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 THE 
 
 WIDOW OF NAIN, 
 
 THE 
 
 OUTLAW OF TAURUS, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE REV. THOMAS DALE, M.A. 
 
 NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 TILT AND BOGUE, FLEET STREET. 
 
 PELHAM RICHARDSON, CORNHILL. 
 MDCCCXLII.
 
 WHIGHT AND Cu , PRINTERS, 
 yi.EET STREET, LONDON.
 
 fR 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 This Volume was originally submitted to the 
 Public in deference to the suggestions of a Friend, 
 whom the Author knew to be a competent, and 
 was willing to regard as an impartial, judge. He 
 considered that Poems which had been kindly 
 received, when published separately and singly, 
 might anticipate no unfriendly welcome when pre- 
 sented in a more commodious and much less 
 expensive form. He was also of opinion (and 
 here it is the Author's happiness to agree with 
 him) that the republication of these Poems would, 
 in no respect, compromise, and might possibly 
 advance, the interests of Christian Morals and of 
 Scriptural Religion. 
 
 It may be objected, that, with such an end in 
 view, this Volume ought to have consisted exclu- 
 sively of Sacred Poetry. In reply, it may be
 
 VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 urged that many of the Minor Poems, including 
 the " Historical Sketches," were composed at a 
 period of life when the mind does not willingly 
 confine itself to one subject ; and it was hoped 
 that the variety, which was an agreeable relief to 
 the writer, might not prove unacceptable to the 
 reader, and more especially to that class of readers 
 for whom the work is peculiarly designed — the 
 young. The Author trusts that this gratification 
 (if it may pretend to so aspiring a name) will not 
 be purchased at the expense of aught that is more 
 intrinsically valuable. 
 
 This new Edition has afforded the Author an 
 opportunity (of which he has willingly availed 
 himself) both to collect some fugitive pieces, 
 which have been favourably received in other 
 publications, and to add one or two original, or, at 
 least, unpublished Poems.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Widow of Nain 1 
 
 The Daughter of Jairus 33 
 
 The Outlaw of Taurus 63 
 
 Irad AND Adah; a Tale of the Flood 128 
 
 historical sketches: — 
 
 Dionysius of Phocaea 207 
 
 Themistocles in Exile 209 
 
 Song of an Athenian Exile in the days of Lysander . . 211 
 
 Thrasybulus at Phyle 213 
 
 Regulus 216 
 
 The Last Words of "The Last of the Romans" ... 219 
 
 The Lament of Mowbray 220 
 
 To the Greeks, 1823 • 222 
 
 The Warrior's Blood 224 
 
 The Dying Chieftain 225 
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS : — 
 
 The Church's Lament for St. John 227 
 
 The Martyr's Child 229 
 
 Temptation 231 
 
 The Christian Virgin to her Apostate Lover .... 233 
 
 The Martyr to his Apostate Judge 235 
 
 The Wife's Adieu 237 
 
 The Bereaved Husband 238 
 
 The Anniversary 240 
 
 SCRIPTURE sketches: — 
 
 The Nativity 243 
 
 The Flight into Egypt 245 
 
 The Madonna and Child 247
 
 via CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Saviour as a Child with Flowers 249 
 
 Christ expounding the Law 252 
 
 The Raising of Lazarus 254 
 
 Christ blessing the Bread 257 
 
 Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane 259 
 
 Christ in the Garden with Mary 260 
 
 Judas returning tlie Thirty Pieces of Silver 2G2 
 
 The Incredulity of St. Thomas 264 
 
 St. John in the Wilderness 266 
 
 Peter 267 
 
 David 268 
 
 Job's Complaint 270 
 
 Song of a Captive Jew in Babylon 273 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: — 
 
 The only true Happiness 275 
 
 The Joy of Angels 276 
 
 The Female Convict to her Infant 279 
 
 Weep not for me 281 
 
 Jesus weeping over Jerusalem 282 
 
 Dies Irse 283 
 
 The Wife's Farewell 284 
 
 The Hymn of the Desert 286 
 
 Evening Prayer 288 
 
 Sonnets .290 
 
 Farewell 292 
 
 The Departed 293 
 
 A Mother's Grief 295 
 
 A Father's Grief 296 
 
 Stanzas for Music 298 
 
 The Choice of Paul 299 
 
 The First Christmas 300 
 
 The Protestant's Kyrie Eleeson 303 
 
 Man his own Destroyer 305 
 
 Light at Evening Time 306 
 
 Psalm XXIV 307 
 
 Psalm XC 309 
 
 Psalm CXXXVII 311
 
 THE 
 
 WIDOW OF NAiiN 
 
 " Quid prius dicam solitis Parentis 
 Laudibus, qui res hominum ac deorum, 
 Qui mare et terras, variisque mundum 
 Temperat horis." 
 
 HoR. Od. 12. Lib. 1. 
 
 " Women received their dead raised to life." 
 
 Heb. xi. 35. 
 
 /
 
 TO HIS 
 
 EARLIEST AND DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POEMS 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR, 
 
 AS A SLIGHT BUT SINCERE TOKEN 
 
 AFFECTION AND ESTEEM.
 
 THE 
 
 WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 I. 
 
 " And why this look of wild affright, 
 
 This burning tear, and pallid brow ; 
 Doth some dark vision of the night 
 
 With terrors haunt thee even now ? 
 Why thus should shadowy dreams appal ? 
 Thou seest 'tis but illusion all. 
 Soft sleep has soothed me — and my breast 
 
 Is free from pain, except for thee ; 
 Calm and unbroken was my rest. 
 
 And why should thine less tranquil be ? 
 Cease, then, my mother, — weep no more,— 
 Thy dream of agony is o'er : 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 And look not thus — I cannot bear 
 That look of horror and despair : — 
 Thy tears my former pangs renew, 
 Thou would'st not wish to pain me too. 
 Forget the fear that made thee weep ; 
 Be calm — perchance thou yet may'st sleep. 
 Still dost thou linger ? — If in vain 
 
 I plead the sufferings all thine own, 
 To urge repose, yet think again — 
 
 I plead not for thyself alone. 
 Think, should exhausted nature fail 
 (Which from thy cheek, so deadly pale, 
 I augur with increasing dread), 
 Who then would watch beside my bed ? 
 Or who, unwearied, soothe like thee 
 The long, long nights of agony ? 
 I know 'twould grieve thee to resign 
 This care — nor should I less repine ; 
 No hand to me so dear as thine. 
 Then come, my mother, and recline 
 Upon my couch — and it shall be 
 My welcome task to watch by thee, 
 As thou hast often watched by me." 
 Subdued — his mother fondly smiled — 
 That smile, dissolved in tears, soon fled — 
 Her words were choked — she faintly said, 
 " Jehovah bless thee, oh my child !" 
 
 II. 
 Though still, he sleeps not — ceaseless pain 
 Throbs in his burning breast again ;
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 And yet, nor sighs nor murmurs break 
 From his closed lips, lest she should wake. 
 Fitful and faint her slumber seems, 
 Broken by wild, disordered dreams : — 
 Oh, wretched mother ! o'er thy breast 
 Dark presage reigns — thou canst not rest ; 
 On thy cold brow that sleep may press 
 Which springs from very weariness. 
 It brings no pause from misery — 
 'Tis not forgetfulness to thee. 
 The sight that never yet hath been, 
 
 Is present now to Fancy's eye ; 
 Prophetic visions — dimly seen — 
 
 That soon shall close in certainty. 
 And if, entranced, thou dost not hear 
 Pain's stifled whispers — in thine ear 
 A deep groan rings, — a dying groan — 
 That chills thy life-blood with its tone. 
 Though misery marked thine earlier date, 
 And sternly fell the stroke of Fate, 
 It left thee not all desolate — 
 Lone — widowed — poor ; — in every ill 
 One solace soothed thy sorrow still : 
 'Tis fleeting fast — not childless yet ? — 
 Thou shalt be, ere to-morrow set. 
 
 III. 
 And who reclines expiring there ? — 
 
 It is her son — her only son ; — 
 That child of many a fervent prayer 
 
 She loves, as they can love alone
 
 6 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Whose hearts are centred all in one. 
 She had a husband once — but he 
 Long since hath been where all must be : — 
 He fell for Zion — happier far 
 
 To die, as he had lived, unchained. 
 Than mourn that latest, deadliest war, 
 
 And view the sacred shrine profaned, 
 
 Its glory lost — its God disdained. 
 She saw, — but could not share his fate, 
 
 And exiled now, and broken-hearted. 
 
 Far from her native scenes departed. 
 To linger through her joyless date, 
 In home that more became her state : — 
 And there in loneliness to mourn, 
 Until her orphan babe was born. 
 But from the moment of his birth, 
 
 She strove to check the murmuring tear ;- 
 
 She had a hope, that still was dear ; 
 A tie, that bound her still to earth : — 
 And o'er him though at times she wept, 
 
 When Memory traced her past distress. 
 And gazed upon him as he slept. 
 
 And felt that he was fatherless — 
 All was not suffering — as she prest 
 Her blooming infant to her breast, 
 And sought and shared his fond caress. 
 And watched his opening loveliness ; — 
 Oft 'midst her sadness has she smiled 
 Upon her yet unconscious child. 
 Till passion's strife began to cease.
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 And sorrow softened into peace. 
 
 Still, as from infancy he grew, 
 
 His mother's love waxed stronger too : 
 
 It was her sole delight to trace 
 
 His father's features in his face, 
 
 And fondly deem in him restored 
 
 The image of her buried lord. 
 
 « * * * 
 
 Alas ! while health and hope were high, 
 And youth shone sparkling in his eye, 
 
 And scarce was manhood's spring begun — ■ 
 Passed the destroying Angel by, 
 
 And smote the Widow's son ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 She saw him — Death's untimely prey, 
 
 Struck with the blight of slow decline ; 
 She watched his vigour waste away. 
 
 His ardent spirit droop and pine. 
 The rose upon his cheek, she knew, 
 Bloomed not with health's transparent hue ; 
 It was a softer, fainter glow — 
 
 A tint of fading loveliness, 
 Which told that canker lurked below : — 
 So gleams o'er fields of wintry snow 
 
 The pale moon, cold and comfortless. 
 And oft she marked within his eye 
 A wild, unwonted brilliancy — 
 The lovely, but delusive ray 
 Of nature sinking to decay : 
 And oft she caught his stifled moan —
 
 8 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 It breathed a deep and hollow tone, 
 Which told of death, ere life was gone. 
 At times, when fever's burning flush 
 Heightened consumption's hectic blush, 
 Fond hope — the latest still to leave, 
 The first to flatter and deceive — 
 Once more would brighten — but to fly 
 
 When that false flush forsook his cheek, 
 
 And spoke the pang he would not speak. 
 And froze her fears to certainty. 
 Nor deem it strange that Hope had power 
 To soothe her soul in such an hour ; 
 Where time has rent the lordly tower, 
 
 And moss entwines the arches grey. 
 Springs many a light and lovely flower 
 
 That lends a lustre to decay. 
 Thus, while existence wanes away. 
 
 Consumption's fevered cheek will bloom, 
 And Beauty's brightest beams will play, 
 
 In mournful glory, o'er the tomb. 
 
 V. 
 
 The spirit of her son to cheer, 
 
 With hopes she now had ceased to feel : 
 From that dread stroke, which menaced near, 
 
 A few short bitter days to steal; — 
 To soothe the languor of decay 
 
 She strove — all other cares were fled ; 
 And midnight's gloom, and morning's ray, 
 
 Still found her watching by his bed, 
 To render, with unwearied hand,
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 All love could do, or pain demand. 
 
 The very firmness of despair 
 
 Had nerved her weaker heart to bear ; 
 
 Or never had that mother borne 
 To see him die — and. thus to die — 
 
 Untimely wasting, ere the morn 
 Of youth had past imclouded by — 
 
 While art essayed in vain to save, 
 
 Or smooth his passage to the grave. 
 
 Whate'er his inward pangs might be. 
 He told not — mute, and meekly still, 
 He bowed him to Jehovah's will, 
 
 Nor murmured at the stern decree ; 
 
 Faith bent submissive to the rod, 
 
 And owned a Father in his God. 
 
 But still for her, beside his bed 
 
 Who watched with fond maternal care, 
 For her he breathed the pious prayer — 
 
 The tear of love and pity shed. 
 
 Oft would he bid her try to rest, 
 And turn his pallid face away. 
 Lest some unguarded look betray 
 
 The pangs, nor sigh nor sound expressed. 
 
 When torture racked his breast, 'twas known 
 
 By sudden shivering starts alone ; — 
 
 Yet would her searching glance espy 
 
 The look of stifled agony — 
 
 For what can 'scape a mother's eye ? 
 
 She deemed, in health, she loved him more 
 
 Than ever mother loved before ;
 
 10 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 But, oh ! wlien thus in pale decay, 
 So placid, so resigned he lay, 
 And she beheld him waste away, 
 And marked that gentle tenderness 
 Which watched and wept for her distress ;- 
 Then did her transient firmness melt 
 To tears of love, more deeply felt ; 
 And dearer still he grew — and dearer — 
 E'en as the parting day drew nearer. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Tis past — the icy damps of Death 
 
 O'er my cold frame resistless steal ; 
 I draw a pang with every breath, 
 
 A pang I soon shall cease to feel. 
 While aught of hope remained — I strove 
 
 The pain that wrung my breast to hide. 
 Lest it should wound thy watchful love — 
 
 I could not thus have died : 
 Oh no, my mother ! ere we part, 
 Know thou the faith that cheers my heart, 
 And calm that wildness of despair ; 
 If aught can solace thee — 'tis there. 
 I hold no sophist creeds, that say 
 * When the dark grave enwraps our clay. 
 The spirit sinks in like decay ; 
 
 • The Sadducees denied the existence of a future state 
 altogether. The Pharisees admitted the doctrine of the resur- 
 rection, but substituted the letter for the spirit — the ceremonies 
 for the duties of religion. The Jewish people were almost 
 entirely composed of these two sects.
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 11 
 
 'Tis but the sinner's specious lie — 
 I know, I feel, I cannot die. 
 Far too from me the vain parade 
 Of duties done, and laws obeyed, 
 Which urge presumptuous man to rise, 
 And claim the meed of Paradise. 
 Nor tell me, mother, as thou wilt. 
 
 That I have shunned the ways of sin ; 
 Thou Uttle know'st the latent guilt 
 
 That dwelt — alas ! that dwells within. 
 If I have stood where others fell, 
 And trod the saint's rough path — 'tis well :- 
 By prayer and pious deeds were shown 
 My faith, my hope — but these alone. 
 Taught by the word of life, I knew 
 How vain was all that man could do ; 
 If God his holiest acts approve, 
 'Tis not in justice, but in love. 
 I cast my worthless deeds away, 
 
 My sin with bitterness deplored. 
 
 And sought the mercy of the Lord ; — 
 And now, when flesh and soul decay. 
 That mercy is my only stay. 
 Think not I tremble at the grave — 
 
 Or sigh for life — no ! but for thee 
 Unkind were they who still would save, 
 
 For Death is victory to me. 
 Repine not, though the gift he gave, 
 
 Jehovah calls thee to resign ; — 
 If desolate and lonely left
 
 12 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 On earth — thou art not all bereft ; 
 
 For thee may endless glories shine, 
 
 And still my God, my heaven be thine. 
 My spirit fails — I can no more — 
 Mother! farewell ! 'twill soon be o'er; — 
 
 Soon will the last worst struggle cease. 
 Father of Mercies ! let thy power 
 Sustain me in the trying hour, 
 
 And all shall then be peace !" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Noon came, and fled — and evening grey 
 Cast o'er the room its sombre shade ; 
 
 Alike to her were night and day — 
 
 Her eye was never turned away 
 
 From the low couch where he was laid. 
 
 She could not weep — she could not pray, 
 
 Her soul was dark — and with despair 
 
 Devotion mingles not — the prayer, 
 
 Breathed hopelessly, was breathed in vain : 
 
 Her all of being centred there, 
 
 And dragged her thoughts to earth again. 
 
 Her's was that bitterness of woe, 
 
 Which sighs or tears can never reach, 
 Which mocks the bounded powers of speech ; 
 
 A recklessness of all below — 
 Of all ai-ound — above— but one — 
 The dying youth she gazed upon. 
 
 So looks the mariner on the wave, 
 
 Which onward rolls, his opening grave ; — 
 
 On battle-fields, with slaughter red,
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 13 
 
 Where friend by friend has fought and bled, 
 
 So looks the dying on the dead. 
 
 Her hopes, her love, her earthly bliss, 
 
 Her very soul was bound in his ; 
 
 And now the fatal hour was nigh. 
 
 When all but life with him must die, 
 
 And what — when he had ceased to be. 
 
 Oh ! what was life but misery ? 
 
 A night, with cheerless gloom o'ercast ; 
 
 A maddening memory of the past ; 
 
 The desert of the joyless breast. 
 
 Death's apathy, — without its rest. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Mute, motionless, as if he slept, 
 
 His head upon her breast reclined ; 
 And yet, though horror coldly crept 
 Through every vein, she never wept, 
 
 Calm and resolved, but not resigned. 
 When Hope's last lingering ray was o'er. 
 
 Despair itself her heart might steel 
 Through all that she had felt before, 
 
 And all that she was now to feel. 
 Ha ! why that wild convulsive start ? 
 The agony has reach'd his heart ! 
 The parting pang, that throbs no more. 
 Has withered life, and all is o'er ? 
 No ! still he lives ; the unequal strife 
 Still nature bears, if that be life — 
 A chasing conflict, soon to cease, 
 A prelude to eternal peace.
 
 14 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 A moment — as the fiery ball 
 
 Flashes, but darkens ere it fall ; 
 
 A moment — waked from that deep trance — 
 
 His eye beamed forth, and, in its glance. 
 
 There was a vivid energy — 
 
 A lambent ray, life's last endeavour 
 To sparkle ere it fade for ever, 
 And summon all its strength — to die. 
 Still heavenly Hope's undying flame 
 Shone 'midst the wreck of nature's frame ; 
 And through the mortal could she see 
 The germ of immortality. 
 He strove to speak ; he gasped for breath ; 
 Not all in vain — though instant death 
 Had touched his heart ; one faltering word 
 He spoke, and yet another 
 (The rest were as a dying groan, 
 An indistinct and murmured moan) : 
 And all he said, and all she heard 
 
 Was — " Mother, dearest mother !" 
 Life could no more ; he sighed — he ceased — 
 
 His head upon her bosom lay ; 
 She looked — without a groan released. 
 
 The soul had passed away. 
 A smile was still upon his face, 
 
 A holy calmness on his brow, 
 Which Death itself could not erase ; 
 
 That might have soothed her once — but now-
 
 , THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 15 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis eve — the sun's departing beam 
 Serenely sheds his purest gleam ! 
 Tlie liquid clouds of airy lightness, 
 Which tempered his meridian brightness, 
 Float graceful through the fragrant air. 
 And thousand hues, reflected there. 
 
 In varied lustre shine ! 
 Day, like a virgin, whose young bloom, 
 Lost love, and blighted hopes consume, 
 
 Is loveliest in decline. 
 It beams for all— yet only he. 
 Whose breast from pining care is free 
 (If such, alas ! on earth there be). 
 Will gaze on that fair eastern sky. 
 With bounding heart and raptured eye. 
 To him, whose pride disdains to weep 
 The cureless grief that will not sleep, 
 
 Fair Nature smiles in vain : 
 He only dwells, 'midst such a scene, 
 On happier hours that once have been, 
 And ne'er shall be again. 
 
 * * * » 
 
 So deem the souls that sternly bear. 
 And madly pride them in despair ; 
 Presumptuous beings of a day, 
 Who know no cares beyond their clay. 
 Not thus did Zion's Bard survey 
 
 The glories of Jehovah's might ; 
 His spirit kindled, like a ray
 
 16 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Shot from that orb of living light. 
 " Lord ! what is man that Thou hast given 
 To him this wondrous frame of heaven ; 
 This sun, unmated and alone, 
 Who looks in glory from his throne, 
 A feeble image of Thine own ? 
 Our God, from whom these wonders came. 
 How great ! how matchless is Thy name !" 
 
 X. 
 
 Fair smiles that lovely orb above 
 
 On many a varied scene beneath ; 
 The ray that gilds the bower of love 
 
 Gleams o'er the sable train of death. 
 But not an eye was upward cast, 
 Of all that now through Nain past ; 
 The fire of youth's undaunted brow 
 Was quenched in pensive sadness now ; 
 And every maiden's cheek was wet, 
 With tender tears of fond regret. 
 Ah ! what avails that sacred tear 
 To him, who lies on yon rude bier ; 
 Can grief recall his blighted bloom. 
 Or pity reach him in the tomb ? 
 No — doomed in Death's cold grasp to lie. 
 He wakes not — till this earth and sky 
 Shrink from before Jehovah's eye. 
 And crumble into vacancy ; 
 Till the last trump shall cleave the skies, 
 And bid the dead of ages rise !
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 17 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yes ! woe may crush, but cannot bow, 
 
 Man's spirit of unbending steel ; 
 
 He bears the wound that cannot heal. 
 With haughty heart, and tearless brow, 
 
 As if he thought it scorn to feel. 
 That struggle with despair we see, 
 With awe too deep for sympathy. 
 But, oh ! in woman's wild distress 
 There is a touching tenderness : 
 It needs not beauty that appears 
 Loveliest when beaming dim through tears ; 
 It needs not youth's disordered grace, 
 Which not e'en misery can efface ; 
 Whate'er the mourner's mien or mood, 
 It is a spell of womanhood ; 
 And they who weep not for their own 
 Will melt at her's, and her's alone. 
 Pensive, yet silent are the crowd, 
 For heartfelt grief is never loud ; 
 Their sighs are breathed, their tears are shed 
 More for the living than the dead. 
 For whom does Friendship thus lament ? 
 On whom are looks of pity bent ? 
 Gaze on the mourners,— thou wilt see 
 But one who weeps not— that is she. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Her eye is resting on the bier. 
 
 Her cheek is cold and colourless ; 
 The bursting sigh, the burning tear, 
 
 c
 
 18 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Have passed from sorrow's wild excess, 
 
 To still unconscious fixedness : — 
 For strong emotions when they fade, 
 Cast o'er the brow a deeper shade ; 
 And sated passion sinks the breast 
 To silence — apathy — not rest. 
 Perchance, the horrors of that night 
 Had wither'd soul, and sense, and sight ; 
 While memory, overborne by grief, 
 Had flown to madness for relief. 
 On all around, earth — mountains — sky, 
 She gazed with utter vacancy. 
 They near the rock-hewn sepulchre ! 
 The solemn sight appals not her : 
 They tremble but to view the spot, 
 And yet she weeps not — startles not. 
 Gaze on her brow : what mark ye there ? 
 The deathlike rest of blank despair. 
 Which spurns the solace of a tear, 
 
 And seems alone to say, 
 " The worst that could befal is here. 
 And nought remains to fly or fear ; — 
 
 I'll bear it as I may." 
 'Tis not that wavering woman's grief. 
 
 Which bursts in one impassioned flow ; 
 But courts, and soon admits, relief 
 
 Surviving friends may yet bestow. 
 When hope, and love, and joy remain. 
 To bid the mourner smile again : — 
 'Tis that severer weight of woe,
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 1 U 
 
 Which neither finds nor asks redress, 
 And only seeks, unseen, to know 
 Its own unchanging bitterness. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Among the train that walked before, 
 
 His harp the village-minsti-el bore — 
 
 He mark'd, and struck the light chords o'er ; 
 
 For well he knew the soft control 
 
 Of music o'er the human soul ; 
 
 And thought, if earthly solace could, 
 
 This yet might wake a milder mood. 
 
 His was that simple melody — 
 
 Wild — plaintive — uncontrolled by art, 
 
 Which steals resistless to the heart, 
 And sets the prisoned feelings free, 
 Within that gloomy cell comprest, 
 Deep shrine of woe — the human breast. 
 Yes! while those notes of magic last. 
 The present fades into the past ; 
 The scenes of other days return, 
 And youth's vxnquenched emotions burn : 
 The ardent hopes that charmed and fled — 
 The fond remembrance of the dead ; — 
 The gentle eye, that beam'd to bless, 
 The look, whose smile was tenderness : — 
 The voice, once wont with love to thrill, 
 Now mute, yet unforgotten still — 
 The form that but with life can die— 
 Whose monument is memory. 
 E'en they, whom pride impels to bear, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 And quell repining in despair ; 
 By flushed or faded cheeks reveal 
 They once have felt — they still must feel. 
 This meed alone the heart repays 
 To bards like him, the worthiest praise : 
 He hears it in the whispered sigh, 
 And sees it in the glistening eye. 
 Such is that sweet Helvetian strain, 
 Whose notes, to fond aflfection dear, 
 Unman the hardy moimtaineer. 
 And quell the warrior's martial fire, 
 And warm his heart with strong desire 
 To see his native hills again. 
 To high and holy themes alone, 
 
 That sacred harp was wont to swell — 
 Of Judah's fall, and Zion's moan, 
 
 And Him, whom prophet bards foretel 
 Her present hope, her future King, 
 The glowing minstrel loved to sing. 
 Hush'd is that warm enraptured dream ; 
 The notes of joy have ceased to flow 
 Responsive to their wonted theme ; 
 
 But mournful is the strain, and low — 
 And all in mute attention hung, 
 While thus the solemn dirge he sung : — 
 
 " Dear as thou wert, and justly dear, 
 
 We will not weep for thee : 
 One thought shall check the starting tear, 
 
 It is — that thou art free.
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 21 
 
 And thus shall Faith's consoling power 
 
 The tears of love restrain ; 
 Oh ! who that saw thy parting hour, 
 
 Could wish thee here again ? 
 
 Triumphant in thy closing eye 
 
 The hope of glory shone ; 
 Joy breathed in thine expiring sigh, 
 
 To tliink the fight was won. 
 Gently the passing spirit fled. 
 
 Sustained by grace divine ; 
 Oh ! may such grace on me be shed, 
 
 And make my end like thine."* 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Slow ceased that soft and solemn strain. 
 
 Faltering his latest accents fell. 
 
 Sad, as to friends the last farewell — 
 And, while he soothed that mourner's pain, 
 His tears burst forth : — the generous heart, 
 
 The grief it seeks to heal will share ; 
 And calm, cold pity can impart 
 
 Small solace to despair. 
 The dying notes were borne away 
 
 On the light breeze, deep as the sigh 
 Of orphans o'er a parent's clay ; 
 
 And sad as that low melody 
 Which to the rising whirlwind's sighs 
 The wild ^olian lyre replies. 
 She heard, she yielded — her pale cheek 
 * Numbers xxiii. 10.
 
 22 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 The hectic of emotion flushed, 
 
 And all a mother's softness rushed 
 Into her eye — she strove to speak — 
 The grief, till now in silence kept, 
 
 To shun the pity of the crowd. 
 Burst wildly forth — and now she wept 
 
 In tears of bitterness aloud. 
 
 XV. 
 
 At length she spake — " My son ! my son ! 
 
 Sole solace of my waning years ! 
 Though thou art fled, and there is none, 
 
 Whom Nature's sacred tie endears. 
 To feel, and do as thou hast done ; 
 
 Yet — not for this my tears : 
 Oh no ! aflflictions all my own 
 Could not have wrung one murmuring groan ; 
 And sorrow, sickness, agony — 
 
 Yea, death itself I would have borne 
 (So thou hadst closed my dying eye), 
 
 Ere thus o'er thee to mourn. 
 Lonely I lingered on through life. 
 The prey of wretchedness and strife, 
 Till thou wert lent me to restore 
 The peace I thought to feel no more. 
 And blessed have I been in thee — 
 For thou wert all and more to me 
 Than duty binds a son to be. 
 With thee my bliss once more begun. 
 
 Entwined with thine it grew ; 
 Oh ! since thy transient race is run, 
 
 Would mine were ended too !
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 23 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " I thank ye, friends — ere this I knew 
 Your hearts, your friendship warm and true : 
 But oh ! forgive me if my grief 
 Finds not in sympathy relief; 
 It cannot banish my despair, 
 It cannot aid my soul to bear 
 
 That ye should sorrow too. 
 Then not for me, but, if ye mourn 
 
 For him, I would not check the tear — 
 From love, from life, untimely torn. 
 
 It proves his memory still is dear — 
 
 He fell not unlamented here. 
 My hopes have sunk to rise no more — 
 
 But yours may every blessing be ; 
 Children, like him, ye now deplore. 
 
 And friends, as ye have proved to me. 
 Or, if so will the Power Divine, 
 Your friends, your child, in peace resign — 
 But not with agony like mine. 
 E'en yet, those fatal moments seem 
 The fever of a hideous dream ; 
 Nor dare I trust my whirling brain 
 To trace that deadly hour again : — 
 To think is madness, and to grief 
 Like mine, no words can bring relief. 
 No more — in silence let me seal 
 What then I felt — what now I feel — 
 It is enough — he died— and I — 
 I loathe to live, and cannot die.
 
 24 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " It must not be. This fixed despair, 
 
 This wild impiety of woe, 
 With mad presumption seem to dare 
 
 The mighty Hand that struck the blow ; 
 'Tis vain, and I must learn to bear — 
 
 If nought on earth can yield redress, 
 Friend of the mourner, hear my prayer. 
 
 Thou yet canst soothe my wretchedness. 
 Oh ! deign in mercy to control 
 The guilty transports of my soul, 
 Bend me submissive to thy will, 
 And be my God, my Father still. 
 'Tis righteous, though severe — I know 
 My sins deserved a deeper blow ; 
 If none on earth more deep could be. 
 This wounds not in eternity. 
 And there a hope may yet be mine : — 
 
 Soon shall the Star of Zion rise, 
 O'er Judah's scattered race to shine, 
 
 And point the path to Paradise. 
 For him — despite the maddening thought, 
 With dark and dread remembrance fraught- 
 For him, too, would I bless thy name ; 
 
 He died not as the guilty die, — 
 Thy power sustained his sinking frame, 
 
 And death was lost in victory. 
 Whate'er his sins had been, he deemed 
 Far other than to me they seemed ; 
 He knew them boundless— but he knew
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 25 
 
 Thy mercy was unbounded too. 
 
 That mercy to my soul accord, 
 
 And be thy chastening rod deplored, 
 
 With meekness, though in tears, O Lord ! 
 
 Vanished is now the only ray 
 
 That cheered my dark and dreary way ; 
 
 Soon must my wasted frame decay. 
 
 Nor shrink I from my fate — with none 
 To watch me on my dying day, 
 
 I sink into the tomb alone : 
 
 So let it be — since he is gone 
 I ask no earthly hope — be Thou, 
 O Israel's God, my portion now ; 
 And when the pangs of memory prey 
 On my sad heart, be Thou my stay. 
 And teach my sinking soul to say, 
 ' Thou giv'st, O Lord, thou tak'st away ; 
 
 Thy holy will be done.' " 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 She ceased — upon the green hill's brow 
 A cloud of dust is gathering now : 
 Hark ! through the distance echoing loud 
 The murmurs of a mingled crowd. 
 Onward the tumult rolls — 'tis near — 
 They listen, mute with breathless fear : 
 Is it the lordly Roman's car. 
 The pomp and pageantry of war. 
 Where Zion's sons must swell the train 
 Of foes their inmost souls disdain ? 
 Or those bold warriors — wild, yet free —
 
 2G THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 The rebel bands of Galilee ? 
 
 No — they are brethren — and that cry 
 
 Is the glad shout of victory ; 
 
 'Tis high Hosanna's loud acclaim, 
 
 'Tis royal David's honoured name. 
 
 And now they wind the steep descent — 
 
 The glance, in swift inquiry bent, 
 
 Wander'd o'er all, but fix'd on One — 
 
 Circled by numbers, yet alone. 
 
 Robed in the garb of poverty. 
 
 Nor King, nor Priest, nor Warrior he ; 
 
 Yet — why they know not — in his mien 
 
 A latent loftiness was seen — 
 
 A more than mortal majesty. 
 
 That daunted while it fix'd the eye. 
 
 The countless throng that round him press'd, 
 
 To him their songs of praise address'd ; 
 
 Not thus had Abram's seed adored 
 
 A heathen chief — an earthly lord. 
 
 They come— they meet — but, ere they past, 
 
 One gracious, pitying look he cast 
 
 On that pale mourner — marked her tear, 
 
 And bade her " Weep not ;"— to the bier 
 
 He turned — but, ere he spoke his will. 
 
 Each trembled with a sudden thrill 
 
 Of conscious awe — the train stood still ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The mourner — speechless and amazed, 
 On that mysterious Stranger gazed ; 
 If young he were, 'twas only seen
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 27 
 
 From lines that told what once had been ; — 
 As if the withering hand of Time 
 Had smote him ere he reach'd his prime. 
 The bright rose on his cheek was faded, 
 His pale fair brow with sadness shaded— 
 Yet, through the settled sorrow there, 
 
 A conscious grandeur flashed — which told 
 
 That, unconstrained, and uncontrolled, 
 Himself had deigned man's lot to share, 
 And borne— because he will'd to bear. 
 Whate'er his being or his birth, 
 His soul had never stooped to earth, 
 Nor mingled with the meaner race 
 Who shared or swayed his dwelling-place ; 
 But high — mysterious — and unknown, 
 Held converse with itself alone. 
 And yet the look that could depress 
 Pride to its native nothingness, 
 And bid the specious boaster shun 
 The eye he dared not gaze upon, 
 Superior love did still reveal — 
 Not such as man for man may feel — 
 No — all was passionless and pure — 
 
 That godlike majesty of woe. 
 Which counts it glory to endure — 
 
 And knows nor liope nor fear below ; 
 Nor aught that still to earth can bind. 
 But love and pity for mankind. 
 And in his eye a radiance shone — 
 
 Oh ! how shall mortal dare essay.
 
 28 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 On whom no prophet's vest is thrown, 
 
 To paint that pure celestial ray ? 
 Mercy, and tenderness, and love, 
 
 And all that finite sense can deem 
 Of Him who reigns enthroned above ; 
 
 Light — such as blessed Isaiah's dream. 
 When to the awe-struck Prophet's eyes, 
 God bade the star of Judah rise — 
 There heaven in living lustre glow'd — 
 There shone the Saviour — there the God ! 
 O ye — to whom the dying Lord 
 Your sorrows — not his own — deplored ; — 
 Thou, on whose guilt the Saviour cast 
 A look of mercy — 'twas his last ; — 
 Ye — who beheld when Jesus died, 
 Say ye — for none can tell beside. 
 How matchless grace, and love divine. 
 In that immortal glance would shine. 
 And she, too, felt and owned its power 
 To soothe in that despairing hour ; 
 Her pulse beat quick — and to her heart 
 A ray of rapture seemed to dart : — 
 The cloud that hung upon her brow 
 Wore off— and all was comfort now. 
 And why ? She thought not on the dead — 
 Her sight on Him was riveted. 
 Whose look such peace and glory shed : 
 So the wan captive, o'er whose cell 
 No solitary simbeam fell ; 
 When years and years have linger'd by.
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 29 
 
 Restored to light and liberty, 
 
 Fixes his first enraptured gaze 
 
 Upon the bright sun's living rays. 
 
 ' Short space he stood ' — his lifted eyes 
 To heaven a moment raised — he spoke — 
 These words the solemn silence broke : 
 
 " Young man, I say to thee. Arise !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 Where is thy victory, oh Death ? 
 
 A nobler, mightier arm than thine 
 Hath burst the dark abodes beneath. 
 
 And bade the Grave her prey resign ! 
 Jesus, thy victor and thy Lord, 
 Has rent thy once resistless sword ; 
 Fell tyrant of the fatal brow. 
 Where are thy wonted triumphs now ? 
 He moves — he breathes — he lives — he wakes — 
 Swift as the vivid lightning breaks 
 Through the black tempest's murky night. 
 His eye unclosed to life and light ; 
 The crimson to his pale cheek rushed — 
 To his cold heart the life-blood gushed, 
 And circled quick through every vein, 
 And waked the fluttering pulse again. 
 Round his closed lips— still uneffaced 
 
 Had fix'd the smile with which he died : 
 Death's marble look so well it graced. 
 
 One only charm seem'd still denied — 
 
 'Twas life — and what are all beside ? 
 Where is that mortal paleness fled ?
 
 30 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Is that the cold smile of the dead ? 
 Away, thou 'busy fiend' Despair, 
 'Tis life itself that kindles there ! 
 'Tis life ! by that Almighty word 
 His mortal being is restored. 
 And reason flashes to his brain, 
 And mind and memory wake again. 
 Whate'er in other worlds he saw 
 
 Man knows not — none can ever know — 
 But peace — and joy — and holy awe 
 
 Still lightened lingering on his brow, 
 And o'er his face a lustre shed — 
 Not of the living, or the dead. 
 " Where am I ? whither are ye fled ? 
 
 Fair visions of celestial light, 
 That seemed to hover o'er my head — 
 
 Oh ! bear me with you in your flight. 
 Can this be earth — and must I deem 
 'Twas all an unsubstantial dream ? 
 'Tis strange — light faded from mine eye, 
 
 And on my brow such darkness fell 
 
 As none have ever lived to tell ; 
 That dark, mysterious agony 
 
 Which throbs — and man has ceased to be :- 
 
 The frame is clay — the soul is free. 
 I deemed this change had passed on me, 
 And my light spirit soared on high, 
 I know not where — from memory 
 All passed with life's returning breath ; 
 Yet still I feel, if such be death,
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 31 
 
 'Tis blessedness to die. 
 But speak — what means this sable bier, 
 This funeral train — whence came I here ? 
 Ha! thou, too, mother — thou so near, 
 And I beheld thee not"— * * 
 
 * * * * 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Did Nature's last convulsive thrill 
 
 Press heavy on her beating brow, 
 That gentle voice had soothed her still — 
 
 And yet she hears not— heeds not now. 
 She heard, in hope and holy dread, 
 The words of might that woke the dead : 
 She saw the spirit kindle o'er 
 His pale cold cheek — she saw no more. 
 Rush'd she not forth to clasp her son ? 
 No ! to that high and holy One 
 In ecstasy of love she turned ; 
 Her breast with speechless transport burned ;— 
 As lowly at his feet she knelt. 
 Oh ! well her throbbing heart might melt 
 With faith and love, till now unfelt : 
 
 'Twas God himself she gazed upon. 
 Her favoured soul was given to see 
 The pure incarnate Deity. 
 And speech, and sight, and spirit failed 
 Before the Godhead, though 'twas veiled. 
 Burning with gratitude and love, 
 For utterance long in vain she strove : 
 At length she spoke — " My God ! my Lord !
 
 32 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 
 Oh ! for that mercy all divine 
 Which deigned to visit guilt like mine, 
 For ever be thy name adored. 
 To thee let ransomed Zion bow, 
 Her King, her promised Saviour, Thou !"
 
 THE 
 
 DAUGHTER OF JATRUS. 
 
 " Death, I will be thy plagues; O Grave, I will be thy 
 destruction." — Hos. xiii. 14. 
 
 1. 
 Ye, who can read with searching eye 
 The mystic vohmie of the heart, 
 And trace each strange variety 
 Of feehngs, that in turn, impart 
 Hope, joy, or bliss ; doubt, dread, despair, 
 And all that man can be or bear — 
 Say, when do fondest parents prove 
 The fulness of parental love ? 
 When do the father's transports glow, 
 The mother's tears of rapture flow ? 
 Is it, when lingering watchful nigh, 
 The husband hears, in ecstasy. 
 His first-born's faint but welcome cry ? 
 Is it, when first the child can frame 
 Its lips to speak the father's name ?
 
 34 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Is it, when sons and daughters rise 
 To youth of gallant mien and mood, 
 Or the full charms of womanhood ; 
 And deeper, holier sympathies 
 Spring in the hearts, that joy to blend 
 The ties of parent and of friend ? — 
 Or is it, when the young are fled. 
 The lovely number'd with the dead ; 
 When all of promise bright are gone. 
 And some sweet child survives alone — 
 The last, — and now the only one ? 
 
 II. 
 I know not, — but the tale I tell 
 Must point me to an aged pair 
 Of name revered in Israel, 
 Who had but one, a daughter fair : 
 Ah ! need I say they loved her well ? — 
 Too well, perchance — for they had known 
 The grief so many parents feel ; 
 A grief by parents felt alone, 
 A wovind, scarce time itself can heal ! 
 They, too, had mourned a numerous race 
 Cut off in youth's first opening bloom ; — 
 They, too, had watched each budding grace 
 Fade in the winter of the tomb ; — 
 And grief was darkening to despair. 
 And faith and hope were sinking fast ; 
 When Heaven, in pity to their prayer, 
 Bade the destroying Angel spare 
 One gentle child — the last.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 35 
 
 She passed beyond the fatal bound 
 Which none had ever passed before ; 
 And years on years rolled brightly round, 
 And still she lived, and still they found 
 They loved her more and more. 
 Was it the memory of the past 
 That round her form such lustre cast, 
 As though the dead revived in her. 
 But purer still, and lovelier ? — 
 For she was all his beauteous bride 
 To the enraptured lover seems ; — 
 Yes, all the youthful mother dreams 
 (When gazing with a mother's pride 
 On the fair child that sports beside). 
 Matured in perfect bloom to see 
 The promise of futurity. 
 
 III. 
 And now on beauty's loveliest years 
 She verged, when childhood's playful mood 
 Just mingles with the new-bom fears 
 And thoughts of conscious womanhood ; 
 When half in sport, and half in shame. 
 The timid maiden steals away 
 From youths who shared her childhood's play, 
 In manner changed, in heart the same : — 
 When the sweet sudden blush, that dyes 
 The changeful cheek with deeper rose ; 
 The downcast, half-averted eyes. 
 The quick and broken speech, — disclose 
 That feelings strange, unknown, unguessed, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Are wakening now within her breast, 
 O woman then is loveliest, — then 
 Hath charms she ne'er can hope again, 
 Wlien thus by childhood frank and free 
 Is tempered maiden dignity, — 
 Unpractised in her sex's wile, 
 Untaught to feel Love's piercing dart, 
 While yet her sweet unconscious smile 
 Can point it to another's heart ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But what have I to do with Love ? — 
 
 Mine is a tale of woe : 
 
 And if the happier realms above 
 
 Their baleful union cannot know, 
 
 Yet, hand in hand, the Sisters rove. 
 
 For ever linked below. 
 
 Wherever Love hath trodden, — there 
 
 Affliction comes, — a kindred power ; 
 
 So twines the weed around the flower. 
 
 So poison taints the odorous air. 
 
 It is the charter of our birth, 
 
 That Hope and Joy with fleeting smile 
 
 Should bless our pilgrimage awhile, 
 
 But find no resting place on earth. 
 
 Each is alike withheld or given, 
 
 To fit us for their home, — their Heaven ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Both smiled upon that aged pair : — 
 They saw their gentle daughter wear 
 The hue of health— nor other care
 
 TlIK DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 37 
 
 Before the grave to them remained, — 
 The haven of their hope was gained : 
 All earthly wishes anchored there ! 
 For that sweet child was all to them, — 
 She was the last and loveliest flower 
 That blossomed on their ancient stem ; 
 And screened alike from sun and shower, 
 As in a garden's sheltered shade 
 They watched around the blooming Maid- 
 Thus guarded by a mother's care, 
 Fenced by a father's fervent prayer, 
 How could the Spoiler enter there ? 
 Alas for man ! since the sad hour 
 Which exiled Eve from Eden's bower, 
 Has there on earth been ever found 
 A spot of consecrated ground. 
 Where Guilt and Grief would not intrude 
 To mar the hallowed solitude ? — 
 Pain, woe, disease, like falling dew, 
 Come noiselessly, but surely too ; — 
 And if we cannot trace the path 
 In which the Spoiler's darts are sped. 
 Unerring still the bolt of wrath. 
 Strikes the devoted head, 
 The shaft is hid from human eye. 
 We only see the victim die. 
 Yes — oft in youth, in beauty's breast. 
 The seeds of death are closely pressed ; 
 As in the rose the worm is bred, 
 By which itself is withered.
 
 38 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was a law to Israel's race, 
 
 That thrice within the annual round 
 
 His sons should seek their holy place, 
 
 Zion, with golden turrets crowned : 
 
 There, in Jehovah's stately fane 
 
 Their vows were paid, their victims slain ; 
 
 When congregated nations trod, 
 
 With reverent step, the courts of God. 
 
 The pious father went his way 
 
 To hallow there the festal day ; — 
 
 He crossed his threshold, — and his child 
 
 Half wept, as she was wont — half smiled — 
 
 While on her cheek the healthful dye. 
 
 And the clear radiance of her eye 
 
 Seemed, as he kissed her, to impart 
 
 Fresh hope, fresh gladness to his heart ; 
 
 Hope, now unchilled by doubt or fear, 
 
 And joy imchastened by a tear. 
 
 Oh, never had he borne, till now, 
 
 A heart so light, so calm a brow ! 
 
 And when in Zion's hallowed fane 
 
 The votive sacrifice he slew, 
 
 Again, again, and oft again, 
 
 With fervent prayer's imploring strain 
 
 Deep praise was blended too ; 
 
 Praise to the Lord of earth and heaven. 
 
 By whom so sweet a child was given I 
 
 When, too, the appointed offering paid, 
 
 He sought, once more, his blest abode,
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 39 
 
 Soon as the homeward path he trod, 
 
 His eye glanced anxious for the Maid 
 
 Who still was first to meet him there, — 
 
 Whose glance first beamed, whose lips first bade 
 
 His welcome from the House of Prayer. 
 
 Haste in his steps, joy in his heart — 
 
 What mean that sudden pause and start ? 
 
 As Jephtha from the battle field 
 
 Triumphant to his home returning, 
 
 His daughter at his gate beheld, 
 
 And joy was changed to mourning — 
 
 So, as Jairus now drew nigh, 
 
 The sight that burst upon his eye, 
 
 Was doubt, fear, wonder, agony ; — 
 
 Yet stood a form to greet him there. 
 
 And yet it was his daughter fair ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Why looks he thus ? No fatal vow 
 
 Binds him to slay that lovely Maid ; — 
 
 No laurels grace his conquering brow 
 
 For which so dear a price is paid ! 
 
 Oh no ! but there she stood— nor flew 
 
 To greet him with the welcome kiss ; 
 
 Her eye, indeed, was fixed on his. 
 
 But it was lustreless and dim — 
 
 Her cheek, indeed, was turned to him, 
 
 But O how changed its former hue — 
 
 The rose of youth and health had fled. 
 
 And left the paleness of the dead ! 
 
 Yes, she was changed ! Disease had come
 
 40 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Since last he left his peaceful home, 
 
 And changed her thus — but she had known 
 
 What pangs would rend her father's heart, 
 
 If entering now the halls alone 
 
 From which he did not thus depart ; 
 
 And, therefore, had o'er-mastering love 
 
 Her weakness nerved, her pain subdued 
 
 And therefore — not in vain — she strove 
 
 Her watchful mother to elude, 
 
 And drag without her fevered frame, 
 
 And greet her father as he came I 
 
 Sad greeting this — for though the sight 
 
 Flushed her wan cheek with fresh delight, 
 
 And lit the eye, with languor dim, 
 
 O could it nerve the powerless limb ? 
 
 It could not — and too well he guessed 
 
 Why thus, as one entranced, she stood — 
 
 Nought spoke, nor asked — but to his breasi 
 
 Clasped her in wild and frantic mood : 
 
 Sad greeting ; — ever till this hour 
 
 Her fond embrace was first to bless 
 
 His glad return from Salem's tower 
 
 To home, and all home's happiness ; 
 
 Now his embrace met no return — 
 
 Her eye had lost its sudden ray — 
 
 Her cheek at once had ceased to burn — 
 
 And fainting in his arms she lay. 
 
 In agony of speechless dread 
 
 He bore within the senseless Maid 
 
 And laid her on her mother's bed,
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 41 
 
 His rose of beauty — soon to fade. 
 
 Ah ! when that mother saw her lord, 
 
 Nor dear embrace, nor kindly word. 
 
 His welcome bade — one glance was given 
 
 To him — the rest to her and Heaven. 
 
 For like the gourd, at eve, that spread 
 
 Its broad leaves fresh o'er Jonah's head, 
 
 But, when he sought its shade by day. 
 
 Drooped, died, beneath the kindling ray ; — 
 
 So all they had, or hoped to have 
 
 Of shelter from the storm of woe. 
 
 Was fast declining to the grave — 
 
 And whence or why they could not know ; 
 
 They only knew they could not save. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 It was no lingering, slow decay, 
 
 When hope, still fainting, still revives ; 
 
 And love, late yielding to dismay, 
 
 Hails the dim eye's returning ray, 
 
 And for an instant dares to say, — 
 
 " The bitterness is past — she lives !" 
 
 Another and another day 
 
 Beheld her living — yet Despair 
 
 Came at the first, and settled there ! 
 
 As in a night without a ray 
 
 The frail and shattered bark is driven, 
 
 No port on earth — no beam from heaven ; 
 
 So did nor look nor sound impart 
 
 A fleeting though a false relief 
 
 To either parent's bursting heart —
 
 42 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 They seemed to hear in every breath, 
 
 In every moan, the voice of death. 
 
 And now, to pray the struggle brief, 
 
 And that tlieir darhng might not part 
 
 In tliat convulsive agony 
 
 Which makes it worse than death to die — 
 
 Was all the father could — was more 
 
 Than could the mother — would not this 
 
 E'en from her very words dismiss 
 
 The hope that in her breast was o'er ? 
 
 If ever in her heart the prayer 
 
 Arose, 'twas born and stifled there ! 
 
 Yes ! while she felt Heaven would not spare, 
 
 It would have choked her but to breathe 
 
 Her daughter's name with that of Death ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Once, and hut once, the father strove 
 To feign the hope he could not feel ; 
 And with dissembling words conceal 
 The bodings dark that all but drove 
 His soul to madness — he could steel 
 His heart, indeed, and smooth his brow, 
 But could he blind a mother's love, 
 Or deem his inward CTiefs unknown 
 To her, who felt them all her own ? 
 Vain was the thought — for conscious fear 
 Made e'en the words of solace now 
 Sound harsh and hateful to her ear, 
 Though uttered by a voice so dear. 
 " How canst thou talk of hope and life,
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 43 
 
 When all I see, and all I hear, 
 Forewarns me that the deadly strife 
 It maddens me to name — is near. 
 Why, dearest, wilt thou seek to wear 
 A look of cold disguise to me ? 
 Am not I worthy still to share 
 Thy grief, thy anguish, thy despair ; 
 Whatever thou hast borne, to bear, 
 Whate'er thou art, to be ? 
 Then seek not thus in vain to keep 
 Alive the hope that is not mine — • 
 Thou canst not teach me not to weep, 
 But I can mix my tears with thine. 
 
 X. 
 
 " But oh ! there is a lesson still, 
 
 How hardly learned — how lightly taught ! 
 
 A lesson I have vainly sought 
 
 To practise in this hour of ill — 
 
 The worst — the heaviest — 'tis to bow 
 
 Without a murmur to the will 
 
 Of Him whose hand is on us now ! 
 
 I know — for thou hast said — our God 
 
 Is ever to His promise true ; — 
 
 I know He never wields the rod 
 
 But when it falls in mercy too, — 
 
 And when the strife of sin is o'er, 
 
 I know our blessed child will soar 
 
 On angel wings to yon bright skies, 
 
 All Angel there, all Paradise — 
 
 But she will bless my sight no more
 
 44 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 On earth ; and should my frenzy rise 
 To murmurs rash and unforgiven, 
 I may not meet her e'en in Heaven ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Then teach me this — for when I gaze 
 
 On that pale brow and bloodless cheek, 
 
 That aspect, tender still, and meek ; 
 
 That eye to which, in other days, 
 
 I looked for all a child could speak 
 
 Of comfort, or a mother seek ; 
 
 And think on her T loved — on all 
 
 She long hath been, and still might be, — 
 
 But no — I dare not now recall 
 
 The charms that bloom no more for me — 
 
 Lest in the tumult, vain as wild. 
 
 My wandering thoughts forget to pray. 
 
 Ah ! when I strive, they can but say, 
 
 ' Would I could die for thee, my child !' 
 
 And thus I blame the hand of Heaven, 
 
 Which takes but what itself hath given. 
 
 Then tell me not of hope or life — 
 
 Thoughts that but swell my bosom's strife,- 
 
 But aid me, O my lord, to bear 
 
 The storm of guilty, rash despair ; 
 
 Lest, in the dark impending hour. 
 
 When faith and hope have lost their power, 
 
 Perchance the Tempter should be nigh. 
 
 To bid me curse my God — and die !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Nought did the Sire awhile reply, — 
 Only the motion of his vest
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 45 
 
 Revealed the heart's deep agony, 
 
 The throb that could not be repressed — 
 
 For gi-ief that springs to woman's eye 
 
 Man locks within his breast. 
 
 In lighter ills if he may seek 
 
 For comfort from a thing so weak ; — 
 
 'Tis his, when doubt becomes despair, 
 
 To smooth his brow, to calm his air ; 
 
 And, where of hope he cannot speak. 
 
 Instruct her how to bear. 
 
 And this he tried — yet scarce subdued 
 
 Tears that had gushed in solitude ; 
 
 Nor words of solace more essayed. 
 
 But lifted up his soul, and prayed, — 
 
 Yes — prayed — though not a word he spoke — 
 
 Prayer from his o'ercharged bosom broke 
 
 In groans that seemed to rend in twain 
 
 The heart, and made all utterance vain — 
 
 Perchance to Him who hears on high 
 
 The moan suppressed, the stifled sigh. 
 
 And the mute language of the eye, 
 
 Ascended thus the father's prayer : — 
 
 " Lord, if the child thou wilt not spare, 
 
 O nerve the mother's heart to bear ; 
 
 Calm the wild frenzy of despair, 
 
 And teach us, aid us, to resign 
 
 Our child to thee — for she is thine." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus they. — But still she sleeps, she sleeps — 
 Her father's groans are uttered low —
 
 46 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 And silently her mother weeps 
 
 Tears, bitterest when they stilly flow, 
 
 As deepest streams are sad and slow. 
 
 Vain care ! no sound disturbs her now — 
 
 There is no quivering of the brow — 
 
 No motion of the lips — no start 
 
 That tells, when sense and speech depart, 
 
 Of lingering life — the faint, quick breath 
 
 Is the sole bound 'twixt her and death. 
 
 But while the hopeless father knelt 
 
 With hands close clasped, and eyes upraised ; 
 
 With keener pangs than Abraham felt 
 
 When on his victim-son he gazed. 
 
 And bared his knife to strike the blow 
 
 Which left him childless all below ; — 
 
 A servant, trusted long and tried. 
 
 Who, from her birth, that Maiden fair 
 
 Had watched with all a father's care, 
 
 And loved with all a father's pride ; 
 
 Entering with silent step and slow, 
 
 Laid on Jairus' arm his hand. 
 
 And drew him from the scene of woe 
 
 Unconscious — scarce he seemed to know 
 
 The voice — nor did the cause demand. 
 
 Or why he led him forth, or where. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Haply a proved and aged friend — 
 One of the Heaven-illumined band 
 Still thinly scattered o'er the land. 
 Who watched till Israel's woes shoidd end,
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 4? 
 
 And o'er his niglit of curse and crime, 
 The Star of Jacob rise sublime ; — 
 Was passing that familiar door, 
 Which thus he ne'er had passed before, 
 When smote upon his startled ear 
 The voice of maidens wailinw near ; 
 And all, around the friendly gate. 
 Seemed strangely drear and desolate ; — 
 Ah ! do his fears too rightly guess ? — 
 Weep they for her, in beauty's bloom, 
 In the mind's dearer loveliness, 
 Their brightest, sinking to the tomb ? 
 Sufficed short question, brief reply — 
 He sought that hospitable door. 
 Welcomed, as he was wont, no more — 
 For often would the Maid espy 
 His steps advancing, and descend 
 To greet her father's ancient friend, 
 With look and voice of melody ; — 
 Now the lone halls resound his tread, 
 As though already of the dead. 
 Is then her gentle spirit fled ? 
 For when the sad Jairus came. 
 His quivering lips essayed to frame 
 The words of welcome — but his tone 
 Was faint and faltering, and his eye 
 Fell vacant, as on one unknown. 
 His friend beheld his agony. 
 And tears of sympathy betrayed 
 How much he loved the suffering Maid —
 
 48 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 How deeply felt the father's grief— 
 Ah ! could he hope to bring relief? — 
 Hard is the task, when cold despair 
 Hath chilled the heart and frozen there — 
 Yet this that stedfast friend essayed. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Be comforted" — the old man said — 
 " Thy child is sinking to the grave — 
 But mourn not yet, as for the dead — 
 If all of earthly hope has fled, 
 Say, is there none from Heaven to save ? 
 Oft hast thou loved with me to look 
 Upon the Prophet's holy book ; 
 Oft hast thou traced the promised year 
 When the pure Virgin's heavenly Son, 
 The Light of Israel, should appear— 
 The hour is come— the Lord is here !— 
 And hast thou not a hope, that He 
 Will save in thine extremity ?" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " I have no hope," he murmured low ; 
 " O say not thus— Recall thy faith, 
 And there is One, thou yet shalt know. 
 Whose voice can stay the stroke of death ; 
 Yea, bid once more the vital breath 
 Enter the lifeless corpse — and tear 
 The victim from the sepulchre ! 
 To Him, to Him, thy miseries bear. 
 To Him prefer the impassioned prayer —
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 49 
 
 Thy tears, thy doubts, He will forgive. 
 And bid thy dying daughter live !" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Live ! live ! Through every vein the blood 
 
 Rushed kindling at the joyous word — 
 
 And silently awhile he stood, 
 
 As though some potent spell he heard. 
 
 Which stilled at once his stormy mood, — 
 
 The oil of peace on passion's flood ! 
 
 " Didst thou say, Live ? And is it He, 
 
 The Man of Might and mystery. 
 
 The miracle of virgin birth ? 
 
 Walks He a latent God on earth ? 
 
 For who can stay the arm of Death, 
 
 Who can arrest the parting breath. 
 
 But God alone ? Say, then, is He 
 
 A present, potent Deity ?" 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " O slow of heart," his friend replied, 
 " To follow Faith, the unerring guide ! 
 Slow to receive the Prophet's word. 
 And read the wonders of the Lord ! 
 When visions on Isaiah fell, 
 Did he not pierce, with eagle eye, 
 The clouds that veil futurity. 
 And look undazzled on that Sun 
 Which Seraphs scarce may gaze upon — 
 The Hope, the Light of Israel ? 
 Spake not his glowing strains of One, 
 Whose wondrous names His glories tell, 
 
 £
 
 50 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 The ' Father,' though a 'Virgin's Son,' 
 
 ' Jehovah,' though ' Immanuel V — 
 
 One, who should seal to Abraham's seed 
 
 The peace from Adam's fall decreed ; 
 
 And point the path that leads on high 
 
 To life and immortality ? — 
 
 Whose voice should to the captive be. 
 
 The welcome sound of liberty — 
 
 At whose high word should light relume 
 
 The eye long closed in deepest gloom ; 
 
 Whose frown should scare the Fiend away 
 
 From the lost wretch, his prostrate prey — 
 
 From Death's fell grasp should snatch and save, 
 
 And wrest her victim from the grave ? — 
 
 That One is here. — Mine ear hath heard 
 
 The potent, life-restoring word ; 
 
 Mine eye hath seen the lifeless clay 
 
 Torn from the baffled grave away ; 
 
 My voice hath swelled the loud acclaim 
 
 Which hailed the great Deliverer's name — 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth — the Son 
 
 Of David — ere to earth He came, 
 
 By Angels called the Holy One. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Nay, answer not — I read thine eye. 
 Nor can I wonder that to thee 
 'Tis marvel all, and mystery. 
 What I have seen, till thou shalt see — 
 Till thine expiring child shall be 
 Revived by His Almighty word,
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 5] 
 
 And thou shalt own and praise the Lord. 
 
 Thou knowest that I was journeying late 
 
 Amidst the vales of Galilee, 
 
 When, as I passed by Nain's gate, 
 
 I heard the low, deep melody 
 
 Which speaks a spirit newly fled — 
 
 The mournful music of the dead. 
 
 Onward I pressed — in every eye 
 
 Hung the big tear of sympathy — 
 
 It was no paid and purchased show, 
 
 No heartless mockery of woe. 
 
 For not the child of wealth or power 
 
 Had met the inevitable hour ; 
 
 None, on whose bounty hundreds fed, 
 
 Whose smile was hope, whose frown was dread — 
 
 The mourner was a widowed one — 
 
 And he, whose earthly race was run, 
 
 It was her son ! — her only son ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Her only son — and she was there, 
 Her eye fast fixed upon the ground. 
 In all the stillness of despair. 
 Her pitying neighbours wept around ; 
 But not a groan, or tear, or sigh. 
 Betrayed her inward agony. 
 I followed to the rocky tomb. 
 Deploring more the mother's doom 
 Than his, who filled the untimely bier. 
 But, ere we reached the sepulchre, 
 Approached a crowd— amongst them One, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 ' Circled by numbers, yet alone ;' 
 
 On him each eager eye upraised 
 
 With awe-struck adoration gazed ; 
 
 They hung entranced on every word, 
 
 Or hailed him Prophet, Saviour, Lord ! 
 
 He did not pass unheeding by. 
 
 But touched the bier — the train stood still — 
 
 The childless mother raised her eye 
 
 As though she knew the unuttered will 
 
 Of Him whose voice was heard on high — 
 
 Whose fearful thunders rend the sky— 
 
 For less He could not be, who spoke 
 
 The summons which the dead awoke ; 
 
 ' Young man, I say to thee. Arise !' 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Canst thou thy long-tried friend believe, 
 Who never knew to frame a lie ; 
 And with unwavering faith receive 
 The tale of might and mystery ?— 
 Then hear !— I saw the dead arise, 
 I saw the cold and lifeless form, 
 As but from sleep, unclose its eyes ; 
 I saw the colour fresh and warm 
 Flush to the pale and simken cheek — 
 His quivering lips essayed to speak, 
 I heard the accents low and weak. 
 That mourner, too, — I see her yet — 
 O never can my heart forget 
 The tears of mingled awe and love 
 Which glistened as she vainly strove
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 53 
 
 For utterance— when I saw her kneel 
 
 Before His feet, not childless now ; 
 
 And in her eye, and on her brow, 
 
 Was transport words could ne'er reveal. 
 
 I heard — I joined the loud acclaim 
 
 That hailed the great Deliverer's name ; 
 
 Hosanna to the Lord, they said. 
 
 All praise to Him who wakes the dead ! — 
 
 And He who thus could force the grave 
 
 To yield its captive prey. 
 
 Whose voice is potent still to save 
 
 In Nature's last decay. 
 
 Is here. E'en now I hear the cry 
 
 Which tells of Jesus passing by, — 
 
 And wilt thou, when the Lord is nigh. 
 
 Leave thy sweet child to droop and die ? 
 
 Shall not thy course to Him be sped, 
 
 Who calms the wave, and wakes the dead ? 
 
 Ere yet she knew or thought to pray, 
 
 His pity raised the widow's son ; 
 
 Will He, then, turn thy prayer away 
 
 When pleading for thine age's stay. 
 
 Like hers, thy last, thy only one ?" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 When storm and tempest sternly lour. 
 And all is dark as midnight hour ; 
 Hast thou not seen, amidst the gloom. 
 That seems to speak but death and doom, 
 A simbeam o'er the heaving sea 
 Sweep radiantly and fitfully —
 
 54 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 A ray of hope to those who strove, 
 
 Exhausted, with the maddening wave. 
 
 And now for pardon looked above, 
 
 To ocean only for a grave ? 
 
 So, o'er the Father's clouded brow 
 
 There came a sudden brightness now, 
 
 As smote upon his quickened ear 
 
 The shouts that spoke the Saviour near; — 
 
 And forth he rushed with impulse wild. 
 
 And paused not, even upon his child 
 
 To gaze, or ask if yet — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then heard he not the piercing cry 
 Which rang from out that darkened room, 
 Nor the shrill shriek of agony 
 That spoke too well his daughter's doom ; 
 Did he not know that all was o'er, 
 And he a father now no more ? 
 None guessed — for not a word he said 
 To the true friend who thus had spoken — 
 He looked not on the dying bed 
 Which, but to see, his heart had broken — 
 But hastened, with distracted air, 
 To meet the advancing throng — and there 
 He sought, amid the encircling train. 
 The Promised One — nor sought in vain. 
 For while the crowd around him pressed, 
 Awed by his look of high command, 
 None mingled with the chosen band —
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 55 
 
 None dared to touch His flowing vest; 
 
 While yet a nameless majesty 
 
 Had charmed and chained each conscious eye, 
 
 And mute His thrilling voice they heard, 
 
 As life or death were in the word. 
 
 At first the wretched Father saw 
 
 Alone the hoped Deliverer ; 
 
 But ever, as he drew more near, 
 
 A solemn yet a soothing awe 
 
 Tempered and quelled his soul's despair — 
 
 Prostrate upon the earth he fell. 
 
 And twice essayed his tale to tell 
 
 In vain — at length he poured his prayer 
 
 In brief and broken words, and said, 
 
 " E'en now my daughter. Lord, is dead, 
 
 But touch her with Thy healing hand. 
 
 And she shall live — if Thou command." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 He spake not : but a pitying eye 
 Upon the prostrate suppliant turned ; — 
 Was it the spark of Deity 
 That, in its pure effulgence, burned ? 
 Or how should thus a glance control 
 The tumult of his struggling soul. 
 And bid the storm of passion cease, 
 And calm distraction into peace ? 
 As if some mute command were given 
 By viewless messenger of Heaven, 
 He rose, ere yet a word was said. 
 And followed where the Prophet led —
 
 56 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Followed with aspect calm, resigned, 
 Altered in mien, as changed in mind. 
 And, ere they reached the house of death, 
 A miracle of love he saw. 
 Which, while it thrilled his frame with awe, 
 Revived his hope, assured his faith : 
 Then — then, indeed, he knew — he felt 
 No mortal form before him trod ; 
 His heart within him seemed to melt, 
 As conscious of the present God ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I said, the listening crowd that pressed 
 To hear His words, in awe profound, 
 Dared not to touch the Saviour's vest : 
 As though His presence breathed around 
 A charm that made it hallowed ground. 
 A wan and wasted woman there 
 Had mingled with the attendant train ; 
 Deep trace of toil and lingering pain 
 Her aspect seemed to wear ; 
 The pale sunk cheek — the rayless eye — 
 The squalid garb of poverty 
 Bespoke the child of want and woe. 
 Whom friends forsake, and kindred fly, 
 Who hath nor hope nor help below. 
 And such she was, — but still her prayer 
 Was registered by Him on high. 
 Whose equal love, whose equal care, 
 The lowest and the loftiest share ! 
 She looked on Jesus passing by.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 57 
 
 And knew the Lord was there ; 
 And in her heart there seemed to spring 
 A sudden, strange imagining, 
 A ray of hope, — a beam of faith, 
 A life amidst her living death ; 
 And softly through the crowd she pressed, 
 And, trembling, touched His flowing vest. 
 O God ! what vast mysterious Power 
 Was nigh, to heal her in that hour ? 
 Even with the touch fresh visrour came 
 Into her shrunk, exhausted frame ! 
 The warm blood leaped through every vein ; 
 Health flushed her glowing cheek again, 
 As when, unconscious of her doom. 
 In youth, in beauty's opening bloom, 
 The name was all she knew of pain ! 
 Yes, patient sufferer, thou art freed ! 
 Though not unmarked that noble deed : 
 For suddenly the Saviour spoke. 
 And sought her through the circling crowd- 
 She sunk before His searching look : 
 For vainly had she striven to shroud 
 Her form from Him whose piercing eye 
 Nor man nor fiend can hope to fly — 
 To whom nor time nor space is known. 
 And darkness and the light are one ! 
 Disclosed, to earth she meekly fell, 
 And strove her tale of woe to tell — 
 And how she touched the healing vest ; 
 Her tears — her transports told the rest !
 
 58 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Oh I sure on earth to those was given 
 A foretaste of their promised heaven, 
 Who gazed upon the Incarnate Lord, 
 And glowed to hear His gracious word, — 
 " Daughter, thy sorrows henceforth cease ; 
 Thy faith hath saved thee, — go in peace !" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Jairus heard, and doubt and fear 
 Passed from his wondering breast away ; 
 Nor trembled in his eye the tear. 
 Nor shook his frame with sudden start. 
 Nor aught more quickly throbbed his heart, 
 When now they met the sad array 
 Which told that all at length was o'er, 
 And he a parent now no more ! 
 Unmoved, the pageantry of death 
 He viewed, and heard the minstrel train 
 Their melody of sadness breathe ; 
 The Father could not doubt again : 
 Not when, with tears of fond regret. 
 Encountering friends and kinsmen said, 
 "Thy daughter even now is dead. 
 Why troublest thou the Master yet ?" — 
 Oh, no ! he could not thus forget 
 All he had seen, and felt, and heard : 
 Yet Jesus spake one soothing word 
 To calm his fears and fix his faith, 
 Then led him to the scene of death. 
 A mingled crowd had gathered near. 
 By friendship or by pity led.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 59 
 
 To mourn a Maid so justly dear, 
 And with the Father's blend their tear. 
 " Give place !" the advancing Saviour said, 
 " The Maiden sleeps, she is not dead!" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But they had gazed upon that form. 
 
 Which, calm and lovely as it lay. 
 
 Was but a mass of lifeless clay, 
 
 A banquet for the withering worm ! 
 
 And they had seen her full dark eye 
 
 Sealed in that stillness of repose 
 
 Which follows instant on the close 
 
 Of suffering, frail mortality, — 
 
 Yet seems so like a living sleep. 
 
 The mourner half forgets to weep ; 
 
 And they had heard the mother's cry 
 
 Of loud and hopeless agony— 
 
 And seen the attendant maidens tear 
 
 Their robes, — and rend their flowing hair ; — 
 
 And thence they knew that life was fled — 
 
 That all of human aid was vain — 
 
 And spoke derision and disdain 
 
 In whispered murmurs, as they said, 
 
 " What — will this dreamer raise the dead ?" 
 
 'Twas but an instant! — At his word, 
 
 Forth passed the unbelieving band. 
 
 For none withstood his high command. 
 
 Though none yet knew their Lord. 
 
 When all was still, and scarce a breath 
 
 Was heard within the house of death,
 
 60 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 The childless parents first He led 
 Into the chamber of the dead, — 
 Then of His train the Chosen Three : 
 Softly they stepped, and silently 
 They knelt around the bed 
 On which the just departed lay : — 
 Yet the sad Mother turned away 
 From that pale corpse, so coldly fair : 
 Faitli yet was struggling with Despair ; 
 And still on Jesus fixed her eye, 
 Lest Doubt should win the mastery — 
 The Father's glance was rooted there. 
 Yes, on that form he seemed to look 
 As if the spirit had not fled. 
 As if the grave would yield its prize — 
 And moved not, till the Saviour spoke 
 His mandate to the unconscious dead — 
 " Maiden, I say to thee. Arise !" 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 O Father ! dost thou view on earth 
 
 The marvel of a heavenly birth ? 
 
 O Mother ! dost thou clasp again 
 
 Thy child without a mother's pain ? 
 
 Do ye, O faithful, favoured Three ! 
 
 Again behold the victory 
 
 O'er Death, or is it on the dead 
 
 Your stedfast glance is riveted ? 
 
 No ! 'tis not on the dead they gaze ; — 
 
 The wondering Father looks not now 
 
 On the pale cheek — the still cold brow ;
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 61 
 
 The Mother, wrapt in mute amaze, 
 
 No longer turns on that closed eye 
 
 The glance that vainly asks reply ! 
 
 For lo ! her fringed lids unclose ! 
 
 Her eyes with living lustre beam, — 
 
 As if she wakes from calm repose, 
 
 Or from some bright and blessed dream ! 
 
 And look ! again the faded rose 
 
 Glows round her lips ; — they seem to move ! 
 
 Is it a warm and breathing smile ? 
 
 Or doth the witchery of love 
 
 With false, illusive spell beguile ? 
 
 Oh, no ! she rises, — she revives ! 
 
 'Tis not a dream ! She lives ! she lives ! 
 
 The life — the glad reality 
 
 Beams on her cheek — burns in her eye ! 
 
 Fresh graces to the Maid are given, 
 
 As she had dwelt awhile in heaven. 
 
 And then returned to lower earth, 
 
 To show what forms of Angel-birth 
 
 Are tenants of the sky ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 They spoke not, — moved not, — all they could, 
 It was to glance from her to Him ; 
 And if the dazzled eye was dim, 
 And scarce could look the gratitude 
 Which, e'en to bursting, filled each breast, — 
 To Him it was not unexpressed ! 
 Their hearts before Him open lay ! 
 Emotions, that for utterance strove,
 
 62 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Joy, wonder, adoration, love. 
 Needed to Him no vain display 
 Of words: nor paused He but to say, 
 " Receive your daughter from the tomb 
 Undoubting — for, with mortal food. 
 Soon shall ye hail her strength renewed, 
 And health restored in all its bloom. 
 Henceforth in solemn silence seal 
 The pangs ye felt, the joys ye feel ; 
 For life restored, for guilt forgiven. 
 Your praises shall be heard in Heaven !"
 
 THE 
 
 OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 " This my son was dead, and is alive again : he was lost, and 
 is found."— Luke xv. 24. 
 
 I. 
 Rend the dark veil Oblivion wraps around thee, 
 Cheerless and cold as Beauty's virgin shroud ; 
 Shine — as when pride and pomp unrivalled crowned 
 
 thee, 
 And at thy gates adoring myriads bowed, 
 Fane of the bright-eyed Dian! — Though the cloud 
 Of desolation o'er thy towers be spread ; 
 Wild Fancy's wand, with potent spells endowed, 
 Can wake the slumbering scenes of glories fled, 
 And o'er the waste of time a fairy radiance shed. 
 
 In the proud land of palaces wert thou. 
 Alone and matchless, as thine own fair Queen 
 Shines 'midst the gems of night's star-crowned 
 brow,
 
 64 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Veiling their dim rays in superior sheen : 
 If nought remains where Ephesus hath been, 
 As thou art now, so Earth itself shall be ; 
 Then wherefore pause on that deserted scene, 
 Nor turn, with kindling hearts, to gaze on thee, 
 As erst thou stood'st sublime in perfect majesty ? 
 
 But who may paint that dread magnificence 
 Which scarce the eye can measure, or the mind, 
 Strained to its utmost range with thought intense. 
 Can level to the standard of mankind. 
 Like Troy's famed walls, as if by gods designed, 
 Towers the vast fabric — yet one master-soul, 
 By Life's ephemeral limits unconfined, 
 Saw through the night of Time long ages roll. 
 And fixed the mighty plan, and harmonized the 
 whole. 
 
 The votive treasures of the adoring Earth 
 Were lavished on thy bosom, and thy shrine. 
 Beseeming well a Power of heavenly birth, 
 Was wrought by mortal hands with skill divine. 
 There did the form of virgin Cynthia shine. 
 Bearing her silver bow and shafts of death ; 
 And the proud Youth of Jove's immortal line 
 In majesty of marble frowned beneath ; 
 The very guise of life — that only did not breathe. 
 
 Thy countless columns gleamed in rich array ; 
 The gift of monarchs, and the work of men
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 65 
 
 Whose nobler names, when regal thrones decay, 
 Shall boast the meed of Fame's recording pen. 
 The art of Scopas claims the stranger's ken, 
 Demands his wonder, and enchains his gaze ; 
 And little recks he of the despot then. 
 Who lent his wealth the wondrous work to raise — 
 Not his the matchless skill ! not his the deathless 
 praise ! 
 
 Oh, splendours soon to fade ! The sage's plan, 
 The sculptor's art, must yield to Heaven's decree; 
 And this thy proudest — mightiest work — O man! 
 Hath met destruction — not from Time — but thee. 
 What, but immortalize his name — did he 
 Who wrought its downfall ? Hearts of little worth 
 Were those, which blazoned crime with flattery, 
 And fabled Dian watching o'er the birth 
 Of him, the self-styled God — the deadliest scourge 
 of earth. 
 
 Ere long the structure with superior fame 
 Rose from its wreck, but his insidious grace 
 Who sought to glory in the Founder's name, 
 The state rejected by evasions base — 
 " What ! could a God of Ammon's mighty race 
 Rear temples to a sister Deity ?" 
 O adulation vile ! can this eflPace, 
 Rash king ! thy shameless slaughter of the free ? 
 Could e'en barbarians stoop to own their God in 
 thee?
 
 66 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 On undecaying columns rear the wall ! 
 With gifts more costly grace the gorgeous dome, 
 Yet vaunt them not eternal — they shall fall — 
 Yea, sink unheeded in perpetual gloom. 
 So let thy wrath, O Lord of Hosts ! consume 
 The towers of darkness, and the demons' shrine, 
 Till Truth's broad sun, triumphant, shall illume 
 Earth's wide waste wilderness with beams divine, 
 And man shall bend to Thee, and own no name 
 but Thine. 
 
 II. 
 " Breathe high the solemn strains of praise ! 
 Loud let the echoing trumpets peal ! 
 The swell of choral voices raise, 
 And low at Dian's altar kneel ; 
 There be your votive homage given 
 Submissive to the Queen of Heaven." 
 Thus from the temple's stately towers, 
 The Herald of the God proclaims. 
 And, in the name of holiest Powers, 
 Calls high-born youths and courtly dames 
 To haste and swell the rich array. 
 And grace their Dian's festal day. 
 Joyous the trembling Virgin hears. 
 And to her cheek the conscious blush 
 Steals kindling with a deeper flush — 
 And throbs her heart with rising fears — 
 For — minelins: with the white-robed train 
 In Cynthia's proud and peerless fane. 
 She, too, shall raise the choral strain ; —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 67 
 
 And there, amidst the youthful band, 
 Before that gorgeous shrine shall stand 
 The Youth beloved — from whose fond eye 
 She shrinks in maiden modesty ; 
 Yet listens to that low soft tone 
 Which breathes responsive to her own, 
 As sweet they pour th' alternate lay 
 To Dian and the God of Day. 
 
 III. 
 And now the festive pomp proceeds 
 Which Grandeur gilds, and Beauty leads ; 
 But, lo ! amidst the adoring train 
 Who circle that majestic fane. 
 One aged pilgrim wends along 
 Unheeded by the busy throng ; 
 He only breathes no wliispered prayer, 
 Nor bends in adoration there. 
 Robed in the Pilgrim's lowly vest. 
 His arms are folded o'er his breast — 
 Thin scattered locks of purest snow 
 Wave o'er a wan and wasted brow, 
 Whence Time's soft touch hath swept away 
 Each trace of Passion's earlier sway ; 
 And all that once was wont to move 
 Hath changed to that meek placid love 
 Which speaks a heart — a hope above. 
 But wherefore doth he shrink to bow 
 Where myriads plight the willing vow ? 
 When every cheek is flushed with gladness, 
 Say, whence his brow is wrapt in sadness ? 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 And why, when mingling choirs prolong, 
 In Dian's praise, the votive hymn — 
 Why turns he from that raptmed song 
 With mien as sad — and eye as dim — 
 As if that bright exulting train 
 Were mourners o'er a hero's bier — 
 That melting lay — so soft — so dear — 
 Were but a deep funereal strain ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 It is not that he proudly deems 
 His breast from mortal passions free ; 
 Not his such cold unfeeling dreams, 
 No rigid heartless Stoic he, — 
 No lofty philosophic lore 
 Hath led him to contemn mankind, 
 And lured him vainly to explore 
 The mazes of the Eternal Mind — 
 And learn — what Nature taught before — 
 That God is wise, and mortals blind. 
 The vaunting sophist, weak as proud. 
 May turn disdainful from the crowd. 
 And smile in selfish scorn to see 
 Their blindness and their misery — 
 More gently he hath learnt to scan 
 The errors of his fellow-man ; 
 His tears were early taught to flow. 
 His heart to bleed for others' woe. 
 When not a sigh, or murmuring groan 
 Had spoke the pressure of his own. 
 And ask ye whence that ray of Heaven
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 69 
 
 Had flashed, and whence a love was given 
 
 No proud philosophy could teach, 
 
 No bard's ecstatic visions reach ? 
 
 O gaze upon his wasted cheek. 
 
 His pensive brow, and lowly mien ; 
 
 These lineaments too well bespeak 
 
 The persecuted Nazarene. 
 
 And such he was ! the tear that steals 
 
 Unmarked — his secret soul reveals ; 
 
 He turns but from that idol shrine 
 
 To seek a Saviour all Divine, 
 
 And breathe the meek imploring prayer 
 
 For those who kneel deluded there. 
 
 But know — though driven, perchance, to roam 
 
 Without a refuge or a home — 
 
 To meet the sneer of cold disdain — 
 
 To pine in peril or in pain — 
 
 To share the base marauder's doom. 
 
 Or sink unpitied and forgot. 
 
 And moulder in a nameless tomb — 
 
 Thrice blessed is the Christian's lot ; 
 
 In darkest shame — in deadliest ill, 
 
 Jehovah is his solace still ; 
 
 And hope to cheer his path is given. 
 
 While peace and love — from mortals driven — 
 
 Await him in his destined heaven. 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet seems it strange, when Time hath shed 
 A hundred winters o'er his head — 
 When from his eye the fire hath fled,
 
 70 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 His limbs are weak and withered — 
 Why, bent with sorrows and with age, 
 He yet pursues his pilgrimage ? 
 Ah ! man is ever doomed to roam, 
 Till Peace, that flies a world unblest. 
 And rarely dwells in human breast, 
 Shall soothe him in his last long home. 
 On that pale cheek, and patient brow, 
 Dejection deep is lowering now ; 
 But say, what earthly fears control — 
 What woes can wring a saintly soul ? 
 'Tis not the frown of regal hate ; 
 This hath he borne, and still could bear — 
 'Tis not the impending stroke of Fate ; 
 A Christian knows no terrors there — 
 Though lone he seems, and desolate, 
 'Tis not despondence or despair ; 
 Yes — guilt may stain our best estate — 
 But grief like his might Angels share. 
 A work of mercy leads him on 
 To seek and save a wandering son ; 
 And, oh ! though joy may cease to warm, 
 And Beauty's self forget to charm, 
 No storms a Christian's faith can move. 
 No time can quench a Christian's love! 
 Once in the path of heavenly truth 
 'Twas his to train a generous youth — 
 And fondly on his charge he smiled, 
 Yea — loved him as an only child. 
 Alas ! ere yet his work was done,
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 71 
 
 Constrained by duty's urgent power — 
 
 The Saint, reluctant — left his son — 
 
 And left him in an evil hour. 
 
 'Reft of his father and his guide, 
 
 Too soon his new-born faith was tried : 
 
 Misled by Glory's meteor-flame. 
 
 He burned to wear the wreath of Fame, 
 
 And win the Hero's vaunted name. 
 
 His dreams by night — his thoughts by day 
 
 Were all of that delusive ray 
 
 Which beams with radiance false as fair — 
 
 And leads to darkness and despair. 
 
 But 'tis a joyless tale to tell ; 
 
 Enough — the wily snares of hell 
 
 Were spread around him — and he fell. 
 
 Oh, had he rested with the dead, 
 
 Ere from the Christian's home he fled ! 
 
 And now he rears the flag of war. 
 
 Where snow-crowned Taurus towers afar ; 
 
 And wields the red unhallowed brand. 
 
 And madly leads the robber-band. 
 
 For this — o'er mountain and o'er wild, 
 
 The Father seeks his erring child ; 
 
 Though force may crush, or fraud betray, 
 
 And bathe in blood those locks of grey. 
 
 Nought recks he of impending ill. 
 
 When 'tis to work Jehovah's will ; 
 
 And, oh ! how welcome were the grave. 
 
 Should Heaven yet deign his son to save. 
 
 God prosper thee, thou Pilgrim old —
 
 72 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 For sure the smile of Love Divine 
 Must rest upon a deed like thine — 
 Proceed — thy name unknown, untold : 
 But, oh ! if splendours vainly bright, 
 The meed of science or of strife, 
 Shed o'er that name no transient glare — 
 In characters of living light, 
 'Tis graven in the Book of Life — 
 With deathless praise recorded there. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But little boots it here to tell 
 
 What ills the aged Saint befel ; 
 
 Enough — his weary wandering past, 
 
 He reached the distant hills at last. 
 
 But near that towering mountain's base. 
 
 Nought could the wondering Pilgrim trace 
 
 Of sordid want, and slow decay, 
 
 Sure omens of tyrannic sway — 
 
 O'er plains, enriched with Autuinn's spoil, 
 
 Blithely the hind pursued his toil ; 
 
 In his bold brow and placid mien 
 
 Content and quiet smiled serene ; 
 
 And beamed from his undaunted eye, 
 
 The pride of conscious liberty. 
 
 " Peace to thee, friend," the wanderer said- 
 
 " Say, hath not Fame my steps misled ? 
 
 'Tis said, 'mid yon drear mountain-caves, 
 
 With ruthless sway an outlaw reigns ; 
 
 The power of outraged Rome he braves, 
 
 And scatters ruin o'er the plains.
 
 XHE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 73 
 
 But here, where peace and plenty smile, 
 
 Is this the bandit's famed defile ?" 
 
 " Nay, reverend sire," rejoined the youth, 
 
 " Rumour for once hath blazoned truth. 
 
 Here dwells that Chief, so known to fame — 
 
 Hence leads his yet unconquered crew ; 
 
 If he deserve an Outlaw's name, 
 
 I would our lords were Outlaws too. 
 
 For know, since gallant Leo's sway 
 
 The mountain bands did first obey, 
 
 No ruffian hands have dared despoil 
 
 The happy peasant's hard-earned toil ; 
 
 And here, in native beauty pure. 
 
 The blushing maid hath bloomed secure. 
 
 The friend of peace, of freedom he. 
 
 The foe of nought but tyranny. 
 
 Yet, stranger ! — turn thee from the hill. 
 
 For lawless bands are lurking there : 
 
 And, though the Chief thine age would spare, 
 
 His train are dark and desperate still — 
 
 Know, too, the armed bands of Rome 
 
 Have sought to scale his mountain home, 
 
 And, though repvdsed with scorn and shame. 
 
 Their force may still his caution claim. 
 
 Nor deem by peaceful garb, O Sire ! 
 
 To shun the watchful warrior's ire ; 
 
 Thou know'st contending armies call 
 
 The friend of each, a foe to all." 
 
 " I thank thee for thy care, my friend, 
 
 But duty calls, and I must on !
 
 74 THE OUTLAW OF TAURU^. 
 
 The ambushed mount I still ascend, 
 To-night a soul is lost or won. 
 Farewell — and for thy courtesy 
 An old man's blessing rest with thee." 
 " Father, farewell ! may woe and wrath 
 Be far from thine adventurous path ; 
 May favouring Dian's beam divine, 
 May Jove's almighty aid be thine." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fearless and firm, the man of God 
 
 An unfrequented pathway trod. 
 
 Through groves, by Nature's hand arrayed 
 
 In that rich luxury of shade. 
 
 Which blooms, where no rude hands repress 
 
 Her own unstudied loveliness. 
 
 Here lifts the pine its graceful form, 
 
 And there the proud oak braves the storm. 
 
 While the light tendrils of the vine 
 
 Round each in wild luxuriance twine. 
 
 On that blest clime Heaven's favouring eye 
 
 Looks down in all its radiancy, 
 
 And rears Elysian bowers on earth. 
 
 And kindles beauty into birth. 
 
 Yes ! nurtured there by genial dews, 
 
 The golden-crowned narcissus blows — 
 
 There, with its deepest, loveliest hues. 
 
 Spontaneous springs the virgin-rose ; — 
 
 And there unnumbered flowers exhale 
 
 Soft odours to the fragrant gale, 
 
 And waft that incense to the skies.
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 15 
 
 Perverted man too oft denies. 
 
 'Mid scenes like these, the Grecian lyre 
 
 Enraptured woke its earliest fire ; 
 
 The young bard glanced his beaming eye 
 
 On the fair earth, and fairer sky. 
 
 Till each assumed a brighter hue — 
 
 And scenes of wild enchantment grew — 
 
 And Hope believed what Fancy drew. 
 
 With grace divine, through every grove 
 
 He saw a virgin Dryad rove — 
 
 Beneath each pure transparent rill 
 
 There bloomed a Naiad — purer still ; 
 
 In the sweet warbled strains that rung 
 
 Incessant through the echoing grove, 
 
 A choir of heavenly Sisters sung 
 
 The lay of rapture and of love — 
 
 A Goddess swayed the moon's pale beam 
 
 Mor« lovely than her own chaste gleam ; 
 
 While on yon burning Orb of pride 
 
 A Power more glorious seemed to ride — 
 
 A Youth of matchless beauty he — 
 
 The God of light and poesy. 
 
 Alas ! that pure devotion's fire, 
 
 Proud impulse of the deathless soul. 
 
 Should thus to Heaven's bright orbs aspire ; 
 
 Nor rise to that Eternal Sire, 
 
 Whose mandate formed and fixed the whole. 
 
 Yet let not bigotry presume 
 
 To trace the erring heathens' doom, 
 
 Or pride their baseless creed contemn —
 
 76 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 To God their secret souls were known — 
 Their sentence rests with Him alone — 
 And man may pity — not condemn. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So thought the aged Saint, I ween, 
 As, faint beneath the sultry beam, 
 He sate him by a rippling stream, 
 And gazed on that enchanting scene — 
 With orient morn his course began, 
 Now burnt the fierce meridian ray ; 
 And yet no tread — no trace of man 
 Had crossed his solitary way. 
 Oh, dear to him was loneliness ! — 
 For, while that mazy path he trod. 
 High thoughts his raptured bosom bless — 
 He holds communion with his God. 
 Love warmed his soul with quenchless fire, 
 Nor gave his faltering limbs to tire ; 
 And He, whom Heaven's high hosts obey. 
 Sustained the Wanderer on his way. 
 E'en now — though youth might well confess 
 The languid sway of weariness — ' 
 Short rest he took — a slight repast 
 Of sylvan fruits — perchance his last : 
 A cool draught of the limpid wave — 
 An orison to Him who gave — 
 A tear for his deluded son — 
 Then onward — till his task be done. 
 O honoured Saint ! if hallowed tears 
 Of friendship and of filial love
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 77 
 
 Are dear to Him who reigns above — 
 If Faith's meek fervent prayer He hears — 
 Those tears, that holy prayer — are thine — 
 An armour and a shield divine. 
 Go, then ! may Angel-guides attend thee ! 
 May Heaven's protecting arm defend thee ! 
 For ere yon orb, that beams so bright, 
 Hath veiled his waning rays in night, 
 The wild commingling yell of war 
 Shall burst upon thee from afar — 
 The shock of hostile legions meeting — 
 The tramp of routed bands retreating — 
 The fierce pursuers' frantic cry 
 Of vengeance and of victory. 
 E'en now the pealing trumpets swell. 
 And Fancy wings her airy car, 
 And bears me to the battle plain — 
 Where scenes of blood, and deeds of war 
 Demand a louder — bolder strain. 
 Then, Pilgrim, for awhile farewell ; 
 And may we meet in peace again ! 
 
 • IX. 
 
 But, oh ! when stem, relentless foes 
 In dark and desperate contest close ; 
 What breast from soft emotions steeled. 
 Would linger o'er the fatal field ? 
 What eye can trace — what accents tell 
 The horrors of that earthly hell ? 
 Then wherefore pause we to portray 
 The tumidt of the maddening fray ?
 
 78 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Enough — the mortal strife is o'er — 
 The harsh shrill clarion sounds no more ; 
 And on the crags, and o'er the plains, 
 A cold unnatural silence reigns, 
 More fearful than the frantic yell 
 Which thundered in the battle-swell. 
 How many a youthful heart of flame, 
 That burnt for conquest and for fame, 
 Has withered in eternal gloom, 
 And fled for glory to the tomb ! 
 Mark, on the pale, distorted brow. 
 What deadly scorn is lowering still ; 
 Stern Hate, that half disdains to bow 
 To mightier Death's constraining will — 
 Last lightens in the closing eye. 
 And pants to reach eternity. 
 For when the warrior fights despairing. 
 His cooler courage fires to daring ; 
 Little he recks, when fixed to perish, 
 On all he once most loved to cherish — 
 Prostrate on heaps of carnage lying. 
 Why looks he wistful o'er the dying ? 
 Say, doth he watch for that loved eye 
 Whose tear might soothe his agony ; 
 And doth he listen for the balm 
 Of that sweet voice, that still might calm ? 
 He only looks to see the foe 
 Who struck his death-wound, laid as low ; 
 And listens for the dying groan 
 Wrung from the author of his own.
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 79 
 
 Vengeance demands his latest breath, 
 And soothes his parting soul in death. 
 He dreams not of his future doom, 
 Nor casts one look beyond the tomb ; 
 His Gods desert him in the grave : 
 What Gods were they, who could not save ? 
 
 X. 
 
 A ready brand — a dauntless hand, 
 Nerved by the firmness of despair ; 
 A soul, by perils trained to dare, 
 Outnumbering foes may well withstand : 
 No marvel, then, the smaller band 
 Remained the victors there. 
 Safe moored within his mountain-hold. 
 The outlaw chieftain, young and bold. 
 Had long th' insulted state defied 
 With words and deeds of tameless pride. 
 " Ay, let them come," elate he said — 
 " And rouse the lion from his den : 
 Oft have their craven legions fled, 
 For how should slaves contend with men ? 
 Thetj talk of justice ! they, who wring 
 The hard-earned pittance of the poor, 
 To swell their sordid, shameless store ! 
 If weapons like their cause they bring. 
 Their vaunted bands are marched in vain, 
 And conquest crowns my sword again." 
 They came — the orient orb of day 
 Gleamed radiant o'er their proud array, 
 But now the pure pale evening star
 
 80 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Beams on their routed ranks afar — 
 Save those, who — gasping on the plain — 
 Shall never join those ranks again ; 
 Whose day of fight, of life is done — 
 Whose dread eternity begun. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But who, on yon steep crag's rude brow. 
 
 In pensive attitude doth stand ? 
 
 No conquering pride his looks avow, 
 
 And who that saw would deem him now 
 
 The chieftain of the victor-band? 
 
 His crested helmet's flowing pride, 
 
 His sword, in carnage deeply dyed ; 
 
 His arms, with dust and gore defiled, 
 
 Beneath his feet are rudely piled ; 
 
 He moves not — and his fiery eye 
 
 Rolls wildly round in vacancy ; 
 
 Unseen the dead beneath him lying — 
 
 Unheard the deep groans of the dying. 
 
 Yet foremost in the desperate fray. 
 
 Through the thick legions of the foe. 
 
 His arm shot panic and dismay — 
 
 His sabre struck no second blow ; 
 
 And chiefs, who never quailed before, 
 
 Had braved him once — and braved no more. 
 
 Crowned with triumphant laurels now, 
 
 What strange dejection clouds his brow ? 
 
 XII. 
 
 The warrior feels not, 'midst the strife. 
 The dread of death, the love of life ;
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAUEUS. 81 
 
 And the loud yell of battle's din 
 Bears down the warning voice within. 
 Far from his soul is Memory hurled ; — 
 The battle-plain becomes his world ; 
 Nought fills his heart, or fires his eye, 
 But vengeance — fame — and victory. 
 But when the storm of strife is o'er, 
 When Fancy's fever burns no more ; 
 When all the madness, all the pride 
 Of conquest and of wrath subside ; 
 Then, then, her throne will Truth assume. 
 And wrap the haughty soul in gloom. 
 Whate'er oppressed that musing Chief, 
 He wore a frown too stern for grief; 
 'Twas some wild passion's keener force. 
 Perchance repentance or remorse. 
 His band in mute amazement viewed 
 Their leader's harsh repulsive mood ; 
 But none, uncalled, might dare intrude 
 Upon his hour of solitude, 
 Save one — nor deem it strange that he, 
 Though youthful and im warlike still. 
 The friend of Leo's soul should be — 
 Affection, chainless, roves at will — 
 And souls unbending — bold — and high — 
 With gentlest bosoms oft combine 
 In Friendship's fondest — firmest tie — 
 As the light tendrils of the vine, 
 Round the tall elm delight to twine ! 
 
 G
 
 82 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Not his the form, nor his the face 
 
 That spoke him sprung of bandit race ; 
 
 For modest was his mien, and meek — 
 
 And though a rooted paleness shed 
 
 Its wan hue o'er his faded cheek, 
 
 Whence youth's transparent rose was fled ; 
 
 When to its wonted seat would rush 
 
 The sudden and unconscious blush, 
 
 Its bright tints told — though faintly seen — 
 
 How fair in health that rose had been. 
 
 A melting softness in his tone 
 
 Breathed music — and his pensive smile 
 
 Was such in grace — in all but guile — 
 
 As Beauty had been proud to own : 
 
 And in his dark-blue eye, which told 
 
 Of grief consuming though controlled, 
 
 There was a placid hopelessness. 
 
 Which dimmed — but did not charm the less 
 
 Such is the mild and mournful ray 
 
 Of Beauty, while it wastes away. 
 
 Softly he spoke — his accents stole 
 
 Resistless on the Outlaw's soul — 
 
 " What gloom thy martial spirit shrouds ? 
 
 Thy brow, what strange dejection clouds ? 
 
 Dost thou, O chief! in sadness pine, 
 
 When conquest and when fame are thine ? 
 
 I own, my weaker heart hath bled. 
 
 To view the dying and the dead ; 
 
 Nor would I shrink to tell, in sooth
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 83 
 
 (Thou wilt not blame a wayward youth), 
 
 To set the pining captive free, 
 
 To raise the fallen, more dear to me 
 
 Than all the pride of victory. 
 
 Such thoughts, I know, the warrior spurns ; 
 
 For Glory's meed alone he burns ; 
 
 And is not thine the wreath of Fame, 
 
 And thine the Victor's envied name ?" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Oh Azor !" thus the chief replied. 
 And deep and heavily he sighed ; 
 " That laurelled wreath, that vaunted fame. 
 Are now my hate — my scorn — my shame. 
 Their pleasure scarce deserves a thought; — 
 If rapture, 'twere too dearly bought 
 By those whom Passion's blast hath driven. 
 Till they — like me — for fame have given 
 Their peace on earth, their hope of heaven. 
 When from my sabre shrunk the foe. 
 Thou know'st not — and thou canst not know — 
 What nerved my stern unsparing hand. 
 What thought gave keemiess to my brand. 
 It was not Hate that fired mine eye. 
 Nor even the pride of victory ; 
 No — Azor — no — I feared to die. 
 Doubt darkens o'er thy clouded brow, 
 And half exclaims, ' It cannot be !' 
 Thou deem'st it strange my soul should bow 
 To lay its weakness bare to thee — 
 But mark me, youth !— nor hostile sword, 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Nor sabre in my life-blood gored ; 
 
 No insult of a vaunting foe, 
 
 No abject craven's heartless blow ; 
 
 Not the keen throb of life's last sigh — 
 
 Not all of shame and agony 
 
 That Wrath can wreak — or Guilt can bear. 
 
 It is not these — 'tis Heaven I fear. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " O reverend guardian of my youth ! 
 
 O herald of eternal truth ! 
 
 How have I mocked thy pious prayer ! 
 
 How blasted thy parental care ! 
 
 Thou good old man ! a venomed dart 
 
 My guilt hath planted in thine heart ; 
 
 And dimmed thine age with all the woe 
 
 A saintly soul— like thine — could know. 
 
 How oft doth keen Remembrance trace, 
 
 In lines not Guilt can e'er erase, 
 
 Thine aspect meek — thine accents mild — 
 
 Thy fondness for a worthless child. 
 
 Would the vain dream of pomp and pride 
 
 Had never lured me from thy side ! — 
 
 The Seer unveiled before mine eye 
 
 The mysteries of Eternity — 
 
 He raised me to the throne of fire 
 
 Where dark clouds veil the Almighty Sire ; 
 
 He bade me look beyond the tomb, 
 
 And watch the deathless worm consume. — - 
 
 He led me to the mountain-side. 
 
 Where — oh may lips of guilt and shame
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 85 
 
 Dare but to breathe that hallowed name ? — 
 
 Where Heaven's Incarnate Sovereign died — 
 
 And yet from this stupendous scene, 
 
 False dreams my wavering soul could wean ; 
 
 And bid me basely, weakly, sever 
 
 The faith I vQwed to hold for ever. — 
 
 Lured by the wily arts of Hell, 
 
 I languished — murmured — doubted — 'fell . 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Oh where was Reason's vaunted light. 
 
 To guide me in that fearful hour ? 
 
 And where was Virtue's arm of might. 
 
 To guard me from the Tempter's power ? 
 
 And where that ' still small ' voice, that wakes 
 
 In darkness, and in silence speaks, 
 
 That well had warned me from despair. 
 
 And thundered on my soul ' Beware !' 
 
 Ah ! vain alike were each and all 
 
 To save or shield me ere my fall. — 
 
 And well to that accursed deed 
 
 Hath Heaven repaid its deadly meed ; — 
 
 Like tlie fall'n leaf, at random cast 
 
 By every bleak autumnal blast ; 
 
 Each path my soul is doomed to trace. 
 
 And never find a resting-place. 
 
 No soft reviving dews of sleep 
 
 My brows in calm oblivion steep ; 
 
 Through Night's still shade dread thunders roll 
 
 Prophetic o'er my conscious soul, 
 
 And spectres shriek my future doom,
 
 86 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 And dark fiends beckon to the tomb. 
 
 Oh how I wake and watch for day 
 
 To drive those dreary dreams away ! 
 
 And what is Fame, so dearly won, 
 
 Whose earlier rays so brightly shone ? 
 
 'Tis faithless as the clear blue stream 
 
 Which veils the deep abyss below ; 
 
 'Tis fleeting as a lovely dream 
 
 From which the dreamer wakes to woe ; 
 
 It proffers rapture, false as fair, 
 
 And gives distraction and despair. 
 
 Not e'en thy gentle cares can bless 
 
 The soul that pines in hopelessness ; 
 
 I cling to life — yet curse my breath — 
 
 And sigh for rest— but shrink from death ; 
 
 That would not soothe mine agony — 
 
 The worm of conscience cannot die. 
 
 O could I wander like a Cain, 
 
 With branded brow, and burning brain ; — 
 
 Or lingering live as others die, 
 
 Each breath like nature's parting sigh, 
 
 'Twere welcome — if I could but fly 
 
 From judgment and eternity." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 He ceased — o'er Azor's faded cheek 
 A flash of wild emotion flew ; 
 But soon that momentary streak 
 Changed to a paler, deadlier hue — 
 His soft bright eye of living blue 
 In agony of tears grew dim —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 87 
 
 And o'er his brow his hand he drew, 
 As light and earth before him swim ; 
 Yet nought his quivering hps express — 
 Say, therefore, did he feel the less ? 
 No ! burning cheeks and labouring brow 
 The soul's deep struggle best avow ; 
 What need of words ? the heart alone 
 Is Pity's dearest, holiest throne. 
 And, when the tale of woe she hears, 
 Her softest answer is in tears. 
 Nor Leo waited more reply. 
 But spoke on low and mournfully. 
 " And now thou know'st the secret strife. 
 The ceaseless — cureless pangs I feel ; 
 But mark me, Azor ! — on thy life 
 That galling truth to none reveal 
 Which here I charge thee to conceal. 
 Thine is the guileless heart of youth. 
 And thine its tenderness and truth ; 
 Nor cold distrust nor scornful pride 
 In thee forbid me to confide. 
 And in thy form, and in thy face, 
 The cherished lineaments I trace 
 Of one — I dare not name her now — 
 Who claimed my earliest, fondest vow ; 
 And for her sake — most dear art thou. 
 But haste — our task is long delayed. 
 The wounded loud demand our aid — 
 Check not thy gentle cares, nor know 
 Distinction here of friend or foe ;
 
 88 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Here let our former variance end — 
 
 The fallen is the warrior's friend." 
 
 And instant to the plain they sped 
 
 To soothe the dying — grace the dead. 
 
 O gentle youth ! on earth recline, 
 
 And softly raise the drooping head, 
 
 And staunch the wound that long hath bled- 
 
 Alas ! a joyless task is thine ! 
 
 The heart that still with vengeance burns, 
 
 Though light and life are waning fast, 
 
 Thy proffered grace indignant spurns — 
 
 And only seeks to breathe its last 
 
 Unheeded there — nor deigns to owe 
 
 Such mercy to the conquering foe. — 
 
 Yet should thine aid avail to save 
 
 One victim from the opening grave, 
 
 A purer, holier wreath is thine. 
 
 Than Fame — with all her boast — can twine 
 
 Around the patriot and the brave. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 'Tis night — and o'er that field of blood 
 No pale star sheds its lonely ray ; 
 The morn with radiant beams that glowed 
 Hath passed in gathering clouds away ; 
 And chill blasts moan, and viewless gloom 
 Lowers darkly o'er the warriors' tomb. — 
 Now in his deep, secluded grot. 
 The Outlaw-chieftain seeks to share 
 That sweet repose from human care. 
 When tears are hushed, and griefs forgot —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 89 
 
 (Soft sleep, the welcome boon of Heaven, 
 
 To want and woe is freely given : 
 
 'Tis guilt alone that shares it not.) 
 
 And watchful near his Chief rechnes 
 
 That faithful youth — more pale — more fair 
 
 Than the lone lovelorn maid who pines 
 
 A lingering victim of despair — 
 
 What doth a form so gentle there ? — 
 
 But ah ! repose is sought in vain 
 
 To calm and cool his burning brain, 
 
 For while in seeming slumbers now 
 
 Oblivion steals upon his brow, 
 
 From his rude couch behold him start 
 
 As Death's cold hand had touched his heart, 
 
 And half imclose his wandering eye, 
 
 And writhe as if in agony. 
 
 Or when that transient torpor breaks, 
 
 And sense returns, and memory wakes, 
 
 While fierce around his rocky cell 
 
 Loud thunder roars — and wild winds swell, — 
 
 Amid the horrors of the storm 
 
 Still Fancy paints some spectre-form. 
 
 And each deep echo seems to be 
 
 A summons to eternity. 
 
 For conscience to the troubled breast 
 
 Accords no hope — no peace — no rest — 
 
 The worm that gnaws insatiate there 
 
 Dies but in madness or despair. 
 
 Oh ! yet may Heaven's reclaiming power 
 
 Avail to ward that fearful hour —
 
 90 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 The wanderer's soul in mercy save, 
 And tear her triumph from the grave ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But hark ! what sudden sounds of fear, 
 
 The warrior's tread — the clang of arms — 
 
 Burst on the Outlaw's listening ear. 
 
 And thrill his breast with cold alarms ? 
 
 If o'er that gallant generous soul 
 
 No human fear might claim control ; 
 
 Yet oh ! when holiest bosoms shrink 
 
 Appalled from Nature's shuddering brink — 
 
 What conscious dread — what pangs are his 
 
 Who hovers o'er that dark abyss, 
 
 And sees no refuge from despair ; 
 
 And hopes no sheltering Saviour there ! 
 
 Yet still his desperate brow he manned 
 
 With stern resolve — his firm right hand 
 
 Already grasped his well-tried brand. 
 
 O sheathe thy sword ! thy fears are vain — 
 
 'Tis but thine own vmdaunted train : 
 
 Perchance some captive foe they bear, 
 
 Or tidings for their Chieftain's ear. 
 
 Now through the arched entrance streaming, 
 
 The flickering torch is dimly gleaming. 
 
 And naked brands and lances bright 
 
 Are glancing in that trembling light. 
 
 Well knew that Chief his own wild clan — 
 
 Yet in the midst a stranger-form 
 
 His keen eye marked — a weak old man — 
 
 Perchance some wanderer of the storm ;
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 91 
 
 But here the robber-guide, who led, 
 
 Bending in lowly reverence, said — 
 
 *' Chieftain, as on the allotted post, 
 
 Observant of the routed host — 
 
 Our warriors watched the pass around. 
 
 This aged captive lone we found. 
 
 'Twere marvel how he 'scaped the foe 
 
 Who lurk in every cleft below ; 
 
 And some, whose blind and fiery zeal 
 
 Denounced him as a traitor spy 
 
 (Whom vengeance justly dooms to die). 
 
 Had buried in his breast the steel ; 
 
 Yet — for I deem thy nobler sword 
 
 In guiltless blood is never gored — 
 
 I stayed them — till thyself might know 
 
 If true or false — if friend or foe. 
 
 'Twas strange — no terror blanched his cheek — 
 
 He breathed for life no frantic prayer — 
 
 He stood, with mien resolved, though meek. 
 
 Undaunted and unshrinking there. 
 
 And, questioned, this his sole reply — 
 
 To thee his name and race were known, 
 
 His errand was to thee alone — 
 
 Should'st thou his stainless truth deny. 
 
 He would not then refuse to die. 
 
 Enough — his sentence to assign. 
 
 To punish or release be thine." 
 
 " Well hast thou done," the Chief rejoined, 
 
 " Thy mercy speaks a generous mind ; 
 
 The triumph of the truly brave
 
 92 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Is — not to conquer — but to save. 
 Yet haste thee — to thy post repair, 
 For still the foe demands thy care ; 
 And for thy meed — not strange to thee — 
 Accept thy Chieftain's eulogy." 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Bandit and his troop are gone — 
 The Captive-saint is left alone — 
 And oh ! that struggling pang intense — 
 That agony of keen suspense — 
 That mingling strife of hope and fear — 
 Of visions bright — and bodings drear — 
 When love in all its fervour burns, 
 And on his child the father yearns : 
 Yet dark-recurring doubts repress 
 His soul's awakening tenderness ; 
 And paint his son, cut off from Heaven, 
 False to the last, and unforgiven. 
 While dimly yet the pale lamp threw 
 Its beam through deep, encircling shade, 
 Nor — glimmering — yet revealed to view 
 His features, or his form betrayed ; 
 One solemn moment all was still ; — 
 And oh ! what wild emotions wake ; 
 What tremors through his bosom thrill, 
 As if that aged heart would break ! 
 Gently at length the Chieftain spake ; 
 " Old man, whoe'er thou art — draw near ; 
 If true thy tale — thou need'st not fear ; 
 If false — no vengeance waits thee here.
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 93 
 
 What power through circling foes could guide ? 
 By whom to me thine errand given ?" 
 Firmly the aged Saint replied, 
 " The Lord of earth and heaven." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 That voice went straightway to his heart — 
 
 And instant from his couch he sprung 
 
 With sudden and convulsive start, 
 
 As by some keen remembrance stung : 
 
 And pale as lifeless marble grew 
 
 His sunken cheek's sepulchral hue ;— 
 
 And shuddering dread— and deep amaze 
 
 Were mingled in his first wild gaze. 
 
 As if the forms that frowned by night, 
 
 Arose to blast his waking sight. 
 
 So, when the Phantom-seer arose, 
 
 Dread herald of impending woes. 
 
 Aghast the destined Monarch stood — 
 
 Fear fixed his eye — and froze his blood. 
 
 But soon — that causeless awe controlled— 
 
 No bloodless shade his eyes behold — 
 
 No spectre of unearthly mould : — 
 
 It was his friend — his guide— his sire — 
 
 That hallowed Saint— whose eye of fire 
 
 Had pierced where marshalled Seraphs shone ; 
 
 And seen the mightiest on his throne ; 
 
 To whom, with looks of love divine, 
 
 Ere yet the chain of nature broke, 
 
 The agonizing Saviour spoke — 
 
 " Behold that Mother— she is thine!" v
 
 94 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Oh ! when the Prophet-saint he knew, 
 How burnt his cheek with shame's deep hue- 
 O'er his wan brow, with sorrow shaded — 
 What mixed emotions flashed and faded. 
 But words that burn are all too faint, 
 The struggle of the soul to paint ; 
 As well might human art essay 
 In living colours to portray 
 The glories of departing day ; 
 And trace the thousand tints of even ; 
 Vain hope ! unless to man were given, 
 To bathe his brush in hues of Heaven. 
 Where is that glance of martial pride, 
 That lightened through the battle-tide ? 
 That lip of scorn — that eye of fire 
 Beneath whose hate — disdain — or ire — 
 The brow of bold Presumption quailed, 
 And Vice its demon-darkness veiled ? 
 That eye hath drooped, unarmed to brook 
 The meek Apostle's piercing look ; 
 The glance, e'en warriors shrunk to scan. 
 Hath sunk before a weak old man. 
 And as he turned his head aside 
 (Oh ! was it penitence — or pride), 
 Struggling with sighs, that seemed to choke 
 His utterance — thus the Patriarch spoke : — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " T will not chide thee, O my son ! 
 Though thou hast wrung thy Father's heart ; 
 I will not do as thou hast done,
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 95 
 
 Or in thy bosom plant the dart 
 
 That wounds so keenly in mine own — 
 
 No ! rather would I ward the blow, 
 
 Aimed by thy soul's relentless foe, 
 
 And rend thee from his grasp away, 
 
 Though life itself the forfeit pay. 
 
 Could peril teach my breast to fear, 
 
 Thou know'st, I ne'er had sought thee here ; 
 
 But love like mine superior glows 
 
 To human fears, and human foes. 
 
 In the sweet wayward hour of youth, 
 
 When all the Tempter's wiles were tried ; 
 
 To watch thee walk unmoved in truth. 
 
 To be thy Father and thy guide. 
 
 Earth held for me no bliss beside. 
 
 How oft this aged heart hath glowed 
 
 To hear thee plight the solemn vow 
 
 That bound thee to thy Saviour-God— 
 
 And could I leave thee now ? 
 
 Leave thee to infamy and sin — 
 
 To pangs that ne'er can sleep within ? 
 
 To share the false Apostate's doom. 
 
 And feel the deathless worm consume ? 
 
 I could not leave thee — and I came, 
 
 Though age unnerved each palsied limb, 
 
 And languid were mine eyes and dim — 
 
 And Friendship urged its stronger claim. 
 
 Nor Fear nor Love my steps detain ; 
 
 I thought on thee— and both were vain. 
 
 I came— but if thou coldly spurn
 
 96 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 My proffered love — no more return — 
 
 For thine my latest look shall be, 
 
 My parting prayer be breathed for thee. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " What lured thee from the hallowed dome 
 
 Of piety and peace, 
 
 Where Truth hath fixed her favourite home — 
 
 Where earthly sorrows cease ? 
 
 What won thee from the band who seemed, 
 
 With thine, their hearts— their hopes to blend ; 
 
 And all were dear— for each was deemed 
 
 A Father — or a Friend ? 
 
 Was it the false but specious flame 
 
 Of earthly pride — of earthly fame ? 
 
 Was it the ardour of a soul 
 
 That spurned the Gospel's mild control ? 
 
 If rightly here, my son, I deem. 
 
 Where is that wild romantic dream ? 
 
 Where are those joys— so falsely fair ; 
 
 That ecstasy of glory — where ? 
 
 Is not thy bosom like the billow 
 
 Which warring winds forbid to rest? 
 
 Say, do not thorns corrode thy pillow. 
 
 And rankle in the joyless breast? 
 
 Nor thou the sad confession speak. 
 
 Enough thy faded looks avow ; 
 
 I read it in thy withered cheek — 
 
 I traced it on thy altered brow — 
 
 So calm before — so troubled now ! 
 
 Think not, with harsh resentful pride
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 97 
 
 On thy changed looks I coldly gaze ; 
 Those looks my tenderest pity raise, 
 But wake no sterner thought beside ; 
 For in thy Father's heart to thee 
 Oh how could scorn or sternness be ? 
 Thou wert my hope — my bliss — my pride ! 
 And — save to do Jehovah's will — 
 I only lived to be thy guide ; 
 In weal or woe — in good or ill — 
 I loved thee then — I love thee still. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " O think, my son ! how wild and vain 
 
 Are all the dreams of earthly pride I 
 
 Shouldst thou the height of glory gain. 
 
 What countless ills the great betide I 
 
 Superior pomp — superior pain — 
 
 The madness of the insatiate brain 
 
 That looks on earth with proud disdain, 
 
 And sighs for worlds beside ! 
 
 Where is the meteor flash that shone 
 
 O'er Ecbatane and Babylon, 
 
 And struck the Persian from his throne ? 
 
 Where is the self-exalted God ? 
 
 The Hero of immortal birth — 
 
 The Lord of Macedon — and earth — 
 
 Is now a vile and nameless clod. 
 
 A few short hours — and they who bowed 
 
 The meanest of the servile ci'owd. 
 
 Had spurned the mass of lifeless clay. 
 
 As on its kindred earth it lay, 
 
 H
 
 98 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 In loathsomeness of foul decay. 
 
 Great Caesar rued tlie hour that gave 
 
 The free-born Roman for his slave ; 
 
 And who — for all his sated pride — 
 
 Would wish to die as Marius died ? 
 
 Know — heroes were by Heaven designed 
 
 (If heroes men like these we call), 
 
 To rise upon their country's fall, 
 
 To glut the grave, and scourge mankind. 
 
 And what their guilty toil repays ? 
 
 That falsehood of dissembled praise 
 
 Which Flattery's glozing tongue adorns, 
 
 And Vice extols — while Virtue mourns. 
 
 Yes — e'en the fame, for which was given 
 
 The love of man — the bliss of heaven — 
 
 The tale of after times — nay — worse — 
 
 Becomes a proverb and a curse. 
 
 Say, then, if pomp and high renown, 
 
 Thy martial deeds — like theirs — might crown ; 
 
 Say, wouldst thou wish to share with them 
 
 The miseries of a diadem ? 
 
 Oh spurn, my son, the Hero's name, 
 
 And shun the infamy of fame ; 
 
 To thee let nobler praise be given. 
 
 The Friend of Man ! the Loved of Heaven !" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In one unvarying attitude. 
 While spoke the Saint, had Leo stood : 
 His bosom heaved with many a sigh. 
 And tears from his averted eve
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 With more than woman's weakness fell — 
 Strange tears he strove in vain to quell. 
 The Patriarch paused. Now, Fiends of hell, 
 Once more your dark delusions try, 
 For life and death are on the die — 
 To-night a soul is lost or won. 
 The stake is for eternity. 
 Rouse to your aid fell Passion's train. 
 Ambition — wrath — despair — disdain — 
 And man's arch-tempter, pride — 'tis vain ! 
 The glorious deed is done ! 
 The spell is broke — the chains are riven — 
 There's rage in hell — and joy in heaven. 
 He turned: "Away, away," he cried, 
 " Ye faithless dreams of desperate pride ! 
 Too long I mourned your baleful sway ; 
 False ministers of hell, away ! 
 Alas ! a double guilt was mine, 
 While Sin's bewildering maze I trod, 
 Much against thee, O Saint Divine ! 
 But more against my God. 
 Friend of my yputh ! my Guide I my Sire ! 
 O tell me, may I yet return ? 
 Will not thy God in righteous ire 
 The false apostate spurn 1 
 But no — when thou no toil didst shun 
 To seek and save a faithless son — 
 (To slight a love so pure as thine 
 What base ingratitude was mine !) 
 Shall one, like me, by man forgiveuj 
 
 H 2 
 
 99
 
 100 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Presume to dread repulse from Heaven ? 
 
 Though mine is yet a wayward will, 
 
 And pride and shame are struggling still ; 
 
 Aid thou my guilty soul to bear, 
 
 And shield me— save me from despair. 
 
 Remorse and scorn are justly mine — 
 
 I merit all— nor will repine, 
 
 So happiness and peace are thine. 
 
 O teach my contrite soul to bow, 
 
 My more than Friend — than Father thou ! 
 
 Though I — degraded — lost— undone — 
 
 Deserve not to be called thy Son." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 That old man felt his bosom swell 
 
 With strong parental tenderness : 
 
 Tears spoke that transport's wild excess 
 
 No words had pictured half so well : 
 
 Weeping on Leo's neck he fell — 
 
 That fervour of the soul was his, 
 
 That bright, unutterable bliss 
 
 Which fires the blest where Angels dwell. 
 
 Such in the kindling Seraph burns. 
 
 When to his God the wanderer turns. 
 
 Not thus — the deed of death undone — 
 
 The glowing Patriarch clasped his son ; — 
 
 Child of his age — his only stay — 
 
 The staff of his declining day ; 
 
 But rescued from the tomb was he — 
 
 This — ransomed from eternity. 
 
 'Tis strange that tears alike should flow
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 101 
 
 In brightest bliss and darkest woe ; 
 
 So closely linked is each extreme, 
 
 That bounds our troubled transient dream. 
 
 That dream ere long shall fade and die 
 
 In one eternal certainty, 
 
 No cheering ray shall soothe despair, 
 
 And rapture know no limit there. 
 
 Calmer at length the Patriarch grew — 
 
 Yet strong emotion shook his frame, 
 
 And tears his pale cheek still bedew, 
 
 As thus the stifled accents came : — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " O welcome to thy Father's heart. 
 
 Child of my hopes — my prayers— my tears ! 
 
 welcome — never more to part — 
 Till, worn beneath the weight of years, 
 
 1 calmly sink into the tomb. 
 
 And thou bewail— yet bless my doom. 
 For know — no dread has Death for me. 
 His stroke but sets niy spirit free ; 
 Then ends the reign of Woe and Sin, 
 Then purity and bliss begin. 
 Long, long this lonely heart hath pined 
 To leave the realms of earth behind. 
 And hail, once more, in Heaven restored, 
 My King, my Saviour, and my Lord ; 
 One only wish remained beside — 
 To see and bless thee ere I died. 
 That bliss is mine — my sorrows cease — 
 Lord ! let me now depart in peace.
 
 102 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " But thou, my Son ! awhile attend 
 
 The counsels of thine aged Friend ; 
 
 While yet the vital spark remains, 
 
 And throbs the life-blood in my veins. 
 
 Ne'er be thy grovelling hopes confined 
 
 To shine on earth's contracted sphere ; 
 
 No worthy guerdon wilt thou find, 
 
 For all is false and fleeting here. 
 
 The deathless soul — the chainless mind 
 
 By Heaven's dread Father were designed 
 
 To flourish by His throne on high. 
 
 And share His immortality. 
 
 Then let me snatch thee from the grave, 
 
 And point once more thy hopes to Heaven- 
 
 To Him who all my sins forgave, 
 
 By whom thine yet may be forgiven ; 
 
 He never spurns the suppliant prayer, 
 
 Or dooms the contrite to despair. 
 
 That Star of David's royal line— 
 
 The promised King — the Seed Divine — 
 
 The Lord who reigns enthroned above — 
 
 In human guise to know and love — 
 
 The favoured lot was mine. 
 
 For me, though meanest far of all, 
 
 The Saviour deigned His friend to call ; 
 
 And while He lived — and when He died, 
 
 I still was nearest to His side. 
 
 I saw Him in the judgment-hall. 
 
 Denied by one — renounced by all —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 103 
 
 I Stood the cross of horror by, 
 
 And watched Him in His agony. 
 
 t marked the sun's meridian hght 
 
 Slow darken in impervious night ; 
 
 As if he loathed to lend his ray 
 
 To shine on that accursed day : 
 
 I felt the sullen earthquake's shock — 
 
 The heaving ground — the rending rock^ — 
 
 When the pale tenants of the tomb 
 
 Arose from earth's convulsive womb. — 
 
 Oh ! never, never canst thou know 
 
 What then for thee the Saviour bore ; 
 
 The pangs of that mysterious woe 
 
 That wrung His frame at every pore ; 
 
 The weight that prest upon His brow. 
 
 The fever of His bosom's core ! 
 
 Yes ! man for man perchance may brave 
 
 The horrors of the yawning grave, 
 
 And friend for friend, or child for sire, 
 
 Undaunted and unmoved expire, 
 
 From love — or piety — or pride — 
 
 But who can die as Jesus died ? — 
 
 A sweet but solitary beam. 
 
 An emanation from above 
 
 Glimmers o'er life's uncertain dream^ — 
 We hail that beam, and call it Love — 
 But fainter than the pale star's ray 
 Before the noontide blaze of day ; 
 And lighter than the viewless sand 
 Beneath the wave that sweeps the strand.
 
 104 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Is all of Love that Man can know — 
 
 All that in Angel-breasts can glow — 
 
 Compared, O Lord of Hosts ! with thine — 
 
 Eternal — fathomless — divine ! 
 
 That Love — whose praise with quenchless fire 
 
 Inflames the blest seraphic choir ; 
 
 Where perfect rapture reigns above, 
 
 And Love is all — for Thou art Love !" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 A kindling fervour — ^bold and high — 
 
 Breathed in his tone — his upraised eye 
 
 With more than mortal radiance glowed, 
 
 And both proclaimed the present God. 
 
 So when to Amram's son was given 
 
 To stand unharmed, 'mid flames of heaven. 
 
 Wreathed round his brows — a living crown — 
 
 The glory of Jehovah shone. 
 
 Nor Leo heard the Saint unmoved, 
 
 Nor weak nor vain emotion proved ; 
 
 The warring waves of scorn and pride 
 
 Before the words of truth subside ; 
 
 A ray of that celestial love, 
 
 A pledge of mercy from above 
 
 Glows in his beating bosom now. 
 
 And kindles on his beaming brow. 
 
 No lingering pride — no scorn he feels — 
 
 As prostrate now on earth he kneels, 
 
 And pours his inmost soul in prayer 
 
 To Him who knows what thoughts are there. 
 
 For not on proud majestic fanes
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 105 
 
 (Where tapers glare, and anthems peal, 
 
 And few adore, tlioiigh thousands kneel), 
 
 His grace the God of glory deigns ; 
 
 No — on the meek and lowly breast 
 
 Jehovah's eye delights to rest — 
 
 Grief's still, small whisper He can hear, 
 
 And read the mute, expressive tear — 
 
 And trace the burning thoughts that spring, 
 
 Borne upward on Devotion's wing : 
 
 No costly fane — n'o gorgeous shrine 
 
 Incense can breathe to Him so dear, 
 
 So pure — so sacred — so divine. 
 
 Leo arose — his dark eye burned 
 
 With fire that told of guilt forgiven, 
 
 Of hopes restored — and peace with Heaven ; 
 
 Instant where Azor stood he turned — 
 
 " Thou, too, hast heard, O youth beloved ! 
 
 Heaven grant thou hast not heard unmoved ; 
 
 But may thy yielding soul incline 
 
 To make the faith of Christians thine ! 
 
 As on the battle-plain serene, 
 
 In meek, unsullied loveliness 
 
 The modest wild-flower blooms unseen, 
 
 'Midst guilt hast thou untainted been. 
 
 And soft among the pitiless. 
 
 Thou, who didst soothe my sovd's despair, 
 
 Shun not my holier hopes to share I 
 
 Oh, turn thee from the idol-train, 
 
 To Him no suppliant seeks in vain ; 
 
 That linked to thine my soul may be 
 
 In Time — and through Eternity !" —
 
 106 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Still Azor spoke not — though that word 
 Passed not ' unheeded or unheard,' 
 But lost awhile he seemed to be 
 In deep, abstracted reverie : — 
 What tremors in his cheek are blushing — 
 What fevered hues his pale brow flushing ? 
 Those varying dyes — so softly fair — 
 What deep emotion kindles there ? 
 He bends on earth his bright blue eye. 
 Beneath its fringed veil retiring ; 
 So shrinks young virgin-modesty 
 From the bold gaze of crowds admiring. 
 Yet, deeply struggling to control 
 The hidden tumvdt of his soul, 
 Once more he raised that humid eye, 
 And gazed on Leo tremblingly — 
 Such fears let gentler woman claim, 
 But what hath man to do with shame ? 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The winged interchange of thought 
 Is quickly kindled — quickly caught — 
 Yea — swifter than the sunbeam breaking 
 It thrills the startled soul awaking. 
 And bids another's breast be known. 
 Or in one glance betrays its own. 
 With instant impulse, through his heart 
 Young Leo felt its lightning dart — 
 No fears control— no doubts recall — 
 One glance had met — and answered all.
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 107 
 
 The sight Hope never dared to deem — 
 
 Which vivid Fancy never drew — 
 
 Wilder than Love's first ardent dream, 
 
 Is present to his raptured view ; 
 
 Unless the spirit's chain is riven, 
 
 And earth has brightened into heaven. 
 
 To Azor's soul — whate'er it be — 
 
 Like feeling shot electric flame, 
 
 Its aspect changed — its power the same. 
 
 Not less of fire in him we see, 
 
 But more — far more— of purity ; 
 
 As sunbeams in the lucid stream 
 
 Reflected shed a lovelier gleam. 
 
 Less fair the Boy of godlike mien 
 
 Who spurned the smiles of Beauty's Queen — 
 
 Less fair that bright Youth, whom the Sun 
 
 Checked his red car to gaze upon. 
 
 Yet still his dim eye drooped and fell. 
 
 His bosom heaved with conscious swell — 
 
 Such fears let gentler woman claim, 
 
 But what hath man to do with shame ? 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Away ! away ! thou frail disguise. 
 Thou canst not blind a lover's eyes ; 
 Youth may the Virgin's vest assume. 
 And emulate the Virgin's bloom ; 
 With eye as bright, and smile as warm, 
 And eqvial symmetry of form — 
 But one soft spell remaineth — one 
 Which woman claims, and claims alone —
 
 108 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 It is the breathing, burning dye 
 
 Of Love controlled by Modesty. 
 
 That conscious crimson blush revealed 
 
 The truth, so long — so well concealed ; 
 
 And Leo in that moment knew 
 
 His own loved Maid, whom Fancy drew 
 
 The idol of his raptured dream, 
 
 When young Hope shed her fairest gleam ; 
 
 To whom his first fond vows were given, 
 
 Dearer than Fame — than all but Heaven. — 
 
 But when the timid conscious Maid 
 
 Perceived her secret soul betrayed, 
 
 Chill tremors shook her faltering frame — 
 
 Her varying colour went and came — 
 
 The circling scenes — confused and dim. 
 
 Like shadowy visions round her swim — 
 
 Nor knew she then what arm sustained — 
 
 Nor felt the impassioned clasp that strained. 
 
 But when returning reason shone 
 
 O'er the fair brow he gazed upon, 
 
 Oh, how his throbbing heart beat high 
 
 In strong and speechless ecstasy ! 
 
 Less dear the watchfire — whose red light 
 
 Forbids the tossing bark to err — 
 
 Less welcome 'mid the storm's black night, 
 
 The moonbeam to the mariner. 
 
 Once more the bright hue to her cheek 
 
 Returns ; she — faltering — strove to speak ; 
 
 Though faint at first her accents came, 
 
 Withheld by fear, and maiden-«hame,
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 109 
 
 That youth with fond emotion heard, 
 Yea — hung entranced on every word. 
 For when with deep tumultuous flush 
 Played o'er her cheek the mantling blush, 
 By that soft blush he knew full well — 
 Whate'er her fate — no tale was near 
 Might wound a Virgin's pride to tell — 
 A Lover's heart to hear. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Father !" she cried, " forbear to deem 
 
 Too harshly of a child of woe, 
 
 Though scenes like these, full well I know. 
 
 The modest Maiden ill beseem : 
 
 Once, in the sight of Earth and Heaven, 
 
 I pledged the Christian's hallowed vow — 
 
 By Misery's blast resistless driven, 
 
 Oh deem me not unfaithful now ! 
 
 Hear me my tale of grief recall. 
 
 And — pitying — thou wilt pardon all— 
 
 Nor thou, my Leo, own a fear 
 
 To find the lost Irene here. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Retrace that hour of deepest gloom 
 When, desolate and broken-hearted, 
 Near Smyrna's fatal walls we parted, 
 Sad presage of our future doom! — 
 Thou know'st, my stem indignant Sire, 
 With brow of scorn, and eye of fire, 
 That plighted faith asunder tore. 
 Himself had joyed to bind before. —
 
 110 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 ' My (laughter's hand I freely gave 
 To thee — illustrious — generous — brave — 
 Yet would I watch Despair consume 
 With ruthless blight her vernal bloom, 
 And strew with flowers her virgin tomb, 
 Ere she should wed a thing so mean 
 As thou — an outcast Nazarene ; 
 Renounce thy God — thy faith resign. 
 And still my heart — my child, are thine.' 
 Oh ! since that hour — when cheerless gloom 
 The smiling dream of youth o'erclouded, 
 And bleak Despair in darkness shrovided 
 All refuge — but the friendly tomb — 
 One loved remembrance yet could dart 
 A transient solace to my heart, 
 When rose the past before mine eye, 
 And Memory woke thy firm reply ; 
 This let thy sainted Father hear. 
 And know, his son was justly dear. 
 ' Thy daughter's love I freely sought, 
 And prized it, as a warrior ought — 
 Well for a heart like hers were given 
 Wealth — glory — grandeur — all but Heaven. 
 But know, though peril and though pain 
 Had torn her from my soul in vain, 
 Yet, if thou bidst my faith resign. 
 Then never be Irene mine !' 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " He led me breathless from the spot, 
 Nor I withstood my Father's will ;
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. Ill 
 
 Whate'er I felt— my grief was still ; 
 And if I wept — he marked it not. 
 Yet deem not thou wert e'er forgot — 
 No frowns the chainlcss soul confine, 
 No tears the page of Memory blot, 
 And still my heart was only thine. 
 But soon the restless strife of thought 
 Its wonted work of ruin wrought ; 
 Nor was he backward to descry 
 The sufferings I forbore to speak ; 
 I could not veil the rayless eye — 
 I could not shade the bloodless cheek — 
 
 And then my Sire forgot to chide, 
 
 Nor urged the vows I still denied ; 
 
 And calmer grew his mood — and mild, 
 
 As fits a parent to a child. 
 
 Yet I forbore to breathe thy name — 
 
 His aspect changed — his soul the same — 
 
 It had but roused the slumbering fiame ; 
 
 And, though I mourned his wayward will, 
 
 I loved him as a Father still. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " One vernal eve — as lone we strayed 
 
 Through Cytherea's fragrant grove, 
 
 Though beauty brightened through the shade 
 
 I bowed not to the Queen of Love ; 
 
 My prayers were breathed to One above — 
 
 And my stern Sire — I knew not how — 
 
 Forbore my silence to reprove. 
 
 Or urge the vain unhallowed vow ;
 
 112 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 When, lo ! before the Idol's shrine 
 An old man stands — liis streaming eye, 
 His outstretched hands are raised on high — 
 He speaks of Love Divine. 
 
 reverend Saint — I know thee now — 
 Thine aspect meek — thy placid brow — 
 That minister of Heaven wert thou ! 
 And while thy burning words approve 
 The mysteries of eternal Love, 
 
 Still, as I gazed upon my Sire, 
 Strange hopes my wondering bosom fire — 
 What need of words? — Truth's kindling ray 
 Drove Error's lowering clouds away — 
 So, at Jehovah's word, the light 
 Flashed instant through primeval night. 
 When thou hadst ceased, and all were gone, 
 And we were left — unseen — alone — 
 Long rooted to that spot he stood, 
 Pondering in solitary mood ; 
 Nor might I dare, whate'er it be. 
 To break that solemn reverie. — 
 Oh ! who may rashly seek to scan 
 The mazes of the Eternal plan ? 
 If that blest hour might rapture give 
 Too high for man to feel and live, 
 
 1 know not — keen the night-winds blew. 
 And o'er him chilled the evening dew ; — 
 If Death's winged shaft that instant flew. 
 It brought eternal glory too. 
 
 O, happy soul ! thy rest was near —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Thy prayer was heard — thy race was run ; 
 Yet sad the parting, and severe — 
 And hard to say, of one so dear, 
 ' The will of Heaven be done ! ' 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Know'st thou this fondly-treasured scroll, 
 This pledge our plighted love endears ? — 
 The solace of my Father's soul, 
 'Twas watered by his dying tears ; 
 By thee in happy moment given. 
 It raised his brightening hopes to heaven ; 
 It soothed his pangs, till all was o'er. 
 And life with anguish strove no more. 
 This, too, O reverend Saint ! was thine. 
 Record of life and love divine. 
 Oh ! when thy soul, released, shall rise 
 Triumphant to its destined skies. 
 While winged choirs seraphic greet thee. 
 There shall my sainted Father meet thee. 
 And guide thee to Jehovah's throne, 
 A gem in thine eternal crown. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " When from his heavy, half-closed eye 
 The dim, faint light of life was waning ; 
 While Nature's last, worst agony. 
 In each cold, powerless limb was straining ; 
 When Death's dissolving dews, e'en now. 
 Stood thick upon his throbbing brow ; 
 The mightier soul, unvanquished, shone 
 Through all we shrink to gaze upon. 
 
 I
 
 114 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 He looked— he spoke— in deadliest ill, 
 The Father and the Christian still. 
 Oh ! if to watch the quivering limb, 
 The eye bewildered — wandering — dim — 
 To meet the close, convulsive clasp 
 Of death's wild agonizing grasp 
 In one we know not— love not— dart 
 Cold tremours to the sternest heart ; 
 What keener pangs the bosom rend 
 When 'tis a Father — or a Friend ? 
 But never, while Remembrance reigns, 
 And Reason here her sway retains ; 
 Oh ! ne'er shall brighter hours efface, 
 Or Time his parting words erase. 
 For when the souls we loved are fled, 
 A sacred charm invests the dead — 
 Fond Memory tells, and lingers o'er 
 Each act tf ove — unmarked before — 
 And the last charge, by Friendship given. 
 Is hallowed as a voice from heaven ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " ' Child of my fondest — firmest love ! 
 My own Irene — let it be 
 As wills the gracious Power above : 
 Thou must not, dearest ! weep for me — 
 Hope soothes my else-lamented doom, 
 And glory shines beyond the tomb. 
 But, to the point, ere utterance fails — 
 My daughter ! when impending fate 
 Thy Father's sight in darkness veils,
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 115 
 
 And thou, an orphan desolate, 
 Last of thy race, art left alone 
 To pine, unpitied and unknown ; 
 In Tarsus' walls thou must not stay — 
 For guilt and rapine would intrude 
 On thine unguarded solitude, 
 Or foul deceit thy youth betray : 
 And insult, keener far than death. 
 Awaits the Maid of Christian faith. 
 Awhile forget thy virgin-pride, 
 And be thy form in manly guise 
 Securely veiled from Pagan eyes — 
 Our aged Claudian be thy guide ; 
 Faithful, thou know'st, from earliest youth, 
 Now doubly fixed by Christian truth. 
 All gracious Heaven ! one moment more' — 
 He gasped — and death was in his tone." — 
 * To Ephesus thy course explore, 
 And seek the 'loved Apostle John ;' 
 He will confirm thee in the truth, 
 And be a Father to thy youth. 
 Bless thee, oh bless thee, dearest child ! 
 May He — whose arm is mightiest— guide 
 Thy steps through Life's dark perilous wild ! — 
 Sustain thee when thy faith is tried — 
 Illume thy sovd with hopes divine. 
 And make a crown of glory thine ! 
 He is the refuge of distress ; 
 The Father of the fatherless. 
 And if — but strong convulsions shook 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 His struggling and exhausted frame — 
 Love strove with anguish in his look — 
 His last faint accents bi"eathed thy name — 
 He sighed — relaxed his iron grasp — 
 His cold hand stiffened in my clasp — 
 The chain that bound to earth was riven, 
 The soul had winged its flight to heaven. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Short tale remains — of grief and gloom 
 
 I speak not — for to speak were vain ; 
 
 I wept above my Father's tomb, 
 
 For love may weep — though not complain. 
 
 I turn, disguised, from Tarsus' walls, 
 
 And straight to Ephesus repair — 
 
 No virgin-pride my step recalls, 
 
 For well I knew thou wert not there — 
 
 And, when the silent tear I shed, 
 
 It fell not only for the dead. 
 
 Across these hills our journey lay ; 
 
 Thy band arrest us in our way ; 
 
 And here my faithful Claudian fell, 
 
 Proving his stainless truth too well. 
 
 The rest thou know'st — O reverend Sire I 
 
 Once more I pledge the sacred vow ; 
 
 Let not my languid faith expire, 
 
 But be my Guide, my Father thou ; 
 
 I have no earthly parent now — 
 
 Then let me seek that mightiest One, 
 
 Who, while adoring Seraphs bow, 
 
 Looks down from His eternal throne
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 117 
 
 The widow's lonely lot to bless, 
 And soothe and save the fatherless. 
 The faith of childhood I resign, 
 Henceforth the Christain's God be mine." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The Patriarch looked upon that Maid — 
 
 Then raised his tearful eyes above : 
 
 What fervent bliss was there portrayed ! 
 
 What eloquence of holy love ! 
 
 One fleeting moment hath repaid 
 
 The long, long pause of doubt and dread, 
 
 While for his son — beguiled — betrayed — 
 
 The tear of bhghted hopes he shed. 
 
 O loveliest is the orient ray 
 
 When through the storm resplendent breaking ! 
 
 And dearest is the light of day 
 
 To one from fearfvd dreams awaking — 
 
 So sweetest to the heart long bleeding 
 
 Is rapture, when to woe succeeding. 
 
 Such bliss, triumphant Saint ! is thine, 
 
 Pure ecstasy of love divine ; 
 
 A transport this, without alloy, 
 
 Meet presage of eternal joy. 
 
 " May He who erst on Calvary bled. 
 
 With all his love, my daughter, bless thee ! 
 
 Soft dews of mercy o'er thee shed ! 
 
 Sustain thy soul when woes oppress thee ! 
 
 May His unfading rays illume 
 
 Life's wilderness of guilt and gloom ; 
 
 Thy Star of hope— thy Rock of faith —
 
 118 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Thy Light in darkness — Life in death ! 
 Though clouds invest that awful throne 
 No mortal eye may gaze upon, 
 One kindly beam breaks forth above, 
 One ray of everlasting love. 
 On earth 'tis but a meteor streaming — 
 In heaven a sun of glory beaming ; 
 The gauds of earth are frail as fair — 
 Fix, then, thy warm affections there ; 
 To Him thy hopes immortal raise. 
 And win the love that Angels praise ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Ere yet I heard thine artless tale, 
 
 I marked the flame thou couldst not veil — 
 
 I know the conscious shame that now 
 
 Fades on thy meek ingenuous brow. 
 
 Or wakes the deep tumultuous streak 
 
 That kindles o'er thy burning cheek — 
 
 It is the look — the blush of love — 
 
 Nor I the virtuous flame reprove ; 
 
 Ne'er be, by man's rash will, restrained 
 
 The tenderest tie by Heaven ordained : 
 
 Here, while before your God ye bow, 
 
 I plight the long-contracted vow : 
 
 May He your genial union bless 
 
 With all of earthly happiness. 
 
 Be life's rough path together trod. 
 
 Its duties done — its burdens lightened ; 
 
 And may the gloom of earth be brightened 
 
 By the glad presence of your God ;
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 119 
 
 Till, with celestial favour blest, 
 Ye pass to your eternal rest ; 
 Triumph o'er Death's sepulchral gloom, 
 And rise to glory from the tomb ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " But what are earth's vain fleeting charms 
 
 To that bright blest eternity 
 
 Which waits — O favoured Maid — for thee ? 
 
 The very thought my bosom warms. 
 
 As when in rocky Patmos lone 
 
 I communed with the Holiest One, 
 
 And o'er my head dread thunders broke, 
 
 And thus the viewless Seraph spoke — 
 
 * Mortal ! from earth awake ! arise ! 
 
 And view the secrets of the skies.' 
 
 Hearken, my children — and behold 
 
 The glories of the latter day ; 
 
 When Heaven its portals shall unfold, 
 
 And earth and skies shall pass away. 
 
 It is the Eternal Sire's decree, 
 
 That thus the final hour should be — 
 
 Pomp — glory — grandeur shall decay, 
 
 But His high word endures for aye. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " One foot on earth, and one on sea, 
 A mighty Angel towers to heaven ; 
 Before his glance the mountains flee ; 
 Beneath his tread the depths are riven — 
 Wreathed radiant round his brows divine 
 The bright hues of the rainbow shine ;
 
 120 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 His aspect — like the broad red glare 
 
 Of the fierce sun's meridian ray, 
 
 Beams forth intolerable day — 
 
 The glory of the Lord is there. 
 
 Loud as the maddening lion's roar, 
 
 Or as the wild surge beats the shore, 
 
 He speaks — blue lightnings rend the sky, 
 
 And Heaven, in thunder, gives reply. 
 
 Ne'er be those sounds, in mystery sealed. 
 
 To human ear on earth revealed. 
 
 And when that fearful sign was given, 
 
 He raised his dread right hand to heaven, 
 
 And thus the oath he swore — 
 
 ' Ye spacious skies — thou rooted earth — 
 
 By Him who called you into birth, 
 
 Your destined date is o'er ; 
 
 I swear by Him, whose sovereign sway, 
 
 The bright angelic hosts obey — 
 
 By Him who died, and lives for aye, 
 
 That Time shall be no more.' 
 
 Earth trembled at the sound, but O 
 
 What shrieks of wailing and of woe. 
 
 What frantic yells of wild despair. 
 
 Tumultuous rend the troubled air ; 
 
 In vain — the day of grace is o'er, 
 
 And love and pity plead no more. 
 
 Mark — where the rock-hewn cavern breaks. 
 
 And to his doom the Oppressor wakes ; 
 
 Mark — where the fear-struck Despot now 
 
 Dashes the diadem from his brow —
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 121 
 
 Beneath his foot the firm earth rends — 
 The heavens are darkening o'er him ; 
 The Judge — the Sovereign Judge — descends, 
 And who may stand before him ? 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " He comes ! He comes I I see Him now — 
 
 Ye Seraphs ! spread your eager wings, 
 
 Thou, Earth, to thy Redeemer bow ! 
 
 A bright sun burns upon His brow, 
 
 And round His path red hghtning flings 
 
 Its awful radiance — on His thigh 
 
 Is graven the name of Mystery, 
 
 The Lord of lords, and King of kings ! 
 
 Thou, on earth beloved, adored. 
 My Friend, my Father, and my Lord ! 
 
 1 see Thee now without a veil — 
 Help ! or my dazzled sight will fail. 
 Oh bear me to that burning tin-one 
 
 I scarce can brook to gaze upon ; 
 
 And give my kindling soul to prove 
 
 The raptures of ecstatic love ; 
 
 And learn vinutterable lays, 
 
 And hymn Thee in eternal praise ! 
 
 Shrink like a scroll, thou frighted sky ! 
 
 Earth — tremble into vacancy ! 
 
 List to the pealing trumpet's swell. 
 
 Ye hideous depths of Death and Hell — 
 
 Burst your strong chain — your gates unclose ; 
 
 And break the long — the last repose. 
 
 Blest train of martyred Saints, arise !
 
 122 TUE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 
 
 Look upward to your native skies ; 
 
 Arise, and claim your rich reward, 
 
 And share tlie triumphs of your Lord. 
 
 Behold the promised golden throne — 
 
 The conquering palm ! the unfading crown — 
 
 And more than all — that beaming eye 
 
 Whose glance is love and ecstasy ! — 
 
 Where is thy stern imperial brow, 
 
 Where are thy vavmts — dark Despot ! now ? 
 
 In vain thou call'st the rendinsr rock 
 
 To whelm thee in its thundering shock, 
 
 Or bidst the mighty ocean roll 
 
 Its billows o'er thy conscious soul — 
 
 Thy doom no prayers — no tears delay — 
 
 Hell yawns, and Death demands his prey. 
 
 But, lo ! what sudden splendours beaming 
 
 O'er Heaven's illumined arch are streaming : 
 
 What hues of varied beauty blending, 
 
 What fair celestial towers descending ! — 
 
 Salem ! city of our God ! 
 
 The Saints' — the Martyrs' blest abode ! 
 
 1 see thy gates of pearl unfold, 
 
 I see thy streets of burnished gold ! 
 I see thy towers in crystal shine, 
 Meet temple for a King Divine. 
 Hail ! perfect, pure in virgin pride. 
 The Victor Lamb's resplendent bride ! 
 Within thy hallowed courts are found 
 No lurking cares to vex or wound ; 
 No dim eye sheds the hopeless tear,
 
 THE OUTLAW OF TAURUS. 123 
 
 No bosom throbs with doubt or fear ; 
 And liushed is Shame's tumultuous thrill, 
 And Passion's warring storm is still. 
 No bright Sun beams by day — by night 
 No pale Moon sheds her feebler light — 
 But from that throne of living fire 
 Where sits revealed the Eternal Sire, 
 Where Seraphs raise their loudest strain 
 To hail the Lamb that once was slain — 
 Though faith and hope have passed away. 
 Love sheds a pure unchanging ray. 
 That faintly shone on earth before — 
 Now beams and burns for evermore. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Blest visions of unearthly light. 
 
 Why vanish from my straining sight ? 
 
 Oh fade not all — one lingering ray 
 
 To glimmer o'er my parting day ! 
 
 One beam to bless my coming doom. 
 
 And gild my passage to the tomb ! 
 
 Nor ye — my children — vainly deem 
 
 These words a wild enraptured dream — 
 
 For faithful— true — and just is He 
 
 Whose voice proclaimed that this should be ; 
 
 May ye that heavenly Zion share, 
 
 And win a crown eternal there !"
 
 124 
 
 NARRATIO DE JOHANNE APOSTOLO. 
 
 The narrative, which constitutes the basis of 
 the preceding Poem, is extracted from Eusebius's 
 "History of the Western Churches." A free 
 English translation of the original Greek is sub- 
 joined. 
 
 When after the death of the tyrant Domitian, the 
 Apostle John had returned from the isle of Patmos to 
 Ephesus, at the solicitation of the brethren he under- 
 took a tour through the provinces adjacent to that city. 
 His objects, in this journey, were the ordination of 
 bishops, the personal superintendence of the churches, 
 and the separation of such persons as were indicated 
 to him by the Spirit, to the exercise of the clerical 
 ofHce. On his arrival at a city not far from Ephesus 
 (the very name of which is mentioned by some writers), 
 after he had consoled the brethren by exhortations, he 
 beheld, among his audience, a certain youth, whose 
 commanding statvire and engaging aspect bespoke a 
 corresponding nobility of mind. Turning to the Bishop 
 whom he had had just ordained, he exclaimed, " In 
 the presence of the church, and in the sight of Christ, 
 I commit this youth to your utmost diligence." He 
 having received the young man, and given the required 
 promise, the Apostle, having solemnly reiterated his 
 charge, retvu'ned to Ephesus.
 
 NARRATIO DE JOHANNE APOSTOLO. 125 
 
 The Presbyter admitting into his own family the 
 youth who had thus been consigned to his care, after 
 having instructed, strengthened, and cherished him, 
 administered to him the ordinance of baptism. After 
 this, however, he relaxed his former vigilance and 
 caution, imagining that he had secured him by the 
 most effectual restraint, the seal of the Lord. But 
 certain [ of his former companions — dissolute, de- 
 bauched, and abandoned to every species of vice — en- 
 deavour to corrupt the youth, who had been too early 
 released from restraint. And first they entice him by 
 magnificent banquets ; afterwards, stealing out by 
 night, for purposes of robbery, they persuade him to 
 accompany them ; and, in a short time, excite him to 
 attempt some action of greater atrocity. 
 
 But he, becoming gradually inured to vice, like a 
 spirited and unbridled charger galloping from his right 
 path, and champing his bridle, is hurried, by the very 
 nobility of his soul, more deeply into the abyss. Having 
 renounced all hope of salvation in his Redeemer, he 
 meditated no trivial action ; but, as one reduced to 
 utter desperation, determined to perpetrate some great 
 exploit, disdaining, even in guilt, to be on an equality 
 with the rest. Having, therefore, collected his asso- 
 ciates into a band, and procured himself to be appointed 
 their leader, he surpassed all others in violence, 
 slaughter, and atrocity. 
 
 In the course of time, some exigence requiring his 
 presence, John is once more summoned to the same 
 city. Having arranged all the circumstances, on ac- 
 count of which he came, — " Now," said he, " O Bishop, 
 restore to me the deposit which Christ and I committed 
 to your custody in presence of the church over which
 
 126 NARRATIO DE 
 
 you preside. He at first stood mute with astonish- 
 ment, imagining that money, which he had never 
 received, was required from him through some calumny ; 
 he could neither helieve that what had never been 
 entrusted to his care was demanded from him, nor 
 could he impeach the veracity of the Apostle. But 
 when he exclaimed, " I demand the young man, even 
 the soul of my bi'other," the old m.an, groaning deeply, 
 and bursting into tears, replied, " He is dead." "And 
 in what manner did he die?" " He is dead to God," 
 rejoined the Bishop : " he hath departed, being im- 
 pious, and abandoned, and a most desperate robber. 
 And he now occupies a mountain opposite the church, 
 with his equally lawless associates." 
 
 At these words the Apostle rent his garments, and, 
 with a bitter groan, striking his foreliead, exclaimed, 
 "To what an excellent guardian did I entrust the soul 
 of my brother ! — But procure me instantly a horse and 
 a guide." He hastened, even as he was, directly from 
 the church ; and, having arrived at the place of his 
 destination, is captured by the advanced guard of the 
 robbers, neither endeavouring to fly, nor imjiloring 
 life, but exclaiming, " For this very purpose I came ! 
 conduct me to your chief." 
 
 'I"he leader, armed as he was, awaited his arrival. 
 And when he recognised John advancing towards him, 
 overpowered with shame, he betook himself to flight. 
 But the Apostle, forgetful of his age, eagerly pursued 
 him, exclaiming, " Wherefore do you fly from me, oh 
 my son ! from your father, aged and unarmed ? Pity 
 me, oh my child, and fear me not : you still possess a 
 hope of salvation. I will render account of you to 
 Christ. Willingly would I endure death on your behalf,
 
 JOIIANNE APOSTOLO. 127 
 
 even as the Lord died for me. I will give my own 
 life as a ransom for you : stop, and believe : Christ 
 hath sent me." The youth hearing these words, at 
 first stood still, with his eyes fixed upon the ground : 
 next he threw off his arms, and, trembling, burst into a 
 flood of tears. He then met the old man advancing, 
 and with bitter sighs and lamentations implored his 
 pardon, being, as it were, baptized a second time in his 
 tears, only concealing his right hand. Then the 
 Apostle pledging his faith, and vowing that he would 
 obtain pardon for him from his Redeemer, having 
 fallen on his knees and prayed, kissed the right hand 
 of the young man, as if it had been purified by repent- 
 ance, and led him back to the church. Having be- 
 sought God on his behalf, with many prayers, and 
 striving together by frequent fastings, and soothing his 
 soul by many scriptural exhortations, the Apostle, as 
 they say, did not depart till he had restored him to the 
 church, having afforded a signal example of sincere 
 penitence, and an illustrious instance of regeneration, 
 a manifest trophy of a resurrection. 
 
 There are strong presumptions in favour of the 
 authenticity of this legend. Irenseus, who lived a. d. 
 178 (that is, within less than a century after the death 
 of St. John), and Clemens Alexandrinus, afiirm that all 
 the Presbyters, who were in habits of intimacy with 
 the Apostle, professed to have received the tradition 
 immediately from himself.
 
 IRAD AND ADAH, 
 
 A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 
 
 " In the days that were before the flood, they were eating 
 and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day 
 that Noe entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood 
 came, and took them all away." — Matt. xxiv. 38, 39. 
 
 PART I. — GUILT. 
 I. 
 
 Fair art thou, Syria ! when the Summer rose 
 Wreathes thy green laurels in its virgin-prime ; 
 Fair when the mellowed ray of Autumn glows 
 On the hoar summits of thy hills sublime ; — 
 But thou wert fairer in the morn of Time, 
 In Earth's young loveliness, when bounteous Heaven 
 Shed all its splendours on thy cloudless clime ; 
 Nor yet wild Ocean's vengeful waves were driven 
 O'er thy devoted plains, to whelm the unforgiven. 
 
 II. 
 And thus I sing thee, ere the foaming flood 
 Had swept thy valleys ; — while the smiling land, 
 Bj jod's approving voice recorded " Good," 
 Bore the fresh impress of His Master-hand :
 
 GUILT.] IRAD AND ADAH. 129 
 
 A bluer wave broke sparkling o'er the strand ; 
 With broader radiance beamed the Orb above ; 
 And softer gales with richer fragrance fanned 
 A clearer fountain and a cooler grove, 
 And all beneath the sky was harmony and love. 
 
 III. 
 All save the heart of Man. Enshrouded there 
 A Sorceress lurked, whose rancour, fierce and fell, 
 Could shed pollution o'er a scene so fair ; 
 And, by the potent poison of her spell, 
 Transform Mankind to Demons — Earth to Hell ; — 
 Yea, e'en to God's own seat the Enchantress soared, 
 Raising a feud His arm alone could quell ; 
 Then Seraphs sunk beneath her wiles abhorred. 
 And now on guilty man she draws the avenging 
 sword. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But all as yet is Beauty. From his throne 
 Of Glory, crowned with those meridian beams 
 Which daunt up-soaring Eagles, the high Sun 
 Looks down resplendent : earth, sea, mountains, 
 
 streams. 
 Smile in his lustre, till Creation seems 
 To emulate the splendours of the skies ; 
 Bright as the rapt Arabian fondly deems 
 Of promised fovmtains pure, and suns that rise 
 To set no more for aye o'er plains of Paradise. 
 
 Yet the full blaze of noon's pervading ray "^^ 
 Descends in vain o'er yon umbrageous grove, 
 
 K
 
 130 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART I. 
 
 Where the tall cypress and o'ershadowing bay, 
 And brown beech mingling with the plant of love, 
 Form many a fragrant bower, and arched alcove ; 
 While flowers of matchless beauty deck the sod ; 
 Such as the first and fairest Virgin wove 
 To wreathe her brow ; — such, where the Eternal 
 
 trod. 
 Glad earth spontaneous poured : meet homage to 
 
 her God. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There, too, from every cleft transparent gushing 
 Unnumbered rills their devious course pursue ; 
 From crag to crag with wanton wildness rushing ; 
 Tinging with silvery foam their waters blue ; 
 Or smoothly flowing, like the mirror true 
 Of that clear fount, where young Narcissus viewed 
 His own dark eye, and soft cheek's blooming hue ; 
 With plaintive prayers the illusive image wooed ; 
 Then rushed with fond embrace, and clasped the 
 faithless flood : 
 
 VII. 
 
 He clasped and maddened. But of this sweet grove 
 Shall future Bards in pensive numbers sing 
 A lay of fonder and more hopeless love ; — 
 How,'as fair Daphne in the lucid spring 
 Pranked her light tresses. Day's enamoured King 
 Chased the coy Maid — in breathless wild dismay 
 She fled, but Dian stooped her aid to bring ; 
 The plant which, like his love, knows no decay, 
 By Phoebus hence was worn, the pure perennial bay.
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 131 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Alas ! that scenes, where Man might almost deem 
 His Paradise restored, his fall forgiven ; 
 And hail the presence of the Great Supreme 
 As in the Eden whence his Sire was driven. 
 Should only lead him more astray from Heaven ! 
 Alas ! that souls perverse, in worse than madness, 
 Should bind the cliain, which Mercy else had riven : 
 And change the bowers of bliss, the hymn of glad- 
 ness. 
 To scenes of bleak despair, and harrowing shrieks 
 of sadness. 
 
 IX. 
 
 On that famed mount, from whose cloud-mantled 
 
 brow, 
 While the still earth is yet in darkness sleeping. 
 The eye, entranced, can trace Day's orient glow. 
 The Eastern skies in golden glory steeping ; 
 The Youths and Virgins of the land are keeping. 
 With sacrifice and song, their rites divine ; 
 And while on many an altar Priests are heaping 
 Sabaean odours, round each stately shrine 
 They raise the votive lay ; the graceful dance en- 
 twine. 
 
 X. 
 
 Away ! nor listen to the silver lyre. 
 Nor heed the music of the choral strain ; 
 The minstrel Youths, the white-robed Virgin-choir 
 Breathe empty vows to Idols worse than vain ; 
 Those lovely Maidens are the race of Cain ; 
 
 K 2
 
 132 iRAD AND adah; [part I. 
 
 But oh ! enthralled by woman's wanton wile 
 Seth's holier offspring stoop to rites profane ! 
 Alas ! that aught so false as Beauty's smile 
 Should thus to deeds accurst the Sons of Peace be- 
 
 guiJe. 
 
 XI. 
 
 'Twas ever thus. A glance — a sigh — a tear — 
 The downcast eye — the bosom's fluttering swell 
 Can tame the mightiest — and, but Heaven were 
 
 near, 
 Could win the wisest — holiest — to rebel. 
 A world was lost by one seductive spell. 
 Yet think, vain boaster, ere thou proudly dare 
 Condemn or curse tliy hapless Sire who fell, 
 Hadst thou withstood a form so fond and fair ? 
 If thou art still untried, be grateful, and beware ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Alas ! still Beauty works, as then it wrought, 
 The wreck of nations, as of worlds before ; 
 Still in the wanton's lure the soul is caught, 
 Till Conscience slumbers. Faith forgets to soar, 
 And Wisdom, vanquished, wakes and warns no 
 
 more ; — 
 But pause we here the mournful tale to tell, 
 How that deluded tribe, whose fathers bore 
 The image of their Maker, darkly fell. 
 By woman's wiles betrayed, and subtle snares of 
 
 Hell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Long in sequestered glens, and mountains wild, 
 Peaceful and pure, the tribes of Seth abode ;
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 133 
 
 Pleased, on his favoured race JEHOVAH smiled, 
 And Seraphs hailed them as the Sons of God ; 
 To tread the path their sainted Sires had trod ; 
 To till the teeming valleys, or to tend 
 Their flocks on hills where stately forests nod ; 
 Around the social sacrifice to bend. 
 And to their Fathers' God glad hymns of transport 
 blend : 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Such was the blameless tenor of their life ; 
 While, unrepining, to the Sons of Cain, 
 A race inured to rapine and to strife, 
 They left the spicy groves, the cultured plain, 
 And the rich harvest of the golden grain ; — 
 Nor vainly left — from that Apostate brood 
 Fled Peace, and Hope, and Joy, a lovely train I 
 To seek asylum in those mountains rude, 
 Till Eden bloomed anew in that blest solitude. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ah ! how from such abodes of bliss serene 
 
 Could guests like these be exiled? How could Hell 
 
 Win its foul path, unheeded and unseen. 
 
 E'en to the spot where Saints had loved to dwell ? 
 
 Small marvel Man should fall when Angels fell ! 
 
 Ambition — Pride — the baleful lust of sway, 
 
 Can pierce the peaceful Anchorite's lonely cell, 
 
 The Sage's calm seclusion ; and betray 
 
 The heedless heart to cast immortal joys away. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oft from their hills the Sethite youth surveyed 
 The pomp of legions rushing to the war ;
 
 134 IRAD AND ADAH; [ 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Warriors and Chiefs in glittering mail arrayed, 
 
 And shouting myriads thronging from afar 
 
 To hail the Victor on his trophied car ; — 
 
 Till, in the troubled thoughts of Hope's wild dream, 
 
 Fame rose before them, like a lovely star, 
 
 Rich and resplendent with a brighter beam. 
 
 Than passion yet had learnt of earthly bhss to deem. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 O with what fervour did each sacred Sage, 
 The holy Lamech, and his reverend Sire, 
 The first of men in wisdom as in age, 
 Mathusala, to curb that rash desire, 
 With all a Father's anxious love conspire ; 
 While — more than both — the consecrated Seer, 
 The righteous Noah, with prophetic fire. 
 Bade the bold youth their Maker's mandate hear, 
 His proffered mercy prize : his menaced vengeance 
 fear. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Had but Ambition Wisdom's voice withstood. 
 Virtue, perchance, had conquered ! but, alas ! 
 Hell hath a charm with stronger spells endued, 
 And framed with wiles more fatal ! This it was 
 Which lured the Father of Mankind to pass 
 The limits of his Eden, and consign 
 His countless progeny, a wretched mass ! 
 To long, long exile, from that home divine : — 
 Ah ! who can trace the toils that round the heart 
 entwine ?
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. lHo 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In evil hour to that time-honoured shade 
 
 (Once the loved home of him* who never died), 
 
 Alone, unguarded, came a stranger Maid ; 
 
 Of that sweet age, when Beauty's conscious pride, 
 
 Chastened by virgin modesty, hath dyed. 
 
 With Shame's first blush ; the fair cheek's snowy 
 
 whiteness ; 
 When youth and graver womanhood divide 
 The lovely prize, and Childhood's playful lightness 
 Lurks in the sportive smile ; beams in the eye's 
 
 young brightness. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A son of Seth descried her. Had she smiled. 
 Perchance his heart its oft-pledged faith had kept. 
 Nor female blandishments again beguiled 
 The frail to disobedience ; but she ivejot — 
 And with her tears subduing softness crept 
 Through his whole frame resistless, till he proved 
 Though Passion's power had long in silence slept. 
 It lived to conquer still : his soul was moved 
 With specious pity first — he solaced next— then 
 loved. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 She told a simple tale of meek distress ; — 
 From venal vows her shuddering soul forbade. 
 She fled an outcast to the wilderness ; 
 To pine or perish in the lonely shade, 
 Ere wed a Lord she loved not. She had strayed 
 
 • Enoch.
 
 1-36 IRAD AND ADAIi; [pART I. 
 
 Since Morn's first beams were brightening in the 
 
 sky, 
 And now one little boon was all she prayed — 
 
 Nor let his wrath her lowly suit deny — 
 
 She only asked in peace and purity to die. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Low at his feet the suppliant Virgin knelt — 
 She spoke no more — but oh ! that pleading sigh ! 
 Those white hands clasped in prayer ! would they 
 
 not melt 
 The frozen heart of Age ? And why, oh, why, 
 Should cold suspicion doubt, or weakness fly 
 A simple maiden 1 Must he turn and leave 
 A form so lovely to despair and die ? 
 It cannot be that guileless heart can weave 
 A web of fraudful arts : that open brow deceive ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But know'st thou not, rash youth ! that Falsehood's 
 
 lure 
 Is ever framed the stamp of Truth to bear ; 
 That man is weakest still, when most secure, 
 And Beauty's smile oft falsest, when most fair ? 
 A woman tempts thee, but a fiend is there ! 
 Wilt thou, then, shame thy yet untainted line ? 
 A guiltier Adam, wilt thou madly dare. 
 Like him thy peace, thy Paradise resign ? 
 Canst thou repeat that fall, and hope forgiveness 
 
 thine ? 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 It was not that he pitied ; for the thrill 
 
 Of heaven-born pity aye to Heaven is dear ;
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 137 
 
 It was not that he solaced ; for to still 
 
 The throbbing breast, and wipe the mourner's tear, 
 
 Is Virtue's proud prerogative, and here 
 
 Had seemed, perchance, like mercy — but to love; — 
 
 'Tis the first step in Folly's rash career, 
 
 And bears him to destruction : 'tis to prove 
 
 A recreant Traitor, false to holier ties above. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Is't then a crime to hang on Beauty's smile. 
 Burn at her blush, and sink beneath her tear ? — 
 'Tis worse than guilt when Beauty would beguile 
 Her spell-bound captive from a Father's fear. 
 And bid him brave the Eternal ! Oh ! revere 
 Thyself, thy Sires, thy God, and rend the chain 
 That roimd thy heart is twining. Wake ! and hear 
 The warning voice ; thy venturous heart restrain ! 
 And be the childof faith, the loved of Heaven again ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He paused a moment — for the dark abyss 
 Rushed on his soul, and all beyond the tomb ; 
 He paused in vain ; her tearful eye met his ; — 
 That look hath stifled conscience — sealed his doom. 
 And sentenced myriads to eternal gloom. 
 'Tis o'er ! the chain is fixed — the deed is done — 
 The flame breaks forth whose fury shall consume 
 A faithless world : the Fiend his prey hath won, 
 For Guilt is in the heart, and Guilt is Hell begun. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Nor deem his trespass venial, for he knew 
 The Maid a daughter of that lawless race,
 
 138 IRAD AND ADAIi; [pART I. 
 
 Whose Sire, accursed, to woods and wilds with- 
 drew, 
 To hide the mark no Time could e'er efface, 
 And shun the All-pervading. Still the trace 
 Of blood was on his offspring ; still the cry 
 Of wrath and war was in their dwelling-place; — 
 They knelt to idols ; and would Heaven ally 
 Its own loved seed with Guilt's apostate progeny? 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 What need of words ? Seductive beauty won 
 The mountain-fortress Force had stormed in vain ; 
 The deadly plague that fatal hour begun 
 Spread like devouring fire : soon to the plain, 
 By frantic ardour borne, the youthful train 
 Impetuous rushed ; in vain the Patriarchs strove 
 To awe by terrors or by tears restrain ; 
 They recked not Sires below, nor God above ; 
 So strong were woman's charms, and such the 
 power of Love. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But said I Love ? Oh no ! When Man was driven 
 From his lost Eden to a world of woe ; 
 Superior Love to soothe his griefs was given, 
 And lead him back to virtue. In its glow 
 There is a transport Guilt can never know, 
 Or, knowing, could not cherish. On the ties 
 Of social tenderness that bind below 
 Love sheds its ray : but for its native skies 
 Reserves a purer beam — for True Love never dies.
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 139 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But Seth's lost children loved not, though the name 
 Of love might gloss their falsehood; and they 
 
 glowed 
 With warmer transports and a wilder flame ; 
 Love never lured a mortal from his God ; 
 But Passion bore them onward, till they bowed 
 At idol-altars, and with prayers profane 
 Invoked the Orb of Day, and disavowed 
 The God of Enoch for the Gods of Cain ; — 
 Such deeds could Justice mark, and bear the 
 
 sword in vain 1 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Oh with what anguish was thy bosom rent. 
 Thou Sire of many sons ! earth's eldest born ! 
 How saintly Lamech poured the vain lament ! 
 How fearless Noah raised his voice to warn 
 And braved the trifler's scoff, the warrior's scorn. 
 And e'en the coward's contumely, that still, 
 Ere from its strong foundations earth was borne. 
 And Death came forth to smite, the wayward will 
 Of man might yet be turned, and shun the im- 
 pending ill. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Yes— oft the Seer foretold the day of doom. 
 And saw in vision, o'er the lowering skies. 
 Flames flash, and tempests spread unearthly gloom. 
 And from his depths beheld fierce Ocean rise 
 To whelm a world of traitors, 'mid the cries 
 Of shrieking myriads ; — but he saw in vain ;
 
 140 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART I. 
 
 And when he closed his aged Grandsire's eyes, 
 Seth's once pure offspring with the race of Cain 
 Were blended all — alike polluted and profane. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 All, save his own bold Sons, who firmly clave 
 To their dear Father, and their dearer Lord ; 
 Held their ancestral faith ; nor shrunk to brave 
 The coward's mockery, or the ruffian's sword, 
 When duty called to daring ! —At the word 
 Of their sage Sire, through circling years they 
 
 raised 
 A wondrous work, predestined to afford 
 Refuge from storms to come : the crowd, amazed, 
 Beheld the rising Ark — yet mocked them while 
 
 they gazed : 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And still unmoved, through each revolving day 
 Held their light revels on the verdant plain. 
 Or gaily listened to the impassioned lay. 
 And drank fresh poison from the beauteous train. 
 Those forms of angels, with the soul of Cain : — 
 " Heaven shines above, while Earth is fair below. 
 Why should a doting dreamer's frantic strain 
 Chill the warm hope, or damp the generous glow ; 
 Why quit substantial bliss to shun ideal woe ?" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Return we to our tale. — I said, the Sun 
 Shone in full splendour o'er yon laurelled grove, 
 Where now the festal joyaunce is begun. 
 And o'er the mead in sportive mazes move
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 141 
 
 The graceful Virgins : on each gale above, 
 Responsive strains of sweetest music rise ; 
 While, ranged around, the gazing Youths approve ; 
 Each following his loved Maid with eager eyes. 
 Meets the reverted glance that to his own replies. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And many a Chief is there, whose lofty name 
 Was whispered once in darkness and in fear, 
 Till Vengeance tore it from the scroll of Fame; — 
 And many an Aged Man, whose brow severe 
 Betrays a troubled spirit, mingles here 
 To calm the bodings of his anxious breast — 
 In vain — still Conscience murmurs, Death is near : 
 And how should Mirth or Music charm to rest 
 The pangs of keen remorse that must not be 
 suppressed ? 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 But lo ! secluded in yon deep alcove. 
 Formed by the fragi-ant rose and clustering vine 
 And jasmine with green myrtles interwove. 
 On the soft slope what youthful pair recline ? 
 Still firm and faithful to their King Divine 
 Sage Noah's seed the rebel race contemn, 
 Or that young warrior of a lofty line 
 Had seemed — a branch of Seth's primaeval stem, 
 Bold Japhet's port sublime, or Heaven's beloved, 
 Shem. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Such was his mien — so graceful. But his brow ? 
 Ah ! there full vainly might'st thou seek to trace,
 
 142 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART I. 
 
 Though all unbent by Love's full transport now, 
 The inward calmness of that chosen race ; 
 The peace that springs from virtue. To efface 
 The deep-worn print of that corroding woe, 
 Whose source is locked within the dwelling-place 
 Of conscious Memory, rests with nought below ; 
 Nor Joy nor Love, can e'er Oblivion's balm be- 
 stow ; — 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Though each may charm to slumber, as they seem 
 To charm in this bright moment, when his heart 
 With new-born gladness, as a hideous dream 
 Dispels all memory of its former smart; — 
 But dreams may vanish ; this can ne'er depart ; — 
 Its empire is eternal ! 'Twill resume 
 Its potent sway ere long : and shouldst thou start 
 From Love's brief raptures to thy final doom. 
 Oh ! canst thou hope to find Oblivion in the tomb ? 
 
 XL. 
 
 A moment gaze we on that beauteous Maid — 
 But no ! I will not sing of hopes and fears, 
 Of Love's long latent tenderness betrayed 
 By burning bkishes, or unconscious tears ; — 
 Of all that wins — enraptures— and endears. 
 I will not sing, in Passion's glowing strain. 
 Of all the Virgin feels, when first she hears 
 The Lover's tale ! I may not dare profane 
 My theme of import grave with aught so wild and 
 vain.
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 143 
 
 XLI. 
 
 For what, alas ! avails it, though she shone 
 The lovehest far of all, where all were fair ; 
 Though every eye from thousands turned to one, 
 Caught by the smile that Kings had sought to 
 
 share ; 
 Though her ingenuous brow the impress bare 
 Of stainless truth, that could not range or rove : 
 Woman ! the fond ! the faithful ! oft may dare 
 Pain — Peril — Ruin — for an earthly love, 
 Without one thought of Him who claims the soul 
 
 above. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Of lineage high the beauteous Adah came. 
 From saintly Seth descended ; yet how vain 
 Was the pure lustre of that hallowed name ! — 
 She bowed before the Idols of the Plain, 
 And her loved warrior is a child of Cain : — 
 But lo, he speaks ! and ere his vows prevail 
 To bind that heart in earth's seductive chain, 
 Which Heaven hath failed to reach— and yet may 
 
 fail ; — 
 Pause we, while Hope survives, and list the 
 
 Lover's Tale. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " If long I lingered to avow 
 
 The flame no Maiden-frowns reproved ! 
 
 Yet, fairest Adah ! deem not thou 
 
 I feebly felt, or lightly loved. 
 
 I came not with the happier throng
 
 144 iiiAD AND adah; [part I. 
 
 Who poured impassioned vows to thee ; 
 Yet, Maiden ! I have loved thee long, 
 And not the less, though hopelessly. 
 For well, in clouds of deep despair 
 Might hope's glad star be veiled from One, 
 Whose heart and hand would madly dare 
 And do as mine have dared and done. 
 I knew full oft the gentle child 
 Of Seth had on the Stranger smiled ; 
 Yet oh ! I deemed it could not be, 
 That thou shouldst deign to smile on me. 
 For how should friendless misery gain 
 The prize by Monarchs sought in vain ; 
 How should the Vulture meet that Sun 
 Which Eagles dare not gaze upon ? 
 Or how should gentle Maid be wooed 
 By heart of guilt and hand of blood ? — 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Said I mine hand was stained with blood? 
 
 'Tis blood of foulest — deepest dye ; 
 
 For not in equal sti-ife I stood 
 
 To meet my mortal enemy 
 
 Amid the battle flood ; — 
 
 No — by a base assassin's deed 
 
 I doomed a kindred heart to bleed ; 
 
 And stooped my crest of martial pride 
 
 To sculk a midnight homicide. — 
 
 I will not. Maiden ! tell thee now, 
 
 The wrong I cannot yet avow 
 
 With cheek unflushed, unaltered brow —
 
 GUILT,] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 145 
 
 It would have stirred the calm — the cold — 
 
 The meanest thing of mortal mould, 
 
 To seize the deadly sword — and die, 
 
 Or sheath it in his enemy. 
 
 I met my foe — I hurled my dart ; 
 
 Hate nerved my hand, and fired mine eye ; 
 
 I saw it quiver in his heart — 
 
 I heard his shriek of agony ! 
 
 Oh had it rankled in mine own 
 
 Ere that unnatural deed were done ! 
 
 For though his stifled sob came dear 
 
 As softest music to mine ear, 
 
 Full soon my own was doomed to be 
 
 Wrung forth by tenfold misery : — 
 
 When first the fatal dart was thrown 
 
 I knew him by his guilt alone ; 
 
 But when returning morn revealed 
 
 That form the gloom till then concealed ; 
 
 I gazed upon his lifeless brow ; — 
 
 That glance is fresh in Memory now ; — 
 
 No more — I dare not breathe his name ; 
 
 Or what his secret crime, and how 
 
 He wrought a brother's shame. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Becoming thus a second Cain, 
 His curse fell on me, and I fled 
 Far from the spot, but fled in vain ; — 
 A flame still burnt within my brain. 
 As when upon the reeking dead 
 My first wild glance was riveted. 
 
 L
 
 146 IRAD AND adah; [part I. 
 
 Though native pride and high disdain 
 
 Forbad my stubborn soul to weep ; 
 
 With nought of vengeance but its pain, 
 
 And all of madness but its sleep, 
 
 Deep in my bosom's inmost core 
 
 From clime to clime that curse I bore ; 
 
 The ceaseless pang no words can tell ; 
 
 A living death — an earthly hell. 
 
 And if no mark upon my brow 
 
 Were branded by the bolts of Heaven, 
 
 Yet from my race — I knew not how — 
 
 Like some loathed Demon was I driven, 
 
 A wretch unpitied, unforgiven. 
 
 E'en when I sought the desert lair 
 
 To shroud me from mine own despair, 
 
 The wildest monsters of the wood 
 
 Forgot their thirst for human blood ! 
 
 And howling fled in strange dismay 
 
 A fiend more foul, more fierce than they. 
 
 I was the common scorn and hate. 
 
 Abhorred of all, and desolate ; 
 
 None came the den of Misery nigh, 
 
 With words or looks of sympathy ; 
 
 Nay, at my very sight Men fled. 
 
 For I was mad, the cowards said, 
 
 And mad I was, if madness be 
 
 To crouch beneath the withering weight 
 
 Of hopeless, cureless, agony ; 
 
 To curse the lingering arm of Fate, 
 
 And strive, in vain desire to clasp 
 
 The death that courts, yet mocks the grasp.
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 147 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 "And thus for equal crimes I bore 
 The curse dark Cain endured before ! 
 Like him, from year to year, I pined 
 A wandering Outcast from my kind. 
 The slave of some mysterious spell, 
 A Being not of Earth or Hell : — 
 Where'er I roved, by night, by day, 
 It was as if the All-seeing Eye 
 Shone fierce upon me from on high, 
 Till from its bright and blasting ray 
 I sought the wood — the wild — the wave — 
 I sought — but could not find the grave. 
 Alone amid the arid waste 
 Which foot, save mine, had never traced ; 
 Oft have I watched the lowering skies, 
 And waited for the fell Simoom, 
 Or panted for the sands to rise, 
 And whelm me in a living tomb : 
 I've listened to the thunder crash, 
 And bared my bosom to the flash ; 
 While o'er my head innocuous broke 
 The flame that smote the rooted oak ; 
 And while blue lightnings clave the sky, 
 Oh how I looked and longed to die ! 
 But no ! as if the dread decree 
 Had passed o'er earth — and skies — and sea — 
 That wave and whirlwind, sand and storm. 
 Should spare and shun the accursed form ; 
 Where'er I sought to rest or die, 
 
 L 2
 
 148 IRAD AND adah; [part I. 
 
 Still came the Curse I could not fly ; 
 To human haunts my path pursued, 
 And tracked my steps to Solitude. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " Such, Maiden, are the pangs I bore, 
 And such again my lot may be ; 
 For oh ! the light thy smiles restore 
 In darkness soon may fade or flee ; 
 As o'er yon smooth and glassy deep 
 Ere long conflicting storms may sweep, 
 So the frail temper of my brain 
 May change to frantic fire again. 
 If, then, thou doubt, at once resign 
 A lot deserted — dark as mine ; 
 And go ! some happier bosom bless 
 With those fond smiles I may not share ; 
 And I will seek to love thee less ; 
 Full dearly have I learnt to bear ; 
 And what is life but bitterness. 
 If love outlive despair?" 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The Maid replied not, but a sudden tinge 
 
 Of deeper red suffused her conscious cheek ; 
 
 And in the covert of its sheltering fringe 
 
 Her downcast eye seclusion seemed to seek ; — 
 
 Awhile she spoke not — it were vain to speak — 
 
 Oh to tlie silent language of the tear 
 
 How cold is Passion, ' Eloquence how weak ! ' 
 
 What smiles of soft assent were half so dear 
 
 As that mute pledge of love, so simple yet sincere ?
 
 GUILT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 149 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Long Irad stood in ecstasy entranced, 
 While Joy, Hope, Wonder, in his full eye shone ; 
 And ever on that blushing Maid he glanced 
 As some kind Angel, stooping from the throne, 
 To whisper peace and pardon — ^lie had run 
 A race of arduous conflict — but the prize 
 Which crowned his course of agony, was one 
 Full cheaply purchased by the sacrifice 
 Of Pomp, Pride, Glory, Rest — of all beneath the 
 skies. 
 
 L. 
 
 Alas for human raptures ! they are frail 
 
 As the brief flash that dazzles, and is gone ; 
 
 To future times a marvel and a tale. 
 
 While they who felt, unknowing and unknown, 
 
 Sleep in the Grave's cold silence. That alone 
 
 Which beams triumphant e'en in Death's deep 
 
 gloom, 
 Is lightly prized, and oh ! how rarely won ! 
 We pluck Life's fading flowrets as they bloom, 
 But spurn the only bud that blows beyond the 
 
 tomb.
 
 IRAD AND ADAH. 
 
 PART II. — PROPHECY. 
 I. 
 
 How lovely is the still clear brow of Eve 
 
 When Heaven is bathed in brightness, and the fold 
 
 Of many a floating cloud doth interweave 
 
 Its silvery vesture with celestial gold, 
 
 To wreathe its sinking Monarch ! Bards have told 
 
 Of regions radiant with eternal day ; 
 
 But ne'er, oh ! ne'er, did mortal eye behold 
 
 Such hues of beauty, or so pure a ray, 
 
 As now yon parting Sun, yon varied skies display. 
 
 II. 
 But who can paint thee, thou Majestic Orb ! 
 Robed in thy setting lustre, whose broad light 
 Millions of meaner Splendours doth absorb. 
 Lost in thy beams, though in thine absence bright ; 
 Thou movest like a Giant in his might. 
 From conquest and to glory. Thou dost shine, 
 Meet image of thy Lord, the Infinite ! 
 The Pure ! the Gracious ! Of His works divine 
 To shadow best His praise, transcendant Sun ! is 
 thine.
 
 PROPHECY.] IRAD AND ADAH. 151 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet art thou but a Symbol, and to bow 
 
 Before thine altar with adoring knee 
 
 Were foul and rank idolatry — for thou 
 
 Art sprung from nothing, and shalt cease to be 
 
 As once thou wert not — at thy King's decree. 
 
 But Man endures, and must endure for aye — 
 
 And what shall aid him in Eternity 
 
 When thou, his God, hast perished? — Yet they play 
 
 As if no warning voice had told the impending day ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, as yon skies are beauteous, so on Earth 
 All wears the mask of happiness and love ; 
 Still the bland voice of melody and mirth 
 O'er each flower-sprinkled mead, through every 
 
 grove 
 Rings resonant : still in their green alcove 
 The plighted Lovers sweet communion hold ; 
 While many a breast congenial flame doth prove ; 
 And many a gentle tale of Love, half told. 
 Is met by answering sighs that will not be con- 
 trolled. 
 
 v. 
 But who, when yon blue arch is calm and clear, 
 Dreads the low thunder muttering from afar ? 
 Who, in the home to fond affection dear. 
 Heeds the harsh clangour of returning war ? 
 Yet oft, alas ! the late imprinted scar 
 Is but the prelude to a deadlier dart ; 
 And sudden storms with blighting influence mar
 
 152 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART II. 
 
 The dawning raptures of the thoughtless heart ; 
 Hopes flatter to deceive ; Joys dazzle to depart. 
 
 VI. 
 
 These hopes have flattered and must now deceive ; 
 These joys have dazzled, and shall soon expire ; 
 For both on Guilt were founded ; and shall leave 
 Their memory graved in characters of fire 
 On the deluded heart. Hark ! the sweet lyre 
 E'en now is dying on the breeze ; e'en now 
 The light dance ceases, and the youths retire ; 
 And while yon Priests to their false Baal bow, 
 The prayer is half unsaid: unsealed the unhallowed 
 vow. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nought had the Lovers heard of lyre or lute, 
 Or the sweet music of the vocal lay ; 
 The stillness smote them now ; for all was mute. 
 The votive hymn had drooped and died away 
 In discord, and to silence ; pale dismay 
 Succeeds to festive mirth. But who may dare 
 Invade the joyaunce of the hallowed day, 
 And bid the Adorers from their rites forbear ? 
 What rash intruder courts his doom ? Behold him 
 there ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 An Aged Man he seems, whose pensive brow 
 Is wan, yet more with sorrow, than with Time ; 
 For there no troubled lineaments avow 
 The pangs of conscience, or the curse of crime ; 
 No ! there are sorrows sacred and sublime,
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 153 
 
 And such are his : for still his piercing eye 
 Beams with the brightness of its youthful prime, 
 And, in his glance, a fervour bold and high 
 Reveals the undaunted soul that will not faint or 
 fly. 
 
 IX. 
 
 What charm is in his presence ? All around 
 Are hushed to breathless silence, and he stands. 
 Alone 'mid all : a Monarch, though uncrowned, 
 And, though unarmed, a Warrior. The dark bands 
 Of Cain recede as if a God commands, 
 And yet he speaks not. — Sure some Power hath 
 
 bowed 
 Each heart with bonds it knows not, nor with- 
 stands ; 
 Or how should One control a murderous crowd ; 
 The Weak repel the Strong ; the Lowly awe the 
 Proud ? 
 
 X. 
 
 Yet, if no symbol of superior sway, 
 Around his brow no gemmed tiara shone, 
 Yet shall his honoured name survive for aye, 
 Adorned and hallowed with a holier crown ; 
 When guilty greatness to the grave goes down, 
 Unwept and unremembered, that pure wreath 
 For ever blooms, decay or change unknown ; — 
 So laurels spurn the lightning's fiery breath, 
 When the huge oak lies low, and woods are rent 
 beneath.
 
 154 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART II. 
 
 XI. 
 
 It is the Righteous Noah. Uncontrolled 
 By lawless might ; unmoved by vengeful ire, 
 Oft hath the Seer, on that false train, foretold 
 Impending woes, and desolation dire ; 
 But never, never hath his eye of fire 
 With fearful presage fraught, so sternly glowed 
 As now it glows : the conscious crowd retire ; 
 So through the Assyrian camp the Angel trod, 
 And mailed myriads crouched before the present 
 God. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yet, ere he spoke, a sudden sadness past 
 O'er his grave aspect, glistening in his eye ; 
 His lips convulsive quivered, and the last, 
 The last meek prayer that e'er must soar on high 
 For that doomed world rose heavenward on his sigh ; 
 Then, like the Prescient Bard, who weeping poured 
 O'er Zion's towers the fatal prophecy ; 
 His voice denounced the woes his heart deplored. 
 And faultered as it breathed the mandate of his 
 Lord. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Nor thou his tears condemn. The Avenging Rod 
 Is wielded only by the hand of Heaven ; 
 Nor Man arraigns the justice of his God, 
 While yet his tears — nay more — his prayers are 
 
 given 
 To all by Guilt from hope and mercy driven : 
 While yet o'er Salem's towers the thunder slept,
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 155 
 
 Ah ! know'st thou not what purer heart was riven, 
 To what diviner eyes compassion crept, 
 When o'er the destined towers He gazed, and 
 "Jesus wept?" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Once more, and yet once more, I breathe 
 
 The monitory strain. 
 
 The mournful prophecy of Death, 
 
 So oft proclaimed in vain. 
 
 O pause amid your mad career 
 
 The summons of your God to hear ; 
 
 His voice could curb and calm to rest 
 
 The wave that boils on Ocean's breast ; 
 
 Could stay the lightning in its flight, 
 
 The Sun on his meridian height ; 
 
 Or bid the Apostate Angel rise 
 
 From lowest hell to loftiest skies : 
 
 And shall presumptuous Man accord 
 
 Less reverence to the Almighty Lord ; 
 
 Shall Earth's ephemeral sons defy 
 
 The Monarch of Eternity ? 
 
 O pause — for Vengeance sleeps no more; 
 
 The measure of your guilt runs o'er ; 
 
 Your destined date is fleeting fast ; 
 
 List then mine errand ; 'tis the last, 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Ye who by lawless love impelled. 
 Against your Father's God rebelled ; 
 Forsook the living Lord, and prayed. 
 To Powers that could not hear or aid ;
 
 156 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART II. 
 
 Think ye, though vaunting fools blaspheme, 
 JEHOVAH is not still Supreme ? 
 Can ye, who spurn His grace, withstand 
 The might of His avenging hand ? 
 
 yet your frantic crime forbear. 
 While Mercy loves and longs to spare ; 
 Nor deem the warning voice I breathe 
 By some deluded dreamer given ; 
 
 'Tis certain — as the shaft of death ; 
 Unerring, as the bolt of Heaven ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " I heard the Herald of the Eternal God 
 In voice of thunder seal the dread decree ! 
 
 1 saw a dark cloud rest upon the sea. 
 
 And straight the Angel of his Presence rode 
 On fiery car sublime — dun night and storm 
 Wrapped their dense mantle round his viewless 
 
 form. 
 Yet, as He passed, intolerable light 
 Smote, like the blasting flash, upon my sight. 
 And my heart failed within me, while my brow 
 Grew chill as with the damps of death — till now 
 A strange low voice came ringing on mine ear, 
 A Voice of Might ! it bade me rise and hear. 
 I gazed again : and lo ! the Spirit stood 
 Self-borne on ocean, while the conscious flood 
 Lay shuddering — all was silent as the grave. 
 Till the swift rushing of his raven plume 
 Came like a rising whirlwind — earth — skies — wave 
 Were instant veiled in more than midnight gloom :
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 157 
 
 A blackness like the blackness of the tomb. 
 I saw no more — till through the burdened air 
 Pealed mighty thunders — but he was not there : 
 Next the deep sound of heaving earthquakes past — 
 He was not in the earthquake — at the last 
 A still small voice with fearful murmurs broke 
 Through that dread silence— then the Seraph spoke, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " ' Thus saith thy Lord, the Lord of Hosts, to thee. 
 Vast universe of waters ! pathless Sea ! 
 Arise, and spurn the bursting bonds away, 
 That else had curbed thy warring waves for aye ; 
 Arise ! and work thy dread Creator's will, 
 He bids thee rage, who bade thee first be still. 
 Roll on ! till Earth and Earth's rebellious brood. 
 Be whelmed for ever in thy trackless flood ; 
 Till to yon skies thy swelling waves aspire, 
 Then shall He quell thy wrath and bid thy foam 
 retire.' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " He spake — and instant on the troubled gale 
 Arose the dying shriek, the funeral wail ; 
 The clouded skies terrific lightnings clave, 
 Peal answered peal, and wave was heaped on 
 
 wave. 
 Hell burst her chain, and hideous Death unfurled 
 His sable pinions o'er the shuddering world ; 
 Proud man was vanished as a dream forgot ; 
 I looked for Earth, and Earth itself was not.
 
 158 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART II- 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " And dare ye still, presumptuous worms! defy 
 That Power whose anger rends the affrighted sky, 
 Or do ye think to brave His lifted rod, 
 Meet Heaven in arms, and wrest the sword from 
 
 God?— 
 Reflect! if such your frantic purpose be, 
 The rebel Angels stood not — and shall ye ? 
 And oh, when Justice bares the flaming brand. 
 And Mercy stays not Wrath's unsparing hand. 
 Whom will ye seek in that defenceless hour. 
 To snatch and shield you from Almighty Power ? 
 When yon fair Sun shall veil his conscious light, 
 Fade on his throne, and tremble into night, 
 From him, your Idol, refuge will ye crave ? 
 Alas! ye trust in one who cannot save ; 
 Ye only lean on Man's delusive foe. 
 Who wrought your ruin — who will mock your woe. 
 And think not then by prayers your God to bow ; 
 His pity still would spare you. Hear Him NOW — 
 NOW — while around the swift Destroyers stand. 
 And curb their whirlwinds till He gives command ; 
 NOW — while the storm yet slumbers at His feet. 
 And His high throne is yet a mercy-seat. 
 A moment — skies shall darken at His nod ; 
 Earth quake — seas madden at the frown of God ; 
 Then Love is hushed — Hope's parting ray is o'er, 
 And Penitence itself avails no more. 
 Enough ! if any yet would shun the grave, 
 And cling to Him whose arm alone can save,
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 159 
 
 Swift let them now His menaced vengeance flee, 
 Renounce their Idol-Gods, and follow me !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Prophet ceased — yet none awhile replied — 
 The warrior's arm hung palsied, while the thrill 
 Of withering horror quelled each heart of pride ; 
 And the hoarse murmur of revenge was still ; 
 For one foreboding presage seemed to fill 
 Each awe-struck bosom : e'en the Sons of Cain, 
 Obdurate — fierce — inflexible in ill. 
 Shrunk from the Seer abashed, and strove in vain 
 To rouse their native pride, their latent wrath again. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ay ! there are feelings in the conscious breast 
 Which antedate its doom. The wretch may seek 
 O'er earth — on sea — the false illusion, Rest — 
 It flies before him. Nought so wild or weak 
 That cannot chill his blood, and blanch his cheek. 
 The clouds that darken, and the storms that rave, 
 Still to his soul one solemn warning speak ; — 
 They lift the sable veil that shrouds the grave ; 
 They point the quenchless flame : they ask him, 
 " Who shall save ?" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Tend, then, such fears to Penitence ? Alas ! 
 Like spectral forms, and shapes of mystery, 
 That scare the slumberer from his couch — yet pass 
 All unembodied by the waking eye, 
 Those brief impressions daunt — dissolve — and die.
 
 160 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART II. 
 
 When Conscience feels but will not break its chain, 
 Then most the Tempter's specious sophistry 
 Steals to the heart, and lulls Remorse again. 
 Till Love persuasive pleads, and Vengeance warns 
 in vain. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Here both are bootless. Lo ! on many a brow- 
 To shame succeeds defiance — scorn to fear — 
 And many an eye is sternly bending now 
 Its glance indignant on the Royal Seer, 
 Who meets their gaze unwavering. Circled here 
 By ruthless rebels, leagued in dense array. 
 He stems the torrent in its mid career ; — 
 The vile may spurn him, or the vengeful slay ; — 
 It recks him not — God spake — 'tis his but to obey. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 While fierce around him swept the clamorous crowd. 
 Muttering deep menaces of vengeance — One 
 High o'er the rest upreared his stature proud. 
 As on the heights of lordly Lebanon 
 Towers the coeval cedar. From a Son 
 Of Cain descended, and himself a Cain, 
 With glance of purpose fell he glared upon 
 The unshrinking Prophet — and with high disdain 
 Thus to the Man of God rejoined in vaunting strain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Dotard, or vain deceiver as thou art ; 
 False to the Living Orb that sways the sky ! 
 In sooth I scorn me, that, with craven heart, 
 I tamely brooked thy self-styled prophecy,
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 161 
 
 Vision of lying wonders. Thou shouldst die 
 The instant deatli convicted Traitors prove ; 
 Save that to mar this fair festivity, 
 And stain with blood the consecrated grove, 
 Were sacrilege and scorn to Him who beams above. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Away ! and hide thee in thy ponderous ark, 
 That miracle of folly, till yon skies 
 With death-denouncing storms grow dull and dark ; 
 There brood o'er dreams and hideous phantasies ; 
 Thee and thy fond predictions we despise. 
 Away ! the bold and brave disdain to flee ; 
 The Sun will shield his faithful votaries ; 
 Let abjects like thyself — if such there be — 
 Thy empty visions heed — come forth — and follow 
 thee." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Patriarch lingered— shadows of deep thought 
 Rushed with swift workings o'er his troubled brow ; 
 And his swoln heart throbbed high ; as if it wrought 
 With feelings language failed him to avow : 
 His cheek was deadly pale — yet deem not thou 
 That Men or Fiends, to doubt or dastard fear 
 The settled temper of his soid could bow ; 
 He recked not then the Scorner's sullen sneer ; 
 The Giant's menace stern he did not heed or hear. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The fervour of his aspect did but change 
 To that sublime dejection, which can bear
 
 162 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART II. 
 
 Wrongs unsubdued, and seeks but to avenge 
 By pity or by pardon, and doth wear 
 A settled sadness, rooted as despair, 
 Yet calm and patient ; ere the die were cast 
 He would have wooed the vilest menial there, 
 To snatch him from destruction — but 'tis past — 
 Justice unsheaths the sword, and Love hath spoke 
 her last. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And, if thou marvel that to all in vain 
 The latest boon of hope and life was given ; 
 Oh think, what bonds the captive soul enchain ! 
 How oft the dread of Man's brief ire hath driven 
 A wavering wretch to brave the wrath of Heaven ! 
 So here, though all remorse and fear forebode 
 In many a conscious breast hath deeply striven ; 
 By terror chained, they madly wait the rod — 
 To shun a Tyrant's frown they meet an angry God. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Once more the pitying Patriarch turned, ere yet 
 He left the guilty to despair and die ; 
 But turned in vain : e'en while his cheek was wet, 
 His frame convulsed with speechless agony, 
 Again the frantic rebels raised on high 
 Their shouts of keen derision — and when One, 
 With throbbing bosom and reverted eye. 
 Looked round again to mark him — he was gone — 
 His destined task was o'er — he went, and went 
 alone.
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 
 
 XXXI. • 
 
 " Strike the silver lyre resounding, 
 Raise the choral lay responding ; 
 And, the graceful dance renewing, 
 Float in sportive maze pursuing ; 
 While, from every altar breathing, 
 Clouds of fragrant fumes are wreathing. 
 Sires, and Sons, and Maidens bright ! 
 Bend and bow in deep devotion 
 To the Living Lord of light. 
 Ere he sinks and sets in ocean : 
 While around his chariot beaming. 
 Clouds of thousand tints are streaming. 
 Let your vows ascend before him ! 
 Let your mingled strains adore him !" 
 
 xxxii. 
 Again the Virgin-choir on high 
 Swell the glad hymn's soft symphony ; 
 Again the answering Youths advance 
 To mingle in the mazy dance ; 
 The Minstrel-bard attunes again 
 His melting lute to bolder strain. 
 It will not be — the lute's full tone 
 Comes like the low blast's midnight moan ; 
 The vesper hymn and votive lay 
 Li broken echoes pass away ; 
 Doubt seems on every brow to press. 
 And every step is heaviness. 
 The Lover checks — he knows not why — 
 His whispered vow, and pleading sigh ; 
 
 163
 
 164 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART 11. 
 
 The Maid forgets his tender tale, 
 
 And her flushed cheek grows cold and pale ; 
 
 For Love's impassioned dream is o'er, 
 
 And Virgin-tremors throb no more. 
 
 Ah ! — Guilt hath power to cloud the eye, 
 
 And chill the heart witli agony ; 
 
 And what but wakening Conscience gave 
 
 A deeper shade to wood and wave : 
 
 And when the sinking Sun withdrew, 
 
 Enrobed in clouds of blood-red hue. 
 
 What bade his lowering Orb assume 
 
 A tint that presaged Death and doom ? 
 
 'Twas Guilt that veiled the vault of blue. 
 
 And wrapped the world in gloom ! 
 
 A mute, mysterious horror ran 
 
 From rank to rank, from man to man ; 
 
 Ceased dance and song, till, one by one, 
 
 Pensive and pale, the crowd are gone ; 
 
 Each bears within him to his home 
 
 A dread of darker woes to come. 
 
 And oh ! what transient pang intense 
 
 Can wound like sickening slow suspense ? 
 
 It longs for tears, yet cannot weep ; 
 
 It sighs for rest, yet shrinks from sleep ; 
 
 Rends the racked breast with ceaseless strife. 
 
 And looks for death, yet clings to life : 
 
 'Tis hope's false flush, without its charm ; 
 
 'Tis the quick throb of wild alarm ; 
 
 It starts at every sound it hears. 
 
 And antedates the fate it fears.
 
 prophecy] a tale of the flood. 165 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Nor past that monitory word — 
 (The latest grace their God would deign) 
 By Irad or his bride unheard : — 
 Ah ! wherefore did they hear in vain ? 
 Perchance they feared the Tyrant proud, 
 The mockery of the infuriate crowd ; 
 Or shrunk from Scorn's malignant eye, 
 Or shunned the murmured contumely ; 
 Perchance in Love's absorbing fire 
 All other feelings might expire. 
 But woe to man, when earthly bliss 
 Deludes him from the Power Divine ; 
 Such joy, like vapoury mists that shine 
 Most brilliant o'er the deep abyss. 
 Is but a sunbeam o'er the tomb, 
 A meteor ray in midnight gloom. 
 And soon, dismay and death appalling, 
 Too late the warning voice recalling. 
 Shall tliey with fruitless prayers implore 
 The mercy that returns no more. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Six days of fearful presage past 
 
 To those who dared the Seer deride ; 
 
 Six dreary nights the hollow blast 
 
 Howled o'er the agitated tide ; 
 
 While Earth, by strange convvilsions riven. 
 
 Seemed blasted by the curse of Heaven. 
 
 Dark prodigies and omens dire 
 
 Came fraught with horror and despair ;
 
 166 IRAD AND ADAE ; [pART II. 
 
 The red Sun on his throne of fire 
 
 Shone with a broad unnatural glare ; 
 
 And swarthy clouds around him rolled 
 
 The slowly gathering storm foretold ; 
 
 While the clear vault of living blue 
 
 Changed to a dull and lurid hue ; 
 
 And every gale, whose balmy breath, 
 
 Fanned the cool grove with fresh perfume, 
 
 Came fraught with pestilence and death, 
 
 As though it swept the fetid tomb. 
 
 Oft, when the sullen breeze was still, 
 
 Nor waved the cypress on the hill. 
 
 Across the ruffled breast of Ocean 
 
 The billows broke in strange commotion — 
 
 It was as if the captive sea 
 
 Lay bound — yet struggling to be free. 
 
 And frequent through the gloom of night 
 
 Red meteors flashed unwonted light ; 
 
 And voices of dread mystery 
 
 And fearful sounds were heard on high ; 
 
 And ever, as the lightning glare 
 
 An instant o'er the waters streamed ; 
 
 Or Fear discerned, or Conscience dreamed. 
 
 Dim forms of shadowy spectres there, 
 
 As if the bands of Hell might rise 
 
 To hail Man's coming agonies. 
 
 And ever in the whirlwind's moan 
 
 There rung a deep portentous tone ; 
 
 Faint — fearful as the smothered sigh '^ 
 
 Of death, or deadliest agony.
 
 PROPHECY.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 167 
 
 Ah ! now the festive dance is o'er ; 
 
 The melting lay delights no more ; — 
 
 In equal fears, and like despair, 
 
 The young, the martial, and the fair. 
 
 Kept vigil in the Sun's high tower, 
 
 To soothe the visionary Power — 
 
 In vain they watched and wept and prayed. 
 
 Hell scorned the dupes her wiles had made ; 
 
 Yea, should they to the Holiest bow. 
 
 Their prayer would pass unheeded now !
 
 IRAD AND ADAH. 
 
 PART III. — JUDGMENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh for a voice of thunder ! for a blast 
 
 Of that appalling trumpet, which shall break 
 
 Hell's shivering bolts, when Death has smote his 
 
 last, 
 And Time becomes Eternity, — to shake 
 Earth to its very centre, and awake 
 The nations from their torpor— Man can sleep. 
 Fond fool ! with immortality at stake ! 
 Sport on the wave that whirls him to the deep, 
 And smile when Conscience warns to tremble and 
 
 to weep ! 
 
 II. 
 For some there were who smiled — or feigned to 
 
 smile — 
 E'en in that pause of horror, when each sound 
 Came like the call to judgment— if such wile 
 Lulled not their own dark bodings, yet the wound 
 That inly bled was veiled from all around ; 
 The pangs they could not stifle. Pride suppressed ;
 
 JUDGMENT.] IRAD AND ADAH. 169 
 
 With roseate wreaths their brows tliey gaily 
 
 crowned ; 
 And strove to cahii the wildly-throbbing breast 
 With revelry profane, or win a transient rest. 
 
 III. 
 Rest ! ay, such rest the fettered Felon feels 
 On the drear night whose morn must rise his last; 
 Such rest in sleep the weary wanderer seals, 
 When, prostrate panting on the trackless waste. 
 He hears the howling Tiger on the blast ! 
 Fear chills his heart, though Slumber close his eye ; 
 Or if in dreams he views his peril past, 
 It only points with keener agony 
 The pang with which he starts, and, starting, wakes 
 
 to die. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So these awoke, when o'er the guilty world 
 Ai'ose the seventh dread morn, if morn it were ; 
 When vapours dense round every mount were 
 
 curled. 
 And black clouds hovered in the stagnant air, 
 Till all was dimness, save a swarthy glare 
 That pointed mid the darkness, were the Sun, 
 Deaf to the wild entreaties of despair, 
 Sate veiled and viewless on his shrouded throne, 
 As if his beams were quenched — his latest race 
 
 was run. 
 
 V. 
 
 And o'er the bosom of the mighty deep 
 Though yet the slumbering waves were strangely 
 still ;
 
 170 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 Like the pale Sufferer, when Exhaustion's sleep 
 Nerves his racked frame to meet the parting thrill ; 
 The frighted seabirds flit, with screamings shrill, 
 Above the smooth slow waters ; as the sky 
 Grows darker, voices of deep wailings fill 
 The burdened ether ; each discordant cry 
 Strikes heavy on the heart : each tone is prophecy. 
 
 VI. 
 
 From yon proud city, crowned with dome and 
 
 tower, 
 Lo ! swarming myriads seek the spacious plain — 
 The Warrior quits his hall, the Maid her bower, 
 The hoary Priest forsakes his glittering fane. 
 Looks on the skies, and mutters prayer in vain. 
 While Seth's lost sons with tears of blood deplore 
 The charms of beauty and the wiles of Cain, 
 And smite their breasts in agony, and pour 
 The flood of late remorse to him who hears no 
 
 more. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yes — now, indeed, the prostrate Sons of Earth 
 Crouch to the God whom late they dared defy ; 
 Li vain. He gives them heaviness for mirth, 
 And weeping for the voice of melody. 
 When Vengeance warned they would not fear or fly, 
 They would not turn when Mercy wooed to save ; 
 The doom they chose awaits them : they must die ; 
 Yet 'tis not Death that daunts the truly brave ; — 
 But where shall Guilt find peace or pardon ; — in 
 the grave ?
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 171 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh no — or whence that vain yet desperate strife, 
 The lingering horrors of that drear delay, 
 When the scared sovd, recoiling, clings to life, 
 Yet sees grim Death fast aiming at his prey 
 The shaft no shield can ward, no prayers can stay — 
 Why doth the dying wretch so crouch and cower ? 
 Ah ! Hell begins ere Earth has passed away. 
 Demands her slave, and arms Remorse with power, 
 To crowd the crimes— the pangs of years within 
 an hour. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lo ! where the Mother locks her hapless child 
 In the close clasp of agonized despair ; 
 Lo where with frantic mien and wailings wild 
 Clings to her plighted Lord the Virgin fair ; — 
 Alas ! he cannot save her. If in prayer 
 The Suppliant lifts her tearful eyes to Heaven, 
 No orient ray of mercy meets her there ; 
 The gathering storms, the rising whirlwinds driven. 
 Proclaim to every heart, " Thou canst not be for- 
 given !" 
 
 X. 
 
 And some were there, in whom each tender tie 
 Of earthly love seemed severed or forgot ; 
 For many a Father glared, with vacant eye. 
 On his own child, as One remembered not ; 
 And many a Youth, fromher whose smile could blot 
 Heaven's image from his heart, while Vengeance 
 
 stayed, 
 Abhorrent turns : Ah could he shun her lot ! —
 
 1 72 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 But no ! the hour is past — ^liis choice was made ; 
 One doom awaits them all — betraying or betrayed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 It comes ! It comes ! The clouds condensing swell, 
 And, like a rushing cataract, downward pour 
 A mass of prisoned waters ; as it fell, 
 A whirlwind swept the sea, and shook the shore ; 
 While Ocean rose, and, with reverbering roar, 
 Dashed its high billows o'er the rocky strand, 
 Responsive to the thunder-peal, that tore 
 The boundless firmament, while Death's dark band, 
 Storm, Fire, Wind, Hail, went forth to work their 
 Lord's command. 
 
 XII. 
 
 O then what prayers and shrieks and blasphemies 
 Rung mid the din of waters ! while the glare 
 Of broad blue lightnings cleft the clouded skies, 
 And answering thunders seemed to crush the prayer. 
 And bid the conscious criminal despair ; — 
 Bowed in the dust, they dared not gaze on high ; 
 They said, the Angel of Destruction there 
 Urged his red car ; around his presence fly 
 The arrows of his wrath : to mark him were to die. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 In sooth, that lightning was no earthly flame. 
 No earthly peal those fearful thunders poured. 
 With dazzling blaze the dread effulgence came. 
 Bright as the sheeted fire by Israel's Lord 
 Hurled on the troop, who strove, with spear and 
 sword,
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 173 
 
 To seize or slay His Prophet — and the swell 
 Of thunder echoed like that Angel-word, 
 Which shook Creation to the lowest hell, 
 When Thamud's rebel race heard — tottered — 
 gasped — and fell. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Midst the wild scene of darkness and dismay, 
 A moment seek we for that Maiden fair. 
 Who left her God for love's delusive ray, 
 And found, too late, it led but to despair. 
 Where, too, is he, whose proffered heart to share 
 She madly gave her hope — her heaven— her all ?— 
 In yon proud fane, while myrads mingle there 
 Seeking brief refuge, do they vainly call 
 On its unheeding Lord to aid them ere they fall ? 
 
 XV. 
 
 High o'er the vale a rugged mountain rose, 
 Round whose huge breast impervious vapours 
 
 threw 
 A mantle of dark clouds. Coeval snows 
 Crested its brow\ O'erhanging forests grew 
 On its green sides, and many a fountain blue. 
 Meandering murmured through the deep-wove 
 
 shade, 
 Where never sunbeam o'er the silvery dew 
 Shone tremulous, or tinged the clear cascade, 
 Or kissed the pure pale flowers that blossomed in 
 
 the glade. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Here, on the morn of that appalling day. 
 Ere yet the torrent o'er the heaving shore
 
 174) IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 Dashed its o'erwhelming flood — far, far away 
 His beauteous bride tlie faithful Irad bore : 
 For often had he scaled tlie summit hoar, 
 Wound the steep sides, and gained the snow- 
 wreathed brow ; 
 And oh ! if Hope were quenched and Joy no more, 
 A mightier impulse lived that could not bow 
 To doubt or chill despair, and urged him onward 
 now. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Love was not changed to hatred, though in gloom 
 Its fairy dreams had vanished, for he knew 
 Himself the author of the impending doom ; 
 Not that unhappy Maid ! to him most true, 
 Though to her God as faithless. And she, too, 
 In that wild hour of anguish, deeply proved 
 On her own head the cup of wrath she drew ; 
 Nor keen remorse her shuddering bosom moved 
 Him to arraign, whom yet, if love remained, she 
 loved. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Bearing his bride, he trod the upward path, 
 Till o'er each limb resistless languor fell ; 
 Then screened his Adah fi'om the whirlwind's wrath 
 Beneath a far-protruding pinnacle ; 
 While ever and anon the startling swell 
 Of piercing shrieks rose heavier on the blast — 
 From this he could not screen her. Flames dispel 
 The mirk and misty gloom around them cast ; 
 But oh ! what hideous scenes in swift succession 
 past,
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 175 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Till Memory tottering scarce retained her throne, 
 And Reason verged on Madness, while the eye 
 Instinctive closed, as if it sought to shun 
 That spectacle of horror, and would fly 
 From sight and sense to wild insanity, 
 Or night eternal — but it will not be : 
 Though life is suftering, yet they dare not die. 
 For death is not oblivion — earth — sky — sea — 
 Ahke reveal the fate they fear — and cannot flee. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Look they to earth ? Though, like a lonely rock 
 Rearing aloft its barrier stern and steep ; 
 The Sun's proud temple still withstands the shock 
 Of foaming billows round its base that sweep ; 
 Yet, far as eye can trace yon stormy deep, 
 With ceaseless swell redoubling floods arise, 
 As if the indignant Ocean sought to heap 
 Wave upon wave, to scale the lofty skies — 
 While Heaven, with thunders dread, the raging foe 
 defies. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 At length o'er all Night drew her ebon veil. 
 Black as the curse of Egypt — while a cry 
 Rose from the plains, wild as the funeral wail 
 Of millions maddening in their agony. 
 When each scared Mother watched her first-born 
 
 die 
 Throughout the guilty land. All perish here — 
 The Parent with his offsping. None can fly
 
 176 IRAD AND ADAII ; [pART III. 
 
 Their doom — no Mother hallow with a tear 
 
 Her first and fondest hope — the dutiful — the dear. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 On the bare rock the lonely Lovers lay — 
 Oh what a couch for gentle Beauty's rest ! 
 If rest it be, when sense and soul give way, 
 And close, by very weariness comprest, 
 The heavy lids ; and o'er the powerless breast 
 Cold stupor steals, which yet can darkly dream 
 Of things by human lips untold, unguessed 
 By human heart ; and only wakes to deem 
 Those visions of despair more hideous than they 
 seem. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 When the bold hunter from a pendent bough 
 Swings shuddering o'er the fathomless abyss ; 
 When the lost Indian feels his frail canoe 
 Whirled by the tide to that dread precipice. 
 Where black Niagara's downward waters hiss 
 With noise that drowns his death-shriek — their 
 
 dark doom 
 Were rest — joy — rapture — to a lot like this. 
 They dread the eddying wave, the gulf's deep 
 
 gloom — 
 But these would pant for Death were nought be- 
 yond the tomb. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Morn in its wonted round came lingering on, 
 Though morn from night the Sufferers scarce could 
 tell;
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 177 
 
 Save by a fitful glare, that dimly shone 
 Like the lone lamp that lights a dungeon- cell ; 
 Or the dim ray that gleams, perchance, in hell 
 To mock the prisoned Spirits, and display 
 The gloom nor Might nor Mercy can dispel ; 
 Fit prelude to that night, whose silent sway 
 No dawn of hope shall cheer for ever : such was 
 day. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Yet Irad rose, and roused his bride to fly — 
 If flight were vain and hopeless, still he knew 
 It rent a fragment from eternity : 
 He feared no human agonies, but who 
 Can wrestle with perdition 1 — And she, too ; — 
 " Is there no mercy for a form so fair ?" 
 Thus struggled hope with conscience as they flew ; — 
 " Oh may not deepest penitence and prayer 
 Wing to the Eternal's throne, and win Him yet to 
 spare ?" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 No ! dream it not. In yon polluted grove 
 Did ye not mingle in the rites profane ? 
 And when JEHOVAH warned, by earthly love 
 Your hearts were hardened, and He warned in vain. 
 Ye spurned His pleading Prophet with disdain, 
 Or reckless unconcern — and hope ye still, 
 By prayers and tears, that moment to regain ? 
 Such hope is now presumption. His high will 
 Is fixed— and cannot change — He spoke, and shall 
 fulfil. 
 
 N
 
 178 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Where, then, devoted victims, would ye fly ? 
 Ah ! could ye seize the strong Archangel's plume, 
 And scale the ramparts of the boundless sky — 
 Or sink to that unfathomable gloom 
 Where, plunged in fiery ocean, with his doom 
 The fierce Arch-Fiend is writhing, — it were vain — 
 JEHOVAH'S slightest word could pierce the 
 
 tomb. 
 Bow the broad skies, and search the pathless main, 
 And in resistless grasp the fugitive detain. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And oh ! how Trad felt his spirit droop — 
 As on a cleft, where crumbling rocks were piled, 
 His wandering eye surveyed a simple groupe — 
 A lonely Mother bending o'er her child. 
 Sweetly the unconscious infant slept and smiled, 
 Rocked but to deeper slumbers by the blast — 
 But oh ! what anguished horror, wan and wild, 
 That weeping woman's marble brow o'ercast, 
 As thus she poured her plaint, proclaiming hope 
 was past. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Sleep on," she said, "sweet infant ! o'er thy head 
 Though the Death- Angel speed his dread career ; 
 Though Earth and Skies with vengeful flames be red, 
 Sleep on, my infant — thou hast nought to fear. 
 Still to thy God thine innocence is dear — 
 Thou hast not spurned His pity — not for thee 
 T breathe the sigh, and shed the burning tear —
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 179 
 
 The Paradise of God thy home shall be, 
 
 When Mercy's gate is closed — forever closed on me. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Said I for ever ? Oh that harrowing word ! 
 Is then Repentance bootless in the tomb ? 
 Must Misery's prayer for ever pass unheard ? 
 Shall Hope be shrouded in eternal gloom ? 
 There, babe beloved ! not e'en thy happier doom 
 Shall give thy Mother's anguished heart to share 
 One joy 'mid pangs that evermore consume — 
 But yet I live — and yet the contrite prayer — 
 Oh God! I dare not hope — I cannot all despair." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 She ceased in agony — and shuddering raised 
 A glance of horror to that frowning sky, 
 Then by the lightning on her infant gazed. 
 Waked by her tears, the babe unclosed its eye. 
 And smiled upon its Mother — with deep sigh 
 She strained the guiltless victim to her breast. 
 Kissed its fair cheek, and laid her down to die — 
 Her last fond act a Mother's love confest, 
 That love, which reigns supreme till suffering sinks 
 to rest. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 But upward sped the Lovers, upward still, 
 Though congregated clouds, from brow to base 
 In spiry volumes wrapped the towering hill — 
 Yet foot may tread where Eye in vain would trace ; 
 And now they gain a loftier resting place. 
 Ah what avails the pause that cannot save ?
 
 180 IRAD AND ADAH ; [p ART III. 
 
 'Tis but a breathing in the onward race 
 Whose goal is death — a moment — ere the wave 
 Rears high its foamy crest to plunge them in the 
 grave. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Away ! away ! the fateful word is given ! 
 Flames flash — rocks quiver — earth and skies are 
 
 blent 
 In strange confusion. If yon spacious Heaven 
 Were one vast thunder-cloud, it had not rent 
 With shock like this the boundless firmament ; 
 Yea, if the struggling mass of smouldering fire 
 From Nature's dawn in Etna's caverns pent. 
 Had rent the rock to atoms in its ire, 
 It had not wrought a wreck so desperate and so dire. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 With that stupendous crash his footstep reeled, 
 And to a crag with maniac-gripe he clung. 
 Like drowning seamen to their mast — congealed 
 The life-blood in his heart — deep echoes rung 
 In his stunned ear, as if some Spirit sung 
 His dirge of death — then, strangely stupified, 
 He sunk the shattered shivering rocks among. 
 Himself a thing as lifeless, and his bride 
 Torn from his straining arms, lay senseless by his 
 side. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Long, long, he slept, till, starting with a gasp 
 
 To consciousness of life and agony. 
 
 From that rude rock he scarce could loose his grasp
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 181 
 
 Bound as by grappling gyve — his vacant eye 
 Fell first on Adah, dull and dizzily, 
 As on a form unknown — but Love's true ray 
 Though dimmed was not extinct — it could not die 
 While the fond heart yet beat — clouds passed away — 
 He saw where pale and cold his best beloved lay ; 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And hung distracted o'er her, till her breast 
 Heaved with faint flutter, and her wan cheek glowed 
 With passing hectic, while the hand he prest 
 Feebly returned his pressure. Strange tears flowed — 
 And Horror ceased an instant to forebode 
 Death's darker consummation, till the roar 
 Of waters smote his ear — he looked abroad — 
 The City of the Plain was seen no more — 
 Beneath him rolled alone a sea without a shore. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 True were thy words, O Prophet. Fierce and free 
 From chains that curbed its struggling floods before 
 With all its waters rose the mighty Sea ; 
 Earth's central caves disgorged their secret store 
 To swell the rushing torrent, till it tore 
 Huge forests from their place — and on its tide 
 The ponderous wreck of shattered cities bore 
 Frail as the floating sea-weed — e'en the pride 
 Of that vast mount could scarce the shock of waters 
 bide. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 But lo ! what sudden glare o'er Heaven is thrown? 
 What beams are breaking through encirchng Night?
 
 182 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 " O welcome ! welcome ! thou emerging Sun ! 
 An Angel thou of Mercy to the sight, 
 And hope and life dawn with reviving light — 
 He comes ! He comes ! our God returns to save." — 
 Ah ! wherefore shrink they back in wild affright ? — 
 The circling gloom at Heaven's behest he clave 
 To mock his shrieking dupes — and guide them to 
 the grave. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Round him a dusky tabernacle hung 
 Of ambient mists — in pyramid and spire 
 The broken clouds their folds fantastic flung, 
 And in the midst flashed forth, with omen dire. 
 His huge and swollen orb — a sea of fire. 
 Is this their King, their God, their Saviour-Sun ? 
 He comes the Herald of JEHOVAH'S ire ; 
 And storm and tempest round his car are strown. 
 Like armed bands of wrath around a Tyrant's throne . 
 
 XL. 
 
 O never ! never ! since the Lord of Light 
 Rushed into day from chaos' womb profound. 
 Did such a scene of woe and wild affright 
 O'erspread Creation to its utmost bound ; 
 Nor ever shall, till that last trumpet sound 
 When skies shall shrink — seas vanish — earth con- 
 sume 
 In its own flames, till not a trace be found — 
 And Man, alone immortal, from the tomb 
 Shall rise renewed to hear the irrevocable doom.
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 
 
 183 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Where is the stately city of their pride, 
 Whose coronet of towers rose proudly o'er 
 The blue expanse of waters, and outvied 
 High Babylon's broad bulwarks, famed of yore, 
 Whose bulk had stood, till Time had been no 
 
 more, 
 But Heaven forbade— or those fair domes which 
 
 graced 
 Palmyra, when her Victor-monarch wore 
 The Caesars' diadem— and undebased 
 By servile shame, she rose an Eden 'mid the waste ? 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Where is the city that hath swayed a world ? 
 Go ! seek it in the desert of the sea ! 
 Like a tall vessel in the vortex hurled. 
 It sunk beneath the waters, and shall be 
 Henceforth a thing forgotten. Bold and free 
 Like infant Rome, or sunk in foulest shame, 
 Like Rome's degenerate grandeur. Destiny 
 Hath wrapped in outer darkness. E'en the name 
 Its unknown Founder gave, hath perished. Such 
 is Fame ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And that sweet grove of beauty and of bliss. 
 Secured and shaded from the sultry beam ; 
 Where blue rills gushed, and wild flowers stooped 
 
 to kiss 
 The cool clear crystal of the sparkling stream, 
 What is it now ? A desert and a dream —
 
 184 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 And those soft Syrian Virgins, whose young bloom 
 Might well the Dryads' heavenly choir beseem ; 
 Where now are they ? One yet awaits her doom — 
 The rest in yon wild waves have found their com- 
 mon tomb. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 But oh ! to gaze o'er yon unmeasured Ocean, 
 Whose restless billows, swelling to the sky. 
 Roll on, and on, in never-ceasing motion — 
 Forth shadowing well that dread Eternity, 
 Whose drear expanse, when ages have gone by 
 With untold myriads, ever must remain 
 Unbounded as when first we seemed to die. 
 And first began to live — to think that pain 
 No respite hath nor end, while sense and soul retain 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Their consciousness of suffering — and the past 
 Is present still to memory^and the day 
 When Mercy pleaded and when Madness cast 
 The boon of immortality away. 
 Now, like a serpent, on the heart must prey : — 
 To mark — more fearful than the avenging rod — 
 His withering frown whose smile is lost for aye — 
 Oh rend, ye rocks ! ye quivering mountains, nod ! 
 And crush the guilty wretch, and hide him from 
 his God. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Still, like a Warrior-chief, who stands alone, 
 Bearing the brunt of battle, and doth brave 
 The shock unmoved, till legions quail to One ;
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 185 
 
 That stately mountain to the rushing wave 
 Bids stern defiance ; — while in cleft and cave, 
 Like shipwrecked mariners, by tempest hurled 
 On some far rock where none can see or save ; 
 The trembling Lords of what was once a world, 
 Await till Love relent, and Wrath's red flag be 
 furled. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Ay ! they may wait for evermore. The Sun 
 Hath wrought his Master's bidding — his brief glare 
 Is fading into gloominess : — 'Tis done ! 
 And darkness comes — and with it comes despair. 
 Some to their Idol howl the frantic prayer — 
 Alas ! their very prayers are blasphemy — 
 But soids of sterner mould, impelled to dare 
 By utter madness — with upbraiding eye 
 Gaze on the waning Orb — and curse their God — 
 and die. 
 
 XLVIIT. 
 
 In reckless desperation to the flood 
 
 Some headlong plunged — the tumult of their brain 
 
 Had risen to frenzy, and the boiling blood 
 
 Circled with maddening thrill through every vein, 
 
 Till, in that wild intensity of pain. 
 
 E'en conscience sunk o'ermastered — Like the 
 
 slave 
 Who calls the lightning-flash to rive his chain 
 Thouffh Death be linked with Freedom— to the 
 
 grave 
 They rushed — the nameless fate they could not 
 
 shun, to brave.
 
 186 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And, might we dare to measure Earth by Heaven, 
 It was as when victorious Vengeance flung 
 From their lost skies the Spirits unforgiven ; 
 And downward to the yawning gulf they sprung 
 To shield them from the Eternal, though among 
 Those dungeons deep, where fire miquenchable 
 Must be their couch for aye. — So sternly rung 
 The thunders of Omnipotence — so Hell 
 Oped her insatiate mouth while Man's lost millions 
 fell. 
 
 L. 
 
 Where now was Irad ? On a loftier cliff, 
 Clasping his hapless consort, still he lay ; — 
 Small marvel if his limbs were strained and stiff; 
 His eye bewildered by the dazzling ray, 
 Or weakened by the gloom. Through years by 
 
 day 
 A wandering Maniac, and a thing by night 
 For Fiends to sport with — all had passed away 
 Like storms upon a rock — ^liis manly might 
 Endured through all — but now a more devouring 
 
 blight 
 
 LI. 
 
 Doth wither all his fortitude, and quell 
 The fervour of his spirit. Ask ye why ? 
 It needs no Seer or Sage to trace and tell : 
 I said, indeed, his soul was bold and high — 
 But he was mortal — and shall Man defy 
 The fearful hour of judgment ? Shall he dare
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 187 
 
 Vaunt on the verge of frail mortality, 
 
 When Conscience reads his own dark portion there, 
 
 Immitigable wrath — and infinite despair ? 
 
 LII. 
 
 Thus Irad lay — by troubled thoughts oppressed — 
 The lapse of Time unnoted. Day or Night 
 It recked not — each was utter darkness. Rest — 
 How coidd He rest, whose spirit in its flight 
 Shot through the dark and dreary infinite 
 As if to find a refuge ? Nought was there 
 Around, above, but anguish and affright — 
 Yet still the vmconquered heart was nerved to bear. 
 Though ear, eye, memory, all were inlets to despair. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Hark ! 'mid the tumult of conflicting waters 
 
 A murmur of far wailing strikes his ear, 
 
 Like some lone wanderer, on the field of slaughters, 
 
 Weeping o'er all her widowed heart held dear ; 
 
 Still louder, louder, rung those sounds of fear. 
 
 Such moans as echo from the sinking bark, 
 
 Vain cries for aid, which none but Heaven can 
 
 hear ; 
 And Irad starting looked — ^but nought could mark 
 No mortal eye could pierce that mist so dense and 
 
 dark. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 A stream of sudden light the gloom dispelled, 
 A raft was on the deep — the breeze had sprung 
 And borne it swiftly onward — he beheld 
 A female form, who, wildly shrieking, climg
 
 188 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 To one in manly garb — his arms were flung 
 Loose o'er the floating mass, and lifelessly 
 From side to side with every wave he swung ; 
 As if the last long sleep had closed his eye ; 
 The strong had sunk to rest— the weak survived 
 to die. 
 
 LV. 
 
 And thus to die ! Of all that Guilt hath wrought 
 
 To dreg our cup of bitterness, if one 
 
 Black drop is quaffed with deadlier venom fraught, 
 
 It is to live beloved, and die alone 
 
 When Death is not re-union. Though unknown 
 
 The doom of parted spirits, this we know ; 
 
 Love dies or brightens when our race is run : 
 
 To endless joy it gives a liveher glow. 
 
 But never, never dawns to soothe eternal woe. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Now neared that raft the cliff"s o'erhanging brow 
 While sea and skies were wrapt in broader shade — 
 A sudden whirlwind swept the wave — and now 
 He heard the hapless victim shriek for aid. 
 In the still slumber of exhaustion laid 
 E'en Adah startled at that piercing cry — 
 Looked on her Lord once more — and faintly said — 
 " One pang at least spared be me, thus to die !" — 
 'Twas all she could! — again chill torpor closed 
 her eye. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Now, as the flash shot swift along the tide. 
 He marked a giant wave rush foaming on,
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 
 
 189 
 
 Itself an ocean — on the mountain side 
 It smote — the broad rock quivered — it is gone. 
 Amid the strife of waters, a faint moan 
 More fearful than their howlings, smote his ear ; 
 Oh there was mingled in its harrowing tone 
 The yell of madness and the shriek of fear, 
 And all that Mortals quake, and Hell exults to 
 hear! 
 
 Lvin. 
 Irad had wandered lone and desolate 
 An Exile and an Outcast, till to him 
 Were horrors grown familiar — all that Hate 
 Could wreak, or Guilt endure — the dull eye, dim 
 With tearless languor — the faint faltering limb — 
 The gnawing of remorse — the choking swell 
 Of passions strong, when Sense and Reason swim 
 In dreary dizziness — the fancied spell 
 Which raised around his couch the vengeful Fiends 
 of Hell ; 
 
 LIX. 
 
 These he had borne undaunted — ^but that cry 
 Roused all the slumbering furies of his breast, 
 With pangs that passed his former agony — 
 He felt not thus when first Remorse imprest 
 Cain's mark upon his brow. Love — Joy— Hope — 
 
 Rest 
 Were lost for evermore — this he might bear 
 As he had borne — but oh ! that she who blest 
 His dream of promised peace— that she must sliare 
 Such doom — this barbs the dart, envenoming de- 
 spair.
 
 190 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 LX. 
 
 But 'tis no time for thoughts like these. Away ! 
 If thou wouldst shun destruction — for the grave 
 With rapid strides is hastening to its prey — 
 And to protract the life thou canst not save 
 Is all that now is left thee I Shall the wave 
 O'erwhelm thee lingering? No! one respite more — 
 Yet — while thou may'st — the boon of Mercy crave : 
 Struggling he rose, and in his arms he bore 
 His Adah, soon to part for ever — or no more. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Where mingled with the clouds that mountain bleak. 
 
 Like a tall Angel, touching earth and sky, 
 
 Its brow divided to a double peak — 
 
 A deep gulf yawned between, where the strained 
 
 eye 
 Was wont to lose its gaze in vacancy — 
 Now the swift lightning's fleeting lustre flew 
 O'er one vast sheet of waters, while on high 
 Their frothy spume the rising billows threw. 
 E'en to the topmost crag where lay the Lovers 
 
 true. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Just gleamed enough of intermittent light 
 
 To show the circling horrors. Round them swoop 
 
 The screaming Vultures, and with strange affright. 
 
 Their flagging plumes the lordly Eagles droop, 
 
 Skimming the troubled wave. In many a group 
 
 With fell unnatural tameness herding there. 
 
 The birds obscene their fearful death-song whoop —
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 191 
 
 As if they longed e'en now to rush and tear 
 The living as they lay — their unforbidden fare. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 And many a pyramid of quivering flame 
 Danced o'er the expanse of waters, till the Sea 
 In the broad lustre of that light became 
 A sheet of fire, as if the high decree 
 Had set the subterranean embers free, 
 From first creation pent in earth's vast womb — 
 And there, in close restraint, ordained to be 
 Till Time revolving brings the day of doom — 
 Then shall they burst their bonds, and earth, sea, 
 skies consume. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 One hour of struggling conflict— and 'tis done — 
 One pause of dreariness, and all is o'er — 
 The strife is ended and the field is won, 
 Or lost— distraction ! lost for evermore ! 
 The disembodied soul must sink or soar 
 To peace or to perdition. Hell or Heaven- 
 Then Hope is certainty— and Man no more 
 O'er the wild sea of wavering doubts is driven — 
 Free— or the slave of Hell— absolved— or unfor- 
 given. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The close draws on— Are yon red skies on fire ? 
 For heaven is circled with a burning zone. 
 As if the Missioned Angel in his ire 
 Flashed through encircling tempest. Light is 
 . thrown
 
 192 IRAD AND ADAH ; [PART III. 
 
 Full o'er the mountain's bare and rifted cone ; 
 What Giant Form on yon tall peak doth stand ? 
 Is it the Arch-Fiend, come to gaze upon 
 The fearful wreck his own deep treachery planned, 
 And bear to endless woe the souls for ever banned? 
 
 ixvi. 
 No ! that Apostate Spirit might not dare 
 To burst the fetters of his loathed abyss ; 
 Fling his black pinions on the abhorrent air, 
 And howl exulting o'er a scene like this ; 
 E'en in his triumphs foul defeat is his — 
 The present terrors of the All-Seeing Eye 
 Aye quell his pride — The souls cut off from bliss, 
 Lured by his own infernal wiles to die. 
 Sate not his quenchless wrath — but swell his agony. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 But if no restless Spirit from his lair, 
 'Twas yet a Demon — 'twas the Son of Cain 
 Who spurned the warning Prophet. Mark him 
 
 there ! 
 Behold the baffled Boaster, fled in vain 
 From vengeful waves pursuing ! Still disdain 
 Clothes his dark brow, though fear is in his soul — 
 Still with a rage not Horror can restrain 
 While frequent thunders ring from pole to pole. 
 He rears his arm on high, and mocks them as they 
 
 roll. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Dost thou then brave the Mightiest — dost thou dare 
 The vengeance of the Eternal ? Fool accurst !
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 193 
 
 If myriads of thy murderous tribe were there 
 And million Fiends to back thee— do their worst — 
 A nod — and such destroying flames should burst 
 From His dread presence, on His crouching foe, 
 Or Man, or Demon, as he hurled, when erst 
 The Angels fell. Thy vaunted Sire could bow 
 Submissive to his God! vain Scorner ! what art 
 Thou ? 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 His blasphemy is heard — his race is run — 
 A flood of broad effulgence clave the air, 
 And Irad closed his eye, but scarce could shun 
 The splendour of its track, as if the glare 
 Of that Dread Majesty were burning there 
 Which none could see and live — then mid the peal 
 A shriek of mingled mockery and despair 
 Rung dissonant— but stupor seemed to seal 
 Each sense, and in each vein the creeping blood 
 congeal ; 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Till sudden mid the elemental strife, 
 Headlong to Ocean plunged a mighty mass, 
 And yet it seemed not like a thing of life ; — 
 A moment— and the thundering echoes pass 
 To tomb-like silence— where the Giant was 
 When o'er the wave the next blue glimmering 
 
 shone, 
 And sight returned, he strove in vain to trace ; — 
 The Giant and the peak alike were gone ; 
 Last of their race, his Bride and he survived alone. 
 
 o
 
 194 IRAD AND ADAH; [pART III. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Then lives she still, that Maiden fair, 
 
 And still within her drooping form 
 
 Doth lingering love withstand despair ? 
 
 How should the fragile lily bear 
 
 The fury of the withering storm. 
 
 When stateliest oaks lie prostrate there ? 
 
 While those devouring flames were driven 
 
 To blast the wretch who scoffed at Heaven ; 
 
 While rolled hoarse thunders, deep and dread. 
 
 As those foredoomed to raise the dead, 
 
 Hushed as in sleep on Irad's breast, 
 
 A sleep too still for living rest. 
 
 Mute, motionless, his Adah lay, 
 
 As soul and sense had passed away. 
 
 Yet, oh ! the rayless eye may close — - 
 
 The brow with keenest pangs comprest 
 
 Unbend, as if in calm repose — 
 
 While yet within the conscious breast 
 
 There lives a struggling sickening thrill, 
 
 When all without seems soothed and still. 
 
 To meet' — yet not return the grasp 
 
 Of friendship with responsive clasp ; — 
 
 To pass unmarked the patient sigh 
 
 Of meek affection's sympathy ; — 
 
 Without one fond consoling token 
 
 To leave the best-beloved heart-broken ; — 
 
 Without a farewell sign to die — 
 
 Oh ! this, indeed, is agony ! 
 
 And such, perchance, that Maiden felt.
 
 JUDGM 
 
 ENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 195 
 
 If all of Life not yet were fled ; 
 
 When on the bare rock Irad knelt, 
 
 And softly raised her drooping head, 
 
 And whispered each endearing name 
 
 That Love could prompt, or Passion frame ; 
 
 Fond words that wooed and won before — 
 
 Now charm not — and shall charm no more. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Yes ! flames may flash, and deeper thunders roll, 
 He heeds them not — the storm is in his soul ; 
 These strike not now with horror and despair, 
 One deadlier sight absorbs him — both are there ! — 
 He only sees that cheek of lifeless hue ; 
 The livid lid that shrouds that eye of blue ; 
 He only listens for the whispered tone 
 Of that soft voice, which cannot meet his own. 
 Ha ! doth the fleeting flash illusive swim 
 Before his eye, with woe and watching dim ? 
 Or did he mark her pale lips faintly quiver 
 As if to breathe his name — and close for ever ? 
 Was it a moan, that murmured through the gloom. 
 Of some sad Spirit sinking to his doom. 
 Or did she heave that faint and fluttering sigh 
 Which tells the close of human misery ? 
 If such it were, the last convulsive thrill 
 Hath passed — the sound returns not — all is still. 
 He kissed her cheek— that cheek was deadly cold- 
 He clasped her hand — it stiffened in his hold — 
 He shrieked her name in desperate agony — 
 The roaring billows only raved reply. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Call as thou wilt ; — ^but till thy cries can break 
 
 The trance of Death, and bid the Slumberer wake ; 
 
 No voice shall breathe responsive to thy prayer, 
 
 Save the loathed echo of thine own despair. 
 
 Thou art alone in Nature — art the last 
 
 Of thy lost race — a Being of the past ; 
 
 A wretch, escaped the common wreck, to die 
 
 A lingering death of tenfold misery ; 
 
 Who sinks, with none to solace or to save 
 
 Whom Hope forsakes, and Earth denies a grave. 
 
 Why dost thou clasp that mass of senseless clay ? 
 
 She is not here — thy Bride is far away ! 
 
 The interchange of hearts — the plighted vow. 
 
 Love's holiest ties, are torn asunder now ; 
 
 Her pure affection blest thee to the last — 
 
 It won — wept — solaced — gladdened — and is past. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Break, thou obdurate heart ! — his beauteous one — 
 Star of his hope-^ — his all on earth — is gone, 
 And he may follow — for his task is done. 
 He soothed — supported — stayed her — would have 
 
 striven 
 With legioned fiends to win her path to heaven ; 
 All mortal could — he saved her to the last : 
 Till hope was quenched in horror — and she 
 
 passed; — 
 Passed from a frail and fleeting world to share 
 Th| mansions of eternity — but where ?
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 197 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 With that dread thought came madness. He had 
 
 borne 
 Remorse, pain, exile, infamy, and scorn — 
 Yea, borne them all without a tear or sigh. 
 Braved Death itself— though now he shrinks to die ; 
 For now his eyes are open, and he knows 
 Death is no senseless sleep, no cold repose ; 
 From the dark dungeon of its mortal clod, 
 The immortal spirit soars to meet its God — 
 That God, to whom in life he would not bow ; 
 Who will not hear him — will not save him now ; 
 Whose fearful wrath already seems to roll 
 In voice of thunder on his conscious soul. 
 And how, oh ! how, should mortal spirit brook 
 To dream, though darkly, of that withering look, 
 Whose fearful frown the wandering Fiends can quell, 
 Where'er they rove, an Omnipresent Hell ? 
 He bore it not. Smote as by lightning-shock 
 He fell extended on the blasted rock ; 
 Forgot his present woe, his future doom. 
 For Slumber came, and kind Oblivion's gloom. 
 To snatch a few brief moments from the tomb. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 He fell — but oh ! in Nature's parting hour, 
 The ethereal spark retains a latent power ; 
 Oft from their couch of pain, while round the heart 
 Life faintly struggles, will the dying start ; 
 The tale of Guilt with late remorse to tell ; 
 To fold some loved one in a fond farewell ;
 
 198 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 Or urged, by stern unconquerable pride, 
 To die erect, as erst the Roman died. 
 So, ere the tumult of the last sad strife 
 Was hushed in stillness, Irad waked to life ; 
 What sound could reach and rouse him as he lay? — 
 He heard the death-birds rushing to their prey, 
 And Love still nerved his arm, to smite and scare 
 The foul destroyers from a thing so fair. 
 Then in his arms he screened the unconscious form — 
 As though it still could suffer — from the storm — 
 On the pale lips a last long kiss he prest, 
 To his cold bosom strained that colder breast ; 
 Then sank to die. Ere long the waves arose 
 Meeting the tempest like encountering foes ; 
 Full o'er the rock the flood impetuous rolled — 
 Yet could not tear her from his desperate hold ; 
 But swept at once the living and the dead 
 From that bleak couch to their eternal bed. — 
 Said I the living ? No — with one wild thrill 
 The bursting heart throbbed — struggled — and is 
 still ! 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 But oh ! let none in curious pride presume 
 To raise the shadowy mantle of the tomb ; 
 To seal their pangs — or hope their fault forgiven ; 
 'Tis ours to pity — Judgment rests with Heaven. 
 This only lesson learn — presumptuous Man ! 
 Revere that Power whose ways thou canst not scan ! 
 And know, when Mercy calls thee to thy God, 
 To slight his warning is to brave his rod.
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 199 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 " Rest, thou destroying Angel, and recall 
 
 Thy winged heralds, storm and lightnings dread !" 
 
 How can he rest, till this dispeopled ball 
 
 Lie desolate, the dwelling of the dead ? 
 
 Thus was the mandate of the Mightiest said ; 
 
 What then were Mercy but Rebellion here ? 
 
 No — let the arrows of his wrath be sped — 
 
 Let Ocean onward urge its fierce career 
 
 Till none are left on Earth their force to feel or fear. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Now it is done. The swelling floods may rise — 
 None live to perish in the gulf profound ; 
 Devouring flames may dazzle o'er the skies — 
 None hear to startle at the thunder-sound; — 
 There are but clouds above and waves around ! 
 The universe is ocean. One wide sea 
 Appears, without a barrier or a bovmd, 
 As though it ever was, and still shall be 
 Ascending upward, upward through infinity. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 But wilt thou rise, proud Ocean ? Shall thy flood 
 Through the vast void for evermore expand ? 
 Shall not the Power, whose mightier will withstood 
 Thy rage, through rolling ages, yet withstand ? 
 Hark ! from his throne the Voice of dread command 
 Goes forth — and calms the tempest. He hath said, 
 Whose word returns not, " Angel, stay thine hand !" 
 Instant the lightnings heard — the winds obeyed ; 
 The conscious thunders cease — the Angel's hand 
 is stayed.
 
 200 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Once more grim Chaos o'er the boundless deep 
 Claims its primeval empire ; each rude wave 
 Sinks like a wearied giant to its sleep ; 
 The surge hath ceased to roar, the blast to rave, 
 Till o'er the surface of that pathless grave 
 No sound is heard the horrid stillness breaking ; 
 Where virgin, warrior, sovereign, priest, and slave. 
 By myriads or by millions are partaking 
 That dull and dreamless sleep which knows no 
 earthly waking. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Oh ! there was terror in the storm's deep gloom, 
 And wrath and vengeance in the lightning-glare. 
 And in the thunder-peal the voice of doom. 
 And Death on ocean, and o'er Earth despair — 
 These human eye and human heart might bear; — 
 But the cold silence of that drear abyss — 
 Methinks the very Angels shudder there — 
 And pause an instant, 'mid their songs of bliss 
 To weep — if Seraphs can — and mourn a scene like 
 this ! 
 
 LXXXIII. ' 
 
 Where is the world? Alas! there is no Earth — 
 JEHOVAH cursed it, and it passed away : — 
 Where is the Sun 1 The Power that gave it birth 
 Hath quenched in darkness its retiring ray — 
 And bade it beam no more — perchance for aye : — 
 What recks that Orb where closed is every eye ? — 
 And Earth and Sun were formed but to decay —
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 201 
 
 Yet is there one who shall not — cannot die ; 
 Oh ! where is Man, sole heir of immortality ? 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 He lives — but wouldst thou question whither now 
 Are fled the guilty train, who madly spurned 
 To Mercy's voice in Mercy's hour to bow ? 
 Know, none from those dark regions have returned 
 To tell their tale of horror — none discerned 
 The worm that dies not, and the insatiate fire 
 That ever burns. This only have we learned — 
 Forbear by guilt to rouse Jehovah's ire. 
 Nor dare provoke the frown which bade a world 
 expire. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 But Light not yet was quenched, nor yet had Time 
 Fulfilled its fated round. The fortieth Sun 
 Aaain through ether rolled his car sublime — 
 But who survived to hail his rising .'' None — 
 Towers, Temples, Priests, Adorers, all are gone. 
 As, ere JEHOVAH summoned Earth to be. 
 Light, new-created, hung in Heaven alone ; 
 So beaiTis that Sun o'er one unbounded Sea, 
 For all beside have passed — Rocks ! Mountains ! 
 where are ye ? 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Mountain of mighty brow, 
 Where are thy cedars now, 
 Lebanon, where art Thou ? 
 Low lies thy cedar-wood. 
 Deep in the pathless flood,
 
 202 IRAD AND ADAH ; [pART III. 
 
 And the wild waters flow 
 High o'er tliy hehn of snow. 
 Where, on broad Hermon's breast 
 Dark clouds were wont to rest ; 
 Where, on his storm-wrapped throne 
 Sate stately Sirion; 
 There the sad surges rave. 
 There howls the restless wave ; 
 There is thy stately cone, 
 There art thou, Lebanon ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Art thou too vanished, Rival of the sky I 
 
 Dread mount of might and mystery ! 
 
 Olympus ! doomed the high abode 
 Of many a vain and visionary God ? 
 
 Could not thy future Jove 
 
 The rebel-storm reprove ; 
 Could not thy Neptune awe his subject sea ? 
 
 Or she, the Martial Maid, 
 
 In victor arms arrayed, 
 Who launched the Thunderer's bolts, avert their 
 
 rage from Thee ? 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Rock ! bleak and horrible, 
 Seared by the blast of hell. 
 Where, as dark legends tell. 
 Erst the pale Titan sate, 
 Dauntless, though desolate ; 
 And, with unyielding pride, 
 Jove and his Gods defied ;
 
 JUDGMENT.] A TALE OF THE FLOOD. 203 
 
 Where is thy dreary brow, 
 Where are thy Vultures now ? 
 Here nor the scream is heard 
 Of the Avenging Bird, 
 Nor the torn Victim's sigh, 
 Wrestling with agony ; 
 Here dwell but Night's twin brood — 
 Silence and solitude. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Thou too, Imaus, whose unmeasured brow 
 
 Towers from eternity untrod, 
 
 Unseen, save by the eye of God, 
 Monarch supreme of mountains, where art Thou ? 
 
 Do none a refuge seek 
 
 On that gigantic peak 
 Where Mahadeo rears his viewless throne ? 
 
 No ! for the loftier sea, 
 
 Rolls o'er thy God and Thee, 
 And all beneath the sky seems watery waste alone. 
 
 xc. 
 Yet the Creator-Spirit from above 
 Is moving on the waters ; through the gloom 
 Of desolation beams superior Love, 
 And Mercy tempers Justice. To their tomb 
 Mankind have sunk in one unvaried doom ; 
 But yet may Heaven reverse the stern decree ; 
 And yet again may cheering suns illume 
 The world emerging from its dungeon sea. 
 And beam the light of life on millions yet to be.
 
 204 IRAD AND ADAH. [PART III. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Survey yon world of waters : a faint speck 
 Seems on the horizon's farthest verge to lie ; 
 Lone as 'mid ocean some deserted wreck ; 
 Dim as the first small star that beams on high, 
 Or the swift Eagle lessening into sky — 
 'Tis yet a thing to gaze on 'mid the scene, 
 A resting-point where all is vacancy — 
 It is the wreck of worlds that once have been — 
 The germ of latent life — the pledge of years serene. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Onward it floats. Admiring Angels, mark ! 
 
 Safe from the storm — triumphant o'er despair, 
 
 A living miracle — yon lonely Ark, 
 
 Borne o'er the billows by JEHOVAH's care; 
 
 The Father of a future world is there. 
 
 His steadfast soul the idol-rites abhorred, 
 
 And breathed to Enoch's God the pious prayer ; 
 
 And when, oh when, didst thou. All-gracious Lord ! 
 
 Reject the lowly plaint by meek contrition poured? 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Reader ! be thine the moral ! If no more 
 From its calmed deeps shall rise the fettered sea ; 
 If Heaven's fair bow proclaim this peril o'er ; 
 A wreck more fearful yet remains for thee : 
 Time only bears thee to Eternity. 
 Tread then the path thy bright Exemplar trod ; — 
 Think on the day when this vast Earth shall be 
 In bursting flames dissolved — yon skies, so broad, 
 Shrink like a shrivelled scroll — " Prepare to meet 
 thy God !"
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
 
 DIONYSIUS OF PHOC^A. 
 
 HEROD. ERATO XVII. 
 I. 
 
 My own Ionia ! since I may not see 
 
 Thy freedom rescued and thy rights restored, 
 
 I will not pine in fetters, though for thee, 
 
 Nor crouch, the vassal of a Persian Lord ! — 
 
 Once have I bared, and will not sheathe, the 
 
 sword ; — 
 Eternal be the strife, as strife should be, 
 Between the tyrant-race, accursed, abhoired. 
 And those who, like their Fathers, would be free. 
 
 Farewell ! thou land of loveliness — farewell ! 
 Beloved Phocsea, city of my Sires ! 
 Henceforth the spoiler in my halls must dwell, 
 My childhood's home must feed the vengeful fires ; 
 And thy sweet Maids, a weeping band, must swell 
 A despot's train, and wait a despot's wild desires. 
 
 II. 
 But from this hour to me shall Ocean prove 
 A country, and the gallant bark my home ; 
 By Persia's bonds unshackled, will I rove 
 Where the breeze freshens, and the free waves 
 foam ;
 
 208 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 And though full oft before me as I roam, 
 Ionia's well-remembered shores will rise, 
 Ne'er shall my native land delight mine eyes, 
 Till Persian blood hath well avenged her doom. 
 
 And should the base marauder cross my path, 
 Jove ! on this head hurl down thy bolts divine. 
 But I will meet and crush him in my wrath, 
 For he is Freedom's foe, and must be mine. 
 Though darker taint the ruthless spoiler hath, 
 Than mine or Freedom's foe — Ionia, he is thine ! 
 
 III. 
 Yet, O my country, O Ionia ! yet 
 How shall I thus forsake thee ? I have dwelt 
 Entranced on thy past triumphs, and have felt 
 Thy wrongs, thy woes, until mine eyes were wet 
 With tears of wrath and madness — not regret ; 
 And I have bared my sword, and sternly sworn. 
 Dearly thy woman-lords should rue the scorn 
 Which thou canst ne'er forgive, nor I forget. — 
 
 And I must now forsake thee. — Hadst thou stood 
 True to thyself, thou hadst been free : — but now 
 Thy noblest sons are stiffening in their blood. 
 And I must quit thy shores, or lie as low ; 
 Yet, like the storm that hovers o'er the flood, 
 I only wait to strike a deeper, deadlier blow.
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 209 
 
 THEMISTOCLES IN EXILE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now I have all that earth can give 
 Of pageantry and pride ! 
 Yes, all for which the kingly live, 
 For which the brave have died. 
 A thousand slaves obsequious wait 
 My nod, as 'twere the frown of fate ; 
 And what remains beside ? 
 The empty name is all I need, 
 To seem, to be a King indeed ! 
 
 II. 
 Yet — am I happy ? When my brow 
 The bright tiara bears, 
 Is there no trace of withering woe. 
 Of heart-corroding cares ? 
 Oh ! what is sadder than the smile 
 Assumed, and worn but to beguile ? — 
 Yet pride the mask still wears ; 
 I would not Persian eyes should see, 
 O Athens ! how I pine for thee. 
 
 III. 
 Thy towers are still before mine eye. 
 Thy temples on my heart ! 
 Thence never but with memory 
 And life, shall they depart.
 
 210 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 By day they fill each waking thought, 
 
 By night in dreams are backward brought — 
 
 Until from sleep I start 
 
 To feel he is no longer free, 
 
 Who lived, and would have died for thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who would have died ! — Why died I not 
 
 On thy triumphant day ? 
 
 Then had my name, without a blot, 
 
 Thine annals graced for aye ; 
 
 While now — but Earth at length shall know 
 
 I was not, could not be, thy foe ; 
 
 Though thrust in scorn away 
 
 From the loved land mine arm had saved, 
 
 To despot-lords, and lands enslaved. 
 
 y. 
 Yet, though my foes have been the free, 
 The Lord of slaves my friend. 
 Yet, Athens, is my heart with thee. 
 And shall be, to tlie end. 
 The Persian asks my aid in vain : — 
 One way remains to burst his chain. 
 And thee in death defend : 
 How could I bear to work thine ill, 
 Despite my wrongs, who love thee still ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 I loved thee, when my sun of fame 
 In noontide glory shone ; 
 Now it hath set in scorn and shame, 
 Yet love I madly on.
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 211 
 
 'Twere vain to say I love thee more ; 
 
 I knew not how I loved before : 
 
 Now know I— but 'tis done — 
 
 And, when thine exile's head lies low, 
 
 Then, Athens, then, thou too shalt know. 
 
 SONG OF AN ATHENIAN EXILE 
 
 IN THE DAYS OF LYSANDER. 
 I. 
 
 O Athens, dear Athens ! the land that I love. 
 
 Thy form is before me wherever I rove ; 
 
 From the bleak hills of Thrace,— on the far-rolling 
 
 sea, — 
 The heart of thine Exile turns fondly to thee. 
 
 11. 
 Still Fancy reverts, as dejected I roam, 
 To the tombs of my Sires, to my childhood's loved 
 
 home ; 
 The plains of the East in their beauty I see, 
 But the loveliest is that which reminds me of thee. 
 
 III. 
 I've gazed on the Monarch of Kings in his state, 
 Whose servants are princes, whose menace is fate ; 
 But the trappings of tyrants are chains to the free, 
 And my own rock-built Athens was dearer to me. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I've wandered where Freedom is lingering still, 
 In the lone, barren isle, — on the snow-covered hill ; 
 Yet sad were my days, though I dwelt with the free, 
 For Athens was dearer than Freedom to me. 
 
 V. 
 
 Though the sword, with the blood of thy foemen 
 
 once wet, 
 Now sleeps in its scabbard, I cannot forget ; 
 Yet, yet shall it wake for the land of the free, 
 And strike in the conflict, dear Athens ! for thee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 To-morrow once more shall thy banner wave high ; 
 We doubt not to conquer, or dread not to die ; 
 The Queen of proud Hellas again shalt thou be, 
 Or thy children, O Athens, shall perish for thee. 
 
 vxi. 
 Then, then may fell Sparta in anguish deplore 
 The blood-sprinkled trophies she vaunted before ; 
 And think, in her fall, of the wrongs of the free, 
 And pay, in her ruin, a ransom for thee.
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 213 
 
 THRASYBULUS AT PHYLE. 
 
 I. 
 Still unextinguished through the land 
 Was Freedom's sacred fire ; 
 Nor with the nobly fallen band 
 Did Glory's light expire ; 
 Though long, too long, has Athens borne 
 The Spartan's sway, the Spartan's scorn ; 
 Yet bolder thoughts inspire 
 Hearts, still resolved to dare or die 
 For Athens, and for liberty. 
 
 II. 
 In night's mid gloom, on Phyle's tower 
 See Thrasybulus stand ! 
 'Tis now the patriots' mustering hour, 
 And this the patriot band. 
 Scattered and few the Warriors came — 
 But he was there who fanned the flame ; 
 Whose voice of high command 
 From forest-cave and snow-crowned hill, 
 Had roused them, and could rouse them still. 
 
 III. 
 And, " Welcome to the hoior," he said, 
 *' Of vengeance or of death ; 
 Yes, welcome to the warrior's bed, 
 Or to the victor's wreath.
 
 214 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 A brother each, and each a friend, 
 I knew, I knew ye could not bend 
 The Tyrant's sway beneath : 
 I knew that all, who scorned to fear. 
 Hither would come — and ye are here. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " From home, from friends, from country torn, 
 
 To breathe a foreign air. 
 
 Have ye not long in exile borne 
 
 What galls the brave to bear ? 
 
 Or, if ye deemed it nobler still 
 
 To stay, and share your country's ill, 
 
 Though Freedom was not there, — 
 
 By all ye saw, and all ye heard. 
 
 Is not the blow too long deferred ? 
 
 V. 
 " Our own wronged Athens ! thou hast been 
 The Mother of the brave ! 
 Of Greece, in arms and arts, the Queen ! 
 And shalt thou be a slave ? 
 Thou, proved in many a strife severe, 
 On land detested Sparta's peer, 
 Her conqueror on the wave, 
 Shalt thou her prostrate vassal be, 
 Wliile gallant hearts still throb for thee ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Forbid it, ye whose Sires alone 
 The Persian's host withstood. 
 Till the proud field of Marathon 
 Ran purple with their blood ;
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 215 
 
 And when his thousand galleys came 
 To Salamis, immortal name ! 
 Were foremost on the flood ; 
 And on Plataea's plain outvied 
 The Spartan, fighting side by side. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Apart as foes, as friends abreast, 
 
 On earth and o'er the sea ; 
 
 Our Fathers never stooped their crest 
 
 To Sparta — and shall tve ? 
 
 Hers is, indeed, the vantage-hour, 
 
 And hers the pride of boundless power — 
 
 But is there nought for thee ? 
 
 Yes — thine is Freedom, name divine, 
 
 And this true band of heroes thine. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Then forward to the unequal strife, 
 
 We triumph or we die ; 
 
 Warriors, the loss can be but life. 
 
 The gain is liberty ! 
 
 What though our hearts' best blood should flow. 
 
 The tyrant band shall lie as low : 
 
 And with the parting sigh 
 
 'Twill even in death a solace be. 
 
 Dear Athens ! to have died for thee."
 
 216 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 REGULUS. 
 
 I. 
 Urge me no more — your prayers are vain, 
 And vain the tears ye shed ; 
 When I can lead to Rome again 
 The bands from Rome I led ; 
 When I can rouse your legions, slain 
 On swarthy Libya's fatal plain, 
 To vengeance ft-om the dead ; 
 Then will I claim once more a home. 
 And lift a freeman's voice in Rome. 
 
 II. 
 Accursed moment ! when I woke 
 From faintness all but death ; 
 And felt the coward conqueror's yoke 
 Like his own serpents wreathe 
 Round every limb — if lip and eye 
 Betrayed no sign of agony ; 
 Inly I cursed my breath ; — 
 Wherefore, of all that bled, was I 
 The only wretch who could not die ? 
 
 III. 
 To darkness and to chains consigned, 
 The captive's fitting doom, 
 I recked not — could they chain the mind, 
 Or plunge the soul in gloom ?
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 217 
 
 And there they left me, dark and lone, 
 Till darkness had familiar grown ; 
 Then from that living tomb 
 They led me forth, perchance to die — 
 Oh ! in that hope was ecstasy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But no — kind Heaven had yet in store 
 
 For me, a shackled slave, 
 
 A joy I thought to feel no more, 
 
 Or feel but in the grave. 
 
 They deemed, perchance, my sterner mood, 
 
 Was quelled by chains and solitude — 
 
 That he who once was brave — 
 
 Was I not brave ? — had now become 
 
 Outcast from honour as from Rome. 
 
 V. 
 
 Fathers ! to you they bade me bear, 
 
 The offers these have borne ; 
 
 They would have trained those lips to swear 
 
 Which never yet have sworn ; 
 
 Silent their base commands I heard ; — 
 
 At length I pledged a Roman's word, 
 
 Unshrinking to return — 
 
 I go, prepared to brave the worst ; — 
 
 But I shall gall proud Carthage first. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They sue for peace — I bid you spurn 
 The gilded bait they bear ; 
 I bid you still, with aspect stem. 
 War, ceaseless war, declare.
 
 218 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 Fools as they were — could not mine eye 
 Through their dissembled calmness spy 
 The struggles of despair ? 
 Else had they sent this wasted frame 
 To bribe you to your country's shame ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Your Rome — I must not call her mine, 
 
 No country has the slave ; 
 
 His Father's name he must resign, 
 
 Nor share his Father's grave — 
 
 Your Rome shall triumph — Carthage lies 
 
 Beneath your mightier destinies ; — 
 
 Her empire o'er the wave 
 
 Is yours — she knows it well — and you 
 
 Shall know — and make her feel it too. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ay — bend your brows, ye ministers 
 
 Of coward hearts, on me : 
 
 Ye know no longer is it hers, 
 
 The empire of the sea ; 
 
 Ye know her fleets are far and few, 
 
 Her bands a mercenary crew, 
 
 And Rome, the bold, the free, 
 
 Shall trample on her prostrate towers. 
 
 Despite your worn and wasted powers. 
 
 IX. 
 
 One path alone remains for me ; 
 My vows are heard on high ; 
 Thy triumphs, Rome, I shall not see — 
 For I return to die :
 
 HISTORICAr. SKETCHES. 219 
 
 Then tell me not of hope or life— 
 
 i have in Rome no chaste, fond wife, 
 
 No smiling progeny : 
 
 One word concentres for the slave — 
 
 Wife, children, country, all— the grave. 
 
 THE LAST WORDS OF 
 " THE LAST OF THE ROMANS." 
 
 I. 
 
 Go^ — slaves and cowards as ye are, 
 
 Go — crouch before the conqueror's car ; 
 
 To Caesar breathe the suppliant prayer, 
 
 And sue the Lord of Rome to spare : 
 
 But never shall my knee be bowed. 
 
 Among the pale and prosti-ate crowd ; 
 
 Ne'er will / quail with downcast eye, 
 
 Beneath the frown of tyranny ; — 
 
 In freedom I have lived ; in freedom will I die. 
 
 II. 
 How gladly could I die for thee. 
 Fair Rome, if still thy sons were free ; 
 Ah ! would that I had died before 
 Ere thou and they were free no more ; 
 Ere yet thy once unsullied name 
 Was linked with servitude and shame ;
 
 220 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 Ere yet thy sun of fame had fled ; 
 
 The crown had fallen from thy head ; 
 
 Thy deeds were of the past ; — thy warriors with 
 
 the dead. 
 
 III. 
 Why should I live ? Friends, fortunes, all, 
 Have perished in my country's fall ; 
 For they are friends no more, who bow 
 Before triumphant Caesar now : 
 I pass from earth mimourned, nor leave 
 One faithful heart o'er me to grieve : 
 Brutus ! my friend ! I wrong not thee — 
 Thou art, or wilt be soon, with me — 
 Thou canst not live in Rome, when Rome no more 
 
 is free ! 
 
 THE LAMENT OF MOWBRAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, my Father-land ; 
 
 I would the glance might be 
 
 That lingers on thy lessening strand, 
 
 The last on earth for me : 
 
 I would the pang that rends my heart 
 
 Thus speeding from thy shore. 
 
 Could bid this load of life depart. 
 
 Since thou art mine no more.
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 2^1 
 
 II. 
 
 It is not that I lightly grieve 
 For honours, wealth, or fame ; 
 My native shores I might but leave 
 To win a nobler name : 
 Nor yet to ties of kindred love, 
 I mourn to bid adieu ; 
 For these in other climes might prove 
 As tender and as true. 
 III. 
 But O ! in this desponding breast 
 A darker thought must dwell ; 
 A thouglit no wealth can bribe to rest, 
 No fond affection quell : 
 Henceforth must I, an exile, lone 
 And homeless, stray through earth ; 
 Tenant of every clime, save one ; — 
 The land that gave me birth. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The warrior, whom the trump of war 
 Hath lured across the flood, 
 To seek a fleeting fame afar 
 In fields of toil and blood ; 
 The mariner, by fate consigned 
 To plough the restless wave ; 
 Each in his country hopes to find 
 A death-bed and a grave. 
 
 V. 
 
 But I in stranger-land must live, 
 In stranger-land must die ;
 
 222 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 The Tyrant knows not to forgive, 
 Nor formed to crouch am I. 
 Then O farewell, my native land ! 
 I would the glance might be 
 That lingers on thy lessening strand 
 The last on earth for me. 
 
 TO THE GREEKS, 1823. 
 
 I. 
 
 Arise to the strife of the sword ! 
 
 Advance like the rush of the flood ! 
 
 Nor e'er be one brand to the scabbard restored. 
 
 Till the despots have dyed it in blood. 
 
 Your chains have been galling and keen; 
 
 Ye have slept the dull sleep of despair ; 
 
 Yet awake for the glories of days that have been. 
 
 For a spell that should rouse you is there ! 
 
 II. 
 Long ages of sorrow and shame 
 Have rolled o'er the land of your birth ; 
 Though once without peer in the bright page of 
 
 Fame, 
 'Tis the taunt and the by-word of Earth. 
 The wrongs which your Fathers have borne. 
 The wrongs which your children must bear ;
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 2.23 
 
 O your souls are subdued by the bonds ye have 
 
 worn, 
 Or a spell that must rouse you is there ! 
 
 III. 
 The Lion is tame and debased, 
 While chained in the dwellings of men ; 
 But restore the Wood-King to his own native waste. 
 And his fury will kindle again : 
 And thus, thougli degraded are ye. 
 The yoke of the Mussulman spurn ; 
 And the faith and the courage that dwell with the 
 
 free. 
 To you shall with Freedom return. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then awake to the strife of the sword ! 
 
 Advance like the rush of the flood ! 
 
 Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored 
 
 Till your Tyrants have bathed it in blood. 
 
 O think on the days that have been. 
 
 Till they rouse you to do and to dare ; 
 
 O think on your bondage, so galling, so keen — 
 
 A spell that must wake you is there !
 
 224 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 THE WARRIOR'S BLOOD. 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a crimson hue 
 
 Of purer, lovelier dye, 
 
 Than beams in blushing clouds that strew 
 
 Soft evening's varied sky — 
 
 'Tis in the life-blood of the free 
 
 Poured freely forth for liberty. 
 
 II. 
 There is a drop more dear, 
 More sacred and sublime, 
 Than virgin pity's tender tear 
 O'er others' curse or crime ; — 
 It is the life-blood of the free, 
 When nobly shed for liberty ! 
 
 III. 
 There is a breath more sweet 
 Than music's softest lyre ; 
 Which gives a prouder pulse to beat, 
 And wakes a nobler fire : 
 It is the death-sigh of the free, 
 Who fights and falls for liberty ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And there's a deeper sound 
 Than earth asunder riven ;
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 225 
 
 A voice that rises from the ground, 
 And will be heard in heaven : 
 It is the death-shout of the free, 
 Who dares and dies for liberty ! 
 
 THE DYING CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 He sets in the noon of his fame ; 
 
 He falls in the hour of his pride; 
 
 But myriads lamenting shall hallow his name, 
 
 And tell how the conqueror died. 
 
 He died for the land of his birth ! 
 
 He died that her sons might be free ! 
 
 And long shall his memory be hallowed on earth. 
 
 Most honoured, fair Hellas ! by thee. 
 
 11. 
 Though ties might have chained him to life. 
 The strongest affection can bind ; 
 He fled from them all to the scene of the strife. 
 And his love to his honour resigned. 
 He paused not to wipe the big tear 
 That fell from a mother's fond eye ; 
 He turned not to look on a mourner more dear ; 
 Unshrinking he left them — to die. 
 
 Q
 
 226 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet say not the Hero is dead ; — 
 
 Foi" glory can never decay : 
 
 From the scene of its triumphs the spirit hath fled, 
 
 But Memory enshrines it for aye. 
 
 For he set in the noon of his fame, 
 
 He fell in the hour of his pride ; 
 
 And nations lamenting shall hallow his name. 
 
 And tell how the Conqueror died !
 
 LAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 THE CHURCH'S LAMENT FOR 
 ST. JOHN. 
 
 I. 
 He hath gone to the place of his rest, 
 He is safe in the home of his God ; 
 And we who have loved him, forsaken, oppressed, 
 Submissive would bow to the rod. 
 Though his accents can cheer us no more. 
 His love yet may speak from the grave ; 
 And thus on the broad wing of Faith may we soar 
 To One who is mighty to save ! 
 
 II. 
 Our Friend and our Father we heard 
 On earth, paint the glories of heaven ; — 
 But now the lone church, like a wandering bird. 
 To the home of the desert is driven. 
 
 q2
 
 228 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 Entranced, on his visions we hung ; 
 
 Our hearts and our hopes were above ; 
 
 For the words of Persuasion fell soft from his 
 
 tongue, 
 And the soul of his teaching was Love. 
 
 III. 
 In vain the stern Tyrant assailed 
 With threats of the dungeon or grave — 
 He spoke but the word, and the timid ne'er quailed. 
 In pangs that had mastered the brave. 
 The babe hath endured, while its frame 
 With the scourge and the torture was torn — 
 The Maiden, the Mother, in chariots of flame, 
 To glory triumphant were borne. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For what were thy terrors, O Death ? 
 
 And where was thy triumph, O Grave ? 
 
 When the vest of pure white and the conquering 
 
 wreath 
 Were the prize of the scorned and the slave ? 
 Oh ! then to our Father was given. 
 To read the bright visions on high ; 
 He gave to our view the full glories of heaven ; — 
 We heard and we hastened, to die ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Some died — they are with thee above — 
 Some live — they lament for thee now — 
 But who would recall thee, blest Saint, from the 
 
 love 
 That circles with glory thy brow ?
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 229 
 
 Long, long didst thou linger below, 
 
 But the term of thine exile is o'er, 
 
 And praises shall mix with the tears that must flow 
 
 From the eyes that behold thee no more. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Praise ! praise ! that thy trials are past ! 
 
 Joy ! joy! that thy triumph is won! 
 
 The thrones are completed— for thine is the last 
 
 Of the twelve that encircle the Son ! 
 
 O Lord I shall the time not be yet 
 
 When thy Church shall be blessed and free ? 
 
 Thou who canst not forsake, and who wilt not 
 
 forget, 
 Come quickly — or take us to Thee ! 
 
 THE MARTYR'S CHILD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Once more I clasp thee to my breast. 
 
 Child of my first and fondest love, 
 
 Ere yet I enter into rest. 
 
 Ere join the ransomed hosts above : 
 
 And earthward though my thoughts must rove, 
 
 From Saints and Seraphs bending there. 
 
 Who shall a parting sigh reprove, 
 
 O'er one as pure and scarce less fair ?
 
 230 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 II. 
 
 My bud of beauty ! thou must bloom, 
 'Mid the chill rains, and wintry blast. 
 Where skies are wrapt in starless gloom. 
 And summer-suns have beamed their last. 
 Yet, though dark clouds the heaven o'ercast, 
 He, at whose word the winds are still, 
 Can screen thee till the storm be past — 
 I know He can — I trust He will. 
 
 III. 
 Yet, who shall form thine infant sighs, 
 To syllable the first brief prayer 1 
 And who shall point thee to the skies, 
 And say, " Thou hast a Father there ?" 
 And who shall watch with ceaseless care. 
 Lest thy young steps unheeding stray — 
 Where Pleasure plants the secret snare, 
 And Hope's seductive smiles betray ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 O ! coidd I bear thee hence, while yet 
 
 The strife of passion is vmknown ; 
 
 Ere guilt its fatal seal hath set. 
 
 Or earth has marked thee for its own. 
 
 While Nature's debt of death alone 
 
 Is all mortality must pay, 
 
 To gaze upon the eternal throne, 
 
 And swell the glad unceasing lay ! 
 
 V. 
 
 But now I leave thee — not alone — 
 More welcome far were solitude ;
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 231 
 
 For He, who ne'er forsakes his own, 
 E'en in the desert, vast and rude. 
 Might bid the ravens bring thee food, 
 Or streams gush forth amidst the wild ; 
 Or guide the wanderings of the good 
 To seek and save his handmaid's child. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I leave thee to thy Mother's foes, 
 I leave thee to the foes of Heaven — 
 Yet do I leave thee but to those ? 
 Lord, be the guilty thought forgiven ! 
 O ! if she strive as I have striven. 
 With stormy winds on life's rough sea. 
 May she by warring waves be driven 
 To find a haven, Lord, with thee. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 Cease, Tempter, cease ! I would not live 
 
 The scorned of earth, the loathed of Heaven, 
 
 For all that Caesar's hand hath given, 
 
 For all that Rome could give. 
 
 Since, how could pomp, and power, and pride, 
 
 Avail to banish from mine eye 
 
 The Cross, for which I vowed to die —
 
 232 LAYS OF THE EARLY MAKTYRS. 
 
 The Cross I had denied ; — 
 
 Or teach me, though my limbs were free, 
 
 To bear the spirit's slavery ? — 
 
 II. 
 Yet to mine eye, 'mid darkness dim. 
 How welcome were the light of heaven ; 
 How sweet to feel the chains were riven, 
 That bind each aching limb ! 
 How sweet, unshackled all and free, 
 To feel once more the light breeze blow ; 
 To gaze around, above, below. 
 On earth, and sky, and sea ! — 
 
 ! pomp and pride are nought to me, 
 But my soul yearns for liberty. 
 
 III. 
 And wilt thou give the summer gale 
 A moment through my cell to play ? 
 And wilt thou give the summer ray, 
 That gilds my native vale. 
 To glad me with its genial beam — 
 And dost thou this in mercy ? — No I — 
 
 1 see the guile that lurks below ; 
 And vainly dost thou dream 
 
 That I would quit my hopes on high. 
 And barter heaven for liberty. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Cease, then ! my heart is changeless still ;- 
 Though chains awhile my limbs control. 
 Mine is the freedom of the soul. 
 And mine the unconquered will.
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 233 
 
 Yes — thou art more a slave than I ; 
 
 I can but bear a despot's yoke, 
 
 Till death shall rend, with welcome shock, 
 
 The spirit's earthly tie. 
 
 But, false one ! then, when I am free, 
 
 Begins thine endless slavery. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN VIRGIN TO HER 
 APOSTATE LOVER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh ! lost to faith, to peace, to heaven ! 
 Canst thou a recreant be 
 To Him whose life for thine was given, 
 Whose cross endured for thee ? 
 Canst thou for earthly joys resign 
 A love immortal, pure, divine ? 
 Yet link thy plighted truth to mine. 
 And cleave unchanged to me ? 
 
 II. 
 Thou canst not — and 'tis breathed in vain — 
 Thy sophistry of love! — 
 Though not in pride or cold disdain 
 Thy falsehood I reprove ! — 
 Inly my heart may bleed — but yet 
 Mine is no weak— no vain regret : 
 Thy wrongs to me I might forget — 
 But not to Him above.
 
 234 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Cease, then — tliy fond impassioned vow, 
 
 In happier hours so dear 
 
 (No virgin pride restrains me now) ; 
 
 I must not pause to hear ; 
 
 For still my erring heart might prove 
 
 Too weak to spurn thy proffered love ; 
 
 And tears — though feigned and false — might move, 
 
 And prayers, though insincere. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But no ! the tie so firmly bound 
 
 Is torn asunder now ; 
 
 How deep that sudden wrench may wound. 
 
 It recks not to avow ; 
 
 Go thou to fortune and to fame ; 
 
 I sink to sorrow — suffering — shame — 
 
 Yet think, when Glory gilds thy name, 
 
 I would not be as thou. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thou canst not light or wavering deem 
 
 The bosom all thine own ; 
 
 Thou know'st, in Joy's enlivening beam. 
 
 Or Fortune's adverse frown. 
 
 My pride, my bliss, had been to share 
 
 Thy hopes ; to soothe thine hours of care, 
 
 With thee the Martyr's cross to bear, 
 
 Or win the Martyr's crown. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Tis o'er ; but never from my heart 
 Shall Time thine image blot ;
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 235 
 
 The dreams of other days depart ; — 
 Thou shalt not be forgot ; 
 And never, in tlie suppliant sigh, 
 Poured forth to Him who sways the sky. 
 Shall mine own name be breathed on high, 
 And thine remembered not ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Farewell ! and oh ! may He whose love 
 Endures, though Man rebel, 
 In mercy yet thy guilt remove. 
 Thy darkening clouds dispel : 
 Where'er thy wandering steps decline 
 My fondest prayers— nor only mine ; — 
 The aid of Israel's God be thine ; 
 And in His name— Farewell ! 
 
 THE MARTYR TO HIS APOSTATE 
 JUDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 No ! — think not I could ever be 
 False to my Saviour's honoured name. 
 For aught that thou canst offer me — 
 A little life — a little fame : — 
 'Twere weak, indeed, to lose for them 
 A never-fading diadem.
 
 236 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou hear'st my fixed resolve ; — and now 
 The guards — the rack — the flame prepare ; 
 And count me weak and false as thou, 
 If I fall back, or tremble there. 
 Go tliou, thy bleeding Lord disown ; 
 Be mine the faithful Martyr's crown. 
 
 III. 
 Ay ! thou may'st smile — but not in scorn. 
 Proud minion of a despot's will ; 
 Thy direst vengeance have I borne, 
 And stand prepared to bear it still ; 
 My pride, my triumph it shall be. 
 To die for Him who died for me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And if one passing pang I feel, 
 
 Deluded man ! 'tis felt for thee ; 
 
 I stand prepared the truth to seal, 
 
 But what shall thy departing be ? 
 
 Blest Saviour ! Lord of earth and heaven, 
 
 Oh ! be his sins — and mine — forgiven !
 
 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 237 
 
 THE WIFE'S ADIEU. 
 
 I. 
 
 I SOAR to the realms of the bright and the blest, 
 Where the mourner is still, and the weary at rest ; 
 I rise to my glories, while thou must remain 
 In the dark vale of tears, to reproach and to pain. 
 
 II. 
 And hence, though my heart throbs exultant to die, 
 And visions of glory unfold to mine eye, 
 The bosom that struggles and pants to be free. 
 Still cleaves to the dust with affection for thee. 
 
 III. 
 I dread not another, more fond and more fair, 
 When I am forgotten, thy fortunes should share ; 
 Oh ! find but a bosom devoted as mine, 
 And my heart's fondest blessing for ever be thine ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I fear, lest the stroke that now rends us apart. 
 From the faith of thy Saviour should sever thy 
 
 heart ; 
 Lest, seeking in anguish relief from despair, 
 The vain world should lure thee to look for it there. 
 
 V. 
 
 But oh ! should it tempt thee awhile to resign 
 A treasure so precious, a hope so divine ; 
 Should the light of His glory be hidden from thee, 
 In the hour of thy darkness, O think upon me !
 
 238 LAYS OF THE EAKLY MARTYRS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ■Remember the hope that enlivens me now, 
 Though the .damps of the conflict are cold on my 
 
 brow ; — 
 The faith that has nerved me with transport to see 
 The horn- of my doom, though it tears me from thee. 
 
 THE BEREAVED HUSBAND. 
 
 T. 
 
 I STOOD beside the parting bed 
 Of all I ever loved below ; 
 I gazed until the soul had fled 
 From earthly pangs, and earthly woe : 
 Then the first tears were felt to flow, 
 Which thou, sweet angel ! didst not share ; — 
 Then first my heart was doomed to know 
 The loneliness of cold despair. 
 
 II. 
 Till then, though many a grief was mine, 
 That well might wring the sternest breast. 
 With loveliness and love like thine, 
 I was not, could not be, unblest. 
 For when, with causeless wrongs opprest, 
 From the false world I fled to thee ; 
 Thy smiles could charm the thought to rest. 
 Which, but for thee, were agony.
 
 LAYS OP THE EARLY MARTYRS. 239 
 III. 
 
 Now I am left to beat, alone, 
 
 A shattered bark on life's rough sea ; 
 
 To muse on joys for ever gone, 
 
 On hopes that ne'er can beam for me. 
 
 Once to have been and not to be ; — 
 
 This wakes the pang that cannot die, 
 
 As none but those who once were free, 
 
 Feel the full weight of slavery. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But oh ! I may not thus repine — 
 
 Guilt mingles with the vain regret ; 
 
 And though the prize that once was mine, 
 
 I cannot, save in death, forget ; 
 
 E'en while the mourner's eye is wet 
 
 With nature's tears for nature's woe. 
 
 There is a balm, a solace yet, 
 
 For all that wrongs or wounds below. 
 
 V. 
 
 My griefs remain, but thine are o'er ; 
 My loss thy endless gain shall be ; 
 I weep, but thou canst mourn no more, 
 I still am bovmd, but thou art free. 
 My joy was ever bliss to thee ; — 
 Then be thy bliss my solace now, 
 Until thy perfect charms I see 
 In happier regions — blest as thou.
 
 240 LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. 
 
 THE ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 I. 
 
 A YEAR hath lingered through its round 
 
 Since thou wert with the dead ; 
 
 And yet my bosom's cureless wound 
 
 Still bleeds as then it bled. 
 
 All now without is cold and calm — 
 
 Yet o'er my heart its healing balm 
 
 Oblivion will not shed ; — 
 
 If day beguiles my fond regret, 
 
 Night comes — and how can I forget ? 
 
 II. 
 For mute are then the sounds of mirth 
 I loathe — yet cannot flee ; 
 And thoughts in solitude have birth, 
 That lead me back to thee. 
 By day, amidst the busy herd, 
 My soul is like the captive bird, 
 That struggles to be free ; 
 It longs to leave a world unblest, 
 To flee away and be at rest. 
 
 III. 
 Rest ! how, alas ! shall mortal dare 
 Of rest on earth to dream ? — 
 The heritage of ceaseless care 
 May better far beseem
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 241 
 
 The child of sin— the heir of woe — 
 And what if mutual love may throw 
 A joy-imparting beam 
 On life's wide waste ?— 'tis quickly gone, 
 And we must wander on alone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It was no charm of face or mien 
 
 That linked my heart to thee, 
 
 For many fairer I have seen. 
 
 And fairer yet may see. 
 
 It was a strong though nameless spell, 
 
 Which seemed with thee alone to dwell ; 
 
 And this remains to me, 
 
 And will remain — thy form is fled. 
 
 But this can e'en recall the dead. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thine image is before me now, 
 
 All angel as thou art ; 
 
 Thy gentle eye and guileless brow, 
 
 Are graven on my heart ; 
 
 And when on living forms I gaze. 
 
 Memory the one loved form portrays : — 
 
 Ah ! would it ne'er depart ! — 
 
 And they alone are fair to me^ 
 
 Who wake a livelier thought of thee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oft, too, the fond familiar sound 
 Is present to mine ear ; 
 I seem, when all is hushed around, 
 Thy thrilling voice to hear. 
 
 R
 
 242 HISTORICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 Oh ! I could dream thou still wert nigh, 
 And turn, as if to breathe reply — 
 The waking — how severe ! 
 When on the sickening soul must press 
 The sense of utter loneliness ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 A year hath pass'd ! — another year 
 
 Its wonted round may run ; 
 
 Yet earth will still be dark and drear 
 
 As when its course begun. 
 
 I would not murmur or repine — 
 
 Yet, though a thousand joys were mine, 
 
 I still should sigh for one ; 
 
 How could I think of her who died, 
 
 And taste of joy from aught beside ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yes, dearest ! though that treasured love 
 
 Now casts a gloom o'er all ; 
 
 Thy spirit from its rest above 
 
 I would not yet recall. 
 
 My earthly doom thou canst not share ; 
 
 And I in solitude must bear 
 
 Whate'er may still befall ; 
 
 But I can share thy home, thy heaven, 
 
 All griefs forgot — all gi.iilt forgiven.
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 THE NATIVITY. 
 
 I. 
 A LIGHT is kindling o'er the midnight sky 
 Of broad unwonted brightness ;— the hushed air 
 Is filled with sounds of strange sweet melody, 
 As though an Angel-choir were hymning there 
 Celestial strains ; — and each aerial Power 
 Had lit the starry lamp within his beacon-tower. 
 
 II. 
 And hark! fresh sounds; and lo ! the scattered 
 
 beams 
 Condense into a wreath of living light ; 
 Pure as the Moon's cold loveliness it seems, 
 Yet broader than the noon-beams, and more bright ; 
 And lo! it gilds an earthly dwelling-place — 
 Heaven sheds its purest rays on some of mortal 
 race ! 
 
 III. 
 Why shine ye thus, ye Heavens ? and wherefore, 
 
 Earth ! 
 Art thou thus graced by splendour not thine own ? 
 
 R 2
 
 244 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 Say, who and where is He, at whose glad birth 
 Revealed, the glory of the Lord hath shone ? 
 Not thus it kindled, when the Law was given. 
 And through its central caves was startled Sinai 
 riven ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Is it the hoped Deliverer, whose dread sword 
 Shall smite the Heathen hosts in holiest war ? 
 Is it the scepti'e, now at length restored 
 To Judah's royal line ? The Sacred Star 
 That shall outshine the day's proud orb, and bless 
 Glad Israel's rescued seed, a Sun of Righteousness ! 
 
 v. 
 'Tis all ! 'tis more ! Upon a lowly bed, 
 Within a lowliest dwelling, there is One 
 Who bears a crown of glory on his head. 
 Not earthly, though on earth ; and though the Son 
 Of God, yet born of woman. See it shine 
 With such resplendent blaze as gilds the Throne 
 divine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Well may it shine ! This is the promised Son, 
 Emmanuel, God with us ; revealed on earth 
 The living image of the viewless One ! 
 Well may it shine ! By His auspicious birth 
 Peace comes to dwell on Earth — joy reigns in 
 
 Heaven — 
 Hell trembles — Sin is chained — Death vanquished 
 
 — Man forgiven !
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 24-5 
 
 THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 
 
 I. 
 Tis noon — the sun is in the sky ; 
 And from his broad and burning ray 
 To groves and glens the shepherds fly 
 Where welcome shade excludes the day ; 
 Or rest, where sparkling waters play 
 Like fairy streams of liquid gold — 
 Such as mysterious legends say, 
 Around the Fire-king's palace rolled. 
 
 II. 
 Behold yon scattered group recline 
 Beneath a tall oak's ample shade ; 
 A form of manly port benign, 
 And one, who seems a loveliest Maid, 
 Save that within her arms is laid. 
 An Infant, like his Mother fair ; 
 Though never earth-born babe displayed 
 Such beauties, as are blended there. 
 
 III. 
 No tints of healthful crimson glow 
 In that fair Infant's polished cheek ; 
 Paler His brow than mountain snow, 
 His dove-like eyes — serenely meek. 
 No smiles around His lips bespeak 
 The joy of heart to childhood given ;
 
 246 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 But vain, O vain it were to seek 
 
 For charms of earth in Child of Heaven ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 For this is He, the Mystic Child ! 
 Yea, this the Virgin's promised Son ! 
 Behold the Mother undefiled ! 
 Behold her babe — the Holy One ! 
 And do they wander forth alone, 
 By Israel slighted or forgot ; 
 And, when the Highest seeks " His own," 
 Do e'en " His own" receive Him not ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Yes ! — from a despot's fell decree, 
 To seek a foreign home they fly ; 
 And, Egypt, once again in thee 
 Shall dwell the Holy Family. — 
 Where erst in bitter slavery 
 Sad Israel mourned his joyless doom ; 
 There shall he now his Light descry ; 
 Thence shall his God, his Glory come ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 O happy Mother ! — happiest far 
 Of all who felt a Mother's throes ; — 
 What though no more the Mystic Star 
 Above thy path through darkness glows ? — 
 When gazing on the calm repose 
 Of Him, thy cherished Babe divine ! 
 The bliss Earth's fondest Mother knows, 
 O can it give a thought of thine ?
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 247 
 
 THE MADONNA AND CHILD. 
 
 I. 
 When from Thy beaming throne 
 O High and Holy One ! 
 Thou cam'st to dwell with those of mortal birth ; 
 No ray of living light 
 Flashed on the astonished sight, 
 To shew the Godhead trod His subject earth : 
 
 II. 
 Thine was no awful form, 
 Shrouded in mist and storm, 
 Of Seraph, walking on the viewless wind ; 
 Nor didst thou deign to wear 
 The port, sublimely fair, 
 Of Angel-heralds, sent to bless mankind. 
 
 III. 
 Made like the sons of clay, 
 Thy matchless glories lay 
 In form of feeble infancy concealed ; 
 No pomp of outward sign 
 Proclaimed the Power Divine ; 
 No earthly state the heavenly guest revealed ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou didst not choose thy home 
 Beneath a lordly dome ;
 
 248 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 No regal diadem wreathed thy baby brow ; 
 
 Nor on a soft couch laid, 
 
 Nor in rich vest arrayed, 
 But with the poorest of the poor wert Thou ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet she, whose gentle breast 
 Was Thy glad place of rest ; — 
 
 In her the blood of royal David flowed : 
 Men passed her dwelling by 
 With proud and scornful eye ; 
 
 But Angels knew and loved her mean abode. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There softer strains she heard 
 
 Than song of evening bird. 
 Or tuneful minstrels in a queenly bower ; 
 
 And o'er her dwelling lone 
 
 A brighter radiance shone 
 Than ever glittered from a Monarch's tower. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For there the Mystic Star 
 
 That sages led from far, 
 To pour their treasures at her Infant's feet. 
 
 Still shed its golden light ; — 
 
 There, through the calm, clear night, 
 Were heard Angelic Voices, strangely sweet. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O happiest thou of all 
 Who bear the deadly thrall 
 Which for one Mother's crime, to all was given
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 249 
 
 Her first of mortal birth 
 Brought Death to reign on earth, — 
 But THINE brings Light and Life again from 
 heaven ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Happiest of Virgins thou, 
 
 On whose unruffled brow 
 Blends Maiden meekness with a Mother's love I 
 
 Blest in thy Heavenly Son, 
 
 Blest in the Holy One, 
 Whom man knows not below, though Angels 
 
 hymned above ! 
 
 THE SAVIOUR AS A CHILD WITH 
 FLOWERS.* 
 
 I. 
 Blest age of innocence and truth, 
 Of open heart as open brow ; 
 When thoughts are free and words are sooth : — 
 Ere the warm blood of wilder youth 
 Boils in the veins, and in the eye 
 Glows with unquiet brilliancy — 
 Childhood, how fair art thou ! 
 
 * Illustrating a Picture by Carlo Dolci.
 
 250 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 Fair even in the sons of earth ; 
 
 But thou wert fairest when the Saviour smiled, 
 
 When He of virgin birth 
 
 Stooped to the semblance of an earth-born child. 
 
 II. 
 And did He spend the vacant hour 
 Child-like, in ranging plain and wood ? 
 And did He seek the shadowy bower, 
 And, sportive, twine the summer-flower. 
 While, as the rustic crown He wreathed. 
 Each conscious flower fresh odours breathed ; 
 And e'en the blossoms, strewed 
 As though unheeded, o'er the ground, 
 Drooped not, nor withered ; but unfading shed 
 A balmier fragrance round 
 Than when they glittered in their parent-bed ? 
 
 III. 
 Yet blame we not the venturous dream 
 Of painter-poet — who hath traced 
 What some, perchance, may lightly deem 
 Of Him, in whom the Heavenly Beam, 
 Though latent in a fleshly shroud. 
 Was, like the sun behind a cloud, 
 Though dimmed, yet undefaced ! — 
 For who could mark that fair young brow. 
 The ringlets of that wildly-clustering hair. 
 That look serene — nor know 
 No child of sin, no heir of death was there ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Mark, too, that varied coronal, 
 Where the rich eastern flowers combine
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. . 251 
 
 Their hues of beauty,— are not all 
 
 His work who framed this earthly ball ? 
 
 Flowers spring on earth — stars deck the sky — 
 
 Alike in each His inward eye 
 
 Knew His own work divine. 
 
 Whate'er He saw, whate'er He heard, 
 
 On earth, or sea, or sky — at morn or even — 
 
 Flower, star, wave, vocal bird, 
 
 To Him were fraught with memories of Heaven ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Yes — when this low, terrestrial sphere 
 He deigned — a seeming child — to tread, 
 Heard He not sounds none else could hear ? 
 And were not viewless Seraphs near 
 To hold communion with their Lord ? 
 And where the Angelic Host adored, 
 Did not glad Nature shed 
 Her sweetest flowers, — and if He wove 
 What seemed a wreath to human eyes. 
 By Angels borne above, 
 
 Might not that wreath outshine the crowns of 
 Paradise ?
 
 252 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 CHRIST EXPOUNDING THE LAW. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Voice of God was mighty, when it brake 
 Through the deep stillness of chaotic night, 
 Uttering the potent words, " Let there be light!" 
 And light was kindled as the Eternal spake ; 
 While Hosts Seraphic hymned the wondrous plan 
 Which formed Heaven, Earth, Sun, Sea, and 
 
 crowned the work with Man. 
 II. 
 The Voice of God was mighty, when it came 
 From Sinai's summit, wrapped in midnight gloom ; 
 When ceaseless thunders told the sinner's doom, 
 And answering lightnings flashed devouring flame ; 
 Till prostrate Israel breathed the imj^loring cry, 
 " Veil, Lord, Thy terrors ; cease Thy thunders, 
 
 or we die !" 
 
 III. 
 The Voice of God was mighty, when alone 
 Elijah stood on Horeb, and the blast 
 Rent the huge mountains as Jehovah passed. 
 And the Earth quaked beneath the Holy One ; 
 When ceased the storm, the blast, the lightning 
 
 glare — 
 And but the " still small voice" was heard — yet 
 
 God was there.
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 253 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet not alone in thunder or in storm 
 The voice of God was mighty, as it came 
 From the red mountain, or the car of flame : — 
 When stooped the Godhead to a mortal form ; 
 When Jesus came to work His Father's will, 
 His was the Voice of God — and it was mighty still. 
 
 V. 
 
 He chid the billows — and the heaving sea 
 Lay hushed, — the warring winds obeyed His word, 
 The conscious demons knew and owned their Lord, 
 And at His bidding set the captive free. 
 But is not Hatred strong as wave or wind, 
 And are the Hosts of Hell more stubborn than 
 mankind ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 These, too. He vanquished. When the Holy Law 
 From His pure lips like mountain honey flowed: 
 Still, as He spake, the haughty heart was bowed. 
 Passion was calmed, and Malice crouched in awe — 
 The Scribe, perversely blind, began to see. 
 And mute conviction held the humbled Pharisee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Man never spake like this man," was their cry ; 
 And yet He spake, and yet they heard in vain : 
 E'en as their Sires to idols turned again 
 When Sinai's thunders shook no more the sky — 
 So these went back to bend at Mammon's shrine. 
 And heard that Voice no more, yet felt it was 
 Divine !
 
 254 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 I. 
 'Tis still thine hour, O Death ! 
 Thine, Lord of Hades, is the kingdom still ; 
 Yet twice thy sword unstained hath sought its 
 
 sheath, 
 Though twice upraised to kill ; 
 And once again the tomb 
 Shall yield its captured prey ; 
 A mightier Arm shall pierce the pathless gloom. 
 And rend the prize away : 
 Nor comes thy Conqueror armed with spear or 
 
 sword — 
 He hath no arms but prayer— no weapon but His 
 
 Word. 
 
 II. 
 'Tis now the fourth sad morn 
 Since Lazarus, the pious and the just, 
 To his last home by sorrowing kinsmen borne 
 Hath parted, dust to dust. 
 The grave-worm revels now 
 Upon his mouldering clay — 
 And He, before whose car the moimtains bow — 
 The rivers roll away 
 In conscious awe — He only can revive 
 Corruption's withering prey, and call the dead to 
 
 live !
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 255 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet still the Sisters keep 
 Their sad and silent vigil at the grave, 
 Watching for Jesus — " Comes he not to weep ? 
 He did not come to save ! " — 
 But now one straining eye 
 The advancing Form hath traced ; — 
 And soon in wild resistless agony- 
 Have Martha's arms embraced 
 The Saviour's feet — " O Lord ! hadst thou been 
 
 nigh — 
 But speak the word e'en now — it shall be heard 
 
 on high." 
 
 IV. 
 
 They led him to the cave — 
 The rocky bed, where now in darkness slept 
 Their brother, and his friend — then at the grave 
 They paused — for "Jesus wept." 
 O Love, sublime and deep! 
 O Hand and Heart divine ! 
 
 He comes to rescue, though He deigns to weep — 
 The captive is not thine, 
 
 O Death ! thy bands are burst asunder now — 
 There stands beside the grave a Mightier far than 
 thou ! 
 
 v. 
 " Come forth," He cries, " thou dead !" 
 O God! what means that strange and sudden sound, 
 That murmurs from the tomb — that ghastly head 
 With funeral fillets bound ?
 
 256 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 It is a Living Form — 
 The loved, the lost, the won. 
 Won from the grave, corruption and the worm — 
 " And is not this the Son 
 
 Of God?" they whispered — while the Sisters poured 
 Their gratitude in tears : for they had known the 
 Lord. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet now the Son of God — 
 
 For such He was in truth — approached the hour 
 
 For which alone the path of thorns He trod ; — 
 
 In which to thee the Power, 
 
 O Death ! should be restored — 
 
 And yet restored in vain, — 
 
 For though the blood of ransom must be poured, 
 
 The spotless Victim slain ; 
 
 He shall but yield to conquer, fall to rise, 
 
 And make the cold, dark grave a portal to the skies!
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 257 
 
 CHRIST BLESSING THE BREAD. 
 
 I. 
 Onward it speeds ! the awful hour from Man's 
 
 first fall decreed, 
 When the dark Serpent's wrath shall bruise the 
 
 Woman's spotless Seed ; 
 The foe He met — the desert path triumphantly 
 
 He trod, 
 But now a darker, deadlier strife awaits the Son 
 
 of God ! 
 
 II. 
 Soon shall a strange and midnight gloom involve 
 
 the conscious Heaven, 
 While in Jehovah's inmost fane the mystic veil is 
 
 riven ! 
 Soon shall one deep and dying groan the solid 
 
 mountains rend. 
 The yawning graves shall yield their dead ; the 
 
 buried Saints ascend ! 
 III. 
 And yet amidst His little flock, still Jesus stands, 
 
 serene, 
 Unawed by suffering yet to be, unchanged by what 
 
 hath been ;
 
 258 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 Still beams the light of love undimmed in that be- 
 nignant eye, 
 
 Nor, save His own prophetic word, aught speaks 
 Him soon to die ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 He pours within the votive cup "the rich blood of 
 
 the vine, 
 And, " Drink ye all the hallowed draught," He 
 
 cries, " This blood is mine !" 
 He breaks the bread : then clasps His hands and 
 
 lifts His eyes in prayer, 
 " Receive ye this, and view by Faith my body 
 
 symbolled there ! 
 
 V. 
 
 " For like the wine that crowns this cup, my blood 
 
 shall soon be shed ; 
 My body broken on the cross, as now I break the 
 
 bread : 
 For you the crimson stream shall flow — for you 
 
 the Hand Divine 
 Bares the red sword, although the heart that meets 
 
 the blow be mine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 "And oft your willing vows renew aroimd the sacred 
 
 board, 
 And break the bread and pour the wine in memory 
 
 of your Lord : 
 To drink with me the grape's fresh blood to you 
 
 shall yet be given. 
 Fresh from the deathless Vine that blooms in blest 
 
 abodes of Heaven !"
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 259 
 
 CHRIST IN THE GARDEN OF 
 GETHSEMANE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A WREATH of glory circles still His head — 
 
 And yet He kneels — and yet He seems to be 
 
 Convulsed with more than human agony : 
 
 On His pale brow the drops are large and red 
 
 As victim's blood at votive altar shed — 
 
 His hands are clasped, His eyes are raised in 
 
 prayer — 
 Alas ! and is there strife He cannot bear 
 Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead ? 
 
 II. 
 There is ! there is ! for now the Powers of Hell 
 Are strugglingYor the mastery — 'tis the hour 
 When Death exerts his last permitted power ; 
 When the dread weight of sin, since Adam fell, 
 It visited on Him, who deigned to dwell — 
 A Man with men— that He might bear the stroke 
 Of wrath Divine, and burst the captive's yoke — 
 But, O ! of that dread strife what words can tell ? 
 
 III. 
 Those — only those — which broke with many a 
 
 groan 
 From His full heart — " O Father, take away 
 The cup of vengeance I must drink to-day —
 
 260 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 Yet, Father, not my will, but thine, be done !' 
 It could not pass away — for He alone 
 Was mighty to endure, and strong to save ; 
 Nor would Jehovah leave Him in the grave, 
 Nor could Corruption taint His Holy One. 
 
 CHRIST IN THE GARDEN WITH MARY. 
 
 I. 
 Love is not of the Earth ! 
 A Ray that issued from the Throne of Heaven 
 First warmed it into birth ! 
 And then to dwellers of the dust 'twas given ; 
 Their pearl of price, their gem of peerless worth, 
 Ere from blest Eden's shade their first frail Sire 
 
 was driven. 
 
 II. 
 But Love, the pure, the bright, 
 Hath lost on earth its glory, and hath fled 
 To its own realms of Light ; 
 Scarce lingering o'er the unforgotten dead, 
 Where in the lonely place of tombs, by night, 
 The mute, fond prayer is breathed — the silent tear 
 
 is shed. 
 
 III. 
 Love is no more Divine, 
 Save when it seeks the Source whence first it 
 
 came —
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 261 
 
 Forsakes its mortal shrine, 
 
 And, like the Prophet, on a car of flame 
 
 Mounts to the Holiest ! Such, dear Saint ! was 
 
 thine. 
 When thine expiring Lord endured the cross of 
 
 shame ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou didst not heed the cry 
 Of myriad voices, clamouring fierce for blood ; 
 The truest turned to fly, — 
 
 The boldest quailed, — but firm the weaker stood ! 
 Thy heart endured to watch His agony, 
 Unawed by scoffing Priests and warriors fierce of 
 mood. 
 
 V. 
 
 Yea, when His parting groan 
 Smote, like Death's fearful summons, on thine ear. 
 Thou didst not seek alone 
 Idly to shed the fond yet fruitless tear ; — 
 By thee the last sad cares of Love were shown — 
 Composed the stiffening limbs, and spread the 
 decent bier. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They laid Him in the tomb — 
 Thou foUowedst still — and morning's earliest ray 
 And midnight's latest gloom 
 Still foimd thee watching where the Saviour lay ; 
 The earth was there thy bed, the cave thy home. 
 Till the sealed grave was rent — the stone was 
 rolled away.
 
 262 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Victor Victim rose — 
 
 And what, true Saint, was then thy meet reward ? 
 The eye that watched His woes 
 Was first to hail the rising of the Lord ! 
 O when were tears so pure, so blest as those 
 Which gushed, when at His feet she knelt — gazed — 
 wept — adored ? 
 
 JUDAS RETURNING THE THIRTY 
 PIECES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Still echoed through the dark divan 
 
 The shouts that hailed the doom of blood ; 
 
 When, lo ! a pale and haggard man 
 
 Before the stern tribunal stood ! 
 
 He strove to speak — awhile his breath 
 
 Came fitful as the gasp of death ; 
 
 Nor aught those hollow sounds express — 
 
 Save guilt and utter wretchedness ! 
 
 II. 
 Yet in his wildly-glaring eye 
 Such fierce unnatural brightness shone ; 
 They deemed some outcast Maniac nigh — 
 Some victim of the Evil One :
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 263 
 
 Even the High Priest, in mute amaze, 
 Fixed on that form a sliuddering gaze ; 
 As if a spectre near him stood 
 That chained his eye and chilled his blood ! 
 
 III. 
 An instant — and the stern old man 
 Grew cold and reckless as before — 
 A moment flushed his aspect wan ; 
 It past as in a moment o'er. 
 He knew the form that trembled there — 
 Knew whence that madness and despair — 
 And the brief awe his brow had worn 
 Changed to a smile of withering scorn. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There on his knees the Traitor fell — 
 
 There dashed to earth the price of blood — 
 
 And twice essayed his tale to tell. 
 
 And twice the o'ermastering Fiend withstood. 
 
 Faltering, at length, his accents came. 
 
 Words, more than anguish, worse than shame — 
 
 " Oh ! T have sinned — I have sold 
 
 The guiltless blood for guilty gold!" 
 
 V. 
 
 Then curled that proud Priest's lip of scorn — 
 
 Hate flashed from his indignant eye — 
 
 " And go," he cried, " thou wretch forsworn — 
 
 Accursed live — unpardoned die ! 
 
 The deed is done — the price is paid 
 
 For Him thy coward-soul betrayed ; 
 
 His blood may sate the wrath divine — 
 
 But who, foul traitor, recks of tidne V
 
 264 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He heard — and with a fi-antic yell 
 Of agony and wild despair — 
 With guilt, that not a Cain could tell — 
 Remorse, that not a Cain could bear ; 
 He rushed — Oh ! whither ? — Human eye 
 Saw not the doomed Apostate die ! 
 He fell — unpitied — unforgiven — 
 Outcast alike of Earth and Heaven ! 
 
 THE INCREDULITY OF ST. THOMAS. 
 
 I. 
 
 There was a seal upon the stone, 
 
 A guard around the tomb ; 
 
 The spurned and trembling band alone 
 
 Bewailed their Master's doom — 
 
 They deemed the barriers of the grave 
 
 Had closed o'er Him who came to save ; 
 
 And thoughts of grief and gloom 
 
 Were darkening, while depressed, dismayed, 
 
 Silent they wept, or weeping prayed. 
 
 II. 
 He died — for justice claimed her due. 
 Ere guilt could be forgiven ; 
 But soon the gates asunder flew, 
 The iron bars were riven :
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 265 
 
 Broken the seal — the guards dispersed, 
 Upon their sight in glory burst 
 The risen Lord of Heaven ! — 
 Yet one — the heaviest in despair, 
 In grief the wildest — was not there. 
 
 III. 
 Returning, on each altered brow 
 With mute surprise he gazed — 
 For each was lit with transport now. 
 Each eye to Heaven upraised. 
 Burst forth from all the ecstatic word, 
 " Hail, brother! we have seen the Lord !" 
 Bewildered and amazed 
 He stood — then bitter words and brief 
 Betrayed the heart of imbelief. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Days past — and still the frequent groan 
 
 Convulsed his labouring breast — 
 
 When round him light celestial shone. 
 
 And Jesus stood confessed. 
 
 " Reach, Doubter ! reach thy hand," He said — 
 
 " Explore the wound the spear hath made. 
 
 The print by nails impressed — 
 
 No longer for the living grieve. 
 
 And be not faithless — but believe ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 O if the Iris of the skies 
 Transcends the Painter's art. 
 How could he trace to human eyes 
 The rainbow of the heart ;
 
 26G SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 When Joy, Love, Fear, Repentance, Shame, 
 
 Hope, Faith, in swift succession came — 
 
 Each claiming there a part — 
 
 Each mingling in the tears that flowed — 
 
 The words that breathed—" My Lord! My God!" 
 
 ST. JOHN IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 I. 
 'TwAS not in porch or studious Academe 
 He heard the words of wisdom — and his seat 
 Was not with Paul at sage Gamaliel's feet ; 
 But in the desert, by the gushing stream. 
 On the bare rock, he wooed the heavenly theme ; 
 And ever, as the trackless waste he trod, 
 Whispered in every breeze the Voice of God, 
 And that Bright Presence blest his nightly dream. 
 
 II. 
 What recked he, though the desert was his home — 
 It was the House of God, the Gate of Heaven ! 
 What recked he, though to him was never given 
 To pore, entranced, on Learning's mystic tome ? — 
 Mature in wisdom, when his hour was come 
 He left his lonely dwelling, and became 
 The Herald of the Mightiest, to proclaim 
 His presence, and denounce the sinner's doom.
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 267 
 
 III. 
 
 On that strange form the crowd admiring gazed, 
 
 As on Elijah from the dead restored — 
 
 So grave the Prophet's brow, so stern his word, 
 
 What time the cry of loud reproach he raised 
 
 On Baal's idol priests, abashed, amazed — 
 
 So trembled now the Scribe, so cowering shook 
 
 The Pharisee beneath the Baptist's look — 
 
 So Pride was humbled, and the Lord was praised. 
 
 PETER, 
 
 "And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter. And 
 
 Peter remembered the word of the Lord and he went 
 
 out, and wept bitterly." — St. Luke, xxii. 61. 
 
 I. 
 When thou who in doubt and in danger hadst been 
 
 Devoted and firm to His side, 
 Wert false to thy Lord in the last awful scene, 
 
 And His name and His sorrows denied ; 
 He pitied thy weakness, and pardoned thy fears, 
 
 His last look was mercy to thee ; 
 But, oh ! in that moment how bitter thy tears, 
 
 How deep would thy penitence be !
 
 268 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 n. 
 And thus, when the storms of temptation arise, 
 
 And the light of His glory is veiled. 
 When the foe of the righteous exults in his prize, 
 
 And the faith of the Christian has failed : — 
 Like thee, if repentant the Saviour we seek. 
 
 Oh ! still shall His grace be as free ; 
 Nor will He condemn a believer more weak. 
 
 For a crime which He pardoned in thee ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 " A broken and contrite heart, God ! thou wilt not 
 despise." — Psalm li. 17. 
 
 My spirit sinks with darkness and distress ; 
 
 I see thee not, my Hope, my Light, my Lord ! 
 
 Oh ! let thy gracious presence be restored. 
 And rise once more, my Sun of Righteousness ! 
 Still dost thou cease my lonely heart to bless ? 
 
 In tears of blood my guilt has been deplored. 
 
 With keen remorse and bitterness abhorred : — 
 Oh ! leave me not thus dark and comfortless. 
 
 But save me, ere I perish ! O'er my soul 
 
 The Tempter triumphs ; vengeance and despair
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 269 
 
 On my devoted head in thunder roll, 
 
 And yet thou hid'st thy face. I cannot bear 
 
 Thy wrath, my God ! — Hell reigns without con- 
 trol, 
 
 And fear appals my heart, and sin pollutes my 
 prayer ! 
 
 And whither can I turn, but to the throne 
 Of Him I have offended — art not thou 
 My God ? A son's loved name I claim not now. 
 
 But thou art still my Father — Thou alone 
 
 Unchanging and eternal ! I have done 
 
 A deed too dark to breathe, and on my brow 
 The murderer's curse is stamped ; and yet I bow 
 
 And plead thy mercies, oft in triumph known. 
 
 In shame remembered still. Guilt's venomed sting 
 Strikes deeper at the thought : — Thy grace, 
 adored 
 In youth, I dare not now essay to sing ; 
 
 My blood-stained hand would taint the sacred 
 chord ; — 
 One only plea — a broken heart — I bring ; 
 Pardon thy servant's sin, for it is great, O Lord!
 
 270 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 JOB'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 I. 
 Of all my race there breathes not one 
 
 To comfort or deplore me ; 
 Pain wakes a pulse in eveiy bone, 
 
 And death is closing o'er me. 
 Still doth his lifted stroke delay, 
 
 Protracted tortures dooming ; 
 I feel, ere life hath passed away, 
 
 His very worm consuming. 
 II. 
 Night spreads her mantle o'er the sky, 
 
 And all around are sleeping ; 
 While I, in tears of agony, 
 
 My restless couch am steeping : 
 I sigh for morn— the rising ray 
 
 Awakes the earth to gladness ; 
 I turn with sickening soul away — 
 
 It smiles upon my sadness. 
 III. 
 Cursed be that day — in tempests wild- 
 
 When first, with looks delighted. 
 My mother smiled upon her child. 
 
 And felt her pangs requited : 
 Oh ! that by human eye unseen, 
 
 I might have fled from sorrow ;
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 271 
 
 And been — as though I had not been — 
 As I would be to-morrow ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The light wave sparkling in the beam, 
 
 That trembles o'er the river, 
 A moment sheds its quivering gleam. 
 
 Then shuns the sight for ever : • 
 So soft a ray can Pleasure shed, 
 
 While storm and clouds surround it ; 
 So swift that faithless Hope is fled. 
 
 Which wins the heart to wound it. 
 
 V. 
 
 The crown of glory graced my brow, 
 
 The chain of gold was o'er me ; 
 Princes and hoary sires v/ould bow, 
 
 And suppliants kneel before me ; 
 To me the widow turned for aid. 
 
 And ne'er in vain addressed me ; 
 For me the grateful orphan prayed — 
 
 The soul of misery blessed me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I raised the drooping wretch that pined 
 
 In lonely anguish lying ; 
 Was balm unto the wounded mind, 
 
 And solace to the dying : 
 Till one stern stroke, of all my state — 
 
 Of all my bliss bereft me ; 
 And I was worse than desolate. 
 
 For God Himself had left me.
 
 272 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ye, too, as life itself beloved, 
 
 When all conspired to bless nae, 
 I deemed ye friends — but ye have proved 
 
 The foes who most oppress me. 
 I could have borne the slave's rude scorn, 
 
 The wreck of all I cherished, 
 Had one — but one — remained to mourn 
 
 O'er me, when I, too, perished. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 My children sleep in Death's cold shade. 
 
 And nought can now divide them ; 
 Oh I would the same wild storm had laid 
 
 Their wretched Sire beside them ! 
 I had not then been doomed to see 
 
 The loss of all who love me — 
 Unbroken would my slumber be, 
 
 Though none had wept above me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 All hope on earth for ever fled, 
 
 A higher hope remaineth ; — 
 E'en while His wrath is o'er me shed, 
 
 I know my Saviour reigneth ! 
 The worm may waste this withering clay. 
 
 When flesh and spirit sever ; 
 My soul shall see eternal day. 
 
 And dwell with God for ever.
 
 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 273 
 
 SONG OF A CAPTIVE JEW IN 
 BABYLON. 
 
 I. 
 Let the broad veil of darkness be rolled from 
 before Thee, 
 O Lord ! and descend on the wing of the storm ; 
 Dispersed or enslaved are the saints that adore 
 Thee, 
 And the rude hands of strangers Thy temple 
 deform ; 
 And Salem, our Salem, lies low and degraded, 
 
 While far from her ruins in exile we pine ; 
 Yet still is the hope of Thy " remnant" unfaded— 
 The hand wliich implants it, Jehovah! is Thine. 
 
 II. 
 Alas! we were warned, but we recked not the 
 warning. 
 Till our warriors grew weak in the day of 
 despair ; 
 And our glory was fled, as the light cloud of 
 morning. 
 That gleams for a moment, and melts into air : 
 As the proud heathens trampled o'er Zion's sad 
 daughter. 
 She wept tears of blood o'er her guilt and her 
 woe ; 
 
 T
 
 274 SCRIPTURE SKETCHES. 
 
 For the voice of her God had commissioned the 
 slaughter, 
 The rod of His vengeance had pointed the blow. 
 III. 
 Though foul are the sins, O thou lost one ! which 
 stain thee, 
 The tear of repentance can wash them away ; 
 Though galling and base are the bonds that enchain 
 thee, 
 The God who imposed them can lighten their 
 sway. 
 For a Star yet shall rise o'er the darkness of Judah, 
 A Branch yet shall flourish on Jesse's proud 
 stem; — 
 And Zion shall triumph o'er those that subdued 
 her, 
 Yea, — triumph in giving a Saviour to them !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE ONLY TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 
 I. 
 In search of enjoyment I wandered in vain, 
 
 With a void in my bosom that nothing could fill ; 
 For Mirth's gayest smile was succeeded by pain, 
 And the sweet cup of Pleasure proved bitterness 
 still. 
 The young days of Fancy roUed rapidly by. 
 And I shrunk with dismay from the future's dark 
 gloom, 
 Where the clay-fettered spirit must mourn till it die, 
 And man has no rest, but the rest of the tomb. 
 II. 
 And yet I have revelled in Hope's fairy dream. 
 
 And tasted the raptures of Love's purest bliss ; 
 Delusive are both, though alluring they seem, 
 
 Like vapours that gleam o'er a hidden abyss. 
 The proud thirst of glory was mine from my birth, 
 But what can this world to ambition display — 
 T 2
 
 276 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Which grasps at the skies, but is bounded by earth, 
 A spirit of fire in a prison of clay. 
 III. 
 And now I have heard of a nobler renown, 
 
 A kingdom unfading, a glory divine ; 
 But the humble alone shall inherit the crown, 
 
 And how shall that kingdom of glory be mine ? 
 Let my strength turn to weakness, my honour to 
 shame. 
 The reproach of the cross be my earthly re- 
 ward ; 
 All, all shall be welcome for one blessed name — 
 The lowly disciple of Jesus the Lord. 
 
 THE JOY OF ANGELS. 
 
 " There is joy in the presence of the Angels of God over 
 one sinner that repenteth." — Luke xv. 10. 
 
 I. 
 
 O WHY are the loud harps of Seraphs resounding 
 Sweet mvisic of joy through the bright realms 
 above, 
 And the choir of the " Ransomed" in transport 
 responding 
 New anthems of praise to the God of their love ? 
 And why do they stoop from the scene of their 
 gladness.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 277 
 
 Where round the blest throne of the Lamb they 
 recline ? 
 And what can they trace in the dark vale of sadness, 
 To heighten a rapture already divine ? 
 11. 
 Say, bend they to gaze on the bold Hero, guiding 
 In Freedom's proud cause, the dread lightnings * 
 of war ; 
 Or hail the stern Victor, exultantly riding. 
 
 Where hills of the slaughtered encircle his car ? 
 Oh, no ! as the wild waves that break o'er the Ocean 
 
 Roll harmlessly on, when no vessel is nigh ; 
 So mingles, unheeded, the war's deep commotion. 
 Unheard the loud plaudits of victory die. 
 III. 
 But turn where the tear of affection is streaming 
 Down the Sire's furrowed cheek for his offspring 
 restored ; 
 Where the eye of the meek modest Virgin is 
 beaming, 
 And the bride bounds enraptured to clasp her 
 loved Lord : 
 These, these are thy triumphs, oh Peace ! and we 
 love thee, 
 Thou Star rising bright through the storm of 
 despair ! 
 Yet wherefore should Seraphs look down to approve 
 thee, 
 When Heaven is thy home, and thy glories are 
 diere ?
 
 278 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But mark they yon temple, where myriads are 
 kneehng, 
 Where Vestals encircle the Saint's hallowed 
 shrine ; 
 Where swells the soft hymn ; or the full anthem 
 pealing 
 Enchains the rapt bosom with music divine ? 
 Ah no ! from the gay scene of pomp and of splen- 
 dour, 
 No sigh of Devotion is wafted above ; 
 Heaven claims but a homage, more true and more 
 tender ; 
 The tear of Contrition : the transport of Love. 
 
 v. 
 But turn to yon desolate cell, where reclining 
 
 On earth, lone and cheerless, the captive is laid ; 
 No beam through the gloom of his dungeon is 
 shining, 
 No accents of Friendship breathe solace or aid. 
 And yet, though the bands of the base have en- 
 chained him. 
 His soul bows submissive and meek to the rod ; 
 From friends who deserted, and foes who disdained 
 him. 
 He sought for a refuge — he fled to his God. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O mark down his wan cheek the silent tear stealing, 
 The pale lips that quiver convulsive in prayer ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 279 
 
 The deep sighs that burst from his bosom, revealing 
 The sorrow that springs but from penitence there. 
 And marvel no more, why with Angels consenting 
 The Saints to their Lord songs of rapture should 
 raise ; 
 They gaze from their thrones on a sinner repenting. 
 And wake to fresh transports of wonder and 
 praise. 
 
 THE FEMALE CONVICT TO HER 
 INFANT. 
 
 Oh sleep not, my babe, for the morn of to-morrow 
 Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than 
 tliine ; 
 The dark grave shall shield me from shame and 
 from sorrow. 
 Though the deeds and the doom of the guilty 
 are mine. 
 Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee. 
 Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother's fond 
 breast ? 
 And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee, 
 And watch thee, and guard thee, when I am at 
 rest?
 
 280 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet doth it grieve me to wake thee, my dearest, 
 
 The pangs of thy desolate mother to see ; 
 Thou wilt weep, when the clank of my cold chain 
 thou hearest, 
 And none but the guilty should mourn over me. 
 And yet I must wake thee — for while thou art 
 weeping. 
 To calm thee I stifle my tears for awhile ; 
 But thou smil'st in thy dreams, while thus placidly 
 sleeping. 
 And oh ! how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile ! 
 III. 
 Alas ! my sweet babe, with what pride had I prest 
 thee 
 To the bosom that now throbs with terror and 
 shame, 
 If the pure tie of virtuous affection had blest thee, 
 And hailed thee the heir of thy father's high 
 name ! 
 But now — with remorse that avails not — I mourn 
 thee, 
 Forsaken and friendless, as soon thou wilt be, 
 In a world, if it cannot betray, that will scorn thee — 
 Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when the dark thought of my fate shall awaken 
 The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek ; 
 
 When by all, but the God of the orphan, forsaken, 
 A home and a father in vain thou shalt seek ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 281 
 
 I know that the base world will seek to deceive 
 thee, 
 With falsehood like that which thy mother be- 
 guiled ; 
 Yet, lost and degraded — to whom can I leave thee ? 
 Oh God of the fatherless ! — pity my child ! 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR ME. 
 
 I. 
 
 When the spark of life is waning. 
 
 Weep not for me ; 
 When the languid eye is straining. 
 
 Weep not for me : 
 When the feeble pulse is ceasing. 
 Start not at its swift decreasing ; 
 'Tis the fettered soul's releasing — 
 
 Weep not for me. 
 II. 
 When the pangs of death assail me. 
 
 Weep not for me ; 
 Christ is mine — He cannot fail me — 
 
 Weep not for me : 
 Yes, though sin and doubt endeavour 
 From his love my soul to sever, 
 Jesus is my strength for ever — 
 
 Weep not for me.
 
 282 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 JESUS WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 " Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, 
 and stonest them that are sent unto thee, how often would I 
 have gathered thy children together even as a hen gathereth 
 her chickens under her wings .... and ye would not." 
 
 Matt, xxiii. 37 
 
 I. 
 O Salem ! who, in proud disdain, 
 
 My faithful prophets slew ; 
 And soon, the cup of guilt to drain, 
 
 Wilt slay thy Saviour too ! 
 How had my love thy children blest, 
 
 Their deeds of blood forgot. 
 And led them to eternal rest — 
 
 But they consented not ! 
 II. 
 Now shall thy house be desolate, 
 
 Thy glory now shall close ; 
 Nor leave one trace of ruined state. 
 
 To tell where Salem rose : 
 Nor shalt thou thy Redeemer see. 
 
 Nor hail thy crown restored, 
 Till thou shalt say, " How blest is He 
 
 " Whom Thou hast sent, O Lord !"
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 283 
 
 DIES IR^. 
 
 " The great and terrible day of the Lord."— Joel ii. 31. 
 
 I. 
 When the pale moon to blood shall turn, 
 
 The bright sun vanish from the sky, 
 A fiercer flame than his shall burn, — 
 
 A broader light flash forth on high : 
 That light, O Lord ! thy throne shall be — 
 And circling clouds thy canopy ! 
 
 II. 
 Thy voice to being shall recall 
 
 The mouldered dust that once was man — 
 The countless multitude of all 
 
 Who lived, since Time itself began ; 
 Thy burning car the dead shall see. 
 And catch returning life from Thee. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then shall the haughty despots know. 
 Who dared thy martyred saints condemn. 
 
 Thou wert their hope in every woe — 
 Thy hand prepared the crown for them. 
 
 Oh ! may that crown of grace be mine ! 
 
 The glory, Lord ! be only thine !
 
 284 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE WIFE'S FAREWELL. 
 
 I. 
 Thy form is fading from mine eye, 
 
 Thy voice is dying on mine ear ; 
 I cannot list the struggling sigh, 
 
 I cannot mark the starting tear ; 
 Yet in my heart thine image dear 
 
 Hath ever dwelt, and still must dwell, 
 Though Death's resistless hour is near. 
 
 And I must breathe my last Farewell — 
 II. 
 In scenes of mingled good and ill ; 
 
 Through years of joy and days of woe, 
 Thy hand, thy heart, were with me still ; — 
 
 'Mid all that wrongs or wounds below, 
 Thou never mad'st one tear to flow ; — 
 
 But I — if aught of sorrow's swell 
 I gave thy generous breast to know — 
 
 Oh pardon ! ere I bid Farewell. 
 III. 
 I know not why that word again 
 
 I breathe ; but that it seems to be 
 What yet can soothe this ceaseless pain, 
 
 A wish — nay more — a prayer for thee. 
 Mayst thovi be blest — though not with me ; 
 
 May brighter hopes thy gloom dispel ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 
 
 And Heaven, to gild thy lot, decree 
 
 All she would ask who prays " Farewell !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nay, dearest, hush ! thy grief can move 
 
 My heart to keener sufferings yet — 
 I meant not or to doubt thy love, 
 
 Or bid thee, like the false, forget, 
 And drown in new-born joys regret ; 
 
 No ! let me thus thy doubts dispel ! — 
 Thus clasp thee to me, and repeat 
 
 Love's last, yet fondest prayer. Farewell. 
 
 V. 
 
 I deemed — how vainly ! to have left 
 
 An Infant pledge of blighted love. 
 Whose smile, when of thy bride bereft, 
 
 Might still thy balm, thy solace prove. 
 That dream — the fairest Fancy wove — 
 
 Hath past — that Hope but charmed and fell— 
 My angel-babe hath soared above ; 
 
 I leave thee but a sad Farewell. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou know'st I do not sink to rest 
 
 In cheerless doubt, or cold despair ; 
 A bright hope burns within my breast ; 
 
 A blessed hope thou too dost share. 
 Ah, dearest ! may I meet thee there, 
 
 Where Guilt and Grief no more rebel ; — 
 Where none can shed the parting tear, 
 
 Or sigh the fatal word. Farewell !
 
 286 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 VIl. 
 
 Oh my soul's treasure, and my Lord ; 
 
 A deeper cloud is darkening o'er 
 Mine eyes — that last endearing word 
 
 Grows faint, and I can speak no more 
 My first, last, only love ! 'Tis o'er^ — 
 
 I feel the pang no words can tell ; 
 Oh ! till we meet for evermore 
 
 In happier worlds — Farewell — Farewell ! 
 
 THE HYMN OF THE DESERT. 
 
 " Essent solid stato die ante lucem convenire ; carmenque 
 Christo quasi Deo, dicere secum invicem." — Plin. Epist. 
 xcvii. lib. X. 
 
 I. 1. 
 
 O King of mighty birth ! 
 The Meek and Lowly, yet the Eternal Lord ! 
 
 By suffering Saints on earth, 
 By Angel-choirs in highest Heaven adored ! 
 
 The Widow's whispered sigh, 
 The Orphan's plaint, the Mourner's silent prayer. 
 Are upward borne to Thee, and heard on high. 
 
 While Seraphs tremble there.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 287 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 Though exiled from the haunts of men, 
 We dwell in deserts wild and rude ; 
 
 The rugged rocks — the trackless glen — 
 They are not sohtude — 
 
 These crags, by mortal foot untrod, 
 
 Are hallowed by a present God ; 
 
 Thy love the cheerless waste can bless, 
 And rear a temple in the wilderness ! 
 
 II. 1. 
 
 Bend, Mightiest ! from Thy throne, 
 Where Saints with Seraphs swell the raptured 
 strain, 
 Hymning Thy name alone — 
 The Lord of Lords ! the Lamb that once was slain ! 
 
 What though our offering be 
 The contrite tear, the cave our house of prayer. 
 Where Faith ascends, and Sorrow sighs to Thee, 
 Thy choicest Fane is there ! 
 
 11. 2. 
 Yes ! while the votive hymn we raise, 
 
 The immortal spirit soars above ; 
 We kindle into livelier praise. 
 And glow with purer love ! 
 Reign, Saviour ! reign — till every knee 
 Shall bend in suppliant awe to Thee ; 
 Till clime to clime Thy deeds proclaim, 
 And Earth shall echo with Emmanuel's name.
 
 288 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Should some Seraph wing his flight 
 From the reahns of cloudless light ; 
 Earth and ocean soaring over, 
 Where would he delight to hover ? 
 
 II. 
 Not o'er halls of regal pride ; 
 Not o'er fields with carnage dyed ; 
 Where, 'mid shouts in triumph breathing, 
 Fame the Hero's brow is wreathing ; 
 
 III. 
 Not o'er cells of lettered age ; 
 Not o'er haunts of hoary sage ; 
 Not where youthful Poet stealing, 
 Woos the Muse to bright revealing ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not o'er grove or shadowy vale, 
 Where the Lover tells his tale ; 
 And the blush — Love's fondest token, 
 Speaks what words had never spoken ; 
 
 V. 
 
 Not where music's silver sound 
 Wakes the echoes sleeping round ; 
 And with charms as pure as tender, 
 Holds the heart in glad surrender ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 289 
 
 VI. 
 
 O'er the calm sequestered spot, 
 O'er the lone and lowly cot, 
 Where, its little hands enwreathing, 
 Childhood's guileless prayer is breathing ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 While the gentle Mother nigh, 
 Points her daughter's prayer on high, 
 To the God whose goodness gave her, 
 To the God whose love shall save her ; — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There, awhile, the Son of Light 
 Would arrest his rapid flight ; 
 Thence would bear, to Heaven ascending. 
 Prayers with heartfelt praises blending ; 
 
 IX. 
 
 Gladly would he soar above 
 
 With the sacrifice of love ; 
 
 And, through Heaven's expanded portal, 
 
 Bear it to the throne immortal ! 
 
 u
 
 290 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Oh thou Recording Angel ! whose right hand 
 
 On the fixed tablets of Eternity 
 
 Doth grave the fearful list of crimes gone by, 
 Though past, not unremembered ; — and doth brand 
 The workings of each heart, severely scanned 
 
 By Him who knows no darkness — when on high 
 
 His trump shall sound, and rend the conscious 
 sky. 
 In the dread hour of judgment, who shall stand? 
 
 For, oh ! what myriads will thy scroll record 
 Of deeds long buried in Oblivion's shade ; 
 
 Crimes unrepented — follies undeplored — 
 
 Vain thoughts by Man forgotten, though dis- 
 played 
 
 In all their mazes to the Omniscient Lord ; 
 
 The wanderings of a breast bewildered or betrayed ! 
 
 The sti-ife of stormy Passions — the fierce sway 
 Of mad Ambition — the vain thirst of Fame — 
 The insensate striving for an earthly name 
 
 That barters for the glories of a day 
 
 A praise that dies not, crowns that ne'er decay ; — 
 The whispered purpose — the mysterious aim 
 That Fraud could well dissemble or disclaim ; — 
 
 The meditated wrongs that passed away
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 291 
 
 Unripe for action — Feelings long suppressed 
 In solitude and silence — Pride — Despair ; 
 
 Each restless impulse Man would fain invest 
 With specious lustre, and the borrowed glare 
 
 Of unconsenting Virtue — stand confest 
 
 In all their native hue of guilt depicted there. 
 
 Yet, in the destined hour of wrath divine, 
 
 When Truth's broad ray on Man's recoiling eye 
 Shall fiercely flash his own deformity, 
 
 And prove his heart a hell — when Heaven shall 
 shine 
 
 With redder lightnings — will it then be thine 
 To bare thy scroll, and doom the wretch to die, 
 And call the Avenger, from his throne on high. 
 
 The meed of guilt unpardoned to assign ? 
 
 Unfold the scroll ! The fatal page is red — 
 
 Is that the blood of vengeance ? Angel — no ! 
 Thy scroll was cancelled when thy Sovereign bled : 
 Is yon bright form the Avenger ? Mark his brow 
 Deep scarred — his wounded side : — Know, thence 
 
 was shed 
 The guilt-atoning stream — thence peace, life, 
 pardon flow.
 
 292 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 I. 
 
 Farewell ! but not for ever ; 
 The chain of wedded love, 
 Though doomed on earth to sever, 
 Shall yet be linked above : 
 Thy latest words were spoken 
 To save me from despair ; 
 Thy last departing token 
 Foretold a meeting there. 
 
 II. 
 Few were thy days of gladness. 
 Sweet Maid, and quickly gone ! 
 Too soon, in clouds of sadness, 
 Thy sun of Hope went down. 
 Thy soul to Heaven resigning, 
 Thou passedst calm away. 
 In anguish unrepining. 
 And patient 'mid decay. 
 
 III. 
 As silver clouds reposing 
 On Eve's unruffled breast. 
 While twilight shades are closing. 
 Still glimmer in the west : 
 So long shall Memory borrow 
 A lustre from the dead,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 293 
 
 And, o'er a life of sorrow, 
 From thee a radiance shed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For though the path was cheerless 
 And dark, that thou hast trod — 
 Thy soul was firm and fearless. 
 It led thee to thy God. 
 And O, when death is near me, 
 And earthly ties must sever ; 
 Then shall thy last prayer cheer me ! 
 " Farewell ! but not for ever ! " 
 
 THE DEPARTED. 
 
 I. 
 'Tis the sweet hour of eve, when all 
 Is bright above, and calm below ; 
 When, save the hopeless, none recall 
 That earth is but the home of woe. 
 Some look upon the waving grove. 
 Some gaze upon the dark blue sea, 
 Some seek the glistening eye of love ; — 
 / look for thee ! 
 
 II. 
 'Tis twilight, and the plaintive bird 
 Wild warbles through the darkening wood,
 
 294 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And there her sootliing notes are heard 
 
 By those who love still solitude ; 
 
 While others list the jovial cry, 
 
 Far echoing o'er the silent sea, 
 
 Which speaks the homebound vessel nigh ; — 
 
 / list for thee. 
 
 III. 
 Or, if upon the passing crowd 
 I gaze, what bitter thoughts have birth ! 
 But not from laughter long and loud ; — 
 I know the heartlessness of mirth ; 
 But is there one, whose open brow 
 Bespeaks a spirit calm and free ? — 
 Oh ! why should mine be troubled now ? 
 / think of thee ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I, too, can gaze on earth and sea, 
 
 Hear the bird's note, the seaman's voice ; 
 
 But none can whisper peace to me — 
 
 None bid my withered heart rejoice. 
 
 Oh ! when shall calmer thoughts have birth ? 
 
 It hath not been — it cannot be — 
 
 Till thou once more return to earth. 
 
 Or — I to thee !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 295 
 
 A MOTHER'S GRIEF. 
 
 A SKETCH FROM LIFE. 
 I. 
 
 To mark the sufferings of the babe , 
 That cannot speak its woe : 
 To see the infant tears gush forth, 
 Yet know not why they flow ; 
 To meet the meek uplifted eye, 
 That fain would ask relief, 
 Yet can but tell of agony ; — 
 This is a Mother's grief ! 
 II. 
 
 Through dreary days and darker nights 
 
 To trace the march of death ; 
 
 To hear the faint and frequent sigh. 
 
 The quick and shortened breath ; 
 
 To watch the last dread strife draw near. 
 
 And pray that struggle brief. 
 
 Though all is ended with the close ;• — 
 
 This is a Mother's grief! 
 
 HI. 
 
 To see, in one short hour, decayed 
 The hope of future years ; 
 To feel how vain a Father's prayers, 
 How vain a Mother's tears.
 
 296 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 To think the cold grave now must close 
 O'er what was once the chief 
 Of all the treasured joys of earth, — 
 This is a Mother's grief! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet, when the first wild throb is past 
 Of anguish and despair. 
 To lift the eye of faith to heaven, 
 And think, " My child is there!" — 
 This best can dry the gushing tear. 
 This yields the heart relief, 
 Until the Christian's pious hope 
 O'ercomes a Mother's grief 
 
 A FATHER'S GRIEF. 
 
 I. 
 To trace the bright rose, fading fast. 
 From a fair daughter's cheek ; 
 To read upon her pensive brow 
 The fears she will not speak ; 
 To mark that deep and sudden flush. 
 So beautiful and brief, 
 Which tells the progress of decay, — 
 Tins is a Father's grief!
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 297 
 
 IT. 
 
 When languor from her joyless couch 
 Hath scared sweet sleep away, 
 And heaviness, that comes with night. 
 Departs not with the day ; 
 To mark the fond endearing smile, 
 That seeks, with false relief. 
 Awhile to calm his bursting heart, — 
 This is a Father's grief. 
 
 III. 
 To listen where her gentle voice 
 Its welcome music shed, 
 And find within his lonely halls 
 The silence of the dead ; 
 To look unconsciously for her, 
 The chosen and the chief 
 Of earthly joys — and look in vain, — 
 This is a Father's grief. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To stand beside the sufferer's couch, 
 
 While life is ebbing fast ; 
 
 To mark that once illumined eye 
 
 With death's dull film o'ercast ; 
 
 To watch the struggles of the frame 
 
 When earth has no relief, 
 
 And hopes of heaven are breathed in vain, — 
 
 This is a Father's grief. 
 
 V. 
 
 And not when that dread hour is past, 
 And life is pain no more —
 
 298 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Not when the dreary tomb hatli closed 
 
 O'er her so loved before ; 
 
 Not then does kind oblivion come 
 
 To lend his woes relief, 
 
 But with him to the grave he bears 
 
 A Father's rooted grief. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For, oh ! to dry a Mother's tears 
 
 Another babe may bloom ; 
 
 But what remains on earth for him 
 
 Whose last is in the tomb ? 
 
 To think his child is blest above — 
 
 To hope their parting brief. 
 
 These, these may soothe — but death alone 
 
 Can heal a Father's grief. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 I. 
 Oh breathe no more that simple air, — 
 Though soft and sweet thy wild notes swell. 
 To me the only tale they tell 
 
 Is cold despair ! 
 I heard it once from lips as fair, 
 I heard it in as sweet a tone, — 
 Now I am left on earth alone. 
 
 And she is — where ?
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 
 
 II. 
 
 How have those well known sounds renewed 
 The dreams of earlier, happier hours, 
 When life — a desert now — was strewed 
 
 With fairy flowers ! — 
 Then all was bright, and fond, and fair — 
 Now flowers are faded, joys are fled, — 
 And heart, and hope are with die dead, 
 
 For she is — where ? 
 III. 
 Can I then love the air she loved ? 
 Can I then hear the melting strain 
 Which brings her to my soul again 
 
 Calm and unmoved ? — 
 And thou to blame my tears forbear. 
 For while I list, sweet Maid ! to thee, 
 Remembrance whispers, " such was she," 
 
 And she is — where ? 
 
 THE CHOICE OF PAUL. 
 
 Phil. i. 23. 
 
 To die — to live ? Oh, Saviour ! didst Thou give 
 The power to choose, nor I the choice deny, 
 I know it wovdd be only death to live, 
 I know it would be more than life to die.
 
 •300 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Yet, if I live, my life may save another, 
 And, if I die, perchance some erring brother 
 Might perish, whom, unworthy though I be. 
 Thy love designs to save, and save by me. 
 Dying, I know Thou wilt in love receive me ; 
 Living, I know Thou dost in mercy leave me ! 
 Oh then, my Lord ! do Thou this strait decide ; 
 I can but wear the crown which Thou hast won, 
 And where the Lord for many souls hath died, 
 The servant may endure to live for one. 
 
 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Luke xi. S — 15. 
 
 I. 
 The stars are bright o'er yon blue sky. 
 
 The silent Earth is sleeping ; 
 The Queen of Night, enthroned on high, 
 
 Her solemn state is keeping ; 
 Round her full Oi'b, serenely fair. 
 
 The wandering clouds are wreathing ;- 
 And sweetly through the listening air 
 
 Are tones of music breathing. 
 
 II. 
 For while they roam the pastured plain, 
 
 Their flocks unwearied tending ; 
 In chorus wild the shepherd train 
 
 Responsive hymns are blending ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 301 
 
 From royal David's glowing lay 
 
 The glorious theme they borrow ; 
 And while die lingering night away, 
 
 And wait the welcome morrow. 
 III. 
 But, lo ! o'er Heaven's illumined brow 
 
 What sudden light is streaming ; 
 Why fades yon silver Moon, but now 
 
 In perfect glory gleaming ? 
 Instant the voice of song was still ; 
 
 The whispering breeze subsided ; 
 And to each heart the shuddering thrill 
 
 Of speechless horror glided. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But mark ye yon Angelic Form ? — 
 
 Though living light hath crowned Him, — 
 Beneath Him lowers no threatening storm, 
 
 No clouds are wrapped around Him, 
 Though flames descending track His path 
 
 With floods of splendour brightening ; 
 They beam not like the blaze of wrath, 
 
 The red and angry lightning ! 
 
 V. 
 
 And, oh ! that pure benignant smile — 
 
 The pledge of Pity seeming ; 
 Those eyes of heavenly love the while 
 
 With softened lustre beaming ! 
 Hushed, ere He spoke, was every fear. 
 
 And calm the brow of sadness ; 
 Till thus His words on heart and ear 
 
 Came fraught with hope and gladness.
 
 302 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fear ye not, Mortals ! from the skies above 
 I come, the Herald of JEHOVAH'S love ; 
 Love, not to you or Israel's seed confined. 
 But Love to Earth, and Mercy to Mankind. 
 
 Behold ! He comes ! the dearest gift of Heaven ; 
 To you the Child is born — the Son is given ; 
 Deep in your hearts His glorious name record. 
 The Royal Saviour— CHRIST the Eternal Lord. 
 
 Attend the fated sign. 
 And seek the Babe Divine. 
 
 Calm on his Virgin-Mother's breast reclining 
 
 The Lord of life is lowly laid, 
 While o'er his couch the Star of Peace is shining ; 
 Be there your prayers preferred ; your votive 
 homage paid. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He ceased — but, lo ! o'er hill and plain 
 
 A broader blaze is lightening ; 
 Around — above — a countless train 
 
 Of Angel-forms are brightening. 
 No mists their full effulgence veiled. 
 
 No light clouds floated o'er them ; 
 And Heaven sustained — or sight had failed. 
 
 And Nature sunk before them. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And, hark ! what sounds of harmony 
 
 Through night's still shade are breaking ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 303 
 
 Such round the Radiant throne on high, 
 
 The Seraph choirs are waking ; 
 Oh then each eye with tears was dim, 
 
 Eacli heart with transport beating ; 
 As thus they swelled the heavenly hymn, 
 
 In louder strains repeating : 
 
 IX. 
 
 "JEHOVAH! MIGHTIEST! in the highest 
 
 heaven ; 
 To thy dread name be boundless glory given ; 
 Peace shed her beams on earth ! while Mortals 
 
 prove, 
 A Father's pardon, and a Saviour's love." 
 
 THE PROTESTANT'S KYRIE ELEESON. 
 
 God ! whose throne of living light 
 
 Burns beyond the starry sky, 
 Where the hosts of Seraphs bright 
 
 Avert the dazzled eye ; — 
 By a Father's tender name, 
 
 By thine own unchanging Word, 
 By the Saviour's holiest claim, 
 
 " Have mercy on us, Lord ! " 
 
 Thou, in equal Majesty 
 
 Seated on the Father's throne,
 
 304 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Far withdrawn from human eye, 
 Yet still the Incarnate Son ; 
 
 By the scourge, the shame, the scorn, 
 By the blood of ransom poured, 
 
 By the curse for sinners borne, 
 " Have mercy on us, Lord !" 
 
 Thou, who shar'st the Father's Throne, 
 
 Spirit holy, pure, divine; 
 Thou, who with the Incarnate Son 
 
 Dwelt once in mortal shrine ; 
 By the strength to sinners given. 
 
 By the Book, thy victor-sword, 
 By the panoply of Heaven, 
 
 " Have mercy on us. Lord ! " 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy Three ! 
 
 Pure and undivided One ! 
 God in perfect Trinity, 
 
 We pray to Thee alone ! 
 Saviour ! by the Father given. 
 
 Father ! by the Son restored ; 
 Spirit ! Guide from earth to Heaven, 
 
 " Have mercy on us. Lord!"
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 305 
 
 MAN HIS OWN DESTROYER. 
 
 " O Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself; but in me is thine 
 help." — HosEA xiii. 9. 
 
 Thus speak'st Thou, Mighty One— and can it be, 
 Ruined by self, and yet restored by Thee ? 
 Canst Thou be just, and yet my sin forgive ? 
 Canst Thou be true, and yet the sinner live ? 
 Yes — Thou canst pardon, for the debt is paid ; 
 Life springs from the dark grave in which was laid 
 One whom death couldnot vanquish— One who died 
 That man might never die — The Crucified ! 
 Oh ! when the deed of Calvary is undone, 
 When grace is turned to gall, and love to stone. 
 When faith no longer enters heaven by prayer, 
 Then may we read this promise, and despair ! 
 Till then, shall this the suppliant's solace be : 
 Destruction in himself— but help, O Lord, in Thee !
 
 306 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 
 
 " It shall come to pass that, at evening time, it shall be 
 light." — Zechariah xiv. 7. 
 
 " Clouds still are gathering o'er me — and my path 
 Lies onward all in darkness — perils throng 
 My way, and Satan threatens in his wrath. 
 Why tarriest thou. Deliverer ? Lord, how long ? 
 Oh ! how can I endure, or how be strong 
 Save, Lord, in Thee, and in Thy matchless might ; 
 How change my sighing for the Victor's song. 
 Except at evening-time there yet be light?" 
 
 " Fear not, my son," the heavenly Voice replies, 
 " Well hast thou fought, nor hast tliou vainly 
 
 striven ; 
 When gloom is darkest, then shall light arise, 
 When flesh is weakest, then shall strength be given : 
 And if thine eve be one of clouded skies, 
 Thy midnight shall be noon, and that, the Noon 
 
 of Heaven ! " .
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 307 
 
 PSALM XXIV. 
 
 A PSALM OF DAVID. 
 CHORUS. 
 
 1. Eakth, with all her plenteous store, 
 Earth is God's for evermore ; 
 
 And to Him the countless throng 
 Of her peopled climes belong ; 
 
 2. Far within the ocean waste, 
 He her firm foundation placed ; 
 High o'er floods of waters wild. 
 He the mighty fabric piled. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 3. Who shall fix his blest abode. 
 On the holy hill of God ? 
 Who within the hallowed shrine 
 Stand before the King Divine ? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 4. He, whose hands are pure from sin, 
 He, whose soul is pure within ; 
 Clear from falsehood, wild and vain ; 
 Clear from perjured oaths profane. 
 
 5. Mercies shall to him be given ; 
 All the choicest gifts of Heaven ! 
 Him JEHOVAH'S love shall bless 
 With His own pure holiness. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 6. Such are Israel's favoured line, 
 Votaries of a King divine ; 
 God of Jacob ! such will be 
 All who truly turn to thee. 
 
 SEMICHORUS. 
 
 7. Raise your heads, ye gates of Pride ! 
 Ope your portals vast and wide ! 
 Lift your lofty heads on high, 
 Doors of Immortality ; 
 
 And to His eternal home 
 Let the King of Glory come ! 
 
 A SINGLE VOICE. 
 
 8. Who is He, the King renowned? 
 Who with matchless glory crowned ? 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 'Tis JEHOVAH! famed afar! 
 'Tis the Terrible in war ! 
 
 SEMICHORUS. 
 
 9. Raise your heads, ye gates of Pride ! 
 Ope your portals vast and wide ! 
 Lift your lofty heads on high. 
 Doors of Immortality ! 
 
 And to His eternal home 
 Let the King of Glory come I
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 309 
 
 A SINGLE VOICE. 
 
 10. Who is He, the King renowned? 
 Wlio with matchless glory crowned ? 
 
 GRAND CHORUS. 
 
 'Tis the LORD OF HOSTS we sing, 
 He alone is Glory's King. 
 
 PSALM XC. 
 
 PARAPHRASED. 
 A PRAYER OF MOSES, THE MAN OF GOD. 
 
 1. Eternal GOD ! through every age revered, 
 Thy people's refuge, and Thy servants' stay ! 
 
 2. Ere the proud hills their stately summits 
 
 reared, 
 Or Earth sprang forth in all her fair array. 
 Pleased Thy creative mandate to obey — 
 THOU wast ! and art ! and evermore shalt be ! 
 
 3. At thy behest, Man's shadowy tribes decay 
 To their primaeval dust, till Thou decree — 
 
 " Return, ye Sons of Earth !" then rise renewed by 
 Thee. 
 
 4. A thousand years revolving, in Thy sight, 
 Seem but the moments of a day gone by, 
 Or like a transient vigil of the night —
 
 iilO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 5. Thou speak'st — and swift as hurrying floods 
 they fly— 
 Or as the light dream from the sleeper's eye 
 Fades evanescent — or like verdure gay 
 That only springs with morn at eve to die — 
 
 7. Soon as Thine anger kindles, we decay, 
 And in Thy burning wrath are swept from Earth 
 
 away. 
 
 8. Our sins are spread before Thee! from the 
 
 light 
 Of Thy resplendent presence, none can veil 
 
 9. His inmost stains. Our years speed swifter 
 
 flight 
 At Thine indignant frown — till, like a tale, 
 Our fleeting date is ended — and we fail 
 
 10. At threescore years and ten — if lingering on 
 To fourscore summers, what can life avail ? 
 Strength is but sadness, till our race is run. 
 
 And Nature's wasted powers are spent — and we 
 are gone. 
 
 11. But who the terrors of Thy wrath can scan ? 
 Who trace Thy vengeance, Mightiest as Thou 
 
 art! 
 
 12. Oh teach us so to count our narrow span, 
 That Wisdom's voice may fix the wandering 
 
 heart ! 
 
 13. How long! JEHOVAH? when wilt Thou 
 
 impart 
 Thy late-relenting pity from above
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 311 
 
 14. To bless thy servants ? Soon let Mercy dart 
 Her cheering beams, that we Thy flock may 
 
 prove 
 Through all our earthly date the gladness of Thy 
 love. 
 
 15. As in Thy vprath through many a joyless year 
 We pined in sadness, and our doom deplored, 
 So let Thy grace with new-born raptures 
 
 cheer, 
 
 16. Our lightened hearts, and to Thy Saints 
 
 accord, 
 To view the wonders of Tliy hand, O LORD ! 
 
 17. And shew their sons Thy glory. Be Thy love 
 In all its beauty o'er Thy people poured ! 
 And with Thy favour, LORD, our work ap- 
 prove. 
 
 And fix on basis firm, which nought can shake or 
 move. 
 
 PSALM CXXXVIL 
 
 1. By Babylon's proud stream we sate. 
 
 And tears gushed quick from every eye ; 
 When our own Z ion's fallen state, 
 Came rushing on our memory ; 
 
 2. And there, the willow groves among, 
 Sorrowing our silent harps we hung.
 
 312 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 3. For there our Tyrants in their pride 
 
 Bade Judah raise the exulting strain ; 
 And our remorseless Spoilers cried, 
 
 " Come breathe your native hymns again ;" 
 
 4. Oh how, in stranger-climes, can we 
 Pour forth JEHOVAH'S melody? 
 
 5. When thou, loved Zion ! art forgot, 
 
 Let this unworthy hand decay ! 
 
 6. When Salem is remembered not, 
 
 Mute be these guilty lips for aye ! 
 Yea ! if in transport's liveliest thrill 
 Thou, Zion, art not dearer still ? 
 
 6. Think, LORD ! on Edom, and repay 
 
 Her cruel hate with equal woes ; 
 Think, how on Z ion's fatal day 
 
 Her ruthless sons invoked our foes ; 
 Haste ! haste ! the lordly towers o'erthrow, 
 And lay proud Salem's bulwarks low. 
 
 7. Daughter of Babel ! doomed ere long 
 
 The retributive hour to mourn ; 
 
 Blest be the Man, who Z ion's wrong 
 
 Shall on thy guilty head return ; 
 
 8. Blest He, who grasps thy serpent-brood. 
 And dyes the rocks with infant-blood, j U 
 
 U 
 
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