
 
 102 
 
 PARODY FROM WITCHES' MASQUE. 
 By Ben Johnson. 
 
 MASQUE OF SPECIAL CONSTABLES. 
 
 April lOt/i, 1846. 
 
 1st Special. 
 
 I have been all day looking a'ter 
 
 A ruffian bawling for tlie Charter 
 
 And soon as he stopped to quench his drowth 
 
 I snatched the porter pot out of his mouth. 
 
 2nd Special. 
 
 And I have witnessed Fergus' fears, 
 Macdoweii's froth, and Jones's tears, 
 The damning of Lord John Russell's eyes 
 And all since the Chartists swore they'd rise. 
 
 8rd Special. 
 
 I last night lay all alone 
 
 I'the streets to hear the tradesmen groan ; 
 
 I plucked them up though their hearts were low 
 
 And told them the meeting would bj no go. 
 
 4th Special. 
 
 I have been shivering cold and dull 
 In a damp churchj'ard of Specials full 
 With pe'M-s of the realm and doughty cits. 
 Who bothered the sexton out of his wits. 
 
 5th Special. 
 
 Under an entry I did creep 
 
 And found a Policeman fast asleep — 
 
 For a week he never had changed his clothes 
 
 And he'd got a black eye and a bloody nose.
 
 PARODY FROM WITCHES' MASQUE, 103 
 
 WITCHES' MASQUE. 
 
 1st Witch. 
 
 I have been all day looking after 
 
 A raven feeding on a quarter — 
 
 And soon as slie turned her beak to the south 
 
 I snatched this morsel out of her mouth. 
 
 2nd Witch. 
 
 I have been gathering wolves' hairs, 
 The mad dog's foam, and the adder's ears, 
 The spurging of a dead man's eyes 
 And all since the midnight star did rise. 
 
 8rd Witch. 
 
 I last night lay all alone 
 On the ground to hear the mandrake groan — 
 I plucked him up though he lay full low 
 And as I had done the cock did crow. 
 
 4th Witch. 
 
 I ha' been choosing out this scull 
 From charnel houses that were full, 
 From private grots and publick pits, 
 And frightened a sexton out of his wits. 
 
 o 
 
 5th Witch. 
 
 Under a cradle I did creep 
 By day, and when the child was asleep 
 By night I sucked its breath, and rose 
 And plucked the nodding nurse by th' nose.
 
 104 odes and occasional pieces. 
 
 6th Special. 
 
 I had a truncheon, what did I with that ? 
 Hit an itinerant over the hat — 
 Our squad was jolly with pipes, and ale, 
 And we voted that physical force must fail. 
 
 7th Special. 
 
 A customer threatened to knock out my brains 
 So I gave him a tap with my staff for his pains — 
 His chin and his cheeks were covered with hair 
 And he looked like a French Revolutionnaire. 
 
 8th Special. 
 
 A cold in my head, and a crick in my neck, 
 
 A cough in the chest, and a pain in the back 
 
 I have been getting when wet to the skin 
 
 For it rained cats and dogs, and I mightn't stay in. 
 
 9th Special. 
 
 I have been down upon Kenniiigton Green, 
 And, though they were there, not a soldier was seen. 
 But I saw a dead cat, and some cabbages thrown, 
 And twice I was like to be struck with a stone. 
 
 10th (an M.P.) 
 
 I from the jawing of Cobden and Hume 
 Did snatch these bones to the coffee room. 
 And never went near " the House " again 
 But paraded up and down in the rain.
 
 parody from witches' masque. 105 
 
 6th Witch, 
 
 I had a dagger, what did I with that ? 
 
 Killed an infant to have its fat ; 
 
 A piper it got at a church ale, 
 
 I bade him again blow wind i' the tail. 
 
 7th Witch. 
 
 A. murderer yonder hung in chains 
 
 The sun and the wind had shrunk his veins 
 
 I bit off a sinew, I clipped his hair, 
 
 I brought off these rags that danced in the air. 
 
 8th Witch. 
 
 The scrich owl's eggs, and feathers black, 
 The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back 
 I have been getting and made of his skin 
 A purset to keep Sir Cranion in. 
 
 9th Witch. 
 
 And I ha' been plucking plants among 
 Hemlock, henbane, adder's tongue, 
 Night shade, moon-wort, libbard's banc 
 And twice by the dogs was like to be ta'en. 
 
 10th Witch. 
 
 I from the jaws of a gardener's bitch 
 Did snatch these bones, and then leaped the ditch- 
 Yet went I back to the house again 
 Killed the black cat, and here is the brain.
 
 100 ODES AND OCCASEONAL PIECES. 
 
 11 TH Special. 
 
 I went to he sworn in at Westminster Hall 
 
 With three of my sons, my nejihews, and all. 
 
 We patrolled through the streets till a quarter-past four 
 
 In squads of a dozen, what would you have more. 
 
 Enter Sir George Grey. 
 
 Yes ; I have brought to aid your force 
 
 Battalions of infantry, troops of horse, 
 
 The Life-Guards are ready at bugle's call 
 
 And the Blues have their carabines loaded with ball. 
 
 A forest of bayonets bristles nigh 
 
 With a squadron of light artillery. 
 
 So Her Majesty thanks you for service done, 
 
 And bids you rely upon me, and Lord John. 
 
 They dance and sing " God save the Queen" 
 Beating time vnth their staves.
 
 PARODY FROM WITCHES* MASQUE, 107 
 
 llTH Witch. 
 
 I went to the toad breeds under the wall 
 
 I chai'med him out, and he came at my call, 
 
 I scratched out the eyes of the owl before, 
 
 1 tore the bat's wing — what would you have more. 
 
 Enter Hecate, 
 
 Yes ! I have brought to aid your vows 
 Horned poppy, Cypress boughs, 
 The fiof tree wild that m-ows on tombs, 
 And juice that from the larch tree comes, 
 The basilisk's blood and the viper's skin, 
 And now our orgies let's begin. 
 
 5|^^
 
 108 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 The word has gone forth that he comes at last, 
 
 The soldier from duty free, 
 And many a wistful glance is cast 
 
 Eastward o'er hill and lea, 
 For seven long weary yeais are past 
 
 Since lie sailed o'er the wide lone sea. 
 
 And flags are unfurled on the mountain wind, 
 
 And voices upraised in joy, 
 And some eyes with thankful drops arc blind, 
 
 But the tears are witliout alloy, 
 From those who remember the greetings kind 
 
 They received from the fair-haired boy. 
 
 That fair-haired boy is all changed, I trow, 
 
 And inured to the woes of wai', 
 And daring is stamped ou his manly brow. 
 
 And his shoulders are deep and square, 
 And the smooth downy cheek is bearded now, 
 
 And sunburnt the flaxen hair. 
 
 For he has sailed o'er tlie ocean wide 
 And toiled with the toiling crew. 
 
 Trod Africk's desert with fearless stride, 
 And sped o'er the parched Karroo, 
 
 And breasted the swollen Keiskamma's tide 
 To the camps of the swart Zooloo.
 
 THE EETURN. 109 
 
 Where the Bushman's vsly mahgnant art 
 Blows venom with his breath, 
 
 And the naked KaiHr hurls his dart 
 Unseen iu the mountain heath, 
 
 And the forest's caverned echos start 
 At the savasre shout of death. 
 
 "O"- 
 
 Where the lion crouches iu his wrath 
 
 Dread monarch of the waste. 
 And the ostrich wheels o'er the sandy strath 
 
 With the gems-bok bounding past, 
 And pitfalls lurk in the treacherous path 
 
 Where each step may prove the last. 
 
 Here may the fell hysena lurk 
 With eyes of phosphor glare, 
 
 And serpents hang from the knotted fork 
 Of branches all scathed and bare, 
 
 Or the vulture stoop to his carrion work 
 Through the death- tainted air. 
 
 And here he built him a hut of clay. 
 
 And called it by the name 
 Of the distant towers where his kinsfolk lay 
 
 Looking far over Tyne and Team, 
 For thither the exile's thoughts would stray 
 
 When in dreams their memories came. 
 
 And onward again o'er the trackless wave 
 Hath he sailed to the torrid shore 
 
 Where the rebel Sepoys yell and rave 
 And the murderous cannon roar. 
 
 And many a grave of our soldiers brave 
 Tells its tale of sufieriu<rs o'er.
 
 110 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 These stormed the breach— these brought relief 
 
 To Delhi or Lucknow, 
 Captain and sergeant— clansman and chief 
 
 Distinctions forgotten now — 
 Their hour of triumph was bright and brief 
 
 As the death-shot that laid them low. 
 
 With them hath he fought, and pursued the foe 
 In his flight through tlic jungle dire, 
 
 When the noontide sun from his dazzling bow 
 8hot downward his shafts of fire, 
 
 And cholera poisoned the air below, 
 And lurked in the rice-field's mire. 
 
 All these hath he 'scaped, and returning from 
 
 The perils of Eastern fight, 
 He re-visits the hills which he loved to roam 
 
 In the days of his boyhood light, 
 And the cheerful hearths of his early home 
 
 With its fountains of water bright. 
 
 And he blesses the cool translucent stream, 
 And the sprightly mountain air, 
 
 And the northern sun's attempered beam 
 Instead of that Indian glare 
 
 Which but for the shield of a Power supreme 
 Had stricken its victim there. 
 
 Oh ! Father of Mercies ! e'en although 
 
 Temptations may be rife, 
 And he transgress — forgive him Thou ! 
 
 And in the battle strife 
 Avert the foeman's deadly blow 
 
 And guard his precious life. 
 
 Noc, 185L>.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE POLISH EXILE. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 To-day I wander forth alone, 
 
 The brave the virtuous mourn for me — 
 A traveller in lands unknown, 
 Far from those friends no more my own, 
 
 My Fatherland I think of thee. 
 
 On Wisla's banks of frozen sand 
 Mantling falls the winter snow, 
 
 But thus to leave thy much-loved strand 
 
 And bid adieu to Fatherland, 
 
 Fills this bursting heart with woe. 
 
 Fast and thick the bullets fly 
 
 Over this devoted head ; 
 Where I fall there must I lie, 
 Without a tear or elegy, 
 
 Without a friend to mourn the dead. 
 
 Thou alone wilt o'er me weep. 
 
 Thou perceive the fatal wound, 
 O Fatherland, and where I sleep 
 Thy tears for evermore shall steep 
 The plot of consecrated ground.
 
 112 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Son ! that hear'st my parting word, 
 
 Prove AYorthy of thy father's vow ! 
 Hear his prayer for thee outpoured, 
 Take his blessing, take his sword, 
 Be the world thy father now. 
 
 Though in vain her champions stood, . 
 
 Poland's honour ne'er shall fall. 
 All the noble, all the good, 
 Will shed for her their willing blood, 
 
 Fired at sacred duty's call. 
 
 Still a more auspicious fate 
 
 Shall cheer Sarmatia's desert plains, 
 And brighter days her sons await, 
 In freedom's cause regenerate. 
 Spite of tyrants, spite of chains. 
 
 1839.
 
 113 
 
 THE WIDOW'S LAMENT. 
 
 The battle is over on Palestine's plain, 
 Why comes not my own gallant warrior again ? 
 For each maiden hath welcomed her lover's return, 
 I only in solitude tremble and mourn. 
 
 Hath his heart proved inconstant to love and to me, 
 Hath his tongue broke his vows, hath his glance wantoned 
 • free ? 
 
 Have the fire-flashing eyes of the maids of Cashmere 
 Like a basilisk smitten my young Cavalier ? 
 
 Ah ! would it were thus, for reflection at last 
 
 To the conscience will whisper when passion is past, 
 
 And he'd turn from a stranger's embrace to the worth 
 
 That he prized in his true-hearted Maid of the North, \ 
 
 Ah ! would it were thus, for the wandering dove 
 Will return on fleet wing to the nest of his love, 
 But woe ! if the falcon hath borne him a prey 
 AH bleeding and torn to her eyrie away. 
 
 For I dreamed of my knight, where he lay in his gore 
 
 Cold, naked and lifeless on Galilee's shore, 
 
 And his last prayer was breathed, and his last thought was 
 
 given 
 To his love upon earth, to his Saviour in heaven.
 
 114 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And the vulture wheeled round on the death-tainted air, 
 And the wolf and hyrena came down from their lair, 
 And a wan ghastly light in the vision was shed, 
 By the moon rising pale o'er a field of the dead. 
 
 And cold was that heart which so often had beat 
 Responsive to mine when in rapture we met, 
 And dim were those eyes that once shone like a star, 
 And now melted in love, and now kindled in war. 
 
 Then hush thee I my baby, for never again 
 Shall thy father arise from the bed of the slain : 
 Lie still my poor heart ! lest the wild sob of grief 
 Rend my bosom in twain, and bring death for relief.
 
 116 
 
 BAMBOROUGH CASTLE. 
 
 Hail to thee sainted Bamborough I from far 
 
 IlJumining the solitary coast 
 Gleam thy revolving watch fires, when no star 
 
 Beacons the vault of heaven and tempest-tost 
 
 All hope of life the mariner hath lost; 
 Till the known signal booming from thy steep 
 
 Proclaims the sailor's guardian at his post, 
 Scares the lone sea-mew from her wave-rocked sleep, 
 And wakes the midnight echoes slumbering on the deep. 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity their holy seat 
 
 Have chosen here — a Scripture Trinity : 
 Faith with clasped hands, and supplication meet 
 
 Kneels on the beach in fervent agony, 
 
 But Hope th' enthusiast on the stormy sky 
 Waves her glad torch, and rears her radiant form 
 
 Propitious o'er the wreck, while Charity 
 Receives into her soft embrace, and warm. 
 The wretch unconscious, pale, and shivering from the storm.
 
 110 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 I think of thee when the sunshine streameth, 
 
 Bright o'er the boundinof seaj 
 And when on the rills the moonlight gleameth 
 
 I think of thee. 
 
 I see thee when o'er the sandy strath 
 Swift sweep the vernal breezes, 
 
 And when on his eerie midnight path 
 The wanderer freezes. 
 
 I hear thee when on the booming shore 
 
 The ocean waves are driven, 
 And when the dim woods shadow me o'er, 
 
 In silent even. 
 
 I am by thee and though never so far 
 
 Still, still I have thee near — 
 The sun sinks, and lo ! the Vesper star — 
 
 Would thou wert here.
 
 117 
 
 FROM CLAUDIAN (senex veronensis.) 
 
 FELIX QUI PATRIIS NUNQUAM MIGEAVIT AB AGRIS. 
 
 Happy the man whose life serene 
 
 Glides on his native farm away, 
 Whom the same humble home hath seen 
 
 A sportive child, a grand sire grey. 
 
 Propt on his staff he prints the ground 
 On which his childhood loved to crawl, 
 
 And counts each year's successive round 
 Within the self-same cottage wall. 
 
 Him Fortune in her various change 
 
 Hath ne'er allured with gorgeous dream, 
 
 Nor hath he quafied in regions strange 
 The waters of a foreign stream ; 
 
 No merchant he to dread the seas, 
 Nor soldier roused at bugle's clang, 
 
 No lawyer keen to clutch the fees 
 Earned in the forum's loud harangue. 
 
 In the world's knowledge yet untaught, > 
 Untainted by the city's leaven, 
 
 To him with purer joy is fraught 
 The aspect of his native heaven.
 
 118 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Not by the change of Consul, he 
 
 Computes the lapse of month and year, 
 
 In spring he marks the blooming tree, 
 Whose fruit matures in autumn sere. 
 
 O'er the same hill appears the sun, 
 Behind the same his chariot lowers, 
 
 Thus e'er the rustic's day is done, 
 By his own rule he counts the hours. 
 
 The lofty oaks whose shade he loves, 
 Were acorns in his earl}'' day. 
 
 And his co-temporary grows 
 
 With him who planted them decay. 
 
 Verona's city he believes 
 
 Remote as India's torrid land. 
 
 And Lake Benacus he conceives 
 
 More distant than the Caspian strand. 
 
 Three generations see him yet 
 
 With ruddy cheek and eye of fire, 
 
 His limbs robust, his sinews knit, 
 Untamed by age, a reverend Sire. 
 
 Inquisitive let others roam 
 Beyond Iberia's western skies, 
 
 His blest tranquillity at home, 
 Excels their fruitless enterprize. 
 
 1829.
 
 119 
 
 THE SAVOYARD. 
 
 A lone and friendless Savoyard far from my native home 
 With m}' mandolin and Marmozet about the town I roam 
 And though my voice may raise the song, my bosom heaves 
 
 the sigh, 
 And though my lips may seem to smile, the tear-drop fills 
 
 my eye. 
 
 I think on Savoy's sunny skies, on Savoy's sounding floods. 
 On her lakes and icy mountains, on her vines ai\d olive woods, 
 Where first I strung my mandolin and sang with childish 
 
 glee, 
 Ah, woe betide that minstrel art, it brought but woe to me. 
 
 As late I sate me down upon the stranger's threshold stone 
 A gentle voice above me said, " Rest, rest, poor wearied one" 
 And a female form appeared with an Angel's face divine. 
 Who gave me alms and strove to cheer my heart with bread 
 and wine. 
 
 And as I drank, again she spoke in my own Italian tongue, 
 And soft and sweet upon mine ear her gentle accents rung, 
 By Mavj'- and the Saints be that lovely stranger blest, 
 When I am gone, when soon I go, to everlasting rest.
 
 120 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 For bitter blows the winter wind, and chilly falls the sleet 
 As I falter with my mandolin along the icy street, 
 And my shivering little Marmozet within my bosom's fold. 
 Will creep for warmth, in vain, for ah ! my very heart is cold. 
 
 My heart is cold, but fast and high my burning temples throb, 
 Nor can my struggling bosom now repress the frequent sob, 
 Through my thin and feeble hands the languid veins 1 trace, 
 While hot and bright the hectic flush lights up my fevered 
 face. 
 
 And ever in my slumbers a voice you cannot hear, 
 My mother's voice addresses me, in whispers soft and clear, 
 And a vision of the sunny hills, and vineyards of Savoy, 
 Comes to bless the dreaming spirit of the lonely Minstrel Boy. 
 
 1830. 

 
 121 
 
 1813 AND 1841. 
 DUKE OF WELLINGTON AND MARSHAL SOULT. 
 
 " Xone of -M. Guizot's colleagues displaj'ed more spirit at the close of the 
 debate tlian the old Marshal, aud we scarcely know a more singular parallel in 
 Parliamentary History than that which the respective positions of the two 
 oldest and greatest soldiers in Europe present at this moment ; both occupying 
 the foremost line of defensive tactics against a i>etulant opposition — both con- 
 tending for the maintenance of amicable relations between the two countries, 
 whose respective armies each has led, and might again lead to the held, and 
 both devoting the unextinguishable energies of their brave and honourable lives 
 to the preservation of peace throughout the world." — T/te Times, July 7th, 1841. 
 
 Two Warriors stood on the battle plain 
 
 Engaged in the mighty shoci-: 
 That thrilled through the Gallic Tyrant's reign 
 From the broad Garonne to the winding Seine, 
 And burst the bonds of delivered Spain 
 
 On the Pj'renean rock. 
 
 The one retreated with Lion glare 
 
 Still keeping his foes at bay, 
 The other stooped down from his mountain lair, 
 With standard and oriHamme streaming fair. 
 Like the Eagle that sweeps through the realms of air 
 
 On her scattered and panting prey. 
 
 The thunders of War have ceased, and Time 
 
 Hath wrapt in his circling zone 
 The scenes of blood, and the deeds of crime 
 Which polluted each city, and soil, and clime 
 From the Pharaoh's tombs, and Nilotick slime 
 
 To the Scythian's icy throne,
 
 122 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES, 
 
 Where are those Warriors now ? no more 
 
 Opposed ill the battle's strife ? 
 Then- voices are heard like that voice of yore 
 W^liicli rebuked the siorm on Gennesaret's shore, 
 And amidst the winds' and waters' roar 
 
 Preserved the Apostles' life. 
 
 These Heroes twain of the olden war 
 
 Now bid the destroyer cease — 
 Unyoke the steeds of his iron car, 
 And looking to regions beyond the jar 
 Of furious Faction, adore the star 
 
 Of universal Peace. 
 
 ^foTE. — This subjecb wa3 suggested to me by Samuel EogeM, Esq., and the 
 verses were sent him on the following morning. R. 

 
 123 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Meu love to talk and scheme 
 
 Of happier days before them, 
 And chase the iroklen dream 
 
 Throucrh shadows darkeiiinq- o'er them ; 
 The world grows old and young again, 
 But man still hopes for better things in vain. 
 
 Hope lures the blj'thsome boy 
 And with her spell enchants him, 
 
 She fills his soul with joy 
 
 And like a spirit haunts him ; 
 
 And when the grave his brief course closes, 
 
 Upon its turf the flower of Hope reposes. 
 
 'Tis not a meteor bright 
 
 By Fancy vain engendered, 
 Nor " ignis fatuus" light 
 
 By wandering phantom tendered, 
 That which the inward voice hath spot en 
 Shall never to the trusting soul be broken. 
 
 1SG6.
 
 124 
 
 THE FOX AND THE ROSE. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 A Rose, the sweetest of the grove, 
 Tiis})irecl a youthful Fox with love. 
 Each morning the enamour'd brute, 
 At earliest dawn, commenced his suit, 
 Nor left the spot, till dewy night 
 Eclipsed the charmer from his sight.' 
 He grew quite thin upon his passion, 
 "Relinqui.shing almost the fashion 
 Tliat used to tempt him (cunning sinner) 
 To snap up goslings for his dinner. 
 To throttle fowls, and strangle turkeys, 
 Such as his biethren's nightly work is. 
 
 '• Dear Rose," he'd cry, " delicious Rose ! 
 Take ])ity on a lover's woes ! 
 Such tenderness as mine would move 
 A very stock or stone to love I 
 See with v/hat care my feather'd brush 
 Sweeps every insect from your bush ; 
 How cautiously 1 clear the ground 
 Of envious weeds that clasp you round 
 When crouching near your fragrant root 
 1 give to light each budding shoot — 
 And all unnoticed. Rose ! 'tis hard 
 To linger on without reward. 
 Grant me permission once to sip 
 The sweetness of yrnr ruby lip ; 
 T tremble when I ask the favour, 
 But answer for my good behaviour."
 
 THE FOX AND THE ROSE. 12o 
 
 The Rose replied, with some emotion, 
 " Toucli'd as I am by your devotion. 
 And Hatter'd by yonr predilections, 
 I entertain still some objections ; 
 And, as you say I've won your heart, 
 I hope you'll take them in good part. 
 First, mind I don't intend to flout ye, 
 There's something horrid slang about ye ; 
 You're handsome, that I don't deny ; 
 But then you've such a roguish eye ; 
 I can forgive your pointed nose, 
 Since it began to smell a Rose, 
 Your whiskers and your frill are neat ; 
 Your tail superb, — with pretty feet ; 
 But, as you sit, you look so cunning ! — 
 You're very graceful when you're running. 
 Besides, I must object outright 
 To wandering about at night. 
 Ah, Sir I although you flatter me, 
 You are not what you ought to be ; 
 And when I think of what you do, 
 My blush acquires a deeper hue. 
 Abroad at night you must not stir; 
 And, lastly, (you'll excuse me, Sir,) 
 Your smell is shocking, worse by far 
 Than brandy, snuff", or a cigar ; 
 You must compassionate our noses, 
 Or leave off' courting dainty Roses." 
 
 The Fox then took to his confessions ; 
 And, owning all his past transgressions, 
 With much humility declared 
 Himself, in all respects, prepared 
 T'eff'ect a thorough reformation, 
 If he might hope for consolation ; 
 Till, finally, so much repentance 
 Induced a favourable sentence.
 
 126 ODES AND OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 When Reynard found himst'lf prefcrr'd, 
 He honourably kept his word ; 
 Perfumed himh>elf till he was sweet, 
 Lived on his love, and left off meat ; 
 Would hardly touch the youngest rabbits ; 
 Abandon'd all improper habits ; 
 Walk'd out by day, by night kept quiet ; 
 And took to vesietable diet. 
 
 Merrily pass'd the summer by, 
 Autumnal winds blew keen and high, 
 And Reynard thought (ungrateful fellow 1) 
 His lovely Rose turn'd rather yellow. 
 October nights were damp and cold — 
 She certainly look'd thin and old ; 
 Till every trace of beaut}' vanish'd, 
 By desolate November banish'd. 
 
 Our gentleman was rather bored, 
 And, while he much the change deplored, 
 Sought refuge from a tete-a-tete, 
 By sleeping long and roving late ; 
 Beo-an to think it might be pleasant 
 To eat a tui^key, or a pheasant ; 
 Which, when once tasted, Lord defend us ! 
 His appetite grew quite tremendous : — 
 Chickens were delicate and tender, 
 And if he miss'd a goose or gander 
 By th' water side, 'twas dev lish luck 
 When he could not surprise a duck. 
 So terrible his devastation, 
 The neio'hb'ring farmers crii.'d — " Damnation I 
 If huntsmen won't destroy s.uch vermm, 
 Ourselves their punishment determine."
 
 THE FOX AND THE ROSE. 127 
 
 So said, so done — they strew'd his path 
 ^Yith divers instruments of wrath ; 
 Lay wait with guns, and fill'd the gaps 
 With snares and pitfalls, gins and traps ; 
 Till, to a hen-roost having watched him. 
 They shut the entrance, and despatch 'd him. 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 So, in St. James's, have I seen 
 
 A young and reckless libertine, 
 
 Abjure his former odious vices--, 
 
 His foibles, follies, and caprices ; 
 
 And seem to borrow sudden sense 
 
 From Love's delightful influence. 
 
 He pays off many an ancient score. 
 
 No longer drives a stage and four, 
 
 Nor cares what horsefr fill the stalls 
 
 At Tilbury's or Tattersall's, 
 
 Nor makes his morning lounge the stable, 
 
 Nor frets all night o'er Crockford's table. 
 
 No more he puffs tobacco smoke, 
 
 Nor spreads with glee a vulgar joke ; 
 
 Nor reels down Bond Street home to bed. 
 
 With pocket picked, and broken head. 
 
 But acts in all things witli propriety, 
 
 And takes to civilized society. 
 
 Cymon of yore, th' Athenian fool, 
 
 Such lessons learn'd in Cupid's school, 
 
 And read of arms and knightly prize 
 
 In bright Iphigenia's eyes. 
 
 But Love oft flies on Beauty's wings, 
 
 And female charms are transient things. 
 
 And still the husband should remember 
 
 That hurricanes in bleak November 
 
 May blast and wither all too soon 
 
 The lovely rose that nleased in June.
 
 128 ODES AND OCCASIONAF, I'lKCKS. 
 
 And oh ! if angry words shall sever 
 The hymeneal l)ond for ever, 
 And constanh bickerings aggravate 
 The loss of love to deadly hate,' — 
 What then remains on this lone earth, 
 But vain attempts at hollow mirth, 
 Recurrence to an idle stage 
 That cheer'd in youth, but shames in age 
 The cold delusive stage of Fashion, 
 That stimulant of jaded passion ! 
 Thence both are unresisting hurl'd 
 Within the vortex of the world, 
 And yielding to its giddy suction. 
 Are swiftly hurried to destruction. 
 
 
 1835.
 
 129 
 
 THE DOE AND THE DONKEY. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 Says the Doe to the Donkey " the use of those ears 
 
 And those dull stupid eyes puzzles me — 
 For the more we instruct you, the less it appears 
 
 Are you able to hear, or to see. 
 If you wear them for show, those preposterous ears, 
 
 Prithee come to the first Barber's shop, 
 And as soon fi,s the boy can get ready his shears. 
 
 Bid him give them a regular crop." 
 
 To the Doe says the Donkey " I am but an Ass, 
 
 And perhaps rather slow at m}^ learning, 
 And as it's my taste to eat thistles for grass 
 
 I may be at fault in discerning. 
 But a fine ear for music I certainly have 
 
 And so you my fair critic will say, 
 If you wait till I chant a melodious stave 
 
 And lift up my voice for a bray." 
 
 So he tuned up his pipes, but the Doe in dismay 
 
 Vaulted over the back of a Cow, 
 And smitten with terror ran bounding away 
 
 As fast as her feet would allow : 
 And when at a distance escaped from the noise, 
 
 She said while slie trembled with fear, 
 " Heaven save me from friends with so dreadful a voice 
 
 Who yet boast of a music al ear."
 
 SOiNNETS,
 
 SONNETS 
 
 HORATIA. 
 
 How beautiful she was — how bright — her form 
 
 Cast in a mould exact of strength and grace — 
 
 Her step how light and buoyant — and her face 
 
 Beaming with youth and gladness — but a storm 
 
 Blighted that goodly promise, and the worm 
 
 That loves to feed in secret, and abase 
 
 The choicest blossoms from their pride of place 
 
 Did creep into her bosom, and deform 
 
 A Flower more beautiful, than ever decked 
 
 The gay parterre, and sweeter than e'er cast 
 
 Its fragrance over the Saboean waste ; 
 
 And thence she 'gan to wither, and neglect 
 
 The scenes, and pleasing toil she loved of yore — 
 
 The garden and the river bank — no more 
 
 Her step is heard the woodland path along, 
 
 '^ o more her merry laugh, no more her cheerful song. 
 
 Maj/ Uth, 1846.
 
 134 SONNETS. 
 
 HORATIA. 
 
 Now on her couch she lies the livelong day 
 Attenuate, pale, exhausted, and when night 
 Draws near, too often the red fever light 
 Flushes her skin translucent, and with ray 
 Unnatural scares th' approach of sleep away ; 
 And in its stead strange waking dreams affright 
 Those liectic vigils, till the morning bright 
 Dawn in her eastern chamber, and the lay_ 
 Of twittering birds without, the breeze's sigh 
 That softly murmurs the green leaves among, 
 And all the sounds of Nature's minstrelsy 
 Entice that slumber, which the wearied eye 
 And wearied brain can scarce refuse, so long 
 Denied to nightly supplication, now 
 Relieved awhile from Fever's inward glow 
 She thankfully reposes, till the sun 
 Throuc^h half the heaven his daily course hath run. 
 
 May 16th, 184G.
 
 SONNETS. 13." 
 
 HORATIA. 
 
 A few short weeks are past, and in the grave 
 
 All that was mortal of that fair young Maid 
 
 To rest from earthly suffering is laid : 
 
 And though some natural yearnings we may have 
 
 For one so loved and cherished, though we crave 
 
 Again to see her as she was, arrayed 
 
 In strength and beauty, such vain thoughts are stayed 
 
 By reason and religion, and the aid 
 
 Of Him who taketli back the gifts He gave. 
 
 For peaceful was her end, assured in Faith, 
 
 And all inspired with Charity and Hope — 
 
 Before her parting spirit Heaven did ope 
 
 The gate eternal, and her ])arting breath 
 
 Spoke for our comfort sweetest words of love — 
 
 I go, she cried, 1 go to bliss .above 
 
 No doubts disturb, no pain attends my death — 
 
 With joy I tread that dark but easy road, 
 
 My blessing rests with you, my soul ascends to God. 
 
 June !()//(, 184(;.
 
 -10 SONNETS, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF GRACE DARLING. 
 
 Grace by the grace of God an angel now, 
 
 Northumbria's Darling, both in deed and name ! 
 
 Hath then the stroke of fate at length laid low 
 
 The maiden pride of that heroic brow 
 
 Which not the tempest's wrath nor lightning's flame, 
 
 Nor roaring surge, nor Death's near glance could tame. 
 
 Thy mortal part now moulders in the grave, 
 
 But ever to the Throne of Mercy rise 
 
 In concert with the hoarse resounding wave 
 
 The prayers of solemn voices, and the sighs 
 
 From thousand hearts united by the ties 
 
 Of universal charity which plead 
 
 Thy recompense in Heaven for one blest deed, 
 
 Whose memory fills all space and mounts the skies 
 
 Like incense from a burninsf sacrifice. 
 
 'to 
 
 October, 1843.
 
 SONNETS. 1S7 
 
 ABDUL AZIZ. 
 
 " MORS SOLA FATETUE 
 QUANTULA SINT HOMINUM CORPUSCULA." 
 
 The fiat has gone forth — the mighty Lord 
 Of countless millions must perforce obey — 
 And he, before whose glance but yesterday 
 One heedless gesture, one unthinking word 
 Had doomed the throat to scymitar or cord 
 Of Prince, or Vizier, Hospodar, or Bey, 
 Now lies a bleeding lump of senseless clay ; 
 No longer flattered, dreaded, and adored, 
 But a cold naked carcase, all exposed 
 To gaze of Doctors, summoned to decide 
 What death an Oriental Sultan died 1 
 Whether the common death of Kings deposed, 
 Whose part upon the stage of life is closed, 
 Or, by his own despairing hrnd, a Suicide,
 
 iSvS SONNETS. 
 
 CHISWICK GARDENS. 
 
 Four jMonarcbs on the throne these eyes have seen. 
 
 From the third George's grey and sightless face, 
 
 To a fair offspring of liis royal race, 
 
 Grandsons and Daughters of our peerless Queen, 
 
 (Fifth generation on this changing scene), 
 
 Who stand like Cherubims about the place 
 
 Hallowed by wedded love and youthful grace, 
 
 And genial courtesies and princely mien. 
 
 Touched by such picture I could well exclaim, 
 
 Now let thy servant part in peace, Lord ! 
 
 While here no envious chjud can rest, nor blame 
 
 Mar the bright pageantry of such fair fame, 
 
 With chill and blighting breatli, luit vows outpoured 
 
 From hearts that throb with loyalty, record 
 
 What blessino-s to the land are promised and restored. 
 
 Julji ^:ith, 1875.
 
 SuNNliTS. 139 
 
 T O W A T E R . 
 
 ApLCTTOV jJiko vbo)f). 
 
 Purest of elements, Water, thee 
 
 The Muse of Findar hath imagined best, 
 
 Whether in torrents from the mountain crest. 
 
 Fed by the clouds thou tumblest plenteously, 
 
 Or rolling onwards to thy parent sea, 
 
 By many a fertile vale in verdure drest, 
 
 Thou minglest sweet and salt in some smooth bay, 
 
 Where Amphitrite ploughs her watery way, 
 
 And Tritons with the Naiads sport and play. 
 
 Such were thy glories, crystal Element, 
 
 When this green earth was young; but now since trade 
 
 Hath overrun the land, we see thee pent 
 
 In pipe and noisome sewer, and conveyed 
 
 Through stagnant reservoir or ci.-.tern, blent 
 
 With drugs and dyes most foul and pestilent, 
 
 Black, yellow, green, half sulphur, soot or lead. 
 
 Poisoning the ambient air, thyself a poison made.
 
 140 SONNETS. 
 
 POMFEET CASTLE. 
 
 Pomfret ! thy ruined towers and wasted halls, 
 
 Heaped on their mouldering rampart, still look down 
 On all the adjacent plain and subject town, 
 
 As from a kingly seat ; thy blood-stained walls — 
 
 All shattered by the avenger's cannon-balls — 
 
 With weed and liquorice plant are now o'ergrown. — 
 Not undeserved thy doom : each crumbling stone 
 
 Tells its own hideous tale ; yon vault which falls 
 Piecemeal, once rang with accents of despair 
 From lips of Rivers, Grey, and Lancaster ; — 
 
 And here th' nssassin lurked, vrhen doleful cries, 
 Startling the echos of that murky air. 
 
 Proclaimed what dire and poignant agonies 
 
 A captive King endured when slaughtered there — 
 
 Whose crown and realm became his Royal Murderer's prize. 
 
 Dec, 1864.
 
 SONNETS. 141 
 
 ON HER MAJESTY'S PRESERVATION FROM THE 
 PISTOL OF A VILE ASSASSIN. 
 
 A King in courage, though by sex a Queen 
 Our lion-hearted Monarch in her state 
 And royal bearing calm, might well await 
 With cheek unblenched and with unaltered mien, 
 In faith assured and confidence serene, 
 Th' assassin's meditated stroke of late 
 Conceived in malice, cruelty, and hate ; 
 Feeling through all her innocent life^ between 
 The cradle and the Throne, that God's high Power 
 Around the brave, the righteous, and the just, 
 His broad protection throws from hour to hour — 
 Chief may the Lord's Anointed found her trust 
 On that strong Rock, and adamantine Tower, 
 When adverse Fortune frowns and tempests lower, 
 And even Kings may own they are but dust. 
 
 June, 1842.
 
 142 SONNETS. 
 
 TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF NORTHUMBER- 
 LAND IN THE FLY-LEAF OF HER ALBUM. 
 
 Star of the North ! where'ei- thy gracious beam 
 Doth light, on mountain hoar, or feudal tower, 
 Or cottage hearth, or Stanwick's modest bower, 
 Or Keildar's shadowy strath of mist and gleam. 
 From its pure firmament it still doth seem 
 A mild benignant influence to shower, 
 Making the hall more gay, more sweet the flower, 
 More glad the cottage, and more bright the stream. 
 
 Shine on fair star ! beside thy crescent moon 1 
 Still light the weary traveller on his wa,y, 
 That seeing thee, his thoughts may flow in tune 
 With all things good and gentle, while thy ray 
 Serenely clear, doth change his night to noon, 
 Making that night less lonely than the day. 
 
 Febntan/, 1851
 
 SONNETS. 143 
 
 01^ THE DISTANT VIEW OF CHEVIOT IN HIS 
 WINTRY GARB. 
 
 The ground on which I stand is dirt and mire 
 
 All foul and drenched with rain, but towering high 
 
 In the far radiance of the western sky 
 
 The snowy dome of Cheviot tipt with fire 
 
 Glows like the Seraph's gate in Eden, higher 
 
 To mortal seeming, than th' ambitions eye 
 
 Can dare to measure, or man's footstep try, 
 
 Though to the stars his yearning may aspire. 
 
 So from the conflict of life's weary war 
 
 With sin and sorrow, may the eye of Faith 
 
 Discern the mansions of the Blest afar. 
 
 Which shed a lustre like the Planet Star, 
 
 That warned the Shepherds upon Bethlehem's heath, 
 
 What hour the Babe divine first drew his natal breath.
 
 141 SONNKTS. 
 
 I. 
 
 UPON MY DAUGHTER FLORENTIA.'S DANGEROUS 
 SICKNESS AND PROVIDENTIAL RECOVERY. 
 
 As some fair flower new-risen from the ground 
 
 Expands his petals to the Solar beam 
 
 And that which late a withered root did seem 
 
 Now sheds a lively grace and sweetness round, 
 
 So from that couch where dire disease had drowned 
 
 All sense and intellect, the Hand Supreme 
 
 Hath reared a livinof Angel from the dream 
 
 Of Death, which over her so long had frowned. 
 
 Adore Him, then, fair Angel ! let the blaze 
 
 Of holy incense on His altar shine ! 
 
 Pour forth the song of gratitude and praise 
 
 For wondrous mercy dealt to thee and thine. 
 
 Since unto Him it seemeth good to raise 
 
 The living from the dead by Grace Divine. 
 
 December 12th, 1840,
 
 SONNETS. 14. J 
 
 IT. 
 
 r ON THE SAME. 
 
 Full thirty daj^s and nights my darling hi}^ 
 
 Bereft of speech and sense, while ebbing life 
 
 Still hardly could maintain a dubious strife 
 
 With the fierce foe that seized her for his prey — 
 
 .Yet now she wakens to the light of day, 
 
 And after such long trance begins to smile, 
 
 Recurs to things for^'otten for a while, 
 
 And frames her mouth to speak, her thoughts to pray. 
 
 While such a light illumes her radiant eyes 
 
 And plays upon her cheeks, and marble brow, 
 
 As if the Angels in her agonies 
 
 Had rapt her from this being vile and low 
 
 To commune with blest spirits in the skies, 
 
 Then brought her back to earth more pure tlian virgin snow 
 
 December 12tk.
 
 146 SONNETS. 
 
 III. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 My Child hath surely had a glimpse of Heaven 
 A more than mortal lustre gilds her face, 
 And in each word and action you may ti'ace 
 A tenderness untainted by earth's leaven 
 Such as may well belong to souls forgiven, 
 That walk in glory Eternal by the grace 
 Of Him who died for Adam's guilty race, 
 And offers us a like reward, when shriven 
 From all our mortal frailties — such a ray 
 Flashed from the brow of Moses, when he came 
 Forth from the visible Presence, on his way 
 From Horeb with the Tables, to proclaim 
 The Laws he bore to Israel's array, 
 Graved on the stone in characters of flame, 
 
 December l-^th.
 
 SONNETS. 1 4-"i 
 
 IV. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 Still to my mind recurs that awful night 
 
 Wheu the vexed spirit of the tempest rolled 
 
 The war of elements o'er crag and wold 
 
 Shaking the forest, and the Northern Light 
 
 Shot from tiie Polar realm its streamers bright ; 
 
 There lay my darling, pale, unconscious, cold, 
 
 As corpse about to mix with kindred mould. 
 
 And that grim King who mocks at mortal might 
 
 Shook o'er her prostrate form his fatal dart, 
 
 Shook but delayed tor strike — the Saviour mild 
 
 Triumphant over death, when human art 
 
 Availed not, to our prayers benignant smiled,, 
 
 Poured balm into a parent's bleeding heart, 
 
 Stretched forth his hand, and saved our suffering child. 
 
 December \5th.
 
 14>S SONNETS. 
 
 V. 
 
 ON THE SA.ME. 
 
 Omens of evil, sentences of gloom 
 
 Met me abroad, and when I turned the leaf 
 
 Of Holy Volume to assuage my grief — 
 
 All spoke of Death — and Death indeed hath come 
 
 *And borne away one victim to the tomb — 
 
 But one the t^Tant spared — yea even He 
 
 Inexorable Death, was moved to see 
 
 So fair a blossom in her early bloom 
 
 Nipt by the winter frost before her prime — 
 
 His shadow fell athwart her, but the flower 
 
 Though sorely crushed and blighted for a time 
 
 Again shall flourish in the vernal hour 
 
 Transplanted to a warm and genial clime, 
 
 And charm th' admirer's gaze, and deck th' Idalian bovver. 
 
 December I8t/t. 
 
 *NoXE. — Her waiting maid was canie'l off )>y the saiiir ]'"ever, after an 
 apparent convaltjf^cfiice.
 
 SONNEThi, 349 
 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 I had a dream, which was not all a dream ; 
 
 Methouo-ht a ccorfxeous fabric from the earth 
 
 Rose like an exhalation, at whose birth 
 
 The dark and lurid atmosphere did seem 
 
 All charged with nitrous cloud, and a red stream 
 
 Like blood from the foundation stone welled forth, 
 
 While peals of thunder drowned all thought of mirth, 
 
 With clang of trumpets mingled, and the scream 
 
 Of voices raised in triumph or in woe. 
 
 Sudden all vanished, and a blackened scroll 
 
 Wav'd o'er a heap of ruins — tow'rs laid low 
 
 'Mid broken columns and beams charred to coal. 
 
 On which was writ in characters of flame, 
 
 " Here late the temple stood of Military Fame." 
 
 iSe/jt. (\th, 1870.
 
 150 
 
 HON NETS, 
 
 ON A PASSING VIEW OF KIELDAR CASTLE. 
 
 Kieldar ! thy towers lialf hid in sombre wood 
 
 O'ertopped by banks of fern and purple heath, 
 
 Thy brawling brooks that in the glen beneath 
 
 Mingle with infant Tyne their mossy flood, 
 
 Awaken thon^hts in me scarce understood 
 
 By the gay bustling crowds who draw their breath 
 
 In the thronged town — alas I ye speak of death. 
 
 For here the shade of Algernon the Good, 
 
 Lord of this lonely wilderness, still seems 
 
 To linger, as in happier days of yore, 
 
 About these bosky dells and winding streams. 
 
 And gladden with his aspect all the moor 
 
 Late sparkling in the sunshine's golden gleams, 
 
 Now veiled in mist, and bathed with sympathetic shower.
 
 CHARADES.
 
 CHARADES. 
 
 I. 
 
 My First is the foe of the .Imniaii race, 
 
 Since the day that our parents fell 
 From their innocent state and their holy place, 
 
 Seduced by the wiles of Hell. 
 And it still forms the part of each wayward heart 
 
 That consigns the soul to death, 
 And entangles the path of each child of wrath, 
 
 And renounces the .Saviour's faith. 
 
 My Next was a city of ancient might, 
 
 Whose monarch and people died 
 When Joshua smote the Amorite, 
 
 And trampled on Canaan's pride : 
 But not till Israel's camp had first 
 
 Been purged of the traitor's blood, 
 Whose coveted spoil and wliose deed accurst 
 
 Had kindled the wrath of God. 
 
 My Whole is that place where the Lord of heaven 
 
 By the children of Judah was heard 
 Amid thunders, and earthquakes, and flashing levin, 
 
 To proclaim His awful word. 
 That word which would banish my first from the earth, 
 
 But that erring mortals still 
 Are swayed by the Fiend who gave it birth, 
 
 To oppose th' Almighty's will.
 
 154 
 
 CHAHADfiS. 
 
 n. 
 
 Toll ye the solemn knell 
 
 The sacred minstrels call I 
 And chant my First for the brave who fell 
 In tight with the turbaned Infidel 
 
 Beneath my Second's wall. 
 
 In mingled heaps they lie, 
 
 The Christian and the Turk : 
 
 And loud and long the battle cry 
 
 Of rage and anguish rent the sky, 
 
 For n:y Whole was the word ere victory 
 
 Completed her bloody work.
 
 CHAKADES. IM 
 
 III. 
 
 My First hath trodden the Lapland shore 
 
 And ridden the viewless blast 
 Hath conversed with the page of forbidden loi-e 
 And swept through the storm on the wild wave's roar, 
 And shadowed the moon's pale planet o'er 
 
 With the spells about her cast. 
 
 The scope of m}^ Second describe who can 
 
 For jierchance it exceeds thine own — 
 Nay it bafties what even itself began, 
 And it sharpens the wits of the artisan, 
 And devises the subtle statesman's plan, 
 And sits by the kingl}'' throne. 
 
 No token of grace no saintly prayer 
 
 Can avail for the guilt of my Whole : 
 But the flambeau's tlame and the faggot's glare, 
 On their dull I'ed wreaths of smoke shall bear 
 To the Fiend who sits in the dusky air 
 His shrieking victim's soul.
 
 15(j fUAUAUKS.. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Go to my First youug Heio go ! 
 
 Nor pause in thy bold career — 
 For a charmed life in the battle strife 
 
 Thou bearest and still shalt bear. 
 Though the blood of the slain .^hall empuiple the plain 
 
 And thousands be.side thee fall, 
 The steel and the shot shall injure thee not, 
 
 Nor the tlnmderiua' cannon ball. 
 
 Go forth the arbiter of Fate ! 
 
 But still on thy dauntless breast, 
 My Next thou must wear as a talisman there 
 
 From the Avoman who loves thee best — 
 For misfortune shall frown on thy kingdom and crown, 
 
 And a gloom overshadow the hour, 
 When her liond f-hall be broke by the glittering yoke 
 
 Oi' a Royal ])aramour. 
 
 So spake my Whole as his gifted eye 
 
 Glanced over the horoscope. 
 Whereon was Vvritten the de>-tinv 
 
 Of Gallia's scourge arid hope ; 
 And oft wdien his star had set in the main 
 
 And his eagle had soiled her plume, 
 Napoleon mused on the mystic strain 
 
 That fori'shadowed his futui-e doom.
 
 CHARADES, 
 
 157 
 
 V. 
 
 Blow swiftly, blow swiftly tliou fresh'ning breeze 
 
 Flow onward thou shining river, 
 And ever my First shall keep pace with these 
 
 To their greetings responsive ever. 
 
 And softly my Next from the starry skies 
 
 Sink down to the teeming earth, 
 On the wings of the morning again thou'lt rise 
 
 To the regions that gave thee birth ; 
 
 But far be my Whole from the land that I love 
 
 And far from my lady's bower, 
 For there's blight in the breath of the blasts above, 
 And it withers the bloom of the vernal otovc 
 
 And poisons each o|)ening flower.
 
 lo8 
 
 CHAUADES 
 
 vr. 
 
 My First hath many a fortune made, 
 
 And ruined many more, 
 So if you'd prosper in your trade 
 
 You'll drive it from your door. 
 
 He who the pangs of love may feel 
 
 Perchance by Cupid beckoned 
 Low at your feet may iuiinbly kneel, 
 And after many a mute appeal 
 May fondly plead my Second. 
 
 My Whole but few desire to have, 
 
 And fewer still to lose ; 
 Be rid on't while you may, and save 
 
 Your fortune from the Jews.
 
 CHARADES. 159 
 
 VII. 
 
 In public houses of low resort, 
 
 In the Courts of Law, and the Inns of Court, 
 
 In the Common's House, and the House of Peers 
 
 The name of my First will oft meet your ears. 
 
 And should you be brought there in gyve or in fetter 
 
 The soooner you quit it uninjured the better; 
 
 The love of my ISext is a passion that drives 
 
 The bulk of mankind through the whole of their lives, 
 
 To herd with the Jews, and the Bulls and the Bears 
 
 Upon 'Change and the Market for Railway Shares, 
 
 And thouMi in itself 'tis a n-ood not an evil 
 
 If unchecked it will hurry them all to the Devil. 
 
 But Avhether my Whole may be bad or good 
 Depends on its worth being well understood ; 
 Unknown in extent and in form undefined 
 If you get it I hope it may prove to your mind, 
 For it palls with possession and sometimes it turns 
 Like a rose bush in winter to nothing but thorns.
 
 ] ()() OHAIUDES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 My First in his youth was a Warrior Knight 
 
 Steady of heart and hand, 
 The leader of many a stubborn fight, 
 When he scattered the Paynim host in flight 
 
 And dyed with their blood the sand. 
 
 But now my Second hath conquered him 
 
 And furrowed his hoary brow, 
 And palsied the nerve of each stalwart limb, 
 And veiled the lids of his eyeballs dim 
 
 That had quailed to no other foe. 
 
 So the sackcloth shirt and the couch of stone 
 
 In my Whole are his refuge now 
 Where meekly in slumber he lays him down, 
 And looks to the hope of a heavenly crown 
 When released from this world below.
 
 CHARADES, Kil 
 
 IX. 
 
 M\ First is one of twins who ne'er are parted 
 Save when cut off Ly some untimely fate, 
 
 Yet deem not the survivor bioken-hearted 
 lie soon provides himself another mate, 
 
 Not quite so faithful, active, strong- and ready, 
 
 But uncomplaining, durable, and steady. 
 
 ]VJ[y Next which comes to all, is seldom tliought on 
 Although each day presents us with its warning, 
 
 And oh ' too oft is prematurely brought on 
 
 By those who madly waste life's precious morning. 
 
 To me Gods, men, and colunnis witness bear, 
 
 And e'en this globe itself the general doom mu>t share. 
 
 My Whole recalls the shadow of times past, 
 And beckons from the dark oblivious grave 
 
 Forms which the change of empires shall outlast. 
 Words of the wise and actions of the brave : 
 
 Else the Moeonian Bard had sung in vain, 
 
 And vain wore Shakspear's lore and Scott's romantic strain
 
 162 OHARADKS. 
 
 X. 
 
 My First's an ugly awkward thing of wood 
 Which up and down its heavy arm doth sway, 
 And lilce a feeble speaker of our day 
 Doth spout, and spout and spout away 
 
 In one weak washy everlasting flood. 
 
 My Second's each relation you possess, 
 
 And I for my part have thpm by the dozens 
 Brothers and sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, 
 
 To praise or censure, punish or caress. 
 
 My Whole is fair to look at, but to eat 
 
 More nauseous than the fruit of that curst laud 
 Whose core is dust and ashes; in the sand 
 
 It lies reposing in the noontide heat, 
 
 With tattered foliage and with leeblo stalk 
 Like a fat lazy pig too weak to rise and walk.
 
 CHARADES. 103 
 
 xr. 
 
 My First's a plural noun and means 
 A lot of boys beyond their teens, 
 The full grown denizens of earth, 
 With more or less of wit and mirth, 
 And varying too in form and feature 
 Distinct on eacli respective creature. 
 
 My Next's a simple integer 
 
 Which different values yet may bear — 
 
 Sometimes it dances on the green 
 
 Superior both to King and Queen 
 
 And sometimes fallen from honours' use 
 
 You send it packing to the deuce. 
 
 My Wliole's a goad to vulgar hinds 
 But wlien addressed to generous minds, 
 It shocks the taste like poisoned meat, 
 Turning to bitter all that's sweet, 
 Recoiling like a restive hack 
 Upon a thoughtless rider's Vjack. 
 
 XIT. 
 
 My First's tlic mistake of your blundering feet 
 
 When you run without seeing your way down the street, 
 
 My Next's the mi.stake of your blundering liand 
 
 Wlien you knock down the basin or jug from its stand — 
 
 My Whole's the mistake of your blundering brains 
 
 When 3'ou talk like ?. fool, and are chid for your pains.
 
 1(J1 (■nARAT)ES. 
 
 xiri. 
 
 Witliin my First's embattled mound 
 'J'hat |)rond]y I'ise.s o'er the sea 
 
 1 wistful gaze, on all around 
 
 The sky, the .sand, and steep glacis, 
 
 To think of thee, my own true love, 
 To think of thee. 
 
 And when my Second's darkening cloud 
 Brings peace ami re>t to all hut me, 
 
 And wraps beneath her dewy shroud 
 The cattle slumbering on the lea 
 
 1 dream of thee, my own true love 
 I dream of the^. 
 
 But grief will cease as time rolls on. 
 And future hours mav briirhter be, 
 
 JB'or when my Whole is passed and guiic 
 Tliv lace adored again I'll (•ee, 
 
 And jiy to th'e(% my o\^'n true lnvi> 
 And tiy to thee.
 
 CHARADES. 165 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bleediflg and faint Medoro lay 
 At the battle's close on the dusty way. 
 "Ehe peerless maid of Gallafrone 
 Fast on her Arab courser flying 
 Amid the wounded and the dying 
 
 Turned piteous at the stripling's moan ; 
 She staunched his wounds, and bore him far 
 Beyond the tumult of the war, 
 Till in a grot the swain she laid 
 Deep in the twiliglit forest's shade — 
 And there she piofl'ered my First and there 
 
 From my Second the bubbling wave she brought, 
 And washed the gore from his clotted hair, 
 
 And cooled the fever-parched throat — 
 How shall they speak my Whole ? oh never 
 May that sad word affections sever 
 When glowing memoiy still survives 
 The passage of a thousand lives.
 
 IGt^ C'llAl! \1)KS, 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Oh 1 where hast thou been Lord Ronald my son ? 
 What aileth thee "Ronald ? my handsome young man 1" 
 " Oh mother, dear mother ? now make my bed soon — 
 For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down." 
 
 Her stand hath she ta'en at the couch of her son 
 And the struggle of death in his slumber came on — 
 And despair choked her voice and tears blinded her eye 
 To see in that struggle her loved one die. 
 
 She ran my First through the sheets and made 
 A shroud of the clothes where her boy was laid, 
 And ray Second she clipped from his pale pale face. 
 Still wet with the tears of her last embrace. 
 
 And tlie fatal hour and the cause she cur.st 
 
 When he left the homo where his childhood was nurst 
 
 For a Ionian's false hand liad prepared the bowl 
 
 Which Lord Ronald had drunk, and liad died by my Whole.
 
 CHARADES. 
 
 167 
 
 XVI. 
 
 My Second's yleiider make employs 
 The slsill of mortals twenty, 
 
 Though for c;ne sixpence Betty buys 
 Innumerable plenty. 
 
 The hand of Nature made my First 
 And in my Whole she placed it, 
 
 Which if j'ou saw when parched with thirst, 
 Oh ! how you'd long to taste it. 
 
 So longed our Parent Eve of yore 
 When lured by the Deceiver 
 
 She plucked the fruit in evil hour 
 And cursed her race for ever.
 
 168 CHARADES. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Come gentles all — both great and small 
 
 If ill the sun you swelter, 
 You'll find good clieer, bread, meat, and beer 
 
 Withm my Second's shelter. 
 
 This is the way to kee[) holiday, 
 But as you slake your thirst 
 
 I charge you think,'amid your drink 
 'Tis fit you pay my First. 
 
 Policemen wait beside the gate 
 
 Refuse — and on my soul 
 A single word may soon be heard — 
 
 They'll take you to my Whole.
 
 CHARADES. 1G9 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 -In the halls of laii Eton my boyhood was trained. 
 But modesty dwells not on honours obtained ; 
 Enough that I mixed in the conflict of mind 
 With scholars and poets and lagged not behind : 
 There my First was my idol — at books or at play — 
 Mj^ dream of the night, and my hope in the day. 
 Too buoyant at times my ambition might be, 
 But when gratified — oh ! what a treasure to me ! 
 Soon removed to the camp amidst cannon and shot, 
 The delight of my boyhood I scorned or forgot — 
 • Yet in secret I sighed, for like others I reckoned 
 That promotion was sure were I found on my Second. 
 Now my sabre is sheathed, I'm reduced to half-pay, 
 My First a bright vision has melted away. 
 But as for my Second ere leaving the stage 
 I could welcome it still as the toy of my age. 
 Now a word of confession — I am but a shy one ! 
 Though once I am sure I was bravo as a lion, 
 Alas ! for my nerves — my heart goes pit-a-pat 
 And I run from my Whole like a mouse from a cat. 
 
 W. N. Darnell. 
 
 Note. — Although this admirable Charade is the composition of another, a 
 greatly beloved and respected Friend, I venture to add it to the list of the 
 preceding, for fear it might be lost to such a,-:- may derive amusement from 
 «uch in'j-enious trifles. - R.
 
 170 
 
 CHARADES. 
 
 RIDDLE. 
 
 To the palace and cottage the entry is mine 
 
 I'm enjoyed by the peer, and am thrown to the vswine, 
 
 I lie snug in a bed, and in ships I find room 
 
 To some I am poison to others perfume, 
 
 Some view me with appetite, others with fears 
 
 I move some to disgust, quicken others to tears — 
 
 Sometimes I am naked, but often am drest, 
 
 AVhilc those who abuse me oft love me the best ; 
 
 You may loathe me at breakfast I shall not complain, 
 
 When I come in to dinner, you'll love me again : 
 
 Yet so dangerous am I that the girl of your heart 
 
 AVhen you've been in my company bids you depart. 
 
 I've more coats than a dandy's whole wardrobe comprises, 
 
 And all of one suit, but of different sizes ; 
 
 JUy liead and my tail arc exactly the same 
 
 And my eye is between them^ now tell me my name. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 J-. AND W. DODSWORl'H, I'RINM-RS, COI-I.INGWOOD STREKT, NEWCASTLE.
 
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