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 >fti|ti:h^^ from §ovt\ ^ut^. 
 Julian m\i <^niviti[%tii 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 LIEUT.-COLONEL WILLIAM READ. 
 
 mente ! che scrivesti cib ch'io vidi 
 Que si parra la tua nobilitate." 
 
 Uante. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1859.
 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Sketches from Dovek Castle 
 
 Jttlian anb Francesca 
 
 Rouge et Noir 
 
 A Dream . 
 
 The Modern Vamptre 
 
 A File for the Snake 
 
 Versailles 
 
 The Giant's Causeway . 
 
 The Cave Hill 
 
 " Trifles Light as Air." 
 
 A Chant 
 
 The Giel and the Dove . 
 
 Tears 
 
 Serenade . 
 
 To Mart on her Fifth Birthday 
 
 To A Friend, on his Marriage 
 
 To Mrs. Mecham . 
 
 To a Beautiful Irishwoman 
 
 To THE Same 
 
 To THE Same 
 
 To the Same 
 
 Beauty's Appeal 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 29 
 79 
 145 
 157 
 167 
 175 
 191 
 197 
 
 211 
 212 
 213 
 214 
 216 
 218 
 220 
 222 
 223 
 225 
 227 
 229
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 To Lola .... 
 
 Violet .... 
 
 To Violet. With a copy of Verses 
 
 Violet .... 
 
 Stanzas .... 
 
 One in a Thousand 
 
 Withered Violets 
 
 Once in a Gloomy Wood 
 
 The Horoscope . 
 
 The Last Time we met . 
 
 To an L^fant 
 
 To General Sir William Napier 
 
 Farewell 
 
 Twilight . . . , 
 
 To a Father, on the Death of his Daughter 
 
 To an Infant 
 
 The Polish Lancer 
 
 To the Memory of Captain 
 
 Fifty-Second Regiment 
 To the Memory of a Friend 
 Lines suggested by a Portrait 
 Epitaph 
 Epigram 
 
 The Zenith Moon 
 The Star . 
 
 Prologue, written for a company of school -boy comedians 
 Farewell to the World .... 
 
 Robert Blackwood, 
 
 page 
 231 
 233 
 234 
 235 
 236 
 238 
 241 
 242 
 244 
 245 
 247 
 248 
 249 
 251 
 253 
 255 
 258 
 
 262 
 265 
 267 
 268 
 268 
 269 
 272 
 274 
 276
 
 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE,
 
 mdxp fram §ovt\\ (|astl^. 
 
 Sketch L 
 
 THE COMING OF THE STORM. 
 
 " Oh ! I have suffered 
 With those that I saw suffer ; a brave vessel, 
 That had, no doubt, some noble creatures m her, 
 Dashed all to pieces ! Oh ! the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perished!" 
 
 Shakspeaiie. 
 
 pOET OF AVON ! never pen like thine 
 
 Could execute a picture in a line ! 
 Here is the test of genius — we behold 
 The stone whose touch at once transmutes to gold, 
 The life-elixir, long insanely sought, 
 Found in the immortality of thought ! 
 
 All with the Reader rests to make or mar — 
 The dull and mantled pool reflects no star ; 
 'VVhile the rapt tarn, that slumbered through the day, 
 Flashes and trembles, giving ray for ray : 
 Mark the analogy of eye and mind — 
 A rainbow hath no beauty for the blind I 
 
 b2
 
 4 SKETCHES FEOM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Sweet the applause that knowledge dare avow, 
 
 For praise is fame, when they who praise know how 
 
 But wo to poetry, no more divine, 
 
 If her transcendent pearls be cast to swine — 
 
 If England's mind forget her ancient reign, 
 
 And fall so low as own no god but gain — 
 
 No lore but where the heavy ledger leans — 
 
 No music but the thunder of machines ! 
 
 For me, I care not ! I disdain the bard 
 Who doth not find his song its own reward : 
 Mine claims none other ; if it win me palms, 
 I take in right of conquest, not as alms ; 
 And, tho' it sink in dull oblivion's stream, 
 It is not lost, for I have had my dream. 
 
 Enough of this ! From Dover's towery steep, 
 High as the sea-hawk soars above the deep. 
 Survey with me the far-expanding view, 
 ^^^lile I unfold a fearful night to you. 
 
 The sun went down — then twilight drew her hood, 
 Dropped with pale stars, and scowling darkness stood 
 Like a dim spectre on the eastern hill, 
 Vestured in clouds, and lingering until 
 Her hour had struck. As yet a summer calm 
 Had bathed the crystal atmosphere in balm : 
 Now came a change : the sobbing gust swept by ; 
 The black wave flung its silver crest on high ;
 
 THE COMING OF THE STOEM. 5 
 
 The sea-mew shriek'd on rapid Avheeling wing : 
 
 The pastured steed looked up, as hearkening 
 
 To the far chase — neighed, started, tossed his head — 
 
 Then, bounding off, gazed fierce and spirited; 
 
 The watch-dog howled, the patient steer drew nigh — 
 
 There was a calm petition in his eye: 
 
 Unsocial birds forsook the wild wood far, 
 
 And pecked and fluttered at the lattice bar : 
 
 Nought breathed untrou.bled. 
 
 Hark ! the ruffian squalls 
 Shake to their base those bastion-circled Avails, 
 Whose towering crown, by time and siege unbowed. 
 Frowns on the deep, and stays the passing cloud. 
 
 How baleful dark ! tho' scarce an hour be gone 
 Since thro' the bright-edged rack, that hurried on. 
 The moon looked out unsullied: while I gazed. 
 Athwart her path the broad sheet-lightning blazed ; 
 And, while that meteor-herald of the gale 
 Winged noiseless on, her crescent broAV grew pale : 
 She heard the rebel deep disown her sway, 
 And, like offended Beauty, turned away, 
 Far from the tempest, tow'rd her place of rest, — • 
 Some silver-lined pavilion in the west. 
 Then swooped the winds that hurl the giant oak 
 From Alpine summits : the wild thunder broke 
 In deep percussive peals, so near that earth 
 Shook as it threatened a volcano's birth ; 
 And, while the angled lightning quivered l)y. 
 Like types of some celestial tongue, the eye
 
 6 SKETCHES FEOM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Recoiled witliin itself, oppressed and awed, 
 As tho' it saw the written wrath of God 
 Illuminate the cloud-leafed book of night 
 In letters of insufferable light ! 
 
 It seemed as Ocean, wearj of repose, 
 With all his storms, in bold rebellion rose 
 To bow that flag, obeyed where'er it veers, 
 That braved his fury for a thousand years. 
 Yet, Ocean ! thou hast been our friend, tho' thus 
 Convulsed with rage, the eye grows tremulous 
 That gazeth on thee — as might one, whose skill 
 Had wrought by spells some Spirit to his will, 
 Start, each dark wish indulged, to find it turn 
 Its wrath upon himself, and fiercely spurn 
 The bondage it had brooked ! Thy mighty arm 
 Was stretched between us and the locust swarm 
 That made all earth an Egypt: — our ally. 
 When none beside was ours, — and destiny 
 Had doomed us Ishmael's lot, opposing thus 
 Our hand to all, and every hand to us. 
 And thou hast borne us through — triumphant borne- 
 The sun of glory spotless and unshorn ! 
 Those days of strife, but not their memory, cease, 
 And all, save thou, dread Power ! repose in peace : 
 Alas ! ere ebbs this barrier-trampling tide. 
 The throb of many a temple shall subside ; 
 And beating hearts, that sicken at thy roar, 
 Be hushed to rest, and palpitate no more !
 
 THE COMING OF THE STORM. 7 
 
 Now faint and far comes on the wail of death — 
 Heard as the tempest seems to pause for breath ; 
 And now the sheeted leven flares upon 
 A crowded deck, that idly hopes to shun 
 Those ambush'd rocks o'er which the breakers rave — 
 A crash — a shriek — the ocean is their grave ! 
 Would that one victim might appease the blast — 
 Ah, no ! the cry of death is deepening fast: 
 And minute guns, above the surging swell, 
 Boom on the gale the seaman's passing bell ! 
 
 Sped by her fate, a gallant ship drew near — 
 The signal gun flashed frequent from her tier — 
 She struck, and staggered, in her mid career ; 
 Then, swift as thought, her fragments strewed the 
 
 spray. 
 As some enchanted castle melts away. 
 
 On board yon bark, contending with the might 
 Of evil stars, breathes one whose soul was bright 
 At evening's close, to mark the little space 
 That but delayed affection's sweet embrace : 
 And now he rolls his aching eyeballs round, 
 And meets but death — the drowning and the drown'd. 
 Five years had fled since, yet a stripling, he 
 Embarked for golden lands beyond the sea; 
 And left behind a fair and gentle maid 
 To count the wistful hours with hope delayed. 
 He loved, was loved, and yet his lot was sad — 
 For love, alas ! was all the wealth he had !
 
 8 SKETCHES FEOM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 And so he sailed, with spirit unsubdued, 
 To seek and conquer Fortune, if he could : 
 And oft, when far, such dreams as hope embalms 
 Beneath the silver gloom of moonlight palms 
 Came to his couch, the tropic stars above, 
 And gave the exile back his home and love: 
 And now, returned triumphant, past mishap, 
 He comes to pour his gold in Beauty's lap ! 
 Pale hostage of the waves ! this morning's sun 
 Revealed the cliffs his thoughts had dwelt upon 
 Thro' banished years; and bade, all peril past. 
 The warm heart hail its native hills at last ! 
 As fair to-morrow's sun those hills may greet — 
 But then the surf shall be his winding-sheet: 
 Yet fond fair arms shall yield the clasp he sought- 
 Ay, wildly clasp — and he shall heed them not ! 
 
 Sketch II. 
 THE PROGRESS OF THE STORM. 
 
 " Not a soul 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and played 
 Some trick of desperation."— Shakspeare. 
 
 How many now are pondering o'er the lot 
 Of friends afar, unthought of, half-forgot, 
 Till this compassion-waking moment brings 
 Their image back, with all their sufferings !
 
 THE PEOGRESS OF THE STORM. 
 
 The haughty maid recalls the youth she drove 
 
 To seek a grave for ill-requited love : 
 
 Sees all the worth she would not see before, 
 
 And bears in turn the agony he bore. 
 
 A father calls the outcast boy to mind 
 
 His harshness forced to brave the waves and wind ; 
 
 Alas ! too late compunction wrings his breast — 
 
 His child hath rested where the weary rest ! 
 
 Yes, tho' while present those we love may err, 
 Or we believe so — tho' the mind prefer 
 A stranger at the moment, for some boon 
 Of nature, or of chance, that falls in tune 
 With passing humour — like the tulip's dye 
 Dimmed by familiar handling, — presently 
 His gloss is gone : and then our thoughts recall 
 Worth overlooked, and let each failing fall 
 To deep oblivion : yes, the sun that parted 
 In clouds toill shine when we are kinder hearted ! 
 And absence softens hearts ; and time hath power 
 To clear those clouds that stained a peevish hour ; 
 Call recollections from their pensive gloom, 
 The loved, the wronged, like spirits from the tomb, 
 Accusing us with smiles! Oh ! this should move 
 The soul to those it loves, or ought to love — 
 'Twould bar reproach! Yet 'tis not always fair 
 To read the bosom thro' the eye, for there 
 A sleepless, an untold-of worm may lurk, 
 And do, altho' it 'plain not, deadly work :
 
 10 SKETCHES FEOM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 And make men seem unkind to those whom heaven 
 Hath heard them plead for, when the heart was riven 
 With its own grief. If such are breathing, sure 
 This is not life — they live not — they endure — 
 And, were there not a world beyond this scene, 
 Than thus to be, 'twere better not have been I 
 
 None know the power whereAvith the tempest speaks, 
 Who hath not heard the thunder when it shrieks — 
 Expressing, while it rends the affrighted sky, 
 An agony of which a god might die ! 
 Flash courses flash — the war-ship's mast is shivered. 
 Smote by the cloud-sped bolt that o'er it quivered. 
 A broader flame the midnight blackness broke, — 
 Her magazine receives the thunder-stroke ; 
 And fires that vault which stars no longer pave, 
 As tho' a sun were bursting from the wave — 
 No gradual daybreak — sudden noon appeared, 
 Like some wild error of an orb unsphered ! 
 Bewildering, giddy glare! the echoes reel 
 From cliff to cliff, replying to the peal 
 That red explosion rang along the sky : 
 It seemed as if its cloud-voiced potency 
 Surprised the rocks to utterance ; the bay 
 Heaved liquid flame beneath the ghastly ray 
 Whose dawn was death: and some, who cursed the 
 
 night, 
 Hid their pale eyes from that appalling light!
 
 THE PROGKESS OF THE STORM. 11 
 
 The storm relents not — as the tiger's mood 
 Becomes bloodthirsty by the taste of blood, 
 It growls for other victims. Hast thou been 
 The near spectator of a shipwreck scene ? 
 Heard the unanswered cry of sore distress ? 
 Marked the strong throe of drowning eagerness ? 
 The body maddened by the spirit's pain ? 
 The wild, wild working of the breast and brain ? 
 The haggard eye, that, horror-widened, sees 
 Death take the start of sorrow or disease ? 
 For such were heard and seen — so close at hand, 
 A cable's length had reached them from the land : 
 Yet, farther off than ocean ever bore — 
 Eternity between them and the shore! 
 Some sought the beach with many a sob and strain, 
 But felt each sinew fettered by a chai-n 
 That dragged them writhing down : an unseen hand 
 Buoyed others up, and cast them on the land — 
 Miraculously saved ! a few were there 
 Who prayed with fervent and confiding prayer — 
 Alas, too few ! the many still would cling 
 To toil and tears — to life and suffering ; 
 And some, whose anguish might not brook to wait 
 Their shunless doom, plunged headlong to their fate: 
 Yet nature struggled to the last thick gasp: 
 It was a misery to see them grasp 
 The sliding wave, and clench the hand, and toil 
 Like a spent eagle in the whirlwind's coil — 
 Till, dashed against some floating spar or mast, 
 On Ocean's rocking couch they slept at last !
 
 12 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Pale, panic-struck, a youth falls prostrate, reft 
 Of senses that had maddened Avere they left: 
 The hardened fool, whose life of enterprise 
 Long verged on death, in drunken frenzy dies : 
 And helpless woman's wail upon the wave 
 Pleads at the heart that yearns in vain to save ! 
 And there was one, in hopelessness of soul. 
 Who pined at heart to reach the destined goal : 
 Yes, long had spurned the load of life unawed, 
 But would not rush uncalled before his God ! • 
 Or, haply, pride that trembled at a stain — 
 Or, haply, love for those he would not pain — 
 Had moved to give the fatal purpose up, 
 Unedged the steel, or spilled the poisoned cup ; 
 And now he hails that rest so long denied. 
 And 'scapes, perchance, the curse of suicide. 
 
 A crowded skiff was labouring for the land : 
 The wreck they fled drove mastless and unmanned : 
 Bold the attempt, but fruitless to elude 
 The swiftly rolling billows that pursued : 
 Their keel just rubbed the sand, but failed to reach, 
 Ere mountain waves broke o'er them on the beach, 
 And dashed them to the earth — they rise — they spring, 
 Vain as the wounded plover's fluttering : 
 For, ah ! as if some sea- fiend mocked their toil. 
 The black wave caught them in its swift recoil ! 
 
 One youth was left : The lightning, as it sped, 
 Showed those who baulk the sea-dog of the dead
 
 THE PROGEESS OF THE STORM. 13 
 
 Fling fortli the line lie shivering grasped ; and now, 
 While some shade back the tangle from his broAv, 
 An age-worn man that freezing eye surveys, 
 Where life late played, alas, no longer plays ! 
 Smites his scathed breast, and cries in tones that speak 
 The heart's last burst of anguish ere it break — 
 " How have I sighed to hail thy wanderings done. 
 And meet we thus, at last, my son ! my son ! " 
 
 Sketch III. 
 
 THE INDIAMAN. 
 
 " How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed barque puts from her native bay, 
 Hugged and embraced by the strumpet wind : 
 How like the prodigal doth she retiirn 
 With overweathered ribs and tattered sails, 
 Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind ! " 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 An anxious, lingering, stormy voyage past, 
 An Indiaman hailed Dover cliffs at last : 
 Arrested on her course by adverse gales, 
 The gallant ship awhile must furl her sails : 
 Moored in the roads, her mighty pinions close 
 Like some far-flying bird that seeks repose ; 
 While, crowding on the deck, a hundred eyes. 
 Turned shoreward, flash with pleasure and surprise.
 
 14 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 That eve tliey anchored, from th' horizon's hem 
 
 The virgin Moon, as if to welcome them, 
 
 Rose from her couch, but would no more reveal 
 
 Than the faint outline of her pale profile : 
 
 Tho' soon, as maids forego their fears, she gave 
 
 Her orbed brow to kiss the wanton wave : 
 
 Till, like a scornful lover, haught with pride, 
 
 Because too fondly loved to be denied, 
 
 The rude wave spurned her back into her cloud: 
 
 Then came the blast that screamed thro' sail and shroud, 
 
 The live-long night, on which my harp is dwelling. 
 
 Meanwhile, the swarthy crew, each care dispelling, 
 
 Had sported thrice three summers' suns away. 
 
 Since they cast anchor in that tranquil bay. 
 
 Oh ! none but Fortune's stepsons, doomed to roam 
 
 The deep, can prize a harbour and a home: 
 
 The temperate breeze their sun-burnt temples blessing, 
 
 A native shore their gladdened eyes refreshing. 
 
 The painted pinnace dancing from the land, 
 
 Freighted with friends ; the pressure of the hand 
 
 Whose pulse throbb'd happy seconds : the warm gush 
 
 Of blood into the cheek, as it would rush 
 
 With the heart's welcome, ere the tongue could half 
 
 Perform its office — feeling's telegraph ! 
 
 Impassioned smiles and tears of rapture starting — 
 
 Oh ! how unlike the tears that fell at parting ! 
 
 And all were theirs, that good ship's gallant crew, 
 
 As tho' each joy by absence rendered due 
 
 Were paid in one bright moment : such are known 
 
 To those long severed, loving, loved, alone !
 
 THE mOIAMAN. 15 
 
 A gorgeous freight that broad- sailed vessel bore — 
 The blazing diamond and the blushing ore : 
 Spices that sighed their incense till the sails 
 Were fanned along on aromatic gales : 
 Tissues that rivalled rainbows in their bloom ; 
 And priceless shawls from Cashmere's tribute loom ! 
 No wonder, then, with such a freight, if he 
 Who there is chief should look exultingly 
 Back on the storms he baffled, and should know 
 The bosom's warmest, wildest overflow, 
 While gazing on the land that laughed before him, 
 The smooth sea round, the blue pavilion o'er him: 
 Yet felt he more than ever sprang from these, 
 For Love demanded deeper sympathies : 
 And long, in lonely bower, had sighed for him 
 A fond fair bride, whose infant cherubim. 
 Oft spirit-clouded, from their pastime crept, 
 To weep beside their mother while she wept : 
 But oh I they met at last, and such sweet days 
 Already proved as leave a light that plays 
 On memory when their golden warmth is gone — 
 The fount thus treasures sunbeams, and shines on 
 Thro' dusk and darkness : like some happy mother, 
 Joy marked the hours pursuing one another — 
 A wreath of buoyant angels — and, as they 
 Wheeled laughing round, oft sighed to make them 
 stay ! 
 
 This was a day of banquetting on board. 
 And swan-winged barques, and barges many-oared,
 
 16 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Came crowded to the feast; the young, the gay, 
 
 The beautiful were there : right merrily 
 
 The pleasure-boat glides onward, with swift prow 
 
 The green waves cleaving till they foam like snow, 
 
 Or, dashing brightly into diamond spray, 
 
 In momentary rainbows melt away : 
 
 The ship is won ; the silken chair is lower'd — 
 
 Exulting youth and beauty bound on board ; 
 
 And, while they wondering gaze on sail and shroud, 
 
 The flag floats o'er them like a crimson cloud — 
 
 Victoria's flag, triumphantly unfui'led, 
 
 That flings its shadow over half the world ! 
 
 Joy throbbed in each young heart — from Persia's loom 
 
 An ample awning spread its purple bloom 
 
 To canopy the guests : and vases, wreathed 
 
 With deep-hued flowers and foliage, sweetly breathed 
 
 Their perfume, fresh as when the south-west blows 
 
 Thro' labyrinths of violet and rose ; 
 
 Enchanting tones, like spirits on the wing, 
 
 Were heard and felt around them hovering: 
 
 Some magic seemed to rule the joyous hour — 
 
 The wand-struck deck became a floating bower — 
 
 A wilderness of lilies and of roses, 
 
 Just such as Love would choose when he reposes : 
 
 Whate'er was best of beautiful or rare. 
 
 Of England or the Orient, flourished there : 
 
 Bright ofispring of the sunbeam and the calm — 
 
 The oak-branch intertwining with the palm — 
 
 The pendent orange, from a lush of leaves. 
 
 Shone like Hesperian gold : and, tied in sheaves,
 
 THE INDIAMAN. 17 
 
 As bright a blossom as the dew-drop wets, 
 Carnations waved their triple coronets : 
 And clustered grapes looked down thro' deep festoons : 
 And shells were scattered round that Indian moons 
 Had sheeted with the silver of their beams : 
 And fairer forms than poets see in dreams 
 Gave life and beauty to the laughing scene — 
 With eyes like heaven — as blue and as serene. 
 
 Eve darkened down, and yet they were not gone — 
 The sky had changed, the sudden storm came on : 
 A lavish banquet strewed the festive board — 
 Each luxury that land and sea afford : 
 The cloud may frown, the wave may chafe — in vain ! 
 What care they while they quaff their iced cham- 
 ** pagne ? 
 The song, the jest, the laugh, the whispered vow, 
 The wild delight, are all they think of now ! 
 One madly waved on high a sparkling bowl — 
 Youth, passion, wine ran riot in his soul : 
 " Fill to the brim !" he cried, " let others peer 
 Their doubtful way to heaven ; my heaven is here ! 
 This hour is mine — and who can dash its bliss ? 
 Fate dare not darken such an hour as this I " 
 Then stooped to quaff — but, as a charm were thrown. 
 His hand, his lip grew motionless as stone: 
 The drunkenness of his heart no more deceived — 
 The thunder pealed, the surge-smote vessel heaved; 
 And, while aghast he stared, a hurrying squall 
 Rent the wide awning, and discovered all :
 
 18 SKETCHES EEOM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Athwart tlieir eyes the arrowy lightning blazed — 
 The black wave burst beside thena as they gazed : 
 And dizzily the thick surf scattered o'er them — 
 And dim and distant loomed the land before them ; 
 No longer firm — th' eternal hills did leave 
 Their solid rest, and heaved, or seemed to heave ! 
 It was an awful moment — for the crew 
 Had rashly, deeply drunk, while yet they knew 
 No ruling eye was on them, and became 
 Wild as the tempest ! peril could not tame — 
 Nay, stirred their brutal hearts to more excess : 
 Round the deserted banquet-board they press. 
 Like men transformed to fiends, with oath and yell. 
 And many deemed the sea less terrible 
 Than maniacs fiercely ripe for all, or aught, 
 That ever flashed upon a desperate thought : 
 Strange laughter mingled with the shriek and groan ; 
 Nor woman shrank, nor woman wept alone: 
 Some, as a bolt had struck them, fell — and some 
 Stared haggard wild : dismay had struck them dumb : 
 There were of firmer nerve, or fiercer cast. 
 Who scowled defiance back upon the blast: 
 Less fierce, but not less firm, while many quail, 
 Were those who felt, even then, the heart prevail ; 
 Forgetting self, surrounded by distress, 
 As angels do — and such are little less — 
 They spoke of hope to hearts with anguish riven — 
 And, when hope sighed farewell, they spoke of heaven !
 
 THE INDIAMAN. 19 
 
 That hour to manlj breasts fair forms were drawn, 
 Whose virgin eyes had never shed their dawn 
 Before — soft, beautifully shy — to flush 
 A lover's hope : but, as the dove will rush 
 Into the schoolboy's bosom to elude 
 The swooping falcon, woman, fear-subdued, 
 Will cling to those she shunned in lighter mood, — 
 The soul confess sensations long concealed. 
 Pure, glowing, deep, tho' timidly revealed — 
 That true chamelion which imbibes the tone 
 Of every passion-hue she pauses on : 
 It is the cheek that's false — so subtly taught. 
 It seldom takes its colour from the thought: 
 But, like volcanic mountains veiled in snow. 
 Hides the heart's lava while it burns below. 
 And there were two who loved, but never told 
 Their love to one another: years had rolled 
 Since passion touched them with his purple wing, 
 Tho' still their youth was in its blossoming. 
 Lofty of souJ, as riches were denied, 
 He deemed it mean to woo a wealthy bride : 
 And (for her tears were secret) coldly she 
 Wreathed her fair brow in maiden dignity : 
 Yet, each had caught the other's eye reposing. 
 And far as eyes disclose, the truth disclosing; 
 But, when they met, pride checked the rising sigh, 
 And froze the melting spirit of the eye, — 
 A pride in vulgar minds that never shone — 
 And thus they loved, and silently loved on. 
 
 c2
 
 20 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 But this was not a moment when the head 
 
 Could trifle with the heart ! the cloud that spread 
 
 Its chilling veil between them now had past — 
 
 Too long awaking — but they woke at last ! 
 
 He rushed where clung the fainting beauty — sought 
 
 To soothe with hope he felt not, cherished not : 
 
 And, while in passionate support he press'd, 
 
 She raised her eyes, and straightway on his breast 
 
 Hid her blanched cheek — as if resigned to share 
 
 The worst with him — nay, die contented there ! 
 
 That silent act was fondly eloquent: 
 
 And to the lover's soul like lightning sent 
 
 A flash of rapture — exquisite, but brief 
 
 As his, poor wretch I who, in the depth of grief, 
 
 Feels fortune's sun burst on him, and looks up 
 
 With hope to heaven ; forgetful of the cup. 
 
 The deadly cup his shivering hand yet strained — 
 
 A hot heart-pang reminds him — it is drained ! 
 
 Away with words ! for, when had true love ever 
 
 A happy star to bless it ? never ! never ! 
 
 And ah ! the brightest after-smile of fate 
 
 Is like a sad reprieve, that comes — too late ! 
 
 The riot-shout pealed on, but deep distress 
 Had sunk all else in utter hopelessness : 
 One marked the strife of frenzy and despair. 
 The most concerned, and yet the calmest there, — 
 In bitterness of soul beheld his crew — 
 He should have known them, and he thought he knew
 
 THE mCIAMAN. 21 
 
 The bloodhound on the leash may fawn, obey : 
 He'U rend you if you cross him at his prey ! 
 One only trust remains — a doubtful one — 
 But oh ! how cherished, every other gone : 
 " While hold our cables, fear not ! " As he spoke 
 A sea burst o'er them, and their cables broke ! 
 Then, like a tiger bounding from the toil, 
 The ship shot thro' the billows' black recoil : 
 Urged by the howling blast, all guidance gone, 
 They felt her shuddering, rushing, reeling on. 
 Nor dared to question where, nor dared to cast 
 One asking look — for that might be their last ! 
 
 What frowns so steep in front ? a cliff — a rock ? 
 The groaning vessel staggers in the shock ! 
 The last shriek rings — hark ! whence that voice they 
 Loud o'er the rushing waters — loud and near ? [hear, 
 Alas, they dream ! 'tis but the ocean roar — 
 Oh, heaven ! it echoes from the crowded shore ! 
 Yes, heaven's right hand was there ! with swelling bound 
 The wild waves heaved the mighty hull aground : 
 And, ebbing with the turning tide, became. 
 Like dying monsters, impotent and tame : 
 Wedged in the sand, their chafing can no more 
 Than lave her sides, and deaden with their roar 
 One long wild burst of joy! but some were there 
 Whose joy was voiceless as their late despair : 
 Whose heavenward eyes, clasped hands, and tear-wet 
 
 cheek 
 Spoke with more eloquence than tongue can speak.
 
 22 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Oh ! he were heartless in that trying hour 
 Who did not feel that weakness hath its power, 
 When lovely woman, softened and subdued, 
 Breathed forth her vow of holy gratitude — 
 Deep as the contrite Mary's when forgiv'n — 
 An angel smiled recording it in heaven ! 
 
 Sketch IV. 
 
 THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 " He is dead and gone, lady; 
 He is dead and gone ! 
 At his feet a grass-green ttirf, 
 
 At his head a stone ! " Shakspeare, 
 
 'Tis midnight — eyeless darkness, like a blind 
 And haggard witch, with power to loose and bind 
 The spirits of the elements at will. 
 Draws her foul cloak across the stars, until 
 The demons she invoked to vex the waves 
 Have dived and hid them in their ocean caves. 
 And they are fled : tho' still the mighty heart 
 Of Nature throbs : and now that hag doth start — 
 Her swarth cheek turning pale in bitter spite, 
 For thro' her brow she feels the cold moonlight 
 Shoot like a pain, as on a western hill 
 The setting planet of the night stood still. 
 Just parted from a cloud. No more the blast 
 Wailed like a naked spirit rushing past.
 
 THE MORXIXG AFTER THE STORM. 23 
 
 As tho' it sought a resting-place iu vain : 
 The storm is lulled ; and yet it is a pain 
 To tell what wreck and ruin strewed the shore — 
 Each wave its freight of death or damage bore: 
 Here, stained and torn, a royal flag was cast ; 
 There lay a broken helm, a shattered mast : 
 And ah ! the saddest relic of the storm, 
 Yon billow bears a seaman's lifeless form ! 
 
 'Tis morn — the waning mists, Avith shadowy sweep, 
 Draw their cold curtains slowly from the deep ; 
 And Shakspeare's Cliff, against a weeping cloud, 
 Looms like some giant spectre iu its shroud : 
 'Tis morn — but gladness comes not with h^r ray — 
 The bright and breathing scene of yesterday 
 Is gone, as if that swift consuming wing 
 Had brushed the deep, which smote Assyria's king, 
 A nd left his host like sere leaves withering : 
 The sea swells full, but smooth — so passion's thrill, 
 Tho' spent her tempest, heaves the young heart still 
 And blackness slumbers o'er it : rent and bare, 
 Some desolate hull, forsaken in despair, 
 Drives idly, like a friendless outcast thing 
 That still survives the world's abandoning : 
 Where be her sails ? her serried tiers' display ? 
 Her helm ? her wide flag's emblemed blazonry ? 
 Her crew of fiery spirits — where are they ? 
 
 Far scattered groups, dejected, hurried, tread 
 The beach in silence, where the shipwrecked dead
 
 24 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Lie stiff and stained: among them, humbling thought! 
 They seek their friends, yet shrink from what they 
 As on some corse the eye recoiling fell, [sought, 
 
 Tho' livid, swoln, but recognized too well ! 
 
 Disturbed in spirit — beautiful, but pale, 
 With unbound tresses streaming on the gale, 
 Her hand pressed hard against her throbbing heart, 
 Her eye dilated, and her lips apart, 
 A maiden hurried on: athwart her way. 
 As tho' he slept, a lifeless sailor lay: 
 She paused, and gazed a moment — shuddered — sank 
 Beside that victim on the Avave- washed bank: 
 Bent quivering lips to press his haggard cheek — 
 But started backward with a loathing shriek ! 
 Fond wretch ! thy half-averted eyes discover 
 The cold and bloodless aspect of thy lover ! 
 Their tale is brief The youth was one of those 
 Who spurn the thought of safety or repose 
 When peril stalks the deep: where'er displayed, 
 The flag that sues for succour hath their aid — 
 Foeman or friend alike — no pausing then 
 To question who implore them — they are men ! 
 A noble race : and, tho' but little known, 
 A race that England should be proud to own ! 
 He, with a few as generously brave, 
 Had heard the death-wail rising from the wave. 
 And, in an ill-starred moment, sought to save : 
 Their life-boat reached the foundering ship — her crew 
 With greedy haste secured the coil they threw —
 
 THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM. 25 
 
 And, in the wild avidity for life, 
 Rushed reeling in — alas ! that fatal strife 
 Hath sealed their doom: the flashing billows roar 
 Above their heads — one pang, and all was o'er ! 
 
 He did not love unloved — for she who press'd 
 His clay-cold hand so madly to her breast 
 Believed his vows, and, but for Fortune's scorn, 
 Young love had smiled on this their bridal morn. 
 Alas ! his years are few who hath not felt 
 That, while we grasp, the rainbow bliss will melt ; 
 That hopes, like clouds that gleam across the moon. 
 Soon pass away, and lose their light as soon; 
 The weltering mass she folds, but yesternight 
 Looked hope and health — that rayless eye was bright: 
 And she, whose cheek the rose of rapture spread 
 Eaves now a maniac — 'widowed tho' unwed : 
 And reckless wanderings take the place of wo — 
 She fancies joys that glow not, nor can glow : 
 Breathes in a visionary world, and weaves 
 Her web of bliss — scarce falser than deceives 
 The world's most wise — oft sings and weeps ; and now 
 She twines a sea-weed garland for her brow, 
 And tells you 'tis her marriage wreath ! Meanwhile 
 Her calm vague look will dawn into a smile, 
 As something met her eye none else should see : 
 Anon she wrings her hands imploringly. 
 To sue its stay — with wilder gesture turns. 
 And clasps her head, and cries, " It Imrns ! it burns 1"
 
 26 SKETCHES FROM DOVER CASTLE. 
 
 Yet shakes as if her heart were ice ! 
 
 Not long 
 The soul — the frame — could brook such bitter wrong 
 Beside her lover's that distracted head 
 Rests cold and calm — the grave their bridal bed !
 
 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 |n fix (l|iiittos. 
 
 " Give smiles to those who love thee less ; 
 But keep by tears for me ! " — Moore.
 
 Julinn and ^pixma. 
 
 Canto I. 
 THE DUEL. 
 
 "POSA! 'twas one of those autumnal eves 
 
 When heaven vouchsafes to earth her lovehest look : 
 
 The greenwood's sun-touched wilderness of leaves, 
 And cloud, and mountain scalp, and castle took 
 Their colour from the west — bright gold ! The brook 
 
 Rippled in gold: the great oak branching o'er 
 Was golden-barked: 'twas gold the cygnet shook 
 
 From her white wing: and Strangford's blue lake wore 
 
 A belt of quivering gold from shore to placid shore ! 
 
 Yet, yet the broad sun lingered on the gaze 
 
 Dilated ; slanting ever as he went 
 Intenser glory from his throne of rays, 
 
 Till, like some warrior king, he won his tent, — 
 
 A purple cloud that warped the Occident: 
 Earth faded now ; tho' heaven still was bright 
 
 With hues that blushed until the young moon bent 
 Her dewy crescent on the brow of night. 
 Which wore a dusky smile beneath that chrysolite !
 
 30 JULIAN AND FEANCESCA. 
 
 Such was the eve, sweet girl ! we gazed upon 
 When thou recountedst o'er that tale of wo 
 
 Which oft, in other lands, a setting sun 
 Hath summoned like a talisman; altho' 
 Gone hope, and grief that bade the heart o'erflow. 
 
 Be since forgot, and tears that fell in vain ; — 
 And with it rose thine image like the bow 
 
 That bathes its colours in the summer rain, 
 
 Thou Iris of my heart, whose smile wakes hope again ! 
 
 At length one bright eve in a Tuscan bower 
 
 I took my lute, and swept, exultingly, 
 The startled chords — for oh ! I knew the power 
 
 Of slighted song was hovering over me, 
 
 And felt its pulse in every artery ! 
 I took my lute, and to its preluding 
 
 Unrolled the pictured scroll of memory ; 
 And found, mid many a far and favourite thing, 
 That unforgotten tale of true love sorrowing. 
 
 A spell was on me ! No, I could not choose 
 But weave that touching story into song : 
 
 And if its sad and simple beauty lose 
 
 Much of the grace it borrowed from thy tongue, 
 And if sometimes a careless note be rung 
 
 Where passion listened for her holiest tone. 
 Star of my path ! forgive — forgive the wrong : 
 
 If there be aught of beauty, 'tis thine own — 
 
 Thy fair hand culled the flowers — I twined the wreath 
 alone !
 
 THE DUEL. 31 
 
 Fast by the Arno rose a princely hall 
 
 That echoed to the banquet and the ball : 
 
 And music's golden tongue flowed clear and full, 
 
 While, crowding thro' the marble vestibule, 
 
 Starred breasts, and foreheads bright with gem and 
 
 plume, 
 Valour's bold front, and beauty's winning bloom, 
 Pressed onward to the picture-roofed saloons, 
 Along whose sculptured mouldings ran festoons, 
 Rose-looped to each pilaster's leafy plinth, 
 Night-blooming cereus, myrtle, hyacinth, 
 With many a blossom in the rainbow dyed : 
 While large and lofty mirrors multiplied 
 A line of crystal lustres, sparkling far 
 As glance could follow — star succeeding star. 
 Beneath were forms of power, and looks of light : 
 The chivalry of Florence met that night — 
 The young, the brave, the fair — to celebrate 
 Some triumph of the yet unsceptred state. 
 
 Francesca, with her sire, was there : and one 
 Stood by her side she looked not fondly on : 
 But turned away her fine tho' languid eye ; 
 And, if she spoke, 'twas but a chill reply 
 To passionate words as ever tuned a tongue — 
 Yet she must listen tho' her heart be wrung : 
 For, with her sire's consent. Count Paulo paid 
 His homage to the pale reluctant maid. 
 Once she had ventured on a frank appeal, 
 Such as had moved a generous heart to feel :
 
 32 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 She could not love, she said, but, if he would, 
 Her prayers were his — her tears — her gratitude ! 
 But, finding this last hope betray her trust. 
 Indifference was followed by disgust ; 
 She might not shun, but heard his cruel suit 
 Cold as the moonlit statue, and as mute : 
 Her deep blue eyes, when turned perforce on him, 
 Drew in their rays, and waxed that moment dim : 
 And, if he touched her hand, the pulse that late 
 ]\Iarked the heart's music ceased to verberate. 
 As for her sire. Count Tancred, she might read 
 In his stern brow how vain it was to plead : 
 Paulo was of his faction in the state. 
 And held a magnate's rank among the great: 
 The count and he had battled side by side. 
 Their broad lands met, their houses were allied: 
 The poor heart went for nothing — for the rest. 
 He best could tell what ought to make her blest : 
 Nor ever dreamed Francesca could demur ; — 
 He knew her not — the heart was all to her I 
 
 Oh, she was fair ! tho' some perchance might be 
 Whose eyes had rivalled hers in brilliancy : 
 And some whose tresses, 'mid the braiding pearls. 
 Looked scarce less black beside her raven curls : 
 As finely moulded forms, a foot as small, 
 Some voice on earth, perhaps, as musical: 
 Yet whoso lieard it once, when years had flown, 
 Would muse on its inimitable tone:
 
 THE DUEL. 33 
 
 Each cliarm in others held a settled place ; 
 Francesca's was that universal grace 
 Which shed its light around her like the sun ; 
 None else could claim its varying magic — none — 
 Tho' Love, 'twas said, had then his favourite shrine 
 -Among the youth and beauty Florentine. 
 
 And she was young — scarce sixteen summers yet 
 Had crowned her brow with beauty's coronet: 
 And youth delights its own wild bliss to paint; 
 And love was still a rebel to constraint: 
 Each act was impulse ; but, tho' warm, tho' wild. 
 That impulse rather guided than beguiled : 
 For, where the gross and grovelling slaves of sense 
 Err from their will's spontaneous influence, 
 Her finer nature, needless of a rule. 
 Chose its own sphere, the pure, the beautiful ! 
 
 A line of statues graced that gorgeous hall ; 
 And, leaning 'gainst Petrarcha's pedestal, 
 A dark-eyed stripling stood, whose ardent glance 
 Grew on Francesca's grief-touched countenance, 
 Wliich, in its calm dejection, sought the earth, 
 Regardless of the music and the mirth : 
 Tho' deep the lash that fringed her orbs of blue. 
 The light beneath would sometimes sparkle thro' : 
 And then his pulse beat quicker, and his gaze 
 Flashed forth to meet those intermitting rays 
 That aye upon the figured floor were cast : 
 He left the Poet's statue — as he pass'd 
 
 D
 
 34 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 She raised her brow — shook back her braids of jet — 
 Love clapped his wings — her eyes and Julian's met ! 
 Oh ! it is Love's own triumph when such eyes, 
 Thus meeting, take each other by surprise : 
 At one bright stroke, soul, feature, form, impart, 
 And stamp a living medal of each heart. 
 Struck by the deep, unerring die of fate, 
 The boy-god's conquest to commemorate ! 
 
 They looked — they loved ! the soul's dim night is done, 
 And they may breathe a moment in the sun : 
 The hand's faint touch, united in the dance, 
 Hath ratified the treaty of the glance — 
 So faint that love's fine nerve alone had felt, 
 Yet warm enough to make the spirit melt: 
 The whisper followed only one must hear. 
 That leaves its thrilling music in the ear, 
 Tho' long the liquid words have ceased to gush 
 Which listening beauty answered with a blush. 
 
 Dark Paulo stood a stern spectator, while 
 His white lip quivered, and a withering smile 
 Ilkim'd his features, ominous and proud. 
 As the pale flash illuminates the cloud : 
 For he had marked the first regard that stole 
 From eye to eye, and wedded soul to soul — 
 The meeting hands that tremble as they part ; 
 The fervent tone interpreting the heart ; 
 The freshening, fading tint, that comes and goes 
 O'er youth's untutor'd cheek in clouds of rose :
 
 THE DUEL. 35 
 
 Ay, he had noted all, and ill suppress'd 
 The troubled demon working in his breast : 
 It reddened in the fellness of his eye, 
 And ran in flame thro' every artery. 
 
 Count Tancred led the lovely girl away — 
 And what is left that Julian should delay ? 
 The scene was heaven while yet he gazed on her — 
 But now as joyless as the sepulchre — 
 Or so he thought, and turned him to depart 
 In that too brief delirium of the heart 
 Which comes when passion's first full cup is 
 
 quafF'd — 
 Alas, that grief should lurk in such a draught ! 
 
 Thus, buoyant with the sense of bliss new-born, 
 He won the porch, and met the breaking morn, 
 That seemed to lurk about the palace gate, 
 As if it watched its time to penetrate 
 And rob the flashing lustres of their light : 
 A muffled form was pacing opposite, 
 Who fiercely cross'd him on the portal stair, 
 And thus addressed — 
 
 " Presumptuous boy, beware ! " 
 "Of whom?" 
 
 " Of one who brooks no rival — one 
 Whose wrath perchance it were as wise to shun ! 
 To crush thy folly, bids thee learn, beside, 
 Count Tancred's daughter is his promised bride." 
 
 D 2
 
 36 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 "Thy bride!" 
 
 That word hath struck him on the heart, 
 And left him breathless ! IMust he bid depart 
 The young, the cherub hope, whose golden plume 
 But now had hovered round him ? and for whom ? 
 " Who dares to brave me with this rude rebuke ? " 
 But Paulo marked him with a measured look, 
 And turned away contemptuous on his heel — 
 
 " Then, signore ! since your lip will not reveal, 
 You bear a sword must answer." 
 
 At the word 
 Each hand was on the bright hilt of his sword ; 
 And forth the keen steel came with eager flash-— 
 One moment and the crossing weapons clash. 
 A looker-on had thought, to see them take 
 Their ground, they drew for sport or practice sake, 
 So little sign of strife or brawl had been : 
 But, had he marked them nearer, he had seen, 
 By the fell light that broke from either eye, 
 No less than life or death was on the die: 
 And tho', ere yet the contest had begun, 
 The match seemed somewhat an unequal one: 
 It grew uncertain, in the deadly test. 
 Whose sanguine blade should serve its master best : 
 For, tho' Count Paulo's ample chest and limb 
 Would seem to mark the victory for him, 
 So much more sudden was his rival's brand 
 Tt looked like wielded lightning in his hand.
 
 THE DUEL. 37 
 
 Julian one pass had parried, with cool art, 
 That bore a hasty message for his heart, 
 And, as it glanced aside, would have repaid — 
 But, as he sent his body with his blade. 
 Ere Paulo's baffled weapon could resist. 
 The false ground marred him — his antagonist 
 Secured the moment with vindictive speed. 
 And now the youth's unguarded breast must bleed ; 
 But, destiny had cast it otherwise — 
 A scarf-hung medal, the victorious prize 
 Of his first field, stopped short the steel's career. 
 And saved its bearer from a crimson bier : 
 The weapon, sped with force and skill in vain. 
 Struck, doubled to the hilt, and snapp'd in twain. 
 
 Foiled by the very prowess of his blow, 
 Stood Paulo at the mercy of his foe : 
 So feels the viper that hath lost her sting — 
 So looks the tiger that hath missed his spring : 
 " The chance is yours : strike home!" he fiercely cried — 
 " No ! " Julian said, " I am no homicide — 
 On equal terms we meet whene'er you will — 
 I hold your greeting unrequited still." 
 Then, sheathing his good sword's unsullied ray, 
 He touched his plumed hat, and turned away.
 
 38 JULIAN AND FKANCESCA. 
 
 Canto II. 
 
 THE LAMENT. 
 
 Where was the pictured dream that hovered o'er 
 
 Count Julian's spirit but an hour before ? 
 
 At Paulo's boast the bright illusion fled, 
 
 And left a frightful chaos in its stead. 
 
 " Francesca plighted to his foe ! " That word 
 
 Went to his heart, and wounded like a sword ! 
 
 He sought the couch from whence last morn he 
 
 rose — 
 In vain ! the timid spirit of repose, 
 Scared by the fiery passions he had known 
 Since last she kissed his sleeping lips, had flown : 
 The world grew disenchanted, once so bright ; 
 The very sun to him had lost its light ; 
 'X)v only shone to make him feel the more 
 How all was changed that charmed him heretofore : 
 His Arab panted for the course in vain — 
 EoUed his fierce eye, and tossed his scattered mane : 
 The boar-spear glittered idly on the wall, 
 The staghound heard no more the hunter's call ; 
 The full-plumed falcon pruned her glossy wing. 
 Or vainly sought, in circles hovering. 
 Until her rapid pinion fanned his brow. 
 To perch upon the wrist, unoffered now :
 
 THE LAMENT. 39 
 
 The wine-cup sparkled, but no more could cheer: 
 The lyre — ah ! it alone grew doubly dear ! 
 To it he told the story of his care, 
 Unlocked his breast, and on the calm night air 
 Broke numbers such as love alone may claim, 
 And only from the poet's soul of flame, 
 Saddened and softened by the touch of wo : 
 Ay ! ill-starred love became the Prospero 
 Whose wand of power smote the prison tree, 
 And bade the Ariel of the soul be free, — 
 But, ah ! to take its flight on tear-damp wings : 
 And thus the spirit sighed among the strings. 
 
 I. 
 
 *' Thou never, never canst be aught to me ! 
 
 And I, perchance, am doomed no more to meet 
 
 Those eyes that bade my heart so wildly beat — 
 Caught by surprise, and struggling to be free. 
 When first it so befell I looked on thee : 
 
 Alas! thy unsought conquest was complete! 
 But henceforth, lady ! tho' unknown he be 
 
 Wlio lays his minstrel garland at thy feet, 
 Thy loveliness shall be the beacon-light 
 That flashes thro' the storm, and gilds the night: 
 
 And now I would not, if I could, forget : 
 It seems my destiny, by land or sea, 
 
 To feel thee present to my spirit — yet 
 Thou never, never canst be aught to me !
 
 40 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 n. 
 
 " As one will gaze upon a favourite star 
 Wherewith, in visionary mood the mind 
 Doth fondly deem its fate is intertwined, 
 I look upon thy loveliness afar: 
 And, glancing past the sublunary bar 
 That holds us from the freedom of the skies, 
 Hope that we yet shall win some paradise 
 
 Where I may dare to love, and you be kind. 
 Oh ! in the maze of this delicious dream 
 For ever let me stray, as I have strayed ; 
 Since on this earth — since on this earth, bright maid! 
 Thou canst be to thy poet but a theme : 
 Nor should he count his star had done him wrong, 
 Could he embalm thy beauty in his song ! 
 
 in. 
 " Both would live ever, could my idle lyre 
 
 Breathe half the harmony thy features breathe ; 
 Both would live ever, could that ruby quire 
 
 Thy lips their sweetness to my song bequeath : 
 
 Both would live ever, were it mine to wreath 
 Thy graces with the numbers they inspire, — 
 Or from its heaven could I steal the fire 
 
 That breaks thy silken lashes from beneatli : 
 Then, young enchantress ! might I call mine own 
 
 The leafy palm of genius ever green ; 
 
 And that fair form — so touching, so serene — 
 Should be eternal as the sculptured stone: 
 But if oblivion claim thee, peerless gem, 
 Forefend that I should hear thy requiem !
 
 THE LAMENT. 41 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Oh! what a load of grief it would beguile, 
 Wayfaring thro' a heartless world, to win 
 The deep fond thoughts that sure are shrined within 
 
 The soul-subduing sweetness of thy smile ! 
 
 To hold the dear belief that, even while 
 Afar, like guardian spirits on the wing, 
 Those thoughts around one's path are hovering, — 
 
 Sad, faithful, mute companions of our toil : 
 
 Or, when the motto'd seal is kissed and broken, 
 Whose long delay had worn the counted hours. 
 To find them natural as scattered flowers, 
 
 And eloquent as if the soul had spoken, 
 
 Glow on a page, perchance tear-stained, in token 
 Of love that lasts, however fortune lowers ! 
 
 V. 
 
 " Then re-united, never more to part, 
 To fold thee to a bosom tried and true — 
 
 To dry the tear that rapture's self made start, 
 And basking in thine eyes' unclouded blue, 
 
 To feel, all young and lovely as thou art, 
 As if thy ruby lips' delicious dew 
 Went thrilling like a new existence thro' 
 
 The dull exhausted fountain of the heart : 
 To give each care to the wild winds, secure 
 That nought could harm — and thou the cynosure 
 
 By whose unchanging ray, thro' storm and death 
 The scarfed bark of hope should voyage on. 
 Rejoicing — did I dream ? — 'tis gone ! 'tis gone ! 
 
 Yet these are thoughts the pale heart cherisheth.
 
 42 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Farewell! tlio' it be anguish to depart — 
 
 And yet fareAvell ! my path lies o'er the sea: 
 'Twere sweet, tho' hopeless, to be where thou art, — 
 
 The world beside is one wide waste to me ! 
 
 Ere on these lines I dedicate to thee, 
 Fairest ! thy glance can shed its living light, 
 As swift and silent as the falcon's flight 
 
 Yon sail shall waft me to my destiny. 
 But if hereafter this my weeping lute 
 
 In wayward pride should dare to strike for fame, 
 And win the wreath, by genius only won — 
 Luxuriant, glorious, evergreen — or none ! 
 Long after he who wakes it now is mute, 
 
 Its deepest chord shall tremble to thy name ! " 
 
 Once more the revel winged the flying hour, 
 And youth and beauty met in pleasure's bower ; 
 Yet, mid that glittering patrician crowd. 
 One gentle heart was wrapped in sorrow's shroud ; 
 Of all who graced the fairy scene that night, 
 The brightest star, where every star was bright. 
 Why turn her timid glances tow'rd the door ? 
 Or wherefore sigh, and fix them on the floor ? 
 All ! mid the guests who enter, he is not, 
 Whose form, tho' half unconsciously, she sought; 
 For, with her sex's self-deceiving art, 
 She fain had fled the secret of her heart. 
 Yet, wherefore not at once their bliss disclose ? 
 He came at length — and straight the full-blown rose
 
 THE LAMENT. ' 43 
 
 Blushed brow and bosom beautifully o'er, 
 To fade away as fast — but not before 
 Julian had hailed, with love's divining eye. 
 That sudden arc of hope in beauty's sky ; 
 And learned at length the secret of his power — 
 They breathed but for each other from that hour. 
 
 Oft after that delicious night they met 
 At ball and banquet, and were happy yet ; 
 Tho' Paulo's eye would mark them till its disk 
 Burned with the venom of the basilisk. 
 At length Count Tancred learned that he who strove 
 To win away his young Francesca's love 
 Was son to an old foe, whose house and his 
 Upheld their dark ancestral enmities : 
 It was enough ; and they must meet no more — 
 And they must learn the heart-afflicting lore, 
 That love and grief have ever been twin-born ; 
 And faith and fondness but the cold world's scorn. 
 
 And could they, then, each other thus forego ? 
 Love — hate — as others fancied ? No ! — oh, no ! 
 For there were moments when none else were near 
 To learn that even rapture hath its tear ; 
 Or note the bliss when lovers meet, or tell 
 The touching sadness of their wild farewell ! 
 
 Oft, when repose had sealed the world's dull eye, 
 They gazed together on the starry sky : 
 Oft, at each pause of whispered passion, lent 
 A moment to the nightingale's lament.
 
 44 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 That, blending with the fragrance night-flowers breathe 
 
 Rose from the leafy labyrinth beneath : 
 
 And freshening ever, as the plaintive bird 
 
 Drew her deep breath, a fountain-jet was heard. 
 
 That seemed to hush as she renewed her tune, 
 
 And flung its pearls in silence at the moon. 
 
 Oft at the stillest hour of summer night 
 
 That pensive moon would lend them her pale light, 
 
 While, lingering by the terrace balustrade. 
 
 They marked her sinking disk begin to fade 
 
 Beyond the black tops of the tranced pines, 
 
 And in the east those far faint crimson lines 
 
 That telegraph the coming of the sun ; 
 
 Then sighed to think how soon the night was done ; 
 
 While, bending on her brow his large dark eye, 
 
 He drew her to his bosom with a sigh ; 
 
 And, pointing to the east, with throbbing heart, 
 
 Breathed on her lips — " Francesca, we must part ! '' 
 
 But she would fondly draw the hand away 
 
 That pointed to the breaking of the day; 
 
 And, pressing her cold brow against the arm 
 
 That clasped her, while it thrilled beneath the 
 
 charm. 
 Turn from the light which only came to dim 
 Her bliss, and rob her gentle eyes of him !
 
 45 
 
 Canto III. 
 
 THE TWO DREAMS. 
 
 Why weeps Francesca ? far from her and home 
 Her lover's bark must plough the salt sea-foam : 
 The pennant's shivering finger points for Spain, 
 His mother's land : alas I it were in vain 
 That I would paint the heart's foreboding fears, 
 Or tell the agony of parting tears. 
 Once more, with trembling lip and eyelash wet, 
 Once more to breathe a long farewell, they met : 
 Tho' many a treasured hour had marked the past, 
 This was the fondest, sweetest, saddest, last ! 
 Deep were the mutual vows they pledged that night 
 Beneath the lone moon's melancholy light. 
 Which shone on lips pure as her own cold brow, 
 Tho' glowing with the warm heart's warmest vow. 
 In vain he urged his absence should be brief. 
 In vain he sought to soften her wild grief — 
 A voice still whispered in her heart's deep core, 
 " Believe it not — ye meet on earth no more ! " 
 
 They part — but many a vision of the night 
 Restored and snatched them from each other's sight ; 
 And tho' severe philosophy disdain 
 Whate'er she can't unpicture or explain, 
 Dreams may withdraw the curtain oi" our fate 
 Wliere wakeful eyes in vain would penetrate.
 
 46 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 On ocean's heaving bosom we may hail 
 
 The wandering cloud, the solitary sail, 
 
 The biUows foam, the sea-weed floating by. 
 
 The blue monotony of sea and sky — 
 
 No more — beneath in fathomless repose 
 
 The unconjectured world of wonder glows — 
 
 Great wrecks with all their treasures — gems and gold- 
 
 World-stirring truths, and histories untold : 
 
 Awake, we see the surface; but in sleep 
 
 Our visions are the secrets of the deep. 
 
 Francesca toiled o'er summits capp'd with ice. 
 
 And saw beneath such bowers as Paradise 
 
 Once sheltered in its leafiest, greenest cove. 
 
 Where laughing Innocence might dwell with Love : 
 
 She sought to reach that land of deathless Spring — 
 
 But, after long and weary voyaging. 
 
 Stood by a dark and sullen stream that slid 
 
 Away in silence, till its course was hid 
 
 Far in the glooming of a drear morass : 
 
 And, while she looked in vain to find a pass 
 
 Whereby at length to win the happy land, 
 
 She felt as if an angel took her hand — 
 
 'Twas Julian's self! his bark is on the tide. 
 
 And he will waft her to the other side: 
 
 The snow-white sail is set — the pinnace speeds — 
 
 In vain — as swift the shadowy shore recedes: 
 
 And hark ! the tempest raves : by fear oppressed 
 
 She turned to hide her terror in his breast —
 
 THE TWO DREAMS. 47 
 
 But he had vanished ! and she clasped a form 
 More feared than all the terrors of the storm — 
 Dark Paulo ! as her lip that dread name spoke, 
 She gasped for breath, and with a shriek, awoke ! 
 
 And Julian slept, but knew not that repose 
 Which o'er the wan and weary sufferer throws 
 Its mantle of oblivion, next to death 
 The truest boon to him that sorroweth 1 
 A train of shadowy j^^i^iito^^s shuddered by, 
 Thro' whose entangled locks each haggard eye 
 Glared on him as they floated with the blast. 
 And still another and another past : 
 These were his evil angels — for that hour 
 He breathed within the circle of their power ; 
 And felt, whate'er their malice might decree, 
 Must prove the edict of his destiny. 
 Then rose a wild sad strain, by fitful starts. 
 That told of blighted hopes and broken hearts. 
 Of bliss gone by, of prospects darkly cross'd. 
 With all confiding youth had loved and lost : 
 Then came a form of beauty — but deep wo 
 Had struck her to the heart — struck deep — altho' 
 Not told by tears — for if, perchance, there fell 
 Some few sad drops, they but sufficed to tell 
 A storm had been — as summer leaves weep on 
 Altho' the cloud that deluged them be gone ; 
 And down her pure and pallid cheek they crept 
 As placidly as if an angel wept. 
 It was his own Francesca — or what she. 
 Touched by the blight of sorrow, yet might be.
 
 48 JULIAN AXD FRANCESCA. 
 
 A fond and fixed regard on liim she cast, 
 Then, like a melting rainbow, waned, 'and past: 
 And Julian would have followed, but the strain 
 Blent with a voice that thrilled him rose again: 
 Nor ceased upon the charmed sense to fling 
 Its tones until the sun was tissuing 
 The curtains of his couch with threads of gold — 
 And thus the visionary numbers rolled: — 
 
 " There is a clime where those shall meet 
 
 Whom wrong hath parted here. — 
 The cheek that's wan, the eye that's wet 
 May bloom in bliss and brighten yet, 
 Unsullied by a tear. 
 
 " Oh ! who would seek the summer rose 
 
 Mid winter sleet and snow ? 
 Oh ! who would dream of love's repose 
 "WHiere the brightest eye with tears o'erflows— 
 
 The warmest heart with wo? 
 
 " Then deem not in a world like this 
 
 To revel round the hours : 
 Fate blights the brightest bud that is— 
 And, hope tho' born in bowers of bliss. 
 
 Dies like the withered flowers. 
 
 " But there's a clime where those shall meet 
 
 Whom wrong hath parted here. — 
 The cheek that's wan, the eye that's wet 
 Shall bloom in bliss, and brighten yet, 
 Unsullied by a tear."
 
 THE TWO DEEAMS. 49 
 
 Such were the tones he heard around him swim, 
 Soaring and sinking like the requiem 
 They chant in Italy when mourners bear 
 Their breathless burden to the sepulchre : 
 Nor ceased, tho' sleep no more around him flings 
 Her veil, but fled as if with parting wings. 
 
 Fair smiled the scene, and jocund shone the day, 
 His galley parted from Livorno's bay: 
 At first the languid air scarce fann'd her sail ; 
 But, as she fled the land, the freshening gale 
 Sang in the shrouds; and, ere a league was won, 
 Swelled out her cloud of canvas to the sun — 
 While, slanting somewhat in the wind, she lay 
 Steady and buoyant on her pathless way — 
 Cleaving the deep as if with life endowed, 
 And rapid as the eagle cuts the cloud : 
 The hoarse command and hurried step were o'er 
 To which she echoed as she left the shore — 
 The bright wave bounding, the blue sky serene. 
 Nor sound to break the stillness of the scene, 
 Save the vex'd murmur of the wave below. 
 When spurned aside by her victorious prow : 
 While the swart crew, alert in duty's press. 
 Were lapsing into vacant listlessness. 
 The scene to them no new emotion lent — 
 The deck their home, the deep their element. 
 
 Wrapped in a maze of musing Julian stood — 
 Each sterner feeling softened and subdued,
 
 50 JULIAN AND FEANCESCA. 
 
 As, with the earnest eye of sadness, he 
 Marked the receding shores of Tuscany, — 
 The castle frowning from the naked steep, 
 The half-hid villa in its foliage deep ; 
 Cliff, temple, vineyard, city, forest, wild. 
 And, far beyond, the shadowy mountains piled: 
 Less varied, as the winged vessel flew. 
 The scene first deepen'd to a purple hue, 
 Then mingled with the universal blue: 
 And Julian's hand a moment veiled his eyes — 
 A tear will sometimes take us by surprise 
 In pride's despite — nor blame him if it fell — 
 He bade his love and native land farewell.
 
 THE JESUIT. 51 
 
 Canto IV. 
 
 THE JESUIT 
 
 Thro' blazoned panes the rays of evening fall 
 
 In ruby tints along the trophied wall, 
 
 Revealing in the oriel's arched recess 
 
 Francesca's form of light and loveliness : 
 
 She bends beside her harp : but tho' her eye 
 
 Be lifted to the glass-stained heraldry, 
 
 She sees it not : and, tho' her fingers stray 
 
 Among the chords — her thoughts are far away ! 
 
 Love's votary ! and need I — need I tell 
 
 How those whom Love hath vanquished with his spell 
 
 Weave waking dreams, yet live those dreams to 
 
 weep, 
 Once time has proved them vain as theirs who sleep? 
 Her soul was with the first delicious gaze 
 In which her eyes and Julian's mingled rays 
 That went to either heart, and told to each 
 A tale that asked no eloquence from speech : 
 Lips are the cold interpreters of sense — 
 Love, love converses by intelligence ! 
 And tears are rife as she recalls the dawn 
 Of their first fondness, which was frowned upon 
 In vain by stern hereditary hate — 
 No common casual flame — their love was fate ! 
 
 £ 2
 
 52 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 It opened into flower mid feuds and fears, 
 And sorrow nouiished it witli secret tears, 
 Which, like the dews of heaven, fell unseen, 
 But kept their passion-flower for ever green : 
 Such is the love that lasts — ah ! none can know 
 How true a heart may prove till tried by wo I 
 
 Days, weeks, and months had wearily dragged on 
 
 Since Julian left that lone and lovely one : 
 
 The seasons changed — the autumnal sun grew tame; 
 
 Then Winter, like a rash invader, came: 
 
 And, tho' that genial clime his triumph stops. 
 
 Far gleamed his tents along the mountain tops : 
 
 Spring followed, with her warm and sunny showers, 
 
 Those crystal drops that falling turn to flowers, — 
 
 Retaining still the hues wherewith they glowed 
 
 Ere scattered from the rainbow and the cloud: 
 
 Then Summer, breathing of the south, drew near 
 
 And clasped the varied cestus of the year : 
 
 But Julian came not — and, if tidings came. 
 
 They reached not- her. Count Tancred hoped the 
 
 flame 
 That lit her soul with its ethereal ray, 
 liike some neglected lamp, would waste away: 
 And many a breathing page, that came to calm 
 The fever of her spirit with its balm. 
 Was heartlessly withheld, while wistful thought 
 Clung to the grief that would not be forgot : 
 No joy to cheer the present with its beam — 
 The future doubtful, and the past a dream !
 
 THE JESUIT. 53 
 
 About this time Count Tancred's cankered mood 
 Withdrew him to his mountain solitude. 
 Born while his native Florence yet was free, 
 He bowed not to th' ambitious Medici — 
 (For Cosmo, now resolved to reign alone, 
 Launched edicts from an arbitrary throne,) 
 But, turning to his far ancestral roof, 
 From court and courtiers sternly held aloof. 
 
 High frowned his feudal towers amid the pines 
 That gloom along the Tuscan Apennines, 
 Wliose summits, with their coronets of snow, 
 Sleep in the depth of heaven ; and, far below, 
 Brawling along its steep and rocky course^ 
 The infant Ai'no hurries from its source. 
 Time fled no more on pinions light and free, 
 But, like a cloud becalmed, hung heavily 
 Upon its path : his soul had ta'en its stamp 
 In stormier scenes, the senate and the camp. — 
 Then^ like the spokes that ray a rapid wheel. 
 The flying hours revolved invisible — 
 And now he ill could brook, inertly bound 
 To count them as they laboured slowly round : 
 Oft would he sum his friends, his force, and brood 
 On plans of bold revolt or secret feud. 
 Oft, starting from the dream despair had nurs'd, 
 Resolve, betide what might, to dare the worst: 
 While discontented spirits thronged his hall, 
 Whose desperate fortunes made them ripe for all
 
 54 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 Ambition's rashest aim would have them brave. 
 Where'er a rebel banner first should wave. 
 
 One morning as he chased the tusked boar, 
 
 While hound and horn awoke the forest hoar, 
 
 Beneath whose foliage lurked the shy twilight. 
 
 He met a cowled and sandalled anchorite — 
 
 For such he seemed, before a better view 
 
 Revealed the garb that crowns have bent unto — 
 
 Imperial crowns ! and those it marked have made 
 
 Such conquests as ambition's crimson blade 
 
 Hath never reaped, nor shall: the despot's sway 
 
 May trample rights, may fetter slaves, or slay, 
 
 But still his wrath is curbed, his realm confined — 
 
 He must not cross the frontier of the mind. 
 
 Where, roused by wrong, or goaded to rebel, 
 
 The passions hold their unseen citadel — 
 
 While such as wear that simple garb could wield 
 
 A universal sceptre, tho' concealed; 
 
 And, where external power ceased to sway, 
 
 Bring each rebellious passion to obey. 
 
 Too wise to check impetuous will by force, 
 
 They turned the headlong current from its course ; 
 
 But, with so imperceptible a curve. 
 
 The point was lost from whence they made it swerve 
 
 This while persuasion might to faith awake — 
 
 But, if it failed, the dungeon and the stake ! 
 
 Humble or arrogant as ruled the hour — 
 
 Lambs in adversity, and wolves in power —
 
 THE JESUIT. 55 
 
 Assuming God's prerogative, unawed, 
 They stood between the sinner and his God : 
 Those they condemn must hope in vain for heaven, 
 And those whom they forgive must be forgiven ! 
 Thus, skilled the soul to sound, the heart dissect. 
 They ruled the prostrate world of intellect ! 
 
 Cross'd by that holy son of wile and wit. 
 
 Count Tancred reined to greet the Jesuit: 
 
 And much they spoke apart, tho' known to few 
 
 What passed in that mysterious interview, — 
 
 Thenceforth a frequent quest ; — no more was known, — 
 
 Anselmo seemed to walk the world alone, 
 
 Without a tie, a friend, a resting place — 
 
 And, like the emigrant swallow, left no trace 
 
 To indicate what home his absence cheered, 
 
 As if he did not go, but disappeared. 
 
 Her amplest net in vain conjecture cast, 
 
 And sank to superstitious awe at last: 
 
 But, rest or roam. Count Tancred seemed content — 
 
 He came unquestioned, and unquestioned went: 
 
 Yet secret rumour whispered that the hand 
 
 Which trembled o'er a bead could grasp a brand. 
 
 Francesca marked this humble man of God 
 Amid the desperates his presence awed; 
 And listened to those gentle words that well 
 Became the holy lips from whence they fell. 
 Tho' hid himself from all, he had the art 
 To wind into each secret of the heart:
 
 56 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 And hers, so warm, so pure, so early riven, 
 
 Scarce daring now a hope on this side heaven — 
 
 "While at his gifted words her spirit thrilled — 
 
 Imbibed the sacred lessons he instilled ; 
 
 And felt a touch of solace in the tone 
 
 Wherewith he made another's grief his own : 
 
 That heart too soon must practise, anguish-fraught, 
 
 The task of resignation which he taught — 
 
 He knew how soon — for rumours dim and drear, 
 
 Like the far-muttered thunder on the ear 
 
 Amid familiar sounds, so faintly caught 
 
 'Tis doubtful if its voice be heard or not, 
 
 At first scarce roused attention, till they came 
 
 Illumined by the flash of Julian's name. 
 
 One bright morn after numbering thro' the night 
 
 Each weary chime until the breaking light 
 
 Blushed I'ound her pillow, tinging cheek and tress, 
 
 She sank into a semi-consciousness, 
 
 Which, like a mental twilight to the sense, 
 
 Obscures the glare of feelings too intense, 
 
 Tho' thought to tranced thought continue linked, 
 
 The chain unbroke, however indistinct. 
 
 Her aged nurse into the room had crept, 
 
 Mute as a shadow, thinking that she slept ; 
 
 And, seated by her couch, began to wring 
 
 Her withered hands, as if some bosom sting 
 
 Had pierced her to the heart : Francesca drew 
 
 The damask folds aside that veiled her view : 
 
 And, marking how the poor soul smote her breast, 
 
 Her wan eyes wet, her pale thin lips compress'd,
 
 THE JESUIT. 57 
 
 Exclaimed : — " My Martha ! wherefore dost thou 
 
 weep? 
 What wrong hath touched thy honest heart so 
 
 deep?" 
 Then rising, beauteous as some Grecian nymph, 
 Or fine-formed Naiad from the crystal lymph, 
 Threvv her white arms around the sibyl old, 
 And urged her all her anguish to unfold. 
 
 " Ah ! lady mine ! the good Anselrao bade 
 Me break it by degrees, and so I had. 
 But that you took my sorrow by surprise: 
 Alas ! that ere these old unhappy eyes 
 
 Should see the hour " 
 
 " Nay, gentle nurse ! be brief — 
 Hath aught befallen my father ? " 
 
 "No: the grief 
 That wrings my feeble breast is not for him : 
 And yet, methinks, should this unsettled whim 
 
 Wliich throngs his hall with outlaws " 
 
 " Nurse, forbear ! " 
 " Ah, well-a-day ! sweet child I and if I dare — 
 But no — it is for you my breast is torn ! 
 Ah ! had I thought he thus could have forsworn 
 His plighted faith, good sooth, the midnight star 
 Had never lit him to thy lattice bar — 
 And now to wed another." 
 
 " JuHan wed ! " 
 Her white lip quivered as the word was said, 
 And from her cheek th' affrighted colour fled —
 
 58 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 " Say, whence bath come this news ? " 
 
 " The monk return'd 
 Late yester eve from Florence, where he learn'd 
 That the false Julian, loved so well in vain 
 Hath wed some rich and noble maid of Spain." 
 
 " The monk ! it is enough ! " Francesca gasped — 
 And, while tow'rd heaven her small white hands were 
 
 clasped, 
 A sudden shiver ran thro' all her frame: 
 And in her eye a wild unwonted flame 
 Burned till the big tears quench'd it, as they slid 
 Fast, tho' unfelt, from each dilated lid. 
 The silver cord of life was on the strain — 
 The golden bowl vibrated : words were vain 
 To paint the agony of that long day. — 
 We therefore curtain what we can't portray. 
 
 Spirit of grief I how terrible thou art 
 When first upon the love-illumined heart 
 Thou fling'st the shadow of thy heavy wing — 
 The hope of summer blighted in the spring !
 
 59 
 
 Canto V. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 Heard in tlie lulling of the midnight blast 
 
 That heaved the groaning forest as it pass'd, 
 
 Haughty and stern a sudden trumpet note 
 
 Rang its alarm beyond the rampart moat ; 
 
 And, answering to the clarion's argent swell, 
 
 Eose the rough challenge of the sentinel : 
 
 The drowsy warder brought the keys at last, 
 
 And countersign and watchword duly pass'd. 
 
 The drawbridge sank, and, bolt on bolt withdrawn, 
 
 The huge gate oped with a reluctant yawn, 
 
 Whereat a muffled cavalier rode through. 
 
 Escorted by his mounted retinue. 
 
 Illumined by a torchlight's scattered flame 
 
 They reached an inner square ; and Paulo's name 
 
 Re-echoed mid the hurrying to and fro. 
 
 And tramp of horses in the court below, 
 
 Tho' heard in slumber, with convulsive start 
 
 Dispelled a balmy vision of the heart. 
 
 Which brought back hours of moonlight bliss once 
 
 more. 
 Without the fears that clouded them before, 
 Vouchsafed by heaven in pity of her woes 
 To soothe a grief-worn sufferer's repose.
 
 60 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 Had fancy mocked her witli a sound so drear ? 
 Ah, no ! again it thrills Francesca's ear — 
 Foretelling future grief, recalling gone — 
 Then, sinking back upon the couch whereon, 
 Half raised, she listened, faint with boding fears, 
 She bathed her midnight pillow with her tears. 
 
 Tho' dark had been the eve and wild the night, 
 
 Morn laughed along the mountains rosy bright: 
 
 No cloud to tell that heaven had wept so late, 
 
 As childhood's dawning smiles obliterate 
 
 Each trace of grief that marked the moment gone, 
 
 And shine as if for ever thus they shone. 
 
 Far on the eye, rejoicing in the spring. 
 
 And rich in colours as an. angel's wing. 
 
 The vale of Arno like a vision broke. 
 
 Bright as each tint had but that moment woke : 
 
 A vista, cutting through the forest gloom. 
 
 Revealed the plain beneath in all its bloom : 
 
 Along its course the growing river shines 
 
 In many a bend between its banks of vines, 
 
 Through many a scene of story and of song, 
 
 By many a palace mounting from among 
 
 The orange and acacia's living green. 
 
 While fount and statue break in gleams between : 
 
 Aloft and lonely rose the convent old ; 
 
 Beneath the corn-fields spread in sheets of gold ; 
 
 Screened by the mulberry and olive pale 
 
 The trellis'd cottage nestled in the dale ;
 
 THE MAREIAGE. 61 
 
 And, further, where the sun-touched cedar waves 
 
 O'er fluted shafts and leaf-cut architraves, 
 
 Eaised to its long-fall'n deity in vain, 
 
 Some ruined yet imperishable fane 
 
 Speaks eloquently, to the pensive eye. 
 
 Of gods, and creeds, and dynasties gone by. 
 
 Eemoter still, and where the blending scene 
 
 Is melting into purple, sunny sheen, 
 
 The whitewashed villages, afar descried, 
 
 Like snow-drifts gleam along the mountain side, 
 
 Each with its verdant belt of shaded sward. 
 
 And painted steeple "pointing heavenward:" 
 
 And many a pastoral haunt, and cool retreat ; 
 
 And many a dell as tranquil and as sweet 
 
 As e'er refreshed a wayworn minstrel's foot, 
 
 Or called forth nature's echo from his lute. 
 
 Francesca, with a scarcely conscious eye 
 Fixed on the shadowy peaks that pierce the sky 
 Westward of Florence, breathed the morning balm. 
 While, with her fair cheek resting on her palm. 
 She sat within an open miradore, 
 And mused on hours that must return no more — 
 Love's altar, her young heart ; its incense, sighs ; 
 And all her hopes, the bleeding sacrifice ! 
 
 A hand had taken hers, ere yet her ear 
 Had warned her the intruder's step drew near : 
 She turned — it was her father — rose to greet 
 His welcome presence in her still retreat :
 
 62 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 But met him with a vain attempt to hide 
 The troubled stain of tears abruptly ried. 
 
 " And why 30 pale, my child ? This solitude 
 Hath touched thee with its melancholy mood : 
 Call thy young spirits up ! the hour draws near 
 We hope to break the chain that binds us here : 
 Forced, we appeal, by wrong and insult gored, 
 From tyranny to heaven and the sword I " 
 
 " My father, tempt not peril, brave not fate ! " 
 
 " Though e'er so just, such counsel comes too late ; 
 We may not now turn back, whate'er betide — 
 The sword is drawn, the scabbard cast aside — 
 Our plans mature, our friends in readiness : 
 One word from thee — nay, start not — crowns success ! 
 
 Count Paiilo " 
 
 " Oh 1 my father, name him not ! " 
 " I must be heard ! Count Paulo, who hath sought 
 Alliance with our ancient house so long, 
 Now waits his final answer from thy tongue : 
 Shouldst thou be his, he joins us with his power, 
 And Cosmo is a shadow from that hour. 
 If not — but no 1 it cannot, may not be : 
 Thy father's — nay, thy country's — destiny 
 Is in thy hands. Reflect, my child : ere noon 
 Must Paulo kneel and thank thee for the boon." 
 
 " Oh, never ! never ! Let me plead — implore — 
 Death, destitution — anything before
 
 THE MARRIAGE. 63 
 
 So terrible a fate ! That loathing pang 
 
 Wherewith the victim of some rabid fang 
 
 Starts, as the proffered liquid meets his eye, 
 
 Alone can tell my soul's antipathy : 
 
 In mercy let me bid farewell to life — • 
 
 Do aught, bear aught, be aught but Paulo's wife ! " 
 
 In frantic guise she clasped his knee, and thus 
 In pleading accents, wild and treriiulous, 
 Invoked his ruth by many a touching prayer 
 That breathed the very passion of despair : 
 But vain was all her agony could urge — 
 As the stern rock repels the baffled surge 
 He spurned her from his love, to pity sear'd. 
 And, dark with indignation, disappeared. 
 
 Amort, dismayed in that delirious whirl 
 Of thought and feeling, the distracted girl 
 There knelt and trembled ; while on earth were bent 
 Those eyes that, in her grief's abandonment, 
 Flooding with tears each silken lash that shades, 
 Dropt pearls among the rich escaping braids. 
 That, black as night, o'er neck and bosom crowd, 
 And veil her cheek, like Dian's, in a cloud. 
 
 The wild convulsion of the heart at length 
 Pass'd, like the hurrying tempest in its strength, 
 And left a blighted desert as it pass'd. 
 Whereon the eye of sorrow looked aghast, 
 Drear, silent, dim — no hope to bless, or balm — 
 Despair alone can tell how dread that calm !
 
 64 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 Anselmo entered : 
 
 " Angels guard and keep 
 
 My fair disciple ! Wherefore doth she weep ? 
 
 Incensed thy father hurrying hence appears : 
 
 Art thou the cause ? and these repentant tears ? 
 
 If so, 'twere well ! Nay, daughter, I know all ; 
 
 And grieve to find that thus it should befall. 
 
 In these our evil days the heart must learn 
 
 To bend itself to tasks, however stern : 
 
 Young, innocent, as thou art, already thou 
 
 Hast wept the anguish of a broken vow, 
 
 While he thou lov'st " 
 
 " Oh! spare me — it is past !" 
 
 " From passion's dream thus all must wake at last, 
 The cup that tranced, exhausted to the lees : 
 
 Nor may the offended palate turn from these, 
 
 The bitterness of life's realities. 
 
 For, howsoe'er our lip may loathe the draught, 
 
 To the last troubled drop it must be quaff'd, 
 
 Until, at length, subdued, repentant, riven. 
 
 The contrite heart acknowledgeth to heaven 
 
 The path of duty only, though severe, 
 
 Can win hereafter, or make happy here : 
 
 What if the pilgrim foot that treads it bleeds ? 
 
 The thorns are lost in looking where it leads. 
 
 That path must now be thine : the hopes and fears 
 
 Which move the crowed, their transports and their 
 
 tears, 
 Must, like some idle day-dream, be forgot : 
 Thy star hath marked thee for a loftier lot."
 
 THE MARRIAGE. 65 
 
 He paused, and silent for a moment stood, 
 As if to read her spirit ; then pursued : 
 
 ■^ 
 
 " But if, still clinging to the broken bough 
 Which failed thy trust when most confiding, thou 
 Deny the debt which heaven pronounces due — 
 Behold what sweeping ruin must ensue ! 
 Abandoned by the host that, soul and sword. 
 But wait till Paulo give the signal word. 
 His castle wall by whelming thousands hemm'd, 
 Thy sire must fall, or, captive, be condemn'd 
 To feel the vengeance of triumphant hate, 
 And meet a traitor's ignominious fate : 
 By sorrow more than by his fetters bowed — 
 Doomed, felon-like, through the insulting crowd 
 To tread those streets that, oft in triumph trod, 
 Now lead him to a scaffold." 
 
 " Gracious God ! 
 Though bending to its doom this heart must break. 
 Let — let me be the victim, for his sake! " 
 
 The word — the irrevocable word — was past ! 
 And have her young hopes come to this at last ? 
 Betrayed into a voluntary act, 
 Brief time was left to waver or retract : 
 Next morn, in evil haste, the knot was tied 
 That made the young Francesca Paulo's bride. 
 
 Led by her sire through visages of war 
 Assembled in the castle oratoire,
 
 66 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 When Paulo met lier at the altar foot, 
 
 Her throbbing brow, tho' pale, looked resolute : 
 
 But when, as that mysterious monk had done 
 
 Those ever-binding rites that made them one, 
 
 The warrior bridegroom would have seal'd her his 
 
 By printing on her lip the nuptial kiss, 
 
 She shrank as if her naked foot had press'd 
 
 A coil of knotted vipers in their nest ; 
 
 And that faint tint, wherewith the spirit's strife 
 
 Had wrought her cheek into the hue of life, 
 
 Waned to a mortal paleness, as she fell 
 
 Upon her father's breast, insensible ! 
 
 To the free breath of heaven borne out in haste — 
 Her bosom, with its beauty all unlaced, 
 Abandoned to the freshness of the breeze, 
 The heart's arrested current by degrees 
 Resumed its course, and in her vacant eye 
 The twihght of returning memory 
 Broke faintly, as before its troubled ray 
 The cloud that quenched her spirit passed away !
 
 67 
 
 Canto VI. 
 
 THE TOMB. 
 
 Eve's latest beam upon, the lattice shone, 
 Where lost in thought Francesca sat alone: 
 Around her form a sudden glory fell ; 
 She raised her brow — it was the sun's farewell : 
 But as her eye his parting splendour caught, 
 She seemed to start from some appalling thought 
 And shuddered when he faded from her sight, 
 As there had been protection in his light. 
 
 Her lord in council with the rebel chiefs. 
 She gave the gloomy moment to her griefs. 
 While sped the nuptial rite, by duty nerved. 
 Her wounded spirit neither shrank nor swerved, 
 Until the sigil of her doom was set — 
 Then died her heart within her ; but as yet. 
 However inward agony might wreak, 
 No tear had dashed the beauty of her cheek : 
 
 But now, no glance to pry, no ear to guess. 
 Her spirit, all abandoned to distress. 
 Drank deep into the cup of bitterness : 
 Yet calm, as floods are oft profoundest where 
 They flow in silence, seemed her soul's despair : 
 
 F 2
 
 68 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 And broken tears came Avelling from between 
 The small white fingers raised in vain to screen : 
 And heart-convulsing sobs, wild, wobegone, 
 Startled the stillness, ever and anon, 
 Which reigned within that solitary tower, 
 Where broken-hearted beauty held her bower. 
 
 Her nurse with bustling and important mien. 
 
 Elated by the morning's nuptial scene. 
 
 Ill-omened as it was, surprised her thus — 
 
 And, with the stare of one incredu.lous, 
 
 Doubting the evidence of eyes and ears. 
 
 Exclaimed — " What now ! A bride, and bathed in tears! 
 
 Whoever wept upon her wedding-day 
 
 Such drops as these ? " 
 
 " I pray thee, nurse, away ! 
 Go, my kind friend ! forget the tears you chide — 
 If you could dry them, they were quickly dried : 
 Tell none what you have seen : 'twill soon be o'er : 
 And you, good nurse, shall see me weep no more. " 
 
 " Heaven grant ! But, lady, in the haste forgot, 
 This letter, yester eve, a peasant brought : 
 He tarried not for guerdon or boon, 
 But bade me give it secretly, and soon. 
 Swift from her eye Francesca dashed away 
 The blinding dew that trembled in its ray — 
 And snatched the scroll — 
 
 " Beloved one ! " 
 
 Could she err ? 
 No : 'twas his own familiar character !
 
 THE TOMB. 69 
 
 That seal — with many a thrilling memory fraught : 
 That name — so dear to feeling and to thought I 
 
 " Safe from the deep, a weary exile past^ 
 Thy faithful Julian is returned at last.'' 
 
 Clear as the swallow's scream of wild delight 
 
 In some exulting circle of its flight, 
 
 Her cry of frantic rapture — dark its wane, 
 
 As recollection flashed upon the brain ! 
 
 What ! gazing on those lines with passion rife ! — 
 
 Away with them ! Is she not Paulo's wife ? 
 
 She read, and shuddered ! the relinquished scroll 
 
 Before it reached the floor had pierced her soul : 
 
 Like one from whose foint grasp the goblet slips 
 
 Just as the saving freshness touched his lips, 
 
 She stood — no more a breathing form of thought. 
 
 But hardened into marble on the spot — 
 
 Then sudden, as if struck by lightning, fell. 
 
 Like some fair statue from its pedestal. 
 
 My tale is almost told. Three days had fled j 
 
 Since that ill-fated letter had been sped 
 
 Which froze Francesca's spirit while she read, ' 
 
 Yet no reply ! As well might time delay 
 
 As Julian brook suspense another day ; 
 
 And, ere the sequent morn began to glow 
 
 And gild the Alpine summits crowned with snow, 
 
 The forest pathway's green and dewy roof 
 
 Keturned an echo to his ai'ab's hoof;
 
 70 JULIAN AND TRANCESCA. 
 
 And, pressing omvard, ere the zenith sun 
 Had touched with beauty all it shone upon, 
 He left the twilight of the forest shade, 
 And, issuing on a green and laughing glade, 
 Beheld afar Count Tancred's feudal seat, 
 The mountain mist still slumbering at its feet, 
 Mid scenes that seemed by human foot untracked, 
 Sky-piercing cone, cliff, forest, cataract ! 
 
 Ascending by a steep and winding pass 
 Thro' the rent rock, that, rising mass on mass, 
 Shut out all nature from the imprison'd eye. 
 Save the deep blue of an unclouded sky, 
 Thro' whose unbounded cope the eagle wheeled, 
 Imperator of that cerulean field — 
 Onward he sped, until a giant cliff 
 Heaved its dark front athwart the path, as if 
 To frown the wanderer back who dared to trace 
 That mighty labyrinth : but round its base 
 A rivulet ran murmuring along. 
 Cheering the silence with its liquid song. 
 Whose silver course, like Ariadne's clue. 
 Conducted him the mountain mazes thro'. 
 Until, at length, he gained the towery steep 
 Which bore aloft Count Tancred's feudal keep. 
 
 He paused upon the greensward esplanade 
 Where the grim fortress flung its mass of shade : 
 No watchful sentinel patrolled the wall ! 
 He saw no flag ; he heard no warder call :
 
 THE TOMB. 71 
 
 The drawbridge down, the idle port lay wide ; 
 
 And echo only, when he spoke, replied. 
 
 Breathless he entered : as he pass'd the moat, 
 
 A faint and far off anthem seemed to float, 
 
 Like a bewailing spirit, in the air, 
 
 And then a voice was heard as if in pray'r, 
 
 Rising distinctly as the requiem died : 
 
 A sable curtain then was drawn aside, 
 
 Wliose deep and ample folds concealed from sight 
 
 The massive portal, whence into the light 
 
 One, bearing the redeeming sign on high. 
 
 Came slowly forth with sad and earthward eye : 
 
 Vestured in white, and following in pairs. 
 
 Each with a censer, moved the quiristers : 
 
 The monk succeeded, with uncovered head, 
 
 Readintr the solemn service for the dead : 
 
 And then, extended on an open bier, 
 
 Strewed with the last pale blossoms of the year, 
 
 Pale, pale, alas ! and perishing as they, 
 
 Yet lovely as in life, Francesca lay — 
 
 Tho' death on her bright form his hand had laid, 
 
 The charm was undissolved that round it play'd — 
 
 And, ah 1 her calm faint smile, so free from care, 
 
 Was such as breathing lip must never wear. 
 
 Dark Patdo and her wo- worn sire came last : — 
 
 But none regarded Julian as they pass'd, 
 
 Wlio, stunned with agony, would fondly deem 
 
 'Twas but the phantom-horror of a dream, 
 
 Too terrible for truth ! Thus, — ever thus, — 
 
 The heart, altho' to hope so credulous,
 
 72 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 When ruin comes, reluctant to believe, 
 As oft deceived, would still itself deceive ; 
 Tho' to its doom predestined to awake, 
 And, whatsoe'er it prove, to bear or break : 
 No ! 'twas no melting vision that had pass'd — 
 No shade that struck the startled eye aghast. 
 And, hark ! once more the distant dirge recalls 
 His senses, wafted from beyond the walls 
 In fitful lapses by the mountain gust — 
 And still the solemn close was, " dust to dust." 
 
 Deep in the green recesses of a wood, 
 
 Some bow-shot oflf, an abbey chapel stood, 
 
 Along whose vaulted aisle the emblazoned pane 
 
 Tinged shaft and cornice with its florid stain, 
 
 Eevealing, in those depths of gorgeous gloom. 
 
 The gothic pomp of many an altar-tomb, 
 
 Whereon the effigies of warriors rest, 
 
 A shield of arms impaled on every breast, 
 
 Pillowed on helms, in panoply complete, 
 
 Palm pressed to palm, and, couchant, at their feet. 
 
 The maned lion, or the greyhound fleet ; 
 
 Around the base, war emblems, targe and lance, 
 
 With many a badge of knightly cognizance : 
 
 The chisell'd roof, with tracery overran, 
 
 From clustered columns threw its lofty span, 
 
 Eich with the cunning of the carver's toil, 
 
 Rosette and acorn, cusp and quatrefoil : 
 
 So airy light, it seemed almost to float 
 
 Upon the mighty organ's mounting note.
 
 THE TOMB. 73 
 
 Which pealed with thrilling power thro' arch and aisle 
 As that sad train approached the sacred pile ! 
 
 The bier was placed before an open tomb — 
 
 Splendour without, within sepulchral gloom : 
 
 The dirge had closed, the solemn ritual o'er. 
 
 When one rushed forth, observed of none before — 
 
 A troubled wildness grew in his regard. 
 
 As if the texture of the mind were marr'd — 
 
 As if the meaning of some rich design. 
 
 Where flower and fruit and foliage intertwine, 
 
 Or tale, illuminating warp and weft, 
 
 Were lost, and nothing but confusion left. 
 
 With all that world of misery in view. 
 
 He still would doubt if what he saw were true, 
 
 As tho' excess of grief, like that of light. 
 
 Had power to overwhelm the aching sight. 
 
 Thus gazed he on the sainted form that slept. 
 
 But shed no tear, while all around him wept : 
 
 Yet, tearless tho' he marked her marble rest, 
 
 That hour the warm heart withered in his breast. 
 
 Long, — long he gazed, and kneeling, kissed her brow, 
 
 Regardless of his love and anguish now : 
 
 The eloquent spirit of that eye was dim — 
 
 That heart was still which only throbb'd for him — 
 
 There his fond soul's young idol lifeless lay ; 
 
 The illuminating mind had pass'd away. 
 
 And that on which he gazed — unconscious clay ! 
 
 But, ah ! how deeply to each thought endeared : 
 
 He rose, took one wild look, and disappeared.
 
 74 JULIAN AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 The tomb upon its early victim closed, 
 And young Francesca with her sires reposed. 
 
 Last of his race, Count Tancred sat alone, 
 Each joy, each hope, each aim of life o'erthrown. 
 The sun had set upon that day of grief 
 Which reft the bosom of the childless chief : 
 The world was lost to him, whoe'er might win ; 
 And force without, or perfidy within, 
 Had but to strike and conquer — both were rife — 
 And both were ready for the coming strife. 
 
 'Twas midnight : all was silent, save the chime 
 That told with iron tongue how went the time : 
 The veteran sat beside his waning lamp 
 Alone with sorrow, when the sudden tramp 
 Of troop and column seemed to stir the air 1 
 Then the roused lion, springing from his lair, 
 Rushed forth to lead his lances on the foe, 
 Regardless now alike of weal or wo : 
 For he had been a soldier not outdone 
 Where wrong could be redressed, or glory won. 
 He rushed in time to find his valour vain : 
 ' The pass was sold ! ' The foe rushed in amain 
 Yet dear shall be the victory they gain ! 
 Count Tancred seized a torch, and cut his path 
 Thro' hostile ranks and visages of wrath : 
 His was no craven flight ! upon his way. 
 Piled heap on heap, the sleeping thunder lay—
 
 THE TOMB. to 
 
 Here was his goal ! he paused, perchance in prayer, 
 Then hurled his blazing torch into the air : 
 The mine is sprung ! a world-awaking peal 
 Next moment made the echoing mountains reel : 
 The spUntered oak, uprooted, told its force ; 
 The gushing stream recoiled upon its course : 
 Wrapp'd in a crimson canopy of flame 
 Bastion on bastion crushing earthward came, 
 O'erwhelming in their downfall friends and foes ; 
 And when the scar'd and pale-eyed morning rose. 
 The tower'd fortress lay a ruin bare — 
 A monument of glory and despair ! 
 And still they tell how, hemmed by hostile crowds, 
 Count Tancred blew his castle to the clouds ! 
 And how, at that dread moment, unsubdued, 
 The warrior monk beside the noble stood — 
 Hope, life, all lost that men most precious term — 
 Pale as a Parian column — and as firm ! 
 Two braver never ranked among the brave, 
 Or found a soldier's or a martyr's grave.
 
 EOUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 THE GAME.— THE PALAIS EOYAL.— FRASCATI. 
 THE SALON.— THE SHAEPEE.— 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 ( Reprinted from the Third Edition.)
 
 79 
 
 INTEODUCTION. 
 
 The Rouge et Noir tables afford an excellent subject 
 of study to the anatomist of the human heart : the 
 mask -worn in the street, at the banquet, and some- 
 times even in the domestic circle, here falls off ; and 
 men become transformed as it were into the naked 
 Passions themselves : nor can the peculiarities of 
 national character be anywhere placed in stronger 
 opposition. 
 
 Our countrymen generally play with a flushed cheek 
 or an anxious eye, but seldom betray beyond this their 
 pain and disappointment. They often lose with great 
 coolness, or rather great endurance ; but I have scarcely 
 ever known one who possessed sufficient courage to 
 win. Some exhibit a headstrong resolution, whilst their 
 doubled and tripled stakes are swept from before them; 
 and yet a change in their favour will act like a panic- 
 stroke : they pursue Fortune whilst she flies ; but if she 
 turn short, and consent to indulge them, they take 
 fright, and shrink from her caresses. Foreigners, on 
 the contrary, are apt to lose with impatience; but, 
 should the game take a propitious turn, they stake
 
 80 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 Avitli as mucli nerve as if inspired by a siecret wliisper 
 of assurance from the blindfold goddess herself. 
 
 I once saw a reduced-looking wretch, whose thread- 
 bare military surtout, mustaches, and tarnished croix 
 denoted him a half-pay officer, deprived of several 
 stakes in succession, amounting to something about 
 twenty-five louis-d'or each ; and, being sunk to his 
 last five-and-twenty, he boldly abandoned them to their 
 fate, till by the repeated success of four following coups 
 they accumulated to a sum oi four Imndred. The under- 
 breathed sacre Dieu ! and the half-frantic hah ! were 
 frequently ejaculated during his losses; but whilst pur- 
 suing this forlorn hope with his last stake — probably 
 his last franc on earth — resisting, besides, the strong 
 temptation Avhich presented itself every time the in- 
 creasing gold was doubled, of securing what lay already 
 won before him — he sat with as much composure as if 
 the money which he hazarded had not belonged to him, 
 or as if he felt an absolute confidence in the very im- 
 probable result; and finally put up the whole with that 
 au fait air which one assumes in doing something 
 uncommon quite as a matter of course ; although a 
 summersault from the Pont-Neuf or a black bench at 
 the Morgue, would probably have been the consequence 
 of an unfavourable turn in the instance of a single card ; 
 for he looked like one who had come there with the 
 desperate resolution of playing for life or death. 
 
 In Paris, the Rouge et Noir tables rifle the public to 
 the amount of 12,000,000 francs per annum; but half 
 that sum is paid to Government for its recognition. If,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 81 
 
 then, the Parisian Administration, as the proprietors of 
 the tables are designated, could pay a direct tax of 
 6,000,000, independent of the very heavy expenses 
 of their several establishments, and make fortunes 
 besides, to what must the unincumbered profits of the 
 London Administration amount? for it will be neces- 
 sary to apprise but few that St. James's-street and 
 Pali Mall are hardly surpassed by the Palais Royal 
 itself in the number of its maisons de jeu. 
 
 The universal passion for play in Paris, and the faci- 
 lities which attend its indulgence, are the source of 
 incalculable calamity. Life, character, and fortune 
 are the daily victims. Suicide is more prevalent here 
 than in any other city of Europe — so is gaming. I 
 shall leave these two facts to explain each other. 
 
 One morning in May last, a Captain of the Garde 
 Eoyal, who occupied apartments in the hotel where I 
 resided, destroyed himself in consequence of having 
 lost heavily at Rouge et Noir. His servant had entered 
 his bed-room at eight o'clock, and found him sleeping 
 calmly and soundly: at ninej a brother officer, who 
 slept in an adjoining room, was startled by the report 
 of a pistol, succeeded by a few heavy sobs : and, rush- 
 ing into the chamber of his friend, found him already 
 lifeless, with the fatal instrument clenched in his grasp. 
 His wretched father arrived next day, just as the police 
 had brought a mean hearse and rough shell to bear 
 away the body. The victim was an only son ! 
 
 The following trifle was written in the midst of the 
 dissipated scenes wrhich it attempts rather to sketch 
 
 a
 
 82 EOUGE ET NOm. 
 
 than describe : imagination has had nothing to do 
 with it, for every circumstance alluded to was wit- 
 nessed, and every scene introduced copied and coloured 
 from life. 
 
 The stanza which I have adopted, although revived 
 by Mr. Frere, and since made fashionable by Lord 
 Byron, was a very favourite one in the earlier ages of 
 our poetry. I believe Chaucer had the merit of im- 
 porting it from Italy. The mere measure, however, 
 has little to do with the merit of a Poem, as it is not 
 the quantity of syllables, but of thought, which con- 
 stitutes the value of verse : for what can be more 
 common than prose in rhyme ? on the other hand, we 
 sometimes meet with poetry in prose.
 
 ^i}U|54 ^1 3^h 
 
 Canto I. 
 THE GAME, 
 
 " And round about him lay on every side 
 
 Great heaps of gold that never could be spent; 
 
 Of which some were rude owre, not purified 
 Of Mulciber's devouring element: 
 Some others were new driven and distent 
 
 Into great ingowes, and to wedges square; 
 Some in round plates withouten moniment; 
 
 But most were stampt, and in their metal bare 
 
 The antique shapes of kings and kesars straunge and rare." 
 
 Faerie Queen. Book ii. canto vii. 
 
 I. 
 T^RUTH'S something like champagne when brisk and 
 bouncing, 
 Prone to explode, make mischief, and all that ; 
 But still more like champagne when done with flouncing, 
 
 Because so very few can bear it — -flat ; 
 It stoops at folly like a falcon pouncing ; 
 
 Therefore be cautious whom you fly it at : 
 If dull, 'tis scorned — mark many a holy thesis ; 
 And if too brisk, it flies in people's faces. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 EOUGE ET NOm. 
 
 n. 
 
 'T is dreaded like a monster witli a sting to 
 Its tail, and voted on all hands an evil : 
 
 Kings hate, and prelates fear it ; women cling to 
 Bland flattery instead — for it's so civil : 
 
 Thus, you '11 discover, 'tis a dangerous thing to 
 
 " Tell truth" (as Hotspur says) " and shame the Devil :" 
 
 For, like a thousand other things, the fact is 
 
 'T is more approved in theory than practice. 
 
 m. 
 
 However, I '11 indulge my vein for satire — 
 Thalia ! pen and ink, my desk and stool ! 
 
 Should Folly knit an angry brow — what matter ? 
 If high and hot, we '11 give her leave to cool : 
 
 We only mean to laugh a little at her ; 
 And, if she take it ill, she is a fool. 
 
 Poor soul I her pride 't will mortify and harass, 
 
 When London knows the freaks she plays at Paris. 
 
 rv. 
 
 And being now my purpose to turn poet, 
 
 As those whom craft or handy-craft is failing, 
 
 Are apt to do — for instance. Clod, you know it. 
 Pens verses on the sheaves he should be flaihng. 
 
 If I 've got wit, 1 '11 have the wit to show it. 
 Since all my wiser schemes prove unavailing ; 
 
 He never finds his fort who never tries. 
 
 Nor takes himself nor others by surprise.
 
 THE GAME. 85 
 
 V. 
 
 Fortune ! what crowds of suitors throng thy court ! 
 
 How many modes essayed to win thy smile ! 
 The course, the camp, the pulpit, and the port — 
 
 The soldier's recklessness, the lawyer's wile : 
 With equal ardour all pursue the sport — 
 
 Some fight, some preach, some flatter, some revile ; 
 Each to his bent — they wrestle and they run. 
 And one succeeds, and fifty are undone. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Few hold the great excitements at command ; 
 
 But few can play the statesman, hero, bard : 
 Few, tho' they launch, e'er reach the promised land, 
 
 Whate'er it be — a king's or crowd's regard, 
 A cross, an heiress, or a blood-red hand ; — 
 
 But ALL can try the hazard of a card, 
 Indulge in golden visions of success, 
 And wake to drain the cup of bitterness ! 
 
 vir. • 
 
 But some there be, to wealth and title wed, 
 Whom avarice nor squalid want defile ; 
 
 Who, high amid earth's mightiest charioted. 
 Look proudly down on all beneath and smile, 
 
 As one might, sauntering with a careless tread, 
 On marking at his foot the ant-hive's toil — 
 
 Reflecting, as the insects strove pell-mell, 
 
 Vraiment, le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle !
 
 86 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Yet mark you now this Millionaire pursue 
 The freaks of chance upon the hazard -board ; 
 
 You see him writhe, you see the mortal dew 
 Bead on his forehead, as the minted hoard 
 
 Seemed to take wings unto itself, and flew. 
 
 Now, mark again — 't is changed ! his gold restored — 
 
 Insulting triumph glows upon his brow — 
 
 His planet smiles ! and he 's a winner now ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 What is the gold to him ? as dross — and yet 
 The deep excitement stirs him to the core ; 
 
 No wretch, whose all is ventured on a bet, 
 By hope and fear is agitated more ; 
 
 To such it seems a pleasure to forget 
 
 The calm pre-eminence that lifts him o'er 
 
 His brother wayfarers on fortune's list : — 
 
 His Majesty himself plays — shilling whist* 
 
 X. 
 
 They 've got a game, called Rouge et Noir, in France — 
 A curious game, Avhich all the world delight in ; 
 
 At least, one might suppose so at first glance. 
 For English, German, Russian, French, unite in 
 
 Pursuing it : but, though a game of chance, 
 And though some boast of all they've won, or might win, 
 
 I 'm candid to confess, since I 've begun, 
 
 I could not win, nor meet with one who won. 
 
 * William IV.
 
 THE GAME. 87 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thousands can pledge the same ; for, as I live, 
 It is a game no human head hath skill for ! 
 
 You might as well lift water with a sieve, 
 Or, like La Mancha's Don, attack a mill, or 
 
 Aught else you like, as think to play and thrive : 
 It really turns gold into quicksilver ! 
 
 And he whose mind to trust my statement lingers, 
 
 May feel it slide as glibly through his fingers. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yet many make a persevering trial, 
 In hopes to find the philosophic stone ; 
 
 And, without carbon, crucible, or phial. 
 Contrive to melt their gold — till all is gone. 
 
 These alchyraists frequent the Palais Royal, 
 The gay Frascatt, and the grand Salon ; 
 
 Their tools a pin and card, to mark the coups — 
 
 This is the only witchcraft that they use. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 All play on systems, bent on ruining (1) 
 The Banque forthwith, that seem infallible, 
 
 Till trial proves that they are no such thing — 
 Alas ! they burst like bubbles on a well : 
 
 But still those desperate dreamers take their fling 
 (Alike at Palais Royal and Pall Mall), 
 
 Whilst feverish days and nights unnoted fly on 
 
 In weaving cobweb nets to catch a lion.
 
 88 ROUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The board is not unlike a billiard table, 
 
 Omitting cushions, side and centre pockets. 
 
 Round which us many crush as well are able. 
 With eyes like candles winking in their sockets, 
 
 And talking like the gentlemen of Babel, 
 In various dialects ;■ — as for their talk, it 's 
 
 Not quite so loud, because they must not clamour, 
 
 Like those old worthies learning their new grammar. 
 
 XV. 
 
 You 've probably observed a green-baise door — 
 Perhaps remarked its panels : lay it flat — 
 
 Those panels limit with a yellow score — 
 
 And, having done so — (now we have it pat) — 
 
 In every square insert, there being four, 
 
 A diamond — Rouge for this, and Noir for that : 
 
 Then stake on which you please, and then — and, pshaw ! 
 
 You understand — in short, 't is just comme qa. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And right across the centre of the board, 
 'Tween these supposed divisions, is a space 
 
 Where notes, and untold coin, and cards are stored ; 
 A square of black morocco sheets the place : 
 
 Ay ! there the banker piles that yellow hoard 
 Whose gleam lures thriftless roues to disgrace ; 
 
 But cease, while yet ye may, ye Jasons, cease ! 
 
 They 're fleeced themselves who seek that golden fleece.
 
 THE GAME. 89 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Alid glittering heaps of loose uncounted gold 
 
 Are ranged enough of packed rouleaux^ en masse, 
 
 To bribe a borough ; mille-franc notes, I 'm bold 
 To say, would stuff a patent camp mattrass : 
 
 Naps., Louis, and Joachims, you behold — 
 For any head, on honest coin, will pass — 
 
 With rows of silver, wliich you scarce could span, 
 
 " That pale and common drudge 'twixt man and man." 
 
 xvm. 
 
 Four grave conductors at the board preside, 
 Who take their seats in couples, vis-a-vis ; 
 
 Untouched, untroubled, whatsoe'er betide — 
 And many a sight of agony they see ! 
 
 One deals the cards ; the others are employed 
 To pay, or pocket, as the case may be ; 
 
 Each brandishing a 7'aJce, that looks quite funny — 
 
 Excepting when it claws away one's money. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 You wonder how the deuce each knows his stake, 
 Scattered as thick as midnight skies are starred ; 
 
 And, shoiild you play, 't is well to keep awake 
 Lest some fine fellow, ' bearded like the pard,' 
 
 Should chance to take upon him to mis-take 
 Your Louis-d'or for his — so prenez-garde ! 
 
 For many argue thus, nor dream of sin. 
 
 Win fairly, if you can — however — win.
 
 90 KOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 This game hath other mysteries, a few, 
 
 Which might be told, yet understood not all ; 
 
 Deep plans of play, and excellent, 't is true, 
 For wasting gold, and turning hearts to gall : 
 
 No doubt, ere now, you've heard of" tier et tout," 
 " Zig-zag,'" — "pursuing colour," — ^^ martingale ?"- 
 
 All shoals on which the precious freight is cast, 
 
 But none so surely fatal as the last. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'T is said, when any told Napoleon 
 
 That such or such a one had talents, or 
 
 Wliose depth of head might be depended on 
 In mathematics, diplomacy, war. 
 
 Or any thing, in short, in which he shone— 
 He answered — " Can he win at Rouge et Noir? " 
 
 His keen eye finishing the phrase — " If so. 
 
 He does what no one else can do, you know." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Epics come forth in books, romaunts in cantos, 
 Ballads mfyttes, and tragedies in acts, so. 
 
 To imitate thus far the bards who chant those, 
 I mean to mould the few forthcoming facts so : 
 
 I 'm fond of sonnets, epigrams, and centos — 
 Their brevity's a beauty, which attracts so : 
 
 Beside, those pauses rest one pleasantly, 
 
 And I 'm fatigued — however you may be.
 
 91 
 
 Canto II. 
 THE PALAIS ROYAL. 
 
 " But venture on the darkness, and within 
 See the stern haunt of wretchedness and sin." 
 
 Croly. Paris in 1815. 
 
 " I was not angry since I came to France 
 Until this instant." Henry V. 
 
 Good reader ! I refer you to Squire Planta, 
 
 Or Signor Galignani, if you never 
 Have visited this far-famed spot, and want a 
 
 Correct description — more correct than clever : 
 The touches should be picturesque that tint a 
 
 Scene such as this, and theirs are not : however, 
 In case their works should not have crossed your way, 
 I '11 tell you in three stanzas what they say. 
 
 u. 
 
 It forms an oblong square, with a piazza, 
 
 Parterres, and lime-tree alleys in the centre : 
 
 There 's not an inch, I 'm sure, from Ghent to Gaza, 
 Where youthful blood so much requires a mentor : 
 
 Among a thousand other things, it has a 
 
 Superb ^ei-cZ'eaw, which strikes you as you enter ; 
 
 Beside, a glass arcade (a Grisette garrison). 
 
 To which the Burlington bears no comparison.
 
 92 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 m. 
 
 It is a focus, where each principle 
 
 Of thought and act concentrate to a spot ; 
 
 Where gold is most omnipotent, and will 
 
 Buy love or lace — there 's nothing can't be bought : 
 
 A world in miniature, where equal skill 
 
 Is taught in sin and science — both are taught ! 
 
 With dancing, fencing, metaphysics, cheating. 
 
 And other things that don't abide repeating. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It is the heart of Paris, and impels 
 
 Warm poison through her wanton arteries ; 
 
 The honeycomb of vice, whose thousand cells 
 Pour fourth the buzzing multitude one sees — 
 
 Loose-trowser'd Beaux, and looser-moral'd Belles ; 
 With ancient Quizzes underneath the trees, 
 
 Reading the daily journals, or conversing : 
 
 And here and there a black -eyed Sevreuse nursing. 
 
 V. 
 
 Here new-come English ladies flock to stare 
 At all the wonders with their sleepy faces : 
 
 I 'm often led to think, I do declare, 
 
 The ugliest come on purpose to disgrace us : 
 
 Their clothes tossed on with pitch-forks, as it were ; 
 And marching more like Grenadiers than Graces ! 
 
 Wliilst Paris dames, who don't approve their fashion, 
 
 Survey them with satirical compassion. (2)
 
 THE PALAIS EOYAL. 93 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, now and then, a form goes gliding by 
 Such as might hover round a poet's dream ; 
 
 The cheek of rose, the large, the laughing eye, 
 As blue as heaven, and heaven in its beam ! 
 
 Lips that were made to smile, and make us sigh — 
 And limbs — but these might lead me from my theme : 
 
 The brightest foreign Belle, near such a one. 
 
 Fades like a star before the rising sun. 
 
 vu. 
 
 And though our country-men dress well in general, 
 
 Some naturally lead us to suppose 
 (With faces that would compliment a funeral) 
 
 They came to Paris to wear out old clothes : 
 The natives might be led to think our men are all 
 
 As shabby ag themselves, to judge by those. 
 Some sport outrageous fashions out of date— - 
 " Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But Stultz sometimes exports a Dandy over— 
 Or, in more modeirn phrase, an Exquisite^ 
 
 (Being delicate, they always cross by Dover,) 
 To show us Exiles how a coat should fit. 
 
 Now don't mistake, or think I mean to cover 
 This cast with ridicule, — Oh, far from it 1 
 
 I 'm told they 're lady-like and harmless creatures, 
 
 With something of hermaphroditish features.
 
 94 ROUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I like to look at them ! the cheek of cream, 
 Too soft for love, or wine, or war, or mirth to 
 
 Disturb into expression ! eyes whose beam 
 Is delicate as wax-light ; voice, for earth too 
 
 Dulcet by half : such beings as 'twould seem 
 A maiden lady might have given birth to, 
 
 Without once erring from her frigid strado 
 
 Or flirting with a soul, except her shadow. 
 
 You '11 know one by its stays, screw spurs, perhaps 
 A lewd-sketched box that music, and not snuff, fills- 
 
 To show the diamond finger off that taps : 
 
 Its puny chest bulged out with vests and ruffles. 
 
 As if 't were furnished, like the sphinx, with paps — 
 But still more like a Bindon stuffed with truffles. 
 
 Pshaw ! 'stead of lifting sail thus rigged to roam, 
 
 I wish those apes in stays would stay at home. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But this is to my subject most disloyal. 
 
 Which has been cooling all this time. Well, then. 
 Here let us enter, — not the Palais Royal 
 
 Itself can boast a blacker, baser den : * 
 Wliere those who throng to play are rather shy all, 
 
 Though frequently mixed up with ribbon-men : (3) 
 And oft Squire Bullsegg very slyly goes — 
 Since here he seldom meets a soul he knows. 
 
 * No. 109, 
 
 I
 
 THE PALAIS ROYAL. 95 
 
 xn. 
 
 Nay, desperate "Want itself comes here to game, 
 
 Although the turning of a card may be 
 As death : look on him ! woman's grief were tame 
 
 Beside that speechless stare of agony. 
 The vilest passions which the heart inflame 
 
 Run riot in their brute ferocity; 
 And joy and anguish wear the ruffian dye, 
 With all to wound the ear and shock the eye. 
 
 xiu. 
 
 And oft, a looker on the scene alone 
 
 (For, though you smile in doubt, 't is not less true), 
 My heart hath quailed to hear that horrid tone. 
 
 Half sigh, half sob — the deep-breathed ^' Sucre Dieu!" 
 Burst from a luckless wretch, with eye of stone, , 
 
 Convulsive cheek, and lip of death's own hue ; 
 Throbbed as he broke away, to madness wrought, 
 Perhaps — but fancy shudders at the thought ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yet, whoso visited the Morgue next morn 
 
 Had found, it might be, from the Seine's dull tide 
 
 Already dragged — a sight that well might warn — 
 Stretched on his back, the ghastly suicide ! 
 
 His eye unclosed, his garments stained and torn, 
 Hung from the drear and dripping wall, to guide 
 
 Some idle glance — perhaps to fix upon 
 
 The cold stark features of a sire or son !
 
 96 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Here let us blot a falsehood ! Why should France 
 Impeach our name with dull malignity, 
 
 And toil to fix a stain from which, perchance, 
 Her hardened, heartless self is far less free ? 
 
 No land on earth could give the shrinking glance 
 So deep a catalogue of blood as she : 
 
 Go ! 't is not well to show this jealous hate, 
 
 Yet leave such weapons to retaliate. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 We pass those days when Terror held the rein — 
 When earth outwent the worst we hear of hell : 
 
 From crowds we cull the solitary stain 
 
 Wherewith they blot us — let that Dead-House tell 
 
 How many plunge each night beneath the Seine — 
 For it can answer eloquently well I 
 
 And I 've been there ; seen sights I would forget ; — 
 
 But never — never found it empty yet. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But, hold ! I find I 'm rather in a passion, — ■ 
 If not upon the verge of the pathetic 1 
 
 Which, having little time for, I must dash on — 
 My style being, as you see, peripatetic : 
 
 Beside, although of late so much the fashion, 
 I do confess I 'm somewhat apt to get sick 
 
 Whenever stopped or stayed by blear-eyed Pathos-— 
 
 That maudlin sister of old blustering Bathos.
 
 THE PALAIS EOYAL. 97 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 Stay ! here 's another haunt where Rouge et Noir 
 Oft puts both purse and patience to the trial : 
 
 Let 's in — that is, if you would yet see more — 
 
 Though bad, the best throughout the Palais Rojial ; 
 
 For no Gendarme is posted at the door. 
 
 With keen and hawk-like glance, that he may eye all 
 
 At entry and at exit, as elsewhere ; 
 
 It being thought unnecessary there. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Yet, come along ! we shall not now delay 
 
 Our progress, save to let you know that here * 
 
 The English may be met with every day — 
 The seventh not excepted, — through the year. 
 
 (I wonder what their grandmothers would say. 
 If such a shocking scandal they should hear ?) 
 
 To prove old saws shall neither stay nor stun them- 
 
 Likewise the good their travelling has done thetn. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Allans! 'tis death to draw the tainted air 
 That steams in foetid vapour o'er each sense. 
 
 Till those who breathe it, though inured to bear. 
 Are turned to living mumtnies — let us Iience ; 
 
 The day's dejection, and the night's despair, 
 Are all they win — behold their recompence ! 
 
 How sweet the cool fresh air comes o'er one's brow- 
 
 Frascati's mirrored valves are open now. 
 
 * No. 154. H
 
 98 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But, whilst upon the way, remark the street — 
 For drays, dragoons, fiacres, fitted solely : 
 
 (The atmosphere beside is seldom sweet — 
 But what of that ? fastidiousness were folly.) 
 
 No flagway offers refuge when you meet 
 A jumbling cart, or splashing cabriolet ; 
 
 Whereby you run the risk, howe'er you squeal, 
 
 Of writhing, like Ixion, on a wheel. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet through such streets the gay Bourgeoise trips by, 
 With mincing gait, and dark glance rolling free ; 
 
 Tucking her deep-flounced petticoats so high 
 That one may mark the garter at her knee. 
 
 'Tis said, those ladies of the liberal eye 
 Wear spotted reputations — that may be ; 
 
 I only know they trip through streets quite shocking 
 
 Without a single speck upon their stocking. 
 
 XXIU. 
 
 Observe those lamps, with running lines suspended 
 Midway between the walls, like things that hover: (4) 
 
 They really seem so many stars descended, 
 Shedding a red and rich effulgence over 
 
 The pavement — nothing can be much more splendid ; 
 But how they 're hung, one can't at all discover, 
 
 Though blazing brighter than the Muse can utter. 
 
 Along the surface of the centre gutter.* 
 
 * Such was Paris thirty years ago.
 
 THE PALAIS ROYAL. 99 
 
 xxrv. 
 
 Hotel Frascati ! — voila ! now you '11 see 
 
 Things better managed : 't is, in short, a place 
 
 Where vice itself affects propriety 
 
 That puts your vulgar virtue out of face. 
 
 The damning evil is, one here may be 
 
 Seen day and night without the least disgrace : 
 
 Of this, however, should the curious want to 
 
 Know more, they '11 find it in the sequent canto. 
 
 h2
 
 100 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 Canto III. 
 
 FRASCATI. 
 
 " Oh ! blest retreats of infancy and ease, 
 Where all forgotten but the power to please, 
 Each maid may give a loose to genial thought; 
 Each swain may teach new systems, and be taught." — Byron. 
 
 I. 
 
 FRASCA.TI reached — all liveried and laced, (7) 
 
 Spruce, powdered, smiling fellows, Avait yonr call, 
 
 In wide saloons with glass and gilding graced. 
 Lamps, sofas, statued niches — indeed, all 
 
 That can indulge the most voluptuous taste. 
 Here, now and then, they give a splendid ball, 
 
 At which you meet, and vastly well it answers, 
 
 Nymphs of the buskin, vestals, opera-dancers. 
 
 n. 
 
 Flocks crowd to game, to waltz, to flirt; some serve 
 An hour's apprenticeship to each; a few 
 
 To lull, if not forget, the aching nerve 
 
 That throbs in troubled bosoms ; one or two 
 
 (Myself of course included) to observe : 
 The last is much the safest to pursue : 
 
 But, should it be your object, let the eye 
 
 Contemplate like a painter, not a spy.
 
 FRASCATI. 101 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh ! 't were a scene for Hogarth's laughing pencil 
 
 To execute: for it alone could seize 
 The Comic Moral, that supreme essential 
 
 In throwing back the veil from scenes like these. 
 Here Englishmen meet cold and consequential; 
 
 There French are free with their antipodes ; 
 Whilst Beauty, kind, and yet resolved to kill, 
 Flies round the waltz, and floats through the quadrille. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In this apartment. Rouge et Npir goes on, 
 
 Where fair ones stake with infinite sang-froid ; 
 
 In that, Roulette, of games the vilest one — 
 Few play it save the ruined or the raw. 
 
 Thus fly the hours from ten o'clock till dawn, 
 As brisk and busy as a kitten's paw: 
 
 Youth, Beauty, Wealth, and Folly, aid the revel — 
 
 And go as gay as can be to the Devil. 
 
 I am not yet a sage, for years must roll 
 (Alas, but few ! ) ere I see thirty ; yet. 
 
 Beholding some, who falter on the goal 
 
 'Twixt life and death, in scenes like these forget 
 
 The glory of gray hairs, upon my soul 
 I feel disturbed, as one might be who met 
 
 An Atheist in a church, a drunken priest — 
 
 A hearse where one had hoped to find a feast.
 
 102 KOUGE ET NOm. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I like a fresh old Boy extremely : one 
 
 Gay, not licentious, whose good spirits shine 
 
 Clear, if not ardent, like a winter sun ; 
 And generous and mellow as old wine. 
 
 But I despise and loathe to look upon 
 The hoary slave that, till his last dechne. 
 
 Takes blasphemy for spirit, slang for wit, 
 
 And boasts of errors which he can't commit. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And here a palsied, tottering Peer I 've seen 
 Sieging as warmly some young wanton one 
 
 As though he were a boy, and she a queen : 
 And pressing to his lip — the skeleton ! 
 
 Her polished hand, with mumbled vows between: 
 Whilst she, a thing of feathers, rouge, and fun, 
 
 Though dropping manna in the dotard's ear. 
 
 Glanced o'er her shoulder at her Cavalier. 
 
 vm. 
 
 And sooth ! this dome on nights of festival 
 Can boast a blaze of Beauty, bland and bright 
 
 As ever queened it in a courtly hall : 
 
 Heart-stealing eyes, and necks of swan-hke white ; 
 
 Round shapes that swell through silken fold and fall 
 Like Flaxman's Grecian outlines on the sight ; 
 
 Smooth cheeks beneath a cloud of raven curls. 
 
 And lips like moistened coral casing pearls.
 
 FKASCATI. 103 
 
 IX. 
 
 Graceful and delicate, though something wild ; 
 
 And in the dance so exquisitely free 
 That, as their light limbs bound, the heart, beguiled, 
 
 Consents that motion hath its poetry: 
 So much like heaven, methinks, if undefiled, 
 
 'Twere scarce idolatry to bend the knee: 
 But, shun their snares ! for these surpass in wile 
 The soft seducers of Calypso's isle. 
 
 X. 
 
 Oh ! I have looked on them — perhaps 't was wrong — 
 At once with admiration and deep pain ; 
 
 And felt, as he might feel whose heart is stung 
 In gazing on some fair and classic fane 
 
 Abandoned to pollution ! but my song 
 Is plunging into sentiment again: 
 
 The fact is, where one's wit is economical, 
 
 'Tis rather serious labour to be comical. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Here I have marked a sort of nondescript — 
 
 Half clown, half dandy : but the Cheapside hop 
 
 Betrayed the cruel secret, though equipped 
 Tout a la mode Franqaise, from toe to top : 
 
 A metamorphosed Cockney, who had slipped 
 
 His girths : but, having from the shipwrecked shop 
 
 Saved something, strikes his creditors with wonder. 
 
 By turning peizt maitre and French f under.
 
 104 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 xu. 
 
 And some make magic fortunes, playing thus (8) 
 At blindman's buff with Hazard in the stocks; 
 
 And, when they do, they keep a pretty fuss — 
 Take consequential airs, an opera-box. 
 
 With other things, too tedious to discuss: 
 The pity is, inveterate nature baulks 
 
 Their aim ; because it follows not that when 
 
 Men grow in wealth they must grow gentlemen. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Oh, no ! for though, like ^sop's frog, they swell 
 
 To emulate our BuJls of high degree. 
 Ay, sometimes till they burst; they might as well 
 
 Attempt to quench the sun, or drain the sea: 
 The thing 's impossible ; for let me tell 
 
 Them plainly, the distinction seems to be 
 As wide between our Exquisites and these, 
 As 'tween a lack of guineas and rupees. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 N^importe ! Frascati sports much more beside 
 
 To look and laugh at, which we '11 leave untapped, too ; 
 
 Venus and Fortune o'er the scene preside. 
 
 Both arrant jilts as ever man was strapped to: 
 
 And, could I hope my caveat signified, 
 
 Our poor, dear, gentle helpmates wofild be apt to 
 
 Just warn us, for the time to come, that we 
 
 Must not turn out en Garcon after tea.
 
 FEASCATI. 105 
 
 XV. 
 
 For who can tell what frolics may be played 
 By married Bakes in scenes so very naught ? 
 
 Yet home, believe me, ladies, should be made 
 A summer bower, instead of prison vault ! 
 
 And then the heart would seldom be betrayed 
 To seek, as many a ruined heart hath sought. 
 
 Elsewhere its resting-place: do take the hint — 
 
 There 's more, perhaps, than you imagine in 't. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I merely speak to such as can avail 
 
 Themselves of good advice ; for there be some 
 
 Past hope and help, no matter how you rail; 
 Hint, innuendo, irony, may come — 
 
 Who cares ? they glance like bullets from the scale 
 O' the great sea-serpent: not the monster bomb 
 
 Could, though it rowed the slip-shod sluts in volleys. 
 
 Correct one habit of those Dilly-dollies. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The camp may have its fame, the court its glare, 
 The theatre its wit, the board its mirth ; 
 
 But there 's a calm, a quiet haven, where 
 Bliss flies for shelter — the domestic hearth ! 
 
 If this be comfortless, if this be drear. 
 
 It need not hope to find a haunt on earth ; 
 
 Elsewhere we may be reckless, gay, caressed — 
 
 But here and only here, we can be blessed!
 
 106 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Oh, senseless, soulless, worse than both were he 
 
 Who, slighting all the heart should hoard with pride, 
 
 Could waste his nights in losel revelry, 
 And leave his bosom's partner to abide 
 
 The anguish women feel who love, and see 
 
 Themselves deserted, and their hopes destroyed: 
 
 Some doating one, perhaps, who hides her tears, 
 
 And struggles at a smile when he appears ! 
 
 xix. 
 
 Enough ! Frascati is my subject now; 
 
 And many pass their nights beneath its dome 
 Who leave none such to sorrow o'er the vow 
 
 That binds them to a libertine ; but roam 
 Because (and 'tis some cause, we must allow), 
 
 Although they have a house, they 've not a home : 
 Exchanging frowns and yawns — connubial blisses ! 
 For music, feasting, dancing, smiles, and kisses. 
 
 XX. 
 
 So, what with gaming, taking ice, and billing, 
 Discussions on the Charter, or a feather. 
 
 Lounging on sofas, waltzing and quadrilling, 
 With casual observations on the weather — 
 
 " The winter here, I think, is vastly chilling " — 
 
 Poles, Turks, and Persians — all the world together — 
 
 They keep it gaily up, the pillow scorning, 
 
 At least till six or seven in the morning.
 
 107 
 
 Canto IV. 
 THE S ALO N. 
 
 " I know the gentleman : 
 I saw him yesterday or t'other day, 
 And then or then, with such or such— and, as you say, 
 There was he gaming." — Hamlet. 
 
 " The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick: 
 Or— done !— a thousand on the coming trick !"— Byron. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis midnight — just the hour to introduce you (9) 
 
 Into the loftier sphere of the Salon : 
 Thousands are lost or won ; and, as you choose, you 
 
 Can play at Rouge or Hazard, or look on : 
 If pamphlets, journals, or reviews amuse you, 
 
 You '11 find them here in every tongue and tone. 
 Unlike all other Hells where sinners swarm. 
 You must be here presented quite in form. 
 
 B. 
 
 These rooms with Dukes and Viscounts overflow, 
 Whose oligarchic glances quite go through you : 
 
 And 't is more reputable much to go 
 
 The road to ruin with a Lord or two, you 
 
 Ought to feel sensible — Peers ! Marshals ! so 
 They make it quite a compliment to do you : 
 
 And give, beside, to prove they can't be winners, 
 
 Such suppers nightly ; and, ye gods ! such dinners !
 
 108 EOUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 m. 
 
 Ay, here jou find how Sybarites should sup, 
 And how a gourmand Monarch ought to dine : 
 
 The sculptured service, and the sparkling cup — 
 Ambrosial viands, and nectarian wine. 
 
 Apicius, could he see one course served up, 
 "Would own the Banquet worthy of the Nine : 
 
 Or, haply, gaze crest-humbled at the sight, 
 
 Until his envy spoiled his appetite. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Potage — La Eeine, or Puree aux croutons : 
 Poissons — Eperlans, Sole a I'eau de sel : 
 
 Entrees — Eagout, or Eiz aux champignons : 
 Roti — Dindon, or Filet de chevreuil : 
 
 Gibiei — Becasse aux truiFes, or Ortolans : 
 Au Sucre — Gelee d'orange, SouiSe vanille : 
 
 Then ice, and fruits which might have graced the trees 
 
 That waved their boughs in the Hesperides. 
 
 Tears of the vintage ! heart-drops of the vine ! 
 
 Are ye forgotten when the feast is crowned ? 
 Scarce has the soup retreated from the line 
 
 When Xeres and Madeira go the round, 
 Followed by tribute from the Ehone or Ehine : 
 
 Sauterne, Montrachet, Sillery, abound : 
 And, dearer to the Bon-vivant than those, 
 Clos de Vougeot, Grand Segur, and la Rose.
 
 THE SALON. 109 
 
 VI. 
 
 Cafe and Chasse concluded — all repair 
 
 To that zone-columned room which few forget 
 Whom evil chance hath led to enter where, 
 
 It may be, they and Misery first met : 
 But, wore she not young Pleasure's laughing air. 
 
 The while she meshed them in her iron net ? 
 
 Ah ! what avails it, when, the mask flung by, 
 She bares her haggard cheek and stony eye. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We raise a shout 'bout taxes and poor's-rates ; 
 
 And talk of burthens — but it must be talk ; 
 For heavy purses, rents from racked estates 
 
 (I shan't say where they lie, lest it might shock) 
 Come hither — handled first at old Lafitte's — 
 
 As regular as Jews transfer their stock : 
 Nor could our own Exchange produce more bucks 
 Who run aground, and waddle off " lame ducksy 
 
 vni. 
 
 And, sooth to say ! had I the gift of satire, 
 I scarce could ask a fairer chance than this 
 
 To lend the lash ; but one had rather flatter 
 When certain sort of people do amiss : 
 
 I 've said before, 't is shame, without a tatter 
 To tell the naked truth — and so it is : 
 
 Beside, in proper hues Avere I to show 'em, 
 
 They would not buy one copy of my poem.
 
 no EOUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Therefore I dare not say the world of good 
 
 This wealth had done, spent in their native soil, 
 
 Where hungry infants beg a little food, 
 
 And fainting wretches sue — for leave to toil ! 
 
 Where, all that can be spared, in mercy should ; 
 And where, while thus they waste the golden spoil, 
 
 Calm, decent pride denies one murmur vent — 
 
 But ah ! the pallid cheek is eloquent. 
 
 X. 
 
 Nor dare I say 't is deep and dark disgrace 
 To him who knows that misery 's in the land. 
 
 And fell disease, yet turns away his face, 
 
 And wastes that wealth abroad his iron hand 
 
 Hath wrung from Want at home (yet, 'tis the case — 
 But that's between ourselves — you understand), 
 
 Nor own the honest truth, that sums let fly thus 
 
 Had cheered cold hearths, and helped to stop the typhus. 
 
 • 
 
 XI. 
 
 There 's little else, perhaps, we might not skip — 
 Sheer play : I 've met originals, however — 
 
 Among the rest, a man of parchment lip, 
 And eye so frozen that it made one shiver ; 
 
 But, if a cold sardonic smile should slip 
 
 Athwart his features with convulsive quiver, 
 
 'Twas strangled, like a goblin, at its birth, 
 
 And seemed the very antipode to mirth.
 
 THE SALON. Ill 
 
 XII. 
 
 Nor moved those vampire features, save, perchance, 
 When some estated prodigal unrolled 
 
 The sheaf of billets which he eyed askance, 
 Or rashly piled the stake of minted gold ; 
 
 But then his sunk, sepulchral eye would dance 
 Delighted — just as if it soothed the old 
 
 Transgressor's spleen, beholding such an one 
 
 Undo himself, as he had been undone. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Such is the blighted slave whose life hath passed 
 Heartless and hardened, in this atmosphere ; 
 
 A being by his demon-passion cast. 
 
 Like Cain, from social haunts, and all that 's dear 
 
 Without one human feeling, to the last, 
 
 Beyond that avarice which drags him here ; 
 
 Till, like a bar consumed with inward rust. 
 
 The heart, before the frame, is turned to dust. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 To such a close the Gamester's progress leads — 
 Rank, feeling, wealth, and reputation gone! 
 
 And Fortune seldom favours him who needs — 
 Oh, no ! the rich, the fool, the knave hath won : 
 
 But he, whose heart at every venture bleeds, 
 Who plays for life and death, departs — undone ! 
 
 As if some scoffing devil stood to guard 
 
 Lest chance itself should turn one winning card.
 
 112 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Behold yon stripling — howsoe'er he stakes, 
 Dame Fortune veers obsequious to his whim ; 
 
 Nay, older sinners take the side he takes. 
 And absolutely win by following him : 
 
 Note the triumphant smile with which he shakes 
 The dice-box ! whilst his glowing eye-balls swim 
 
 Like one " in love or liquor," wild and warm, 
 
 And quite resolved to take the Fates by storm. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Now mark his mid-aged neighbour — foiled and crossed- 
 
 Some unexpected turn is sure to mar 
 Each hope of success when it flatters most. 
 
 As if mischance had smote him with her star ! 
 Born to estates a title's flaw hath lost — 
 
 Forced from his own good Hall to Avander far — 
 A trembling hand his latest stake hath spread, 
 And morn shall hear his infants cry for bread. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But not alone in public haunts they play — (10) 
 To such our dames of fashion can't resort ; 
 
 Of character, I was about to say — 
 
 And so I might, as boys nickname in sport; 
 
 But be they one, or both, or neither, they 
 
 Seem bent to give each scrviple the n'importe! 
 
 Therefore the interesting souls contrive it, 
 
 And soothe themselves Avith Rouge et Noir in private.
 
 . THE SALON. 113 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 They're English, too, and pass with each Parisian 
 As persons in most things of premier grade; 
 
 I've neither taste nor talent for derision — 
 Perhaps I should not use them if 1 had ; — 
 
 But, as I can't concur in this decision, 
 I merely shall observe, 'tis rather bad 
 
 That Britain should be judged by some who start 
 
 Without one British feeling at their heart. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 What ! not enough the loose unbounded fling, 
 Which French licentiousness and folly dare, 
 
 But ye must imp a more determined wing. 
 To make the giddy race ye mimic, stare ? 
 
 A reputation that could stand the thing 
 Must be extremely good, or — past repair. 
 
 Thus our Mechanics, but more nobly bent. 
 
 Improve inventions, if they can't invent. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Oh ! how it pains to witness beauty's bloom 
 Distort and flushed by unsuccessful play ; 
 
 To hear the dice-box in the drawing-room. 
 Or some vile dealer whine '■He jeu est fait:" 
 
 A scene, that wit and woman should illume. 
 The nest of black-legs and depravity ! 
 
 Opinion, rank, respect, no longer prized; 
 
 And every loftier impulse sacrificed. 
 
 I
 
 114 KOUGE ET NO IE. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Forefend I were so vicious or so vain, 
 
 However prevalent the taste, as to 
 Court popularity by giving pain, 
 
 Or drag forth private vice to public view 
 From motives other than I dare maintain ; 
 
 No, none can more despise the slaves who do ! 
 But, as a farrier treats a foundered horse, 
 I deal with this disease, without remorse. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Accursed game ! thy blight is everywhere. 
 Thy lawless fingers pilfer every purse ; 
 
 The swart mechanic, and the pompous peer. 
 Endure alike the pressure of thy curse. 
 
 When hopeless ruin hath dissolved thy snare, 
 The pistol or the bowl are things of course ; 
 
 And few can from thy griping fangs depart 
 
 Without a blighted name or broken heart. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Accursed game ! thou wring'st the bitter drop 
 From gentle eyes that never saw thee played ; 
 
 And oft the stinted meal, the empty cup, 
 
 Mock hungry hearts thy ravin waste hath made. 
 
 Oh ! how can he who wrought such wrong look up. 
 Where want must weep, yet means not to upbraid ? 
 
 The heart, methinks, might bid farewell to bliss — 
 
 Beg, labour, starve — bear anything but this !
 
 THE SALON. 115 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Accursed game I thou'st waked tlie Widow's shriek ; 
 
 Bereft the helpless Orphan of its shield ; 
 Made tears of anguish wet the furrowed cheek, 
 
 And victims rush to judgment unannealed: 
 By fascination, like the Indian snake, 
 
 Thou leav'st thy prey no power but to yield: 
 Ah I what a world of ruin marks thy course — 
 Fear, falsehood, destitution, and remorse. 
 
 i2
 
 116 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 Canto Y. 
 
 THE SHARPER. 
 
 •'Hence! pack! there's gold — ye came for gold, ye slaves; 
 Ye have done work for me, there's payment : hence ! 
 You are an alchymist, make gold of that: 
 Out, rascal dogs ! " Timon of Athens. 
 
 Pray, have you ever happened to upset 
 
 A bee-hive ? if you have, no doubt you feel 
 
 The stinging recollection of it yet ; 
 
 For wounds will be remembered though they heal : 
 
 But, having some experience, you must let 
 
 Me tell you, 'tis more perilous a deal • 
 
 To shake a hive of black-legs from their hole; — 
 
 I tremble as I scribble — 'pon my soul ! 
 
 II. 
 
 And hither swarm those prowlers who entice 
 The stranger on by specious arts, until 
 
 He finds, too late, his purse is made the prize 
 Of footpad principle and juggler skill : 
 
 But he that would the lurching sharks chastise, 
 Must handle something keener than a quill ; 
 
 Because, insensible unless you crush, 
 
 'Twere easier far to make them bleed than blush.
 
 THE SHARPER. 117 
 
 m. 
 
 Yet seem they fair, high -flavoured, candid fellows; 
 
 Apt to address you with such swimming ease, 
 That one can neither feel alarmed nor jealous: 
 
 'Tis part of their profession, and they please 
 Wliere many an honest fellow might repel us : 
 
 One such assailed me at the Tuileries ; 
 The morning, I remember too, was one 
 I went to see guard mounted — have you gone? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Because, if you have not, you'd better go ; 
 
 St. James's paired with it were bagatelle ; 
 The French Guards seeming finer men, for though 
 
 Ours win at fighting, they don't looTc so Avell : 
 Their blue coats barred with brading white as snow. 
 
 Cocked hats, and epaulets, cut such a swell 1 
 In short, I think, to give the deuce his due. 
 No troops on earth can beat them in review. 
 
 The mounted Grenadier's dark eye looks fell 
 Beneath the bear-skin rim that shades its ray ; 
 
 The plated cuirassier turns out right well — 
 But, in that iron jacket, seems to me 
 
 Too like a tortoise peeping from its shell — 
 Although, 1 grant, not quite so timidly : 
 
 And here, I rather think, the mirror smashes, 
 
 As tortoises don't always wear mustaches.
 
 118 EOUGE ET NOm, 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Lancer next, on hot and sinewy barb, 
 With Cossack trowser, high Hungarian cap, 
 
 Spear, heron plume, and silver-sheeted garb. 
 Shoots down the column like a thunder-clap. 
 
 At Albuera he presumed to curb, 
 
 Nay, caught the British Lion in a trap ; 
 
 The latter feeling it, however, due. 
 
 Returned the compliment at Waterloo. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then comes the firrred Hussar, with black mustache, 
 Holster and housing of the spotted pard, 
 
 Shell-mounted rein, and gold-wrought sabretache, 
 His corslet front with cross and medal starred. 
 
 The light cartouch of silver, and the sash 
 Alternate silk and bullion deeply barred ; 
 
 A crescent blade to meet his foe's rebuke. 
 
 With bit and bridle of the dark Mamlouk. 
 
 \Tn. 
 
 A Hessian cap adds fierceness to his form, 
 With tasseled scarf descending .to the waist; 
 
 Whilst o'er the shotdder of his bridle arm 
 
 The rich pelisse, with hanging sleeve deep-laced, 
 
 Is idly flung, as if the trump's alarm 
 
 Had summoned him *' To Horse !" in heedless haste; 
 
 And, mounting thus, equipped for strife or speed, 
 
 He bounds along upon his Norman steed.
 
 THE SHARPER. 119 
 
 IX. 
 
 And then the bands and trumpets sound so martial ; 
 
 Youg Aides-de-camp parading round about ; 
 Fair ladies, from the balcony, with partial 
 
 And brilliant eyes bent downward on the rout ; 
 'Mid which, encompassed by his Staff, some Marshal 
 
 Davoust, Macdonald, may be pointed out ; 
 With other chiefs whose swords, on fields of glory, 
 Have signed their deathless names to Europe's story. 
 
 This morning which I mention in particular, 
 Was one that Eussia's Czar and Prussia's King 
 
 'Twas thought would condescend to grace — those secular 
 Omnipotents, who manage every thing 
 
 By right divine, and, with a voice oracular, 
 Some million souls had just done parcelling 
 
 To stock crown lands — it followed, the sensation 
 
 Was very great, of course, on the occasion. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Despots ! — no matter ! I must now retread 
 
 The course from whence I've strayed so very far wrong : 
 
 'T was here I met this person, as I said. 
 
 Who did not choose his wily tongue to bar long, 
 
 But, with an inclination of the head, 
 Began, "Pray, who commands?" I answered ,"Marmont." 
 
 " And who is that — I mean the centre one — 
 
 A cut across his cheek ? " " That's Lauriston."
 
 120 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 xu. 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks ! You 've heard that Wellington 
 
 Has got another order from the King ? 
 No ! then, by Jupiter ! 't was nobly done — 
 
 The brilliants, sir, I 'm told, beat every thing ! 
 None more than I do, deprecate a pun — 
 
 And yet I '11 say, since wit is on the wing, 
 His Grace seems bent on heaven, secure and steady — 
 At least he moves among the stars already. 
 
 xm. 
 
 " Observe those Demi-soldes — they 're sadly cancered ; 
 
 You know them by their croix and ribbon shreds : 
 They can't forget the hour that they and France heard 
 
 The Lion-banner flapping o'er their heads ! 
 Have you seen service ? " Eather dashed,! answered — 
 
 " I have done some duty in the Featlierleds.^'' 
 " Good !" he rejoined, with sly and soothing air — 
 " You served at home — one can't serve everywhere." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With similar small-shot the siege began — 
 His chat so broken, that the true Vancouver 
 
 Cement could scarce have joined the fragments: then 
 He turned his conversation to the Louvre — 
 
 O'er a round list of famed chef-d'oeuvres ran, 
 Most glibly criticising each chef-d'oeuvre ; 
 
 Concluding with, " You 've taste, one plainly sees — 
 
 And so we '11 look them over, if you please."
 
 THE SHAEPER. 121 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now, thougli few persons less can boast the blessing 
 Of winning friends at once, for once ('t was this too) 
 
 I felt a sort of notion on me pressing 
 
 (And really fear a common one it is too), 
 
 That, after all, I must be prepossessing ! 
 
 The same mistake, I 'm well convinced, was his too : 
 
 Self-love, therefore, not he, became prime mover — 
 
 So, arm in arm, we sallied to the Louvre. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 We pass whate'er is surplus ; truth needs no 
 Ingenious Arabesque. My new-elected 
 
 And glib companion chanced — how apropos ! 
 
 To stumble on a friend — I nought suspected : , 
 
 Beside, the thing was quite in keeping ; so 
 An introduction was, of course, projected ; 
 
 Cards interchanged ; and, e'er an hour was o'er, 
 
 We parted like old cronies at the door. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Shame on those hearts (I said) that, like the snail, 
 Can only feel their way ! and (having said it) 
 
 Tossed off a bumper of the true lunel. 
 
 And gave my friends, and self, a deal of credit. 
 
 Next day they left their names at my hotel : 
 A civil note succeeded : having read it, 
 
 I cried, " Let caution teach and talk as 't will. 
 
 This world breeds cordial, frank, good fellows still."
 
 122 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 xvrn. 
 
 Thus ran tlae note — " Vendredi, Rue cVArtois. 
 
 Dear sir, will you oblige myself and Mrs. 
 
 By coming to discuss a lobster's claw 
 
 Ce soir ? a liberty I own tliat this is' — 
 But you '11 excuse it — yours, et cetera. 
 
 P.S. — The Viscount (merely) will be with us." 
 So, finding that ennui was like to bore me, 
 I went, in hopes the lobster would restore me. 
 
 xix. 
 
 The cards were introduced as I got there : 
 
 They pressed, and I declined — but, forced to play, 
 
 I took my seat, resolved on taking care : 
 
 In vain ! the Lady's eyes were fine, and they 
 
 Seduced me into several blunders, where 
 
 I should have won — those lights that lead astray ! 
 
 But mischief, like ourselves, as I 'm a true man, 
 
 Cant't well be propagated without woman. 
 
 XX. 
 
 We played for ivory jetons : they were counted to 
 Us (five-and-twenty each), but mark ! without 
 
 One word upon the value they amounted to : 
 And, if one's stake be nothing, one plays stout 
 
 Of course ; so that, by this time, I was out a few : 
 When lo ! the Lady, scattering hers about. 
 
 In flirting with the Viscount made him roar — 
 
 " Good heaven, Ma'am, they 're each five Louis-d'or!"
 
 THE SHARPER. 123 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Five Louis each ? I started at the sound ! 
 
 What have I done ? Oh, spoony ! blockhead ! baby ! 
 The bright champagne, meantime, had sparkled round 
 
 Our sly and smiling hostess playing Hebe, 
 Till, Clarence-like, my brain at least was drowned; 
 
 But this recalled my wits as soon as may be — 
 Just as you've seen, no doubt, a reeling toper 
 Come smack against a post, and straight grow sober. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 In short, I now saw through the imposition ; 
 
 And my astonishment, if not dismay, 
 Had been a subject for the hand of Titian: 
 
 But, being rather timid in my way, 
 I made at once a peaceable decision 
 
 Between the ills — to pistol, or to pay : 
 Took leave — the winners feigning deep regret — 
 As heirs are happiest while their eyes seem wet. 
 
 XXIII, 
 
 Now for a word of moral — should you trip 
 
 At Caf6, Opera, no matter where — 
 On one of those smooth villains who would slip 
 
 Lithe as a viper to your breast — beware ! 
 Distrust the glozing of a dexterous lip ; 
 
 Nor deem all right that looks as if it were : 
 For, mark me, such have sank themselves beneath 
 The vilest ruffian on the midnight heath.
 
 124 ROUGE ET NOm. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The caitiff wretch, unsheltered and unfed, 
 Who, wrung by famine into violence. 
 
 And every ill that maddens heart and head — 
 Perhaps denied the niggard recompence 
 
 Of Adam's curse — by sweat to win his bread, — 
 Hath still a mitigating plea, from whence 
 
 Mercy extracts a balm, so soft and sweet, 
 
 Tliat Justice weeps upon the judgment-seat ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But they have none who play the willing knave. 
 Nor know those wants that urge distress to sin. 
 
 What wrought this degradation ? some grey slave 
 Of infamy, most like, first led them in — 
 
 Depravity's own work is, to deprave : 
 
 They lost, and, as they lost, resolved to win ; 
 
 Till shame or honour ceased to be a bar, 
 
 And left the callous outcasts — what they are !
 
 125 
 
 Cakto VI. 
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 " 'Tis better using France than trusting France." — Henry 8. 
 " Come, sir, convey me to the block of shame ! " — Richard 3. 
 
 My task draws to a close — and, if perused, 
 All this my labour is not spent in vain : 
 
 Yet, should the gentle Reader be amused, 
 I must confess 't is more than I have been : 
 
 Because these rhymes were painfully transfused 
 By drops through the alembic of my brain — 
 
 Almost a month absorbed by their elision, 
 
 In all the agonies of parturition. 
 
 II. 
 
 I might have made my song more piquant, had 
 I sauced it here and there with some political 
 
 Reflections : heaven knows the times are bad 
 Enough to rail at — some believe them critical ! 
 
 The latest news afloat is, that the Rad- 
 icals and Ministry, though antithetical 
 
 In most things, are suspected of collusion — 
 
 Resolved to plunge the country in confusion.
 
 126 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 m. 
 
 I do not vouch the fact ; but 't is too clear, 
 
 Things are not such as they should be : such as pause 
 
 To think upon these matters coolly, swear 
 There never was effect without a cause : 
 
 And, if Old England be gazetted, there 
 
 Must be a : well, I hope not ! the new laws 
 
 Should keep the people quiet, or, as some 
 
 Are pleased to call the lower class — the scum. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The latter term is somewhat incorrect. 
 
 And, therefore, one I wish my friends to drop ; 
 
 For, both by cook and chemist, I suspect, 
 The scum is mostly found upon the top : 
 
 Indeed, without the sUghtest disrespect, 
 I may as well observe, before I stop. 
 
 That worth (like plums in pudding, when we've got 'em) 
 
 Is often apt to settle towards the bottom. 
 
 V. 
 
 Though, like a wild brook branching from a river. 
 The Muse hath wandered from her channeled bed. 
 
 If you are not too testy to forgive her. 
 
 She'll flow to join the current which she fled : 
 
 She's in the Opposition, and, whenever 
 I wish to play the wag, she's so ill-bred 
 
 That, just to damp my humour, she prefers a 
 
 Catastrophe, in short — and vice versS..
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 127 
 
 VI. 
 
 What though my theme be plain as can be penned- 
 One reason why I fear it shan't succeed — 
 
 Some gentle souls may read me to the end 
 (For there be worthy people who will read, 
 
 Admire, condemn, do all but — comprehend) 
 Without suspecting once they stand in need 
 
 Of aught this sage and shining work contains ; 
 
 As fools are last to find their want of brains. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For such, with all the pith my plume can wield, 
 I '11 string a few deep Aphori'ms just now, 
 
 By way of an appendix to the field 
 
 Already traversed — gaily, you '11 allow — 
 
 That those may eat the apple ready peeled 
 
 Who coiild not reach to pluck it from the bough 
 
 But, with a tenderness I love to cherish-r- 
 
 That hour I wound a wig -block, let me perish ! 
 
 vui. 
 
 Being besides (I fear a common case). 
 Less partial to advice than to advising ; 
 
 And, having some experience of the place, 
 I shan't be thought ofiicious in apprising 
 
 The uninitiate, 'tis a wild-goose chase 
 For those, who contemplate economising. 
 
 To post towards Paris — quite as well repair 
 
 To Gutter-lane in. search of country air.
 
 128 ROUGE ET NOm. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Avoid it ! if for nothing but to shun 
 
 This all-involving snake, this Rouge et Noir, 
 
 Which, fell as those that folded Laticoon, 
 Strangles the firmest resolution ; for 
 
 I can't just now recall a single one 
 
 Who had the means to play, and did not ; nor 
 
 Ten who escaped its gripe before they knew 
 
 The odds 'tween sans souci and sans six sous. 
 
 For if you play — remember, I have said it — 
 It follows that you lose ; and, when you lose. 
 
 You '11 very probably be wanting credit, 
 Which strangers will, as probably, refuse : 
 
 Beside, the French, no doubt you 've heard or read it, 
 Are ten times worse to deal with than the Jews : 
 
 And, if they trust, you '11 find it to your sorrow. 
 
 They wont put up with — " Call again to-morrow." 
 
 XI. 
 
 As if this paying debts were still the fashion ! 
 
 Nor once reflecting that you had not come — 
 A circumstance that puts one in a passion — 
 
 To do that here you never did at home ! 
 'T is really rather hard that one can't dash on 
 
 As one should like, without the dread of some 
 Low fellow, who would rather send — odds delf ! 
 A gentleman to gaol than — go himself.
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 129 
 
 xn. 
 Tkis renders it advisable that, ere you 
 
 Leave home, your income should be settled surely : 
 For, if your purse want pith, not one will spare you — 
 
 Nay, those who cringed will treat you most hauteurly ; 
 Your very servants take the hint, and stare you 
 
 r th' face, as if they thought you looked but poorly ; 
 Dependants, flatterers, friends, your gold once gone — 
 All, save perhaps your dog — forget to fawn. 
 
 xin. 
 The just and the unjust are, you '11 observe, on 
 
 An equal footing in a foreign sphere : 
 And so, though character at home may serve one, 
 
 It is a thing as Hghtly valued here — 
 Some whisper 'tis because so few preserve one — 
 
 As paper of the Bank which failed last year; 
 And therefore should I, in this land of Satan's, 
 Prefer one Louis -d'or to Henry Grattan's. 
 
 xrv. 
 Thus far my Pegasus hath packed full trot : 
 
 The Muse being snug behind me (on a pillion), 
 Wliimpering sweet rhymes, ideas, and what not : 
 
 But, since he bore the lofty Bard of Ilion, 
 Who, though such swarms have mounted since, 't is 
 thought 
 
 Has proved himself — save one * — the best postilion — 
 His pinions, plucked for quills, are left so scanty, 
 That now he 's but a stumbling Rosinante ; 
 
 * Shakspeare. k
 
 130 EOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And therefore takes upon liim to refuse^ 
 
 Like any other jade ye beg or hire, 
 To budge another inch with self and Muse : 
 
 How altered since he struck, instead of fire, 
 From Helicon a river — bless his shoes ! 
 
 So, lest we pitch together in the mire — 
 Particularly having cause to dread it 
 We '11 just dismount him (if we can) with credit. 
 
 XVI, 
 
 Next fytte my strain shall be — what Fortune sends; 
 
 But English follies still must claim the preference : 
 "Where can a man make free if not with friends ? 
 
 Meanwhile I'll study prosody, and sever hence 
 Some rules my lyre as yet scarce comprehends. 
 
 For this attempt, 't is but a gentle reference — 
 A sketch, for vice or folly far too faint — 
 But Artists learn to pencil ere they paint. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The sparkling Soiree^ Ojiera, Long Champ 
 
 The Carnival, Ecarte, Tivoli, 
 With some intrigues and duels, en passant, 
 
 By way of illustrating — modern chivalry 
 Shall yield me subjects for another song : 
 
 And none can take it ill, if managed civilly : 
 Where one in ten may pass unwhipped — what then ? 
 The greatest knave will be that one in ten.
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 131 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But, hence with trifling ! I have just retraced 
 
 My steps to Place de Greves' dark square, and seen 
 
 A tall undaunted youth his life-blood waste 
 Beneath the all-atoning Guillotine. 
 
 The sun shone out unfeelingly, and chased 
 
 Those clouds that better had become the scene ; 
 
 And thousands, thousands thronged to see him die — 
 
 Jests on their lip, and laughter in their eye ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And there I marked, by Heaven ! a Father raise 
 His little Child above the crowd, as though 
 
 He sought to sear the startled infant's gaze, (ll) 
 
 That bane and bloodshed with its growth might grow- 
 
 Or freeze, at once, that precious fount which plays 
 When pity bids the heart and eye o'erflow ! 
 
 I noted well the sallow villain's air, 
 
 And read of Revolution-horrors there. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The fettered Victim in a cart came on ; 
 
 An aged Priest prayed by him ; but the prayer 
 Passed to the winds ; though, ever and anon, 
 
 A crucifix was laid upon his sear 
 White lip — he felt it not ; for, wild and wan, 
 
 His eye dilated round the crowded square : 
 At last, with feverish gesture, quicker breath, 
 He fixed it on the instrument of death. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ROUGE ET NOrR. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A shriek — a sudden and appalling shriek, 
 That told a tale of helpless, hopeless pain, 
 
 Startled the still suspense, and seemed to break 
 The charm that held the crowd as by a chain : 
 
 A fair young Form, with death upon her cheek, 
 Rushed frantic through the press, as if to gain 
 
 Another look, another wuld farewell — 
 
 But, faint with agony, she swooned and fell. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They bore her off : — With melancholy cheer, 
 As some dark thought had o'er his spirit crept, 
 
 The Felon turned, and dashed away a tear — 
 
 That voice had touched a nerve which long had slept. 
 
 The deeply-wronged, alas ! what led her near ? 
 Pale victim to a vow so badly kept ! 
 
 All else had left him to his last despair — 
 
 But she was there to mourn him — she was there ! 
 
 xxin. 
 
 The hurdle paused. He rose with every nerve 
 Braced to die firmly ; mounted on the stage — 
 
 Methought I saw him then begin to swerve — 
 'Twas I that shook ! his features were a page 
 
 Where passion, it was easy to observe, 
 
 Had written much. He said his father's age 
 
 Must now be brought with sorrow to the grave — 
 
 For he had scorned the counsel which he gave.
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 133 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 He said lie was a soldier ; and, though young 
 Had bled for France upon the battle-field, 
 
 Led by the Imperial bird ; had fought among 
 
 Those legions that made trembling Europe yield : 
 
 That undeserved and bitter wrong had stung 
 His heart to madness ere his crime was sealed. 
 
 Bade those who saw him die forget the name 
 
 Of one who brought his father's house to shame. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He said, the vice of PLAY polluted first, 
 
 Then plunged him to the depth of desperate want : 
 
 That he who lured him to those haunts accurst, 
 Had spurned his prayer for succour with a taunt : 
 
 Then the roused tempest of his spirit burst ! 
 
 No fear could check, no consequence could daunt : 
 
 A comrade's blood the midnight couch had dyed — 
 
 And he stood there — the sentenced homicide ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 His words were firm, though hurried — spoke as men 
 With little time, and much to utter, spake : 
 
 His troubled eye ran round the square again. 
 As if one last, brief, farewell look, to take. 
 
 They laid him on his bloody pillow then — 
 The blade descended — one convulsive shake — 
 
 And, as the naked spirit left its hold, 
 
 His severed head along the scaflfold rolled 1
 
 134 EOUGE ET NOnt. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1. Page 87. Stanza xiii. 
 
 All play on systems, bent on ruining 
 
 The Banque forthwith, that seem infallible. 
 
 Almost every one has got his favourite system of losing his 
 money at this fascinating game, either the result of his own 
 cleverness, after having experienced the fallacy of fifty others, 
 equally ingenious, or communicated as an important secret by 
 some particular friend, who has probably lost his last franc in 
 pursuing it himself. It is scarcely possible to conceive the 
 depth of folly and infatuation to which this system of system- 
 building is calculated to reduce a rational being. The mania 
 of play is one to which experience itself, however dearly 
 piu"chased, can bring no remedy ; for, unlike any other species 
 of excitement, the most copious bleeding often fails to reduce it. 
 I have known subjects, in whom the circulation had become 
 quite exhausted, spend whole months in looking on ; imagining, 
 by a close observation of the progress of the game, that they 
 might ultimately hit upon some plan of play which must 
 succeed; invariably adapting those plans to a peculiar run of 
 the cards, without recollecting that, in a period perhaps of 
 years, they may not meet with an instance of two deals 
 taking an exactly similar course. Many of these dreamers 
 are as eager in the pursuit of this visionary object as if they 
 were staking thousands; and appear, like some of our round- 
 paunched inculcators of temperance, humility, and charity, 
 just as much interested in the theory of the thing as they 
 could have been in its practice. Nothing is more common 
 than for persons who have an inveterate penchant for any par- 
 ticular vice, to palliate its indulgence, at least to themselves
 
 NOTES. 135 
 
 by encouraging a latent impression that the misfortune to 
 which it may lead is their destiny. An elderly gentleman, who 
 some time since retired to, Paris, after having lost a large 
 fortune in the course of sevetal years' deep play at the London 
 Clubs, seemed quite to acquiesce in this idea, although a man 
 of high literary attainment and refined taste. But, by way of 
 playing a ruse as it were upon Fate herself, so often as the 
 pittance which had survived the general wreck of his affairs 
 came to hand in the shape of a quarterly remittance, he regu- 
 larly handed over so much of it to a faithful and only servant, 
 who had been with him since his meridian, as sufficed to settle 
 tlie rent of a wretched apartment, in a more wretched lane, 
 and to keep body and soul together until the return of the 
 next pay-day. With the surplus he repaired directly to the 
 gaming-table, where he lived night and day, till his last five- 
 franc piece cast a gleam of reproach from its perilous berth on 
 the yellow-lined card-cloth. His losses, however, seldom 
 seemed to trouble him, for, like many about him, the moment 
 his purse became empty, he recommenced his calculations, 
 systems, and theories ; with an invention as prolific as that 
 of a lottery contractor, he had a new scheme for every quarter, 
 differing, however, in one essential from those grand ones 
 which used to tempt rich and poor with their red- ink promises, 
 because he only swmdled himself, whilst they did as much for 
 the public. 
 
 Note 2. Page 92. Stanza v. 
 
 Whilst Paris dames, who don't approve their fashion, 
 Survey them with satirical compassion. 
 
 The height from which a Frenchwoman looks down upon 
 the gaucherie and costume of the Nymphs of the Isles, is most 
 insulting. The education of the feet in England is miserably 
 neglected. Keeping step, as it is called, occasions much of the 
 prevailing awkwardness, since nothing can be more out of 
 keeping than one of the softer and shorter sex taking stride for 
 stride with a Man !— this is strctcliing a point with a witness;
 
 136 KOUGE ET NOIE. 
 
 this is measure for measure ! Our countrywomen are, beside, 
 proverbially ill-shod. Guy, the lady-shoer, defended his 
 trade by asserting that the fault lay in the last. A case of 
 » London-made ladies' shoes " was once upon a time shipped 
 to Cadiz, with other merchandise. One pair was selected for 
 the Museum, as a costumic curiosity ; the remainder forwarded 
 to Patagonia. 
 
 Note 3. Page 94. Stanza xi. 
 
 Where those who throng to play are rather shy all. 
 Though now and then mixed up with ribbon-men." 
 
 Lest the reader should imagine from this passage, that 
 ribbons and orders are confined to peculiar rank or merit, it 
 may be well to apprise him that they are as common as shoe- 
 strings. 
 
 Page 95. Stanza xiv. 
 
 Yet, whoso visited the Morgue next morn, 
 Had found, it might be, from the Seine's dull tide 
 
 Already dragged, a sight that well might warn — 
 Stretched on his back, the ghastly suicide ! 
 
 The following note upon the subject of the Morgue belongs 
 to that admirable poem, " Paris in 1815," by Dr. Croly. 
 
 "The Morgue, to which those who die by accident or self- 
 murder are carried, is a small building near the Hotel Dieu 
 and the river. The dead are laid upon wooden frames in a 
 dimly-lighted room, and separated from the porch by a glazed 
 partition. At the time mentioned, a young female was lying 
 to be recognised. Suicides are probably more common in 
 Paris than in any other city of Europe. The habitual 
 irreligion, and promiscuous vice of the people, make self- 
 murder almost a regular resource for ill-luck. The Morgue is 
 seldom empty."
 
 NOTES. • 137 
 
 Page 96. Stanza xv. 
 
 Here let us blot a falsehood! why should France 
 
 Impeach our name in dull malignity, 
 And toil to fix a stain, from which, perchance, 
 
 Her hardened, heartless self, is far less free ? 
 
 A Parisian caricature, which makes the prevalence of suicide 
 n England its subject, was much in vogue about a year since, 
 and may still be encountered in the course of a stroll along 
 the Boulevards. The " Dramatis Persona " consist of four 
 Englishmen. One is seated, his elbows upon a table, his head 
 propped between his palms, and his eyes starting from their 
 rings in a paroxysm of despair. Another, unwilling to leave 
 his friends in uncertainty, holds a pistol at each ear to report 
 the cause of his departure. A third is exliibited in all the 
 agony of suspense, swinging from the bough of a tree. Whilst 
 the fourth and last, aware that " there is a tide in the affairs of 
 men," is in the act of precipitating himself from the parapet of 
 a bridge. This is all amusing enough : it is not with the cari- 
 caturist that one finds fault, but with those graver libellers 
 who disgrace themselves by the irascible and jealous attacks 
 upon the national character of England, which flow like gan- 
 grened sores from the Parisian press. 
 
 A simple fact, however, will always prove more than either 
 the keenest wit or wickedness can, in support or illustration 
 of any argument; and I shall conclude this note with one to 
 match the caricature above alluded to, as it appeared in the 
 journals of the time; — 
 
 " Yesterday evening, as a gendarme was crossing the Pont 
 Louis XVI., he perceived a little girl, who seemed at the 
 utmost to have reached her thirteenth year, mounted upon the 
 parapet of the bridge, with hands and eyes raised towards 
 heaven. She then looked down upon the river for a moment, 
 and, uttering a faint scream, had just launched herself off", 
 when the gendarme caught her by the petticoats, and 
 brought her, rather rudely, back again to earth. Upon inquir- 
 ing the cause of her despair, this Dido of thirteen assured him, 
 with becoming pathos, that she was ' the victim of an un- 
 fortunate attachment !' "
 
 ■138 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 Note 4, Page 98. Stanza xxiii. 
 
 Observe those lamps, with running cords suspended 
 Midway between the tvalls, like things that hover. 
 
 These suspended lights are heginning to veil their glories 
 before the triumphant gas. The Rue de la Paix now rivals 
 Regent-street in its midnight effulgence. 
 
 Note 7. Page 99. Stanza i. 
 
 Frascati reached, all liveried and laced, 
 
 Spruce, powdered, smiling fellows wait your call. 
 
 The Hotel Frascati, Rue Richelieu, is rather a splendid esta- 
 blishment, and the only gamhling-house in Paris to which 
 females have access at present. Those who resort hither, how- 
 ever, are perfectly correct and well-bred, considering (as we 
 say of lawyers) their profession. 
 
 Note 8. Page 104. Stanza xii. 
 
 And some make magic fortunes, playing thus 
 At blind man's buff, with hazard in the stocks. 
 
 A class of persons force themselves to a certain extent into 
 society in Paris tvho could not be known elsewhere — bankrupts, 
 legs, and levanters — and, having been successful on the Stock 
 Exchange, make a dashing appearance, and entertain sumptu- 
 ously. But, who is he that would degrade himself by "tasting 
 the salt " with such ? Many ! very many ! the possession of 
 a good cook will gain you more consideration than a thousand 
 virtues. My opinion of some individuals has undergone a 
 painful revolution since I discovered that they allowed them- 
 selves to come into contact with the unclean beast: the man 
 whose self-respect is subservient to his appetite, must possess 
 that first of all qualifications for getting on in the world — a 
 bad heart and a good stomach.
 
 NOTES. 139 
 
 Note 9. Page 107. Stanza i. 
 
 ^T is midnight — just the hour to introduce you 
 Into the loftier sphere of the Salon, 
 
 This establishment is as superior to all the others in Paris, 
 as that of Crockford's to all the low Hells in and about King- 
 street, St. James's. Here it is necessary you should be pre- 
 sented in proper form to General Baron D n and the 
 
 Viscount De B e, who preside at the entertainments, and 
 
 receive those who are introduced to the cercle. After this 
 introduction you receive invitations once or twice a week 
 during your stay, and nothing can surpass the cuisine of the 
 salon. A number of men of play, and men of fashion ("unfor- 
 tunately they are all but synonymous), adjourn hither at the 
 conclusion of the opera; supper is announced every night at 
 two o'clock ; and the parties were often most agreeable. 
 
 I have heard more good things said, than I shall ever hear of 
 
 being done, by the party. Some of M n H ke's stories 
 
 are excellent. I recollect his mentioning two striking in- 
 stances of hostile fortune, which both occurred at the Roulette 
 table. The first was of a person who had lost (to liim) a 
 ruinous sum at Rouge et Noir, in the course of a night's 
 play at Frascati; a handful of gold still remained, with which 
 he rushed into the Roulette room (the ball at the instant 
 spinning in the circle), and had reached out his hand to place 
 Lis stake on Numero 23, when his foot coming in contact with 
 a chair, he and his gold came to the ground together, just as 
 the ball settled on the number he had selected. But for this 
 contre-temps, he had won thirty-six times the amount of 
 his stake. The other was told as follows. A young man was 
 pursuing a high and unsuccessful game at Roulette, whilst a 
 friend who stood beside him, looking on, earnestly expostu- 
 lated with him on his infatuated rashness. This well- 
 intended, but not well-executed interference, served only to 
 irritate the player, and render him more headstrong. Stake 
 afler stake was swept away, each heavier than that wliich
 
 140 ROUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 went before, until, at length, stung to desperation, he placed 
 his last mass of gold upon the table, and turned aside in 
 nervous agony, unable to witness the result. His prudent and 
 considerate companion, however, taking advantage of his 
 averted regard, and resolving to rescue his money from its 
 perilous position, succeeded in snatcliing it from the board at 
 the critical moment when the Numero upon which it had been 
 staked came up ! The player, on the result being annoimced, 
 turned with a triumphant countenance to seize his thirty- 
 six-times-doubled stake, and found nothing ! Well might 
 he exclaim — "Save me from my friends — I defy my 
 enemies ! " 
 
 I recollect meeting the Duke de D , and M. C d, on 
 
 one occasion at supper, after they had both been unsuccessful 
 in the hazard-room ; when it was unanimously resolved, that 
 to win was impossible with the deuce et ace in favour of the 
 Bank. The Duke thereupon produced some dice which he had 
 transferred from the hazard-table to his waistcoat pocket, in a 
 moment of impatience at the opposition they had evinced to 
 his success, and, shaking them in a champagne glass, called 
 a main, and commenced throwing on the supper-table. The 
 Messieurs de la chambre stared with astonishment at so novel 
 a proceeding: whilst all agreed that this was an excellent 
 method of equalizing the chances, and depriving the Banque of 
 its percentage. 
 
 Whoever has seen Erench hazard, knows that you select 
 the pair with wliich you intend to cast from a pack of six dice. 
 
 Some players, like D n, have a trick of putting them into 
 
 their pocket, or flinging them into the fire, when they prove 
 refractory. Others I have seen make them fly like a shower 
 of grape, to the imminent peril of the broad mirrors which 
 sheet the walls of the apartment; but the irritation of the loser 
 is rarely so strongly pronounced as in the latter instance. A 
 friend of mine, the natural calm of whose temper no storm of 
 fortune or misfortune could ruffle, was in the habit, neverthe- 
 less, as often as he threw out, of transferring the dice, in the 
 gentlest manner possible, to his pocket ; resolving that that set, 
 at least, should do no further mischief. His valet every morning 
 cleared out the pockets, throwing the dice, which had by this
 
 NOTES. 141 
 
 time increased to a heap, into an unoccupied valise. My friend 
 and I returned to England together ; on arriving at Dover we 
 gave our keys to the commissioner of " The Ship," to pass our 
 luggage through the Custom-house, and sat down to breakfast. 
 "We had scarce finished when the commissioner returned, and 
 presented each with a slip of paper, on which was specified 
 the amount of duty payable on the few articles that had been 
 charged. I perceived my friend's eyes dilate as he regarded the 
 scroll, whilst he exclaimed with unusual vivacity, ^'^ Dice I thirty 
 pounds! damn the dice ! what dice ? " " The dice in your trunk, 
 sir," replied the commissioner ; " there are above a hundred 
 packs of them." " In my trunk, sir? call ray servant. What will 
 they think of us ? " " That we are Legs, no doubt," I replied, 
 " wholesale Legs, since we import our own dice." The valet 
 appeared, and explained that the valise with the contraband 
 goods happened to be one liis master had ordered him to pack; 
 but, having had no instructions to remove the dice, he left 
 them as the Custom-house officers had found them. The 
 commissioner, on hearing the matter thus accounted for, ap- 
 prised T n that, if he relinquished the dice, he should 
 
 escape the duty; and no time was lost in taking advantage of 
 the alternative. 
 
 Note 10. Page 112. Stanza xvii. 
 
 But not alone in public haunts they play — 
 To such our dames of fashion cant resort; 
 
 Of character, I was about to say — 
 And so I might, as boys nicknatne in sport. 
 
 Some years ago. Rouge et Noir was frequently introduced at 
 the soiree, and dealers from the public tables were employed to 
 officiate. The practice is now interdicted, and Ecarte pre- 
 vails ; but those only who can play what tricks they please 
 on the cards, have any chance of winning — it is quite a game 
 of tour de passe-passe now.
 
 142 KOUGE ET NOIR. 
 
 Note 11. Page 131. Stanza xix. 
 
 And there I marked, by Heaven ! a Father raise 
 His little Child above the crowd, as though 
 
 He sought to sear the startled infant's gaze. 
 
 That bane and bloodshed with its growth might grow. 
 
 Lest this circumstance should be considered as merely 
 imaginary, and to avoid, after having sworn to the fact, the 
 imputation or suspicion of even poetical perjury, I beg leave, 
 in plain prose, to iterate the assertion. The child was about 
 four years old.
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 " To sleep — perchance to dream ? ay, there's the rub ! " 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 145 
 
 % §m\\i 
 
 I 
 
 " To sleep — perchance to dream ? ay, there's the rub ! " 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 HAD beeu musing on the Bard's bright theme 
 Wlio sang the Seraphim^ and twined his brows 
 With foliage from the boughs 
 
 That whilom waved in Eden — hence the dream 
 That round my pillow like a halo played, 
 Received its radiance, as the waves are rayed 
 
 Thro' which the dolphin glides 
 With hues that gush like sunbeams from his sides. 
 
 And thus I dreamt: — Methought 
 This mortal coil was cast, and the fleet soul 
 On bending pinion mounted far and free, 
 Passing the bright orbs one by one that roll, 
 And weave their beams, along the galaxy, 
 'Till in the rosy east, my vision caught 
 The crystal port, whose adamantine bars, 
 
 And valves inlaid with stars. 
 
 Close on the courts above. 
 On, on ! I cut the ether like a dove ;
 
 146 A DREAM. 
 
 Eapt with the melody my own wings made, 
 
 Invading the illimitable vast — 
 Until at last 
 I vailed them on the sapphire esplanade 
 Fronting the gates of heaven ; where I bowed 
 My head in adoration — when, anon, 
 Brought with the rush of coming pinions, shone 
 A haze of glory round me, sheeting the cloud 
 
 Whereon I knelt, with gold. 
 Forthwith I raised my forehead, and, behold, 
 An angel stood before me ! " Hail ! " he said, 
 " Young Palmer of the earth. — Ere yet we tread 
 The mystic threshold of the inner sky. 
 Thou shalt re-wing with me the azure space, 
 And, once again, yon far pale planet trace, 
 Where mortals sigh to live, and live to sigh : 
 There Time, that hoar and never-sleeping sage 
 (Begot by Light on Chaos, when the Sun 
 
 Took darkness by surprise, and won 
 All space) 
 Shall show the reigning Gods of every age 
 Whom earth's bewildered and capricious race 
 Have fashioned in their folly — feared — enthroned- 
 Invoked — derided — worshipped — and disowned 1" 
 
 Then down the azure empyrean, we, 
 
 Swifter than shooting stars, pm-sued our flight ; 
 
 Leaving behind a slanting track of light 
 
 Like that which paths the sea 
 With frothed silver in some galley's wake : 
 The lightning were too slow to overtake, 
 While thus we cleft the va;?!, exultingly !
 
 A DEEAM. 147 
 
 A comet, in his blazing car, 
 Beyond the moon, our boundless vision took ; 
 And, horrid, from his crimson hair he shook 
 Famine, and pestilence, and ruthless war, 
 Among the upward-gazing nations : kings 
 Marked the celestial vagrant of the vast, 
 And trembled for their sceptres as he past. 
 
 Wide of his fatal course we veered our wings. 
 Then crude creations of the element. 
 Warping the middle blue, obscured our path ; 
 Unfashioned, uncompounded matter, rent 
 By the resistless whirlwind in its wrath 
 
 From some chaotic continent : 
 Flame, fluid, cloud and storm, together pent, 
 Floated in sullen mystery ; anon. 
 Smote by a ray from heaven, put colours on 
 That paled the orient; and, assuming shape, 
 Now seemed a floating isle, or forest hoar ; 
 An iced pinnacle, or emerald cape. 
 With sands of gold, and purple waves that bore 
 Majestic navies with their broad vans set. 
 Then spread a far-expanding plain, whereon 
 A city, zoned with crystal turrets, shone — 
 Pavilion, palace, temple, minaret. 
 Burned in the setting sun. It passed, and then 
 Conflicting hosts in square and column met : 
 Steeds bent imperial necks ; and serried shields 
 Shone like a wall of steel. It changed again ; 
 And sunny slopes, and cultivated fields, 
 
 l2
 
 148 A DEE AM. 
 
 Displayed their richest hues of green and gold. 
 Of all the rest I loved that tranquil scene ; 
 But it too faded : and, behold, 
 Once more upon the blue serene 
 The dense and dusk confusion floated on : 
 When, suddenly, athwart the darkness swam 
 A snake of living fire ; and, thereupon, 
 Exploding, with a peal as long and loud 
 
 As the ignited thundercloud. 
 Or Etna when his lava torrents jet 
 Their columns at the stars, or earthquakes fret 
 A reeling globe — it passed — and all was calm ; 
 Save, now and then, a solitary shriek, 
 That startled the still azure as it past; 
 Like notes that from the wailing bugle break 
 When routed squadrons fly — each fainter than the last. 
 
 " Mark ! " said the angel, reefing his bright wings, 
 
 " The limbo of malignant spirits who 
 
 Made discord while on earth : ambitious kings, 
 
 Wliose passions were their ministers, and grew 
 
 Despotic o'er the despot : demagogues 
 
 That spring, the aconite of every clime 
 
 Where surging tyranny hath left her slime, 
 
 To poison that which bred them : sensual hogs 
 
 Who wallowed in their troughs of sculptured ore, 
 
 And, eying pallid poverty askance. 
 
 With gluttony's hyena growl and glance. 
 
 Bade pampered menials spurn her from the door :
 
 A DREAM. 149 
 
 Prelates who preached humility in lawn 
 
 To misery in sackcloth : Parasites 
 
 Whose lithe and lying tongues were formed to faAvn, 
 
 And pander to the bestial appetites 
 
 Of bloated pomp : Bards who profaned the fire 
 
 They took from heaven, by lighting with its ray 
 
 A sacrifice to envy or to ire : 
 
 Judges who cast the equal scales away 
 
 Which Justice balanced in her dexter hand ; 
 
 But seized the sword, and waved it o'er the land. 
 
 Retributary penalty ! they feel 
 
 The anguish they inflicted : spurned thro' space, 
 
 In whirlwinds and on racking clouds they reel — 
 
 Tossed like a falcon's lure : nor <;hange of place 
 
 Is change to them ; for, wheresoe'er they steer, 
 
 Hell closes round them like an atmosphere. 
 
 Yet, think not this eternal — tho' there be 
 
 Who deem their God relentless as the wave 
 
 When tempests war: Man, passion's veriest slave. 
 
 Squares punishment with crime — and will not He ? " 
 
 And now we crossed the region of the moon ; 
 And, on a silver beam's declining plane, 
 Cut the ecliptic ; whence the earth, amain, 
 Grew on the. gaze dilated ; then we won 
 The empire of the winds ; and swiftly past 
 Those lights that lace the cold septentrion ; 
 Curving the terrene verge ; until, at last, 
 O'er Nubia's sparkling sands, with arched lids, 
 We hailed, afar, the Memphian Pyramids.
 
 150 A DREAM. 
 
 There Time sat musing — his untiring wing 
 
 Outspread and quivering : 
 Methought a plume was absent, here and there — 
 Twas said the Poets plucked them thence, to write 
 Immortal song — what will not Poets dare ! 
 A twelve-signed Zodiac of material light 
 Circled his brow ; and, overhead, a zone 
 Of planets floated, sounding as they shone — 
 Type of perpetual motion : and his robe 
 Was spun from the asbestos ; which the flame 
 May brighten, but consume not — still the same : 
 In front a terrene and a starry globe 
 Slept on their spinning axles : at his foot, 
 lieposing on a prostrate column, spread 
 The spoil of ages — things (so flattery said) 
 Formed to survive his reign : the Orphean lute, 
 
 Itself, lay shattered there, and mute ; 
 Tho' at its strain the Furies felt a thrill, 
 And sleeked their snaky tresses; Tantalus 
 Forgot his thirst ; Ixion's wheel stood still ; 
 While the recoiling rock of Sysiphus 
 Stopped like a thing that listened : Time, alone, 
 Untouched, and unenchanted, heard the tone. 
 Medals, and tomes, and statues, sculptured gems, 
 Lay in the trodden dust, with thrones o'erthrown. 
 Sceptres reversed, and cancelled diadems ! 
 
 The Angel seized and turned the wizard's glass : 
 
 Time started, and looked back ! 
 Wliereat, from trophied Nile's mysterious track, 
 A surging mist unrolled its volumed mass — 
 Stealing the present from us : all was black.
 
 A DREAM. 151 
 
 One undistinguishable void — but, soon, 
 
 Dream within dream, like storm-foretelling moon 
 
 Sphered in her mystic halo, met my sight — 
 
 And, from the verge 
 Of chaos, I beheld a world emerge ! 
 The sun came forth ; and from his throne of light 
 Touched forest, cliff, and cataract with flame : 
 But, in the east, one spot, the loveliest, stood, 
 
 From whose sweet solitude 
 Two glorious forms like God and Goddess came — 
 Naked and beautiful ! His brow, whereon 
 The short curls clustered hyacinthine, shone 
 Eadiant with thought; while Her abundant braids, 
 Bright as the morn, in floods of lustre rolled, 
 • And shrined her beauty in a cloud of gold ! 
 And they were young ; and in those happy shades 
 Knew every joy — but, O ! above the rest 
 That each imparted bliss in being blest ! 
 
 And nature owned their sway : the lion, awed. 
 Crouched at their feet ; and, whereso'er they trod. 
 Young flowers awoke, and oped their painted urns 
 To offer incense : bloomed the regal rose 
 That blushes for each fragrant sigh she throws 
 Away on the rude wind, and oft returns 
 Tears to the sun's caress ; the deVjonnair, 
 And herald-coated tulip flaunted there ; 
 The pensive flower that bids you not forget ; 
 And, lurking near, the dark blue violet ; 
 The sky-bora iris, azure veined with gold ; 
 Lilies that, in their silver chalice, hold
 
 152 A DREAM. 
 
 The liquid gem unsunned ; and, shadowing these, 
 
 Swayed boughs like those of the Hesperides 
 
 Yet unprofaned ; the carved and crested pine 
 
 Pointed its golden cone ; the nectarine 
 
 Gleam'd thro' its shining foliage ; citrons threw 
 
 Reviving perfume on the zephyr's wing ; 
 
 And vines laid out their treasures, clustering 
 
 In wild abundance : Avhatsoever grew 
 
 Was best and brightest : blent with these were some 
 
 Whose boughs dropped balm, or wept Sabean gum ; 
 
 And cedars on the purple summits shook ; 
 
 And wiUows dipped their tresses in the brook. 
 
 Such was the scene which held that happy pair, 
 As, bending on the blossom-woven sod, 
 With glowing hearts they breathed their evening pray'r 
 To Him on high — their Father and their God! 
 Nepenthean dew impregn'd the crystal air. 
 Shook from cherubic pinions while they bowed ; 
 And angels, leaning from a lighted cloud. 
 Swept golden harps responsive to their pray'r : 
 Such was the scene eer dimmed by tears or vice — 
 And this was Paradise ! 
 
 Death followed sin. The vision floated on : 
 Ages and mystic eras rolled away 
 Like storm-clouds driven past the setting sun 
 Wild superstition soon began her sway ; 
 And man, forgetful of the mighty One,
 
 A DREAM. • 153 
 
 Profanely knelt to idols : altars smoked 
 
 To Moloch, and to Peor, smeared with gore : 
 
 Red Dagon, and Ashtaroth, were invoked : 
 
 These were among the loftiest names that bore 
 
 Rebellious arms in Lucifer's revolt ; 
 
 And, justly, for that arch-apostate's fault, 
 
 Amerced of bliss, recalled with vain regret, 
 
 "Were hurled from Heaven's cerulean parapet. 
 
 Then came fanatic Egypt's demon train — 
 
 Monster and myth — the bold-imagined Sphynx : 
 
 Isis, Osiris — phantoms of the brain, 
 
 From which the violated reason shrinks — 
 
 Yet they involved a meaning. Then arose 
 
 The deities of Greece — bright errors ! those 
 
 Faded in time like stars before the dawn — 
 
 For One came forth whom long the righteous sought : 
 
 And earth knelt down before that mighty One ! 
 
 He came ! no conqueror in purple state — 
 A manger cradled the Immaculate : 
 Ordained his pilgrimage on earth to tread, 
 The wanderer knew not where to lay his head. 
 A reed his sceptre for the scoffer's mirth : 
 A crown of thorns his diadem on earth : 
 The cross his type of triumph o'er the grave : 
 His foes — the millions whom he died to save! 
 
 Whence that appalling shout? The sun grew dim. 
 " To Calvary — away ! mmy ivith him ! "
 
 154 A DREAM. 
 
 And, seen afar against the tloodshot sky, 
 The sign of the Messiah rose on high : 
 Then star proclaim'd to star that man was free- 
 That Death was swallowed up in victory : 
 And nations, in their panoply of war, 
 Fell down before the unarmed Conqueror !
 
 THE MODEEN VAMPYEE. 
 
 " I look into the world, and there I see 
 Things that do strike my bloodshot eyeballs back 
 Into the brain !" Ben Jonson.
 
 157 
 
 WH ^adern tiimpji|. 
 
 "I look into the world, and there I see 
 Things that do strike ray bloodshot eyeballs back 
 Into the brain ! " Ben Jonson. 
 
 QOME casuists make the Spartan rule their own — 
 
 Guilt is not guilt unless the guilt be known : 
 Old Bailey evidence, Westminster courts, 
 Assize intelligence, police reports. 
 Exhibit but those spots upon the skin 
 Which indicate the plague at work within — 
 A bubble on the pool — enough to show 
 That something agitates the mass below. 
 Poor clumsy rascals swing, or curse in chains, 
 Less for their want of honesty than brains ; 
 While nobler culprits 'scape such bitter fruit, 
 Because, though not more honest, more astute. 
 A wretch may sting your heart, distract your brain, 
 Or touch your character, and leave the stain ; 
 Embitter past and future — wrong — oppress — 
 Do all, and yet not legally transgress.
 
 158 THE MODERN VAMPYRE. 
 
 But who comes here ? Intruder on my view, 
 I did not mean to stoop so low as you ! 
 Vain, upstart peer, with title fresh as paint; 
 A scamp expelled from college, now a saint ; 
 Brought up by Insolence in Folly's school — 
 A drivelling, yet overweening fool : 
 Eash as a rocket ; light as a balloon ; 
 Flashy as gas, and changeful as the moon: 
 Hence, to your cups ! from sillery to stout, 
 Hiccup a prayer ; get drunk, and be devout. 
 Enough ! for wherefore should the Muse rehearse 
 A subject too contemptible for verse? 
 
 I leave unnoticed here a hydra brood, 
 No longer trusted once they're understood ; 
 Paid Agitators, Quacks, Mad Priests, Projectors, 
 Trustees, Attorneys, Stock-jobbers, Directors : 
 If names like these deform the tortured line — 
 Nay, break your teeth, the fault is none of mine : 
 Theirs be the widow's cruse, the orphan's bread, 
 Since they, tho' not their victims, must be fed : 
 But, let them not believe I mean to spurn 
 Their claim to notice ; each shall have his turn, 
 From cloth of gold to vilest Monmouth rag — 
 Ay, lower yet — from Quirhandfang to Bragge. 
 Old Quirlcandfang, bent double o'er his desk — 
 Strange compound of the fiendish and grotesque ! 
 Like some gaunt spider, crouched in gloom profound, 
 While shreds of blood-sucked clients flutter round,
 
 THE MODERN VAMPYRE. 159 
 
 Deep in his web of wiles he loves to lurk, 
 
 And prosecute his worse than dirty work : 
 
 Alive to the vibration of each thread 
 
 O'er many a Trust and many a Manor spread, 
 
 He marks, rejoiced, his victim buzz and strain 
 
 To 'scape the dire entanglement in vain : 
 
 The devil at his elbow, smiling grim, 
 
 To think how soon he'll do as much for him. 
 
 One who too well their tender mercies knew 
 
 Would thus apostrophise the sordid crew ; 
 
 While, smiling as in scorn upon his fate, 
 
 He stood an exile, proud tho' desolate : 
 
 Three things not found in heaven were his assets — 
 
 His errors, his misfortunes, his regrets : 
 
 " Ye have done Avork for me, as Timon told 
 
 The parasite he flogged, who came for gold : 
 
 Ye have done work for me, deceitful, dark ; 
 
 You therefore live in cities — I in Sark : 
 
 A pilot coat and sealskin cap my garb ; 
 
 A skiff my cab ; a bounding wave my barb ; 
 
 The Race of Alderney, my Derby course — 
 
 Unequalled in velocity and force : 
 
 For lamps, the beacon lights are here in vogue, 
 
 Far flashing from the Caskets and La liogue : 
 
 My club the naked cliff; a cave my hall ; 
 
 And, for my opera, the surge and squall ! " 
 
 Another class must now engage my lay — 
 Unsentenced, yet iniquitous as they :
 
 160 THE MODERN VAMPYRE. 
 
 Such as rejoice in more emblazoned names — 
 
 St. George, thy denizens, and thine, St. James. 
 
 One let us here distinguish from the throng, 
 
 Wrap like a mummy in the folds of song ; 
 
 That, when unrolled, three thousand years to come- 
 
 Dumb evidence, but eloquent tho' dumb — 
 
 The wise may note, with speculation nice, 
 
 To what perfection we had carried vice ; 
 
 And curious antiquarians mark, surprised, 
 
 A people so remote, so civilized : 
 
 Ay, one let us select — perhaps the best : 
 
 And gibbet him for warning to the rest. 
 
 Behold that front ! and what can words avail ? 
 
 Those features, hardly human, tell their tale : 
 
 His face, a malefactoi-'s on the rack ; 
 
 His form a toilet-comb, all teeth and back ; 
 
 Expression, such as can only be surmised 
 
 By those who mark a " subject" galvanised: 
 
 A votaiy of fashion, ne'ertheless — ■ 
 
 So dancing dogs exhibit in court dress. 
 
 " Enough !" you cry, " in this insulting style. 
 
 That less provokes to execrate than smile : 
 
 A wretch like this ne'er breathed since time began ; 
 
 You, therefore, paint a monster, not a man, — 
 
 A figure in the magic lamps burlesque ; 
 
 A demon in fantastic arabesque : 
 
 Thus herald-painting nature disregards ; 
 
 Or they who daub the Kings and Queens on cards."
 
 THE MODERN VAMPYRE. 161 
 
 We bow before the critic ! May he ne'er 
 
 Be caught, like others, in the Vampyre's snare. 
 
 Let him not cross your threshold ! There be those 
 
 Who from the hour he entered date their woes : 
 
 Let him not cross your threshold ! Eden smiled 
 
 Until the serpent entered and beguiled : 
 
 The wife you cherished — she who blest your lot — 
 
 Betrayed, seduced, becomes — ah, write it not ! 
 
 The son you love, the last who could deceive, 
 
 Will speculate upon the wealth you'll leave ; 
 
 Embrace, regard you with a beaming eye, 
 
 And wonder when the devil you will die : 
 
 The Friend, that second self, who used to haunt 
 
 Each step you took, now gives you the avaunt : 
 
 Your shadow, while the sun of fortune shone ; 
 
 But where's your shadow, now the sun is gone ? 
 
 And whence this change, this perfidy, this pest. 
 
 That damps your bread with tears, and breaks your 
 
 rest ? 
 'Twere easy told — a fiend hath been your guest. 
 
 Now for his mind : altho' the sketch be tame,' — 
 A mind so well befitting such a frame : 
 Versed in each abject art that honour hates, 
 The monster shocks, and yet insinuates : 
 Feared by the weak, avoided by the wise. 
 Endured by many, altho' all despise, — 
 He worms his way, whatever may befall, 
 And, like an epidemic, visits all : 
 
 M
 
 162 THE MODERN VAMPYEE. 
 
 Prone with the stream, where'er it flow, to swim, 
 Quick to comply, howe'er absurd the whim ; 
 Whate'er you do, is best, or say, is right, • 
 He fawns, and licks the hand he means to bite. 
 Till, winning on your weakness, like a child, 
 You shrink at first, but soon grow reconciled : 
 His bland assumption, his assuring look. 
 The plume and tinsel which conceal the hook : 
 But if, perchance, your penetrating eye 
 Perceive the angler, and reject the fly, 
 Behold the change ! that tongue, which now applauds^ 
 Next moment ciu'ses you by all his gods. 
 His life one plot, one concentrated aim, 
 To pick your purse, or vilify your fame : 
 Nay, when your cash and credit both are gone, 
 Insatiable, the leech will yet hold on : 
 Use — if he stiU can use you. — no way nice. 
 Your skin for parchment, or your bones for dice. 
 Wished I to see a woman's bosom wrung, 
 My instrument of torture were his tongue : 
 Yet can he flatter with consummate skill. 
 And win the captive listener to his will : 
 For I have marked her feast upon his speech. 
 Nor find, till stung, the wasp within the peach. 
 Not only is his scowl prepared to slay, 
 But he can smile a character away ; 
 Or whisper subtle venom in the ear. 
 Which, heard by one, he knows that all shall hear : 
 'Some charge too black for mercy to assoil— 
 For they who listen shudder and recoU :
 
 THE MODEKN VAMPYEE. 163 
 
 Some spotless uame polluted by liis tongue ; 
 Some fortune ruined, or some bosom wrung. 
 None better know than lie, however mute, 
 What damning guilt a gesture may impute : 
 A glance, a sneer, a frown, perchance a sigh, 
 Like some who kiss the book, can swear and lie ! 
 Tho' too discreet to let the worst be heard, 
 His manner leaves the worst to be inferred : 
 Reserving, thus, a loophole for escape. 
 His auditor must give the scandal shape ; 
 Find names for things equivocally termed : 
 Till, what he dared but hint, becomes affirmed ; 
 The tale, so metamorphosed in its course, 
 That none can trace the poison to its source ; 
 And, so augmented by mendacious grist. 
 The dwarf becomes a giant in the mist. 
 
 Thus calumny, tho' never breathed aloud. 
 May flash, like silent lightning, from a cloud, 
 And scathe its victim, heedless at the time, 
 And innocent as infancy of crime : 
 Thus dark suggestion works on meaner minds ; 
 Thus malice rather hints the fault than finds : 
 Vile traitor to the honest use of speech. 
 The base insinuate, the bold impeach ! 
 Yet, even he may lay an erring snare, 
 And catch a Tartar when he's least aware ; 
 Be taught to feel the anguish he inflicts. 
 And shun a path which mercy interdicts. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE MODERN VAMPYRE. 
 
 Alas, for Mercy ! 'twere as wise to say 
 The panther should compassionate his prey ! 
 
 To drag him into light be mine the task : 
 Come forth, incarnate demon ! and unmask : 
 Oh! for a whip in every honest hand 
 To lash the rascal naked thro' the land !
 
 A riLE FOE THE SNAKE. 
 
 " God keep her hence I or, ye who meet, beware ! 
 You know at once the tigress by her stare : 
 God keep her hence — or take ! His will be done — 
 Of all His ugly works this ugHest one." — A>'ontmous,
 
 167 
 
 % 4ik far live ^rnl^. 
 
 " God keep her hence ! or, ye who meet, beware ! 
 You know at once the tigress by her stare : 
 God keep her hence — or take ! His will be done — 
 Of all His ugly works this ugliest one." — Anonymous. 
 
 TI7HEN the snake licked tlie file 
 
 Her delight became glo'^ing, 
 For she knew not the blood 
 
 Was her own that was flowing ; 
 Thus Malice, attacking 
 
 The blameless and bold, 
 Is the snake with the tile 
 
 In the fable of old : 
 As well might a hedge school 
 
 Attack Alma Hater ; 
 Or a nutmeg resolve 
 
 To demolish the grater.
 
 168 
 
 A FILE POR THE SNAKE. 
 
 This fortunate island 
 
 Possesses a iliir one, 
 Who, when looking her sweetest. 
 
 Looks ready to tear one : 
 Her ominous countenance, 
 
 Still in a fester, 
 Seems always opposed 
 
 To a piercing nor'-wester : 
 So fiery, 'tis certain 
 
 Her Avine-merchant tricks her, 
 And instead of old Port, 
 
 Sends the DeviVs Elixir ! 
 In spring, when her bloom 
 
 Has arrived at its maximum, 
 Some imagine her food 
 
 Must be chutney and capsicum ; 
 While others expect — 
 
 Tho' you fancy it fustian — 
 She will one day go off 
 
 In spontaneous combustion. 
 Some thoughtful Philanthropist 
 
 Ought to amaze her 
 Ey sending her home 
 
 An anonymous razor ; 
 For her cheek and her chin 
 
 Wear the down of the thistle, 
 And hold out an affluent 
 Promise of bristle :
 
 A FILE FOR THE SNAIvE. 169 
 
 No man in his senses 
 
 Could fancy she feared him, 
 Because he must see 
 
 She is ready to beard him ; 
 Her airs and her graces 
 
 Are almost too laughable 
 When she apes the benign, 
 
 And aiFects to be aiFable. 
 With teeth like a walrus. 
 
 And snout like a lizard, 
 And, instead of a heart, 
 
 A caoutchouc sort of gizzard ; 
 Affecting a lisp, 
 
 Like the hiss of a gander, 
 She pours forth her olla 
 
 Podrida of slander : 
 Or, full of importance, 
 
 In. vauntings that satiate. 
 On self, her dear self. 
 
 She delights to expatiate: 
 Her brilliants, her servants. 
 
 Her ponies, her posting- 
 
 « 
 
 That peculiarly vulgar 
 
 Description of boasting, 
 Which, to those who must listen, 
 
 Is absolute roasting ; 
 And proves 'tis quite new 
 
 To herself to be tonnish — 
 So, astonished herself. 
 
 She resolves to astonish.
 
 170 A FILE FOR THE SNAKE. 
 
 The plainest of women 
 
 In feature and organ 
 May, nevertheless, 
 
 Be an amiable gorgon ; 
 But for her whom I sing. 
 
 By the grille of St. Laurence, 
 Dislike at the outset 
 
 Concludes with abhorrence. 
 Her hatred no doubt 
 
 Might occasion distress ; 
 But one shudders to think 
 
 How much more her caress ! 
 Then fancy his luck 
 
 Who has captured the treasure- 
 The Mars who embraces 
 
 This Goddess of pleasure ! 
 Ugh ! rather than this, 
 
 Let me kneel to the lictor — 
 Bear the worst that the worst 
 
 Of my stars can inflict ; or 
 Be crushed in the folds 
 
 Of a f)oa constrictor ! 
 By flattery most fulsome 
 
 You're certain of winning her; 
 Or by serving her friends up 
 
 In cayenne and vinegar : 
 So fond of those friends. 
 
 And so anxious to serve them. 
 She puts them in pickle — 
 
 Of course to preserve them ;
 
 A FILE FOR THE SNAKE. 171 
 
 As chymists, ambitious 
 
 To seem Aristotles, 
 And humbug the vulgar, 
 
 Put reptiles in bottles. 
 
 In ages called dark 
 
 While yet truth was in petto, 
 And some preferred magic 
 
 To drug or stiletto; 
 The witch bribed to murder 
 
 First made her wax model, 
 Then pierced it with needles, 
 
 And muttered some twaddle ; 
 'Twas the absent alone 
 
 Who had reason to fear her . 
 The same with my beauty, 
 
 You 're safe while you 're near her ; 
 But, tho' radiant in smiles, 
 
 Turn your back like a refugee, 
 And she runs you right through 
 
 As the witch did the a^gy : 
 While you 're present she takes ' 
 
 All occasions to wheedle — 
 The absent alone, 
 
 Feel the point of her needle !
 
 VEESAILLES. 
 
 " Not Babylon, 
 Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence 
 Equalled in all their glories, to inshrine 
 Belus or Serapis, their Gods, or seat 
 Their kings, when Egypt and Assyria strove 
 In wealth and luxury." Miltox.
 
 175 
 
 ♦nnt rtf' 
 
 ADDRESSED TO HAMILTON SIDNEY BERESFORD. 
 
 " Not Babylon, 
 Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence 
 Equalled in all their glories, to inshrine 
 Belus or Serapis, their Gods, or seat 
 Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 
 In wealth and luxury," Milton. 
 
 H 
 
 OW often, like a gem unsought, 
 Or starting, like a happy thought, 
 
 Or as a shooting star is caught 
 
 In moonless skies. 
 
 Thy image and thy worth are brought 
 Before mine eyes. 
 
 n. 
 Alone, in crowds, through joy and pain. 
 Or chasing round the bright champagne, 
 Like words that breathe a charm, thy strain 
 
 Comes o'er mine ear — 
 And I have crowned the bowl again 
 
 To wish thee here.
 
 176 VERSAILLES. 
 
 m. ^ 
 
 For, vvert thou Iiere, the lyre that 's mute 
 Should wiike a song that well might suit 
 As proud a scene as minstrel foot 
 
 Hath ever traced ! 
 But psean'd by an idler's lute, 
 
 'Twould be disgraced. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And loftiest harps have here been strung, 
 And muse-twined laurels here have sprung, 
 And here the lovely Maintenon 
 
 Inspired Eacine ; 
 And since, De Lille hath sweetly sung 
 
 This Eden scene, 
 
 V. 
 Proud spot ! it dazzles to behold 
 The pomp thy palace gates unfold — 
 Historic roofs, inlaid Avith gold, 
 
 Where many a story, 
 Traced in Le Brun's deep tints, is told 
 
 Of Gallic glory, 
 
 VI. 
 
 And wide and mirror-sheeted walls 
 Flood with reflected light those halls 
 That bend on golden capitals, 
 
 And architraves 
 O'er which the rich acanthus falls 
 
 In sculj)tured leaves.
 
 VERSAILLES. 177 
 
 vir. 
 
 Thy terraced heights — thy statued glades — 
 Thy marble founts — thy carved arcades — 
 Thy citron groves — thy tissued meads 
 
 Of sheeted green — 
 Were fitter for Elysian shades 
 
 Than this terrene. 
 
 vin. 
 
 The Paradise of Milton's lays — 
 
 The scene where Tasso plucked his bays — 
 
 Nor that our Spenser's pen portrays 
 
 Bewitchingly — 
 No, nor the feigned Hesperides 
 
 Outrivalled thee ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Through deep and darkling vistas viewed, 
 The lake, the palace, wild, and wood. 
 By sunset glories ruby-hued. 
 
 To me have seemed 
 Some vision of beatitude — 
 
 "Which I but dreamed. 
 
 X. 
 
 From marble founts thy waters spring. 
 Like diamond columns glittering ; 
 And every beam the sun can fling 
 
 Through the green leaves. 
 Arches an iris, hovering 
 
 Above the waves. 
 
 N
 
 178 VERSAILLES. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And vase of bronze, or sculptured urn. 
 
 Awakes the soul at every turn, 
 
 To thoughts that bid the bosom burn 
 
 With Grecian beam — 
 O'er these shall poets yet unborn 
 
 Delighted dream ! 
 
 xu. 
 
 All fashioned in a faultless mould — 
 Correct, yet beautifully bold ; 
 Eound this the twisted snake is rolled 
 
 In Gordian trim ; 
 Eound that, the vine's voluptuous fold 
 
 Clasps base and brim. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 On some, in breathing bas-relief, 
 The tale is told of Hero's grief, 
 Clasping her young Abydos chief, 
 
 Wlio dared to front 
 The surge that lashed thy midnight reef, 
 
 Blue Hellespont ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 On others, clouds of incense rise — 
 The priest performs the sacrifice ; 
 Prophetic fury lights his eyes. 
 
 Bent wild and full 
 On the wreathed victim, as he dies, 
 
 A snow-white bull.
 
 VERSAILLES. 179 
 
 XV. 
 
 Round this revolve the laughing hours, 
 
 Some crowned with stars, and some with flowers, 
 
 Which Flora scatters down in showers : 
 
 Eound that you see 
 The Fauns and Dryads in their bowers, 
 
 Voluptuously! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But, let it never be forgot 
 
 In the deep splendour of the spot — 
 
 A Tyrant's hand these wonders wrought, 
 
 Who, zoned with spears. 
 Mocked wo with wit, and set at novight 
 
 A nation's tears. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 At home, with squires, I passed the year, 
 And now and then beheld a peer ; 
 But, let me whisper in your ear, 
 
 I find vast odds — 
 Being on the friendliest footing here 
 
 With nymphs and gods : 
 
 xvni. 
 
 The gods who fled Thessalian shades — 
 The nymphs who left Arcadian glades, 
 AVhen, banished with the laurelled maids. 
 
 They 'scaped from chains — 
 For veering faiths, and Paynim blades 
 
 Had spoiled their fanes. 
 N 2
 
 180 VERSAILLES. 
 
 xrx. 
 If gods made men, mankind were bent 
 To pay them back the compliment — 
 For thej made gods : but, not content 
 
 To slumber here, 
 Next followed creeds, whose argument 
 
 Was stake and spear. 
 
 XX. 
 
 But human blood hath seldom wet 
 Thy sculptured shrines, Olympus, yet : 
 Though, since the Cross and Crescent met, 
 
 For faiths unfurled, 
 The hosts of Christ and Mahomet 
 
 Have drenched the world, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Arab wrote his law of wrath 
 
 In blood ; but He of Nazareth, 
 
 Who died that we might conquer death, 
 
 Preached not the sword, 
 Till heroes, on the trumpet's breath, 
 
 Blasphemed his Word. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Yet Faith or Fancy ne'er bade rise 
 
 So beautiful an edifice 
 
 As glittered in her classic skies 
 
 At Athens' prime : 
 Absurd — but its absurdities 
 
 Were all sublime.
 
 VERSAILLES. 181 
 
 xxnr. 
 Here Dian, with a hunter's hope, 
 Pursues along the sunny slope 
 The slight and sinewed antelope ; 
 
 And here stands she, 
 That with Latona dared to cope — 
 
 Pale Niobe. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And Venus rises from the bath : 
 The Delian archer in his wrath 
 Lets loose the silver shaft of death, 
 
 And Python dies : 
 Urania leaves her starry path. 
 
 And hither hies. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 With these the charmed eye may see 
 Each Demigod and Deity 
 That haunted magic Thessaly, 
 
 Or Ida's dells ; 
 With those that dwelt beneath the sea 
 
 In coral cells. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Beauteous creations ! whence — oh I whence 
 
 The inutterable influence 
 
 Wherewith ye sway both soul and sense 
 
 Past reason's bound : 
 Conversing by intelligence 
 
 That needs not sound ?
 
 182 VERSAILLES. 
 
 xxvn. 
 And here the citron o'er you throws 
 Her perfumed bough, and round you close 
 The tulip-tree, and laurel-rose, 
 
 In many a grove 
 As bright and beautiful as those 
 
 Ye wont to rove. 
 
 XX vm. 
 And far around, o'er steep and deU, 
 Horizon-edging forests swell, 
 Like hosts arrayed to sentinel 
 
 Those lovely scenes, 
 Which bower their Palace citadel 
 
 With evergreens. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 In fancy's wild and wayward mood, 
 I love to haunt the twilight wood ; 
 And oft, with shy-eyed Solitude, 
 
 I dive among 
 The leafy shades, where few intrude 
 
 To mar my song. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But they, my friend, who wander thus, 
 Can make the desert poptilous: 
 Leaves, birds, and brooks are emulous 
 
 To weave a spell, 
 And whisper witching things to us 
 
 From Nature's shell.
 
 VERSAILLES. 183 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And Fancy gives whate'er we see 
 
 Its tutelar divinity : 
 
 The paved fount, the ivied tree ; 
 
 The mossy cave ; 
 The streamlet gushing giddily ; 
 
 The wind ; the wave : 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And beautiful and breathing things 
 Delight my Druid wanderings : 
 The azure snake in volumed rings 
 
 Oft surges by ; 
 And, on its green and gauzy wings. 
 
 The dragon-fly. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The lizard with its coat of mail, 
 
 And diamond glance, and turquoise scale, 
 
 Which lines of pencilled jet engrail. 
 
 Climbs some old tree ; 
 Or makes a fallen leaf the pale 
 
 'Twixt him and me. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And, glaring with her lamping eyes, 
 In darkest lair the wild-cat lies. 
 Crouched like a tiger, to surprise 
 
 The timorous hare ; 
 And oft her quarry's piercing cries 
 
 Start the still air.
 
 184 VERSAILLES. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The hermit owl that loves twilight, 
 The pheasant with his plumes so bright, 
 And she whose gushing tones delight 
 
 Each forest dell — 
 For here thy grief is exquisite, 
 
 Sweet Philomel ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And oft, through woodlands wandering, 
 I've marked the bounding -roebuck spring. 
 As though each foot had been a wing, 
 
 And earth were air ; 
 And wondered how the antlered thing- 
 
 Learned terror there : 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Nor wondered long, for, ere the morn 
 Had dried her dewy eyes, were borne 
 The music of the winding horn ; 
 
 And hunter's cheer. 
 Who left his downy couch with scorn 
 
 To chase the deer. 
 
 xx-xvni. 
 But when T saw the fierce hound hide 
 His red jaws in its heaving side, 
 And sportsmen mark its flanks, blood-dyed. 
 
 With heartless laugh ; 
 I turned away, and sadly sighed 
 
 Its epitaph.
 
 VEESAILLES. 185 
 
 XXXIX, 
 
 Oft when the day begins to die, 
 
 And sunbeams through the purple sky, 
 
 Like golden ladders hung from high, 
 
 Join heaven to earth. 
 Borne on the evening's balmy sigh, 
 
 Float sounds of mirth. 
 
 XL. 
 
 They echo from some jocund scene 
 Where peasants on the pictured green. 
 From threescore down to glad thirteen, 
 
 "With waltz and hays, 
 To violin and tambourine. 
 
 Crown innocent days. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 For here you find each furrowed face 
 
 Replete with gambol and grimace : 
 
 Though tears leave tracks smiles can't erase — 
 
 No, never after — 
 The wrinkles, in the present case, 
 
 Seem left by laughter. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And slender, dark-cheeked youths are there, 
 Good-humoured, arch, and debonnair ; 
 And girls, who braid their raven hair 
 
 In glossy clusters ; 
 With grace scarce seen surpassed elsewhere 
 
 By midnight lustres.
 
 186 VERSAILLES. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 The teeth of pearl, the quick black eye, 
 The smile 'twixt innocent and sly — 
 Were I a painter, by the by, 
 
 And free to choose, 
 A French girl should identify 
 
 The Comic Muse. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Oh ! I have smiled at heart to see 
 How age, and toil, and poverty. 
 Could laugh away their cares, and be 
 
 So cheaply blest ; 
 And swore, of all philosophy, 
 
 That theirs was best ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 One word, ere yet I close my song — 
 Wliy lay aside the lyre so long ? 
 Or only sweep its chords among 
 
 Lone glens and springs ? 
 By heaven, thou dost that lyre much wrong 
 
 To hush its strings ! 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Let the Avorld hear it ! few there be 
 Can wake the living chord like thee — 
 And wouldst thou mar thy destiny 
 
 Till laurels wave 
 With weeping cypress o'er the clay 
 
 That wraps thy grave !
 
 VERSAILLES. 187 
 
 XLVU. 
 
 Forefend thy spirit were so tame ! 
 
 Go ! strike aloud, and boldly claim 
 
 That wreath which Genius wins from Fame ! 
 
 The minstrel shell 
 O'er kings and chiefs can waft his name 
 
 Who tunes it well.
 
 THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY.
 
 191 
 
 ilft^ ^mh ^ausmaij. 
 
 jrpWAS eve — the clouds were purple, edged with gold : 
 
 And I had strayed that livelong summer day 
 Among the mighty columns Time hath cast, 
 Or Earthquake, or the crushing Thunderbolt, 
 On Dalriada's shore. I stood, alone. 
 Upon " The Gianfs Causeway :" at my feet 
 The overarching wave would pause awhile. 
 Suspended on the volt, then break in foam, 
 Re-echoing along the pillared reef : 
 And, as I laid me down upon the rock, 
 Awed and enchanted by the matchless scene, 
 The drowsy boom of wave succeeding wave 
 Came like a spell upon me, and I slept — 
 If sleep indeed it were — for I could taste 
 The salt wave and the sea-weed in the breeze, 
 Whetting my senses to their keenest edge. 
 Methought I also saw the sun go down : 
 The tranquil moon shone beautiful above :
 
 192 THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. 
 
 And while I traced her silver ocean path 
 Straight as an arrow to the edge of heaven, 
 I heard a voice that said, or seemed to say, 
 " Come, and behold the secrets of the deep ! " 
 
 I raised mine eyes — and lo ! one lovelier 
 Than fairest of the earth before me stood : 
 Upon the undulating wave her foot 
 Shone bright and buoyant : her transparent robe 
 Blent with the moonbeam, showing limbs wherein 
 No life-blood flowed : for I might see, sometimes. 
 The water -gleam shine thro' their symmetry ; 
 And then I knew a spirit spoke with me — 
 A spirit by volition palpable. 
 
 And far beneath thro' ocean depths we dived, 
 Swift as a plummet ; yet respiring free 
 As tho' an atmosphere encircled us : 
 I followed without effort, for my guide 
 Attracted with a magnet's influence 
 Thro' the cold waste of liquid emerald : 
 Down, further down to yet profounder depths 
 We glided, while pursuing moonbeams glanced 
 From the green sky above, trembling as tho' 
 They feared to lose themselves in that abyss : 
 The ocean snake rolled on in volum'd coil, 
 And fearful beauty : the leviathan, 
 Floating between us and the surface, flung 
 His downward shadow like a thunder-cloud : 
 And, while he passed, the slow returning light
 
 THE giant's causeway. 193 
 
 Dawned like another morning. Myriad shoals — 
 Hosts of the marshalled ocean — gliding on, 
 Turned up their bright scales with a sudden gleam, 
 Like sunshine flashing from a field of spears : 
 And monsters, such as never fevered brain 
 Hath yet imagined, glared upon our path. 
 Then melted, like chimeras, in the wave. 
 
 My guide looked back upon the wing, and smiled ; 
 Pointing, with outstretched hand, toward a porch 
 Whose valves of adamant were open flung — 
 Inviting us to try that shining path. 
 Cut inward thro' the self-illumined rock. 
 
 Then spake my spirit -guide in solemn tone — 
 Solemn, but sweet as nightingales in spring. 
 Or some fine instrument divinely touched. 
 
 " Attend ! while I reveal these mysteries — 
 
 The impulse of the hurricane — the laws 
 
 That bind the deep in fealty to the moon — 
 
 The wonders they shall see, but never tell. 
 
 Who storm the icy barrier of the Pole — 
 
 The lightning flash that leaps from cloud to cloud 
 
 (Now the subjected courier of thought) 
 
 Lifting the curtain of the horizon up 
 
 To give ye glimpses of another world ; 
 
 Relate of high Intelligences, who 
 
 DweU in this ocean paradise, as ye 
 
 In Eden's happy bowers might yet have dwelt — 
 
 Beings coeval with the stars, who marked 
 
 The first day dawn, and heard the mighty voice
 
 194 THE giant's causeway. 
 
 That said, " Let there he light,'' and there was light ; 
 And saw the moxintain-tops leap up to meet 
 The joyful sallies of the new-born sun. 
 
 " Behold yon dome of crysolite — it bears 
 The weight of the vast ocean." 
 
 IMercy, heaven ! 
 A mighty rush of waters ! and above, 
 The crystal dome is shattered 1 piecemeal fall, 
 As fell the temple of the Philistine, 
 A thousand columns ! Terror-struck I gazed 
 Around for succour, where was succour none. 
 The guide I followed had abandoned me. 
 Unworthy that I was ! and as the ruin 
 Came headlong down, to crush me like a worm, 
 "With a convulsion of the heart I Avoke ! 
 But oh ! the deep delight of that long breath 
 Wherewith I heaved the terror from my soul 
 (Tho' trembling still) and saw 'twas but a dream ! 
 And what a change was there ! the sun had set, 
 Succeeded by a cloudless summer moon : 
 Benmore's proud forehead, air and ocean, breathed 
 Profound tranquillity. Around me lay 
 The columns of the temple that had fallen. 
 My dream was realized ! and at my foot 
 There played a circling dimple on the wave 
 As one had even at that moment dived : 
 And there are times (so vivid was my dream) 
 I fondly think that something, not of earth. 
 Held converse with my spirit.
 
 195 
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 The Cave Hill, or " The Hill of Caves," is the last of a range 
 of mountains which terminate in a fine precipice overhang- 
 ing the Lough of Belfast. The edge of this precipice, when 
 viewed from the south at a distance of four or five miles, 
 presents a colossal profile of the human cduntenance. A 
 Druid altar on the summit forms its coronet. The panorama 
 from the Cave Hill is of the boldest and most beautiful cha- 
 racter : — The coast of Scotland, with the Craig of Ailsa, and 
 the western Highlands to the east; the Isle of Man and the 
 mountains of Morne to the south ; Tyrone and Lough Neagh 
 to the west ; and the magnificent sea-coast of Antrim or 
 Ualriada towards the Giant's Causeway, to the north. The 
 origin of the Easter Monday sports on the Cave Hill, which 
 constitute the subject of tlie following little poem, appears to 
 be lost in the darkness of antiquity.
 
 197 
 
 ®ltf ^m iill. 
 
 " Sure there are poets which did never dream 
 Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream 
 Of Helicon : we therefore may suppose 
 Those made not poets, but the poets those. 
 And, as courts make not kings, but kings the court, 
 So where the Muses and their train resort 
 Parnassus stands. — If I can be to thee 
 A poet, thou Parnassus art to me ! " — Denham. 
 
 Come, climb with me the cliff-crowned Hill of Caves, 
 Rise o'er the world, its passions and its slaves." 
 
 Drummond's Giant's Causeway. 
 
 "DEHOLD yon image on the dizzy steep 
 
 O'erhanging Dalriada's bastioned shore, 
 
 Bound in the silence of a marble sleep : — 
 He was a giant fugitive of yore, 
 When Odin smote, amid the ocean roar. 
 
 The impious race, their causeway, and their throne ; 
 Nor far he fled : a lightning arrow bore 
 
 Swift to its mark, and struck him there to stone, — 
 
 A beacon o'er the deep, stupendous and alone !
 
 198 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 n. 
 
 Sure did the wild Tungusian mark that brow 
 
 Above those clouds that warp the mountain breast : 
 
 No more his knee to Baikel's god would bow, 
 Poised on the Shamane promontory's crest — 
 That flinty god who breaks the water's rest, 
 
 And bids the spirit of the tempest rave: 
 Alas ! the mariner, by peril prest, 
 
 IMay vainly hope to shun th' o'erwhelming wave, 
 
 If fierce Dianda frown, nor list his prayer to save. 
 
 m. 
 Away ! Aurora opes the eastern port, 
 
 Crowned with fresh roses culled in Eden bowers : 
 Incense her breath, her eye-beam full of sport, 
 
 Health in her train, and all the laughing hours : 
 
 Away ! the mountain-path is pranked with flowers : 
 The rising sun already gilds the wave. 
 
 And first beholds yon steep basaltic towers, 
 That brighten up as they his welcome gave, [cave. 
 
 While night, on noiseless wing, seeks dark Cuchullin's 
 
 IV. 
 
 What notes proclaim the joy of Easter morn! 
 
 The heavens are sheen, the birds are blithely singing ; 
 Buds, bathed in dew, are glittering on the thorn; 
 
 The white flocks bleat ; the merry bells are ringing : 
 
 The streamlets gush ; the primrose-banks are spring- 
 The huntsman's horn is echoing thro' the dale; [}ng; 
 
 The clear cascade its diamond sparkles flinging: 
 The milkmaid carols in the fragrant vale ; 
 While all these mirthful sounds give music to the j?ale.
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 199 
 
 V. 
 
 Now group on group is seen to follow far, 
 
 Like to a rabble army in array — 
 On foot, on horse, coach, jingle, cart and car, 
 
 Tow'rd the high Hill of Caves they wend away — 
 
 But at the base each equipage must stay. 
 Proud steep ! thou well dost ape that summit bright 
 
 Where whilome strung his lyre the god of day : 
 For wheels — save those that whirl the car of light 
 Above yon purple clouds — can conquer neither height. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here might you mark life's anxious, ardent strugglers, 
 
 Of every hue, whate'er their caste or calling — 
 Musicians, pedlars, showmen, dupes and jugglers — 
 
 The Tower of Babel never heard such bawling ; 
 
 Carousing, begging, singing, laughing, brawling : 
 The fiddle's flourish and the bagpipes' grunting ; 
 
 Shrill-barking curs aud embryo caitiffs squalling ; 
 Maids screaming out — for men are most insulting : [ing- 
 Here brays a panniered ass, there boys are badger-hunt- 
 
 VII. 
 
 With laugh, and jest, and antic feat, they rise 
 The mountain side ; but many a grievous trip 
 
 Doth send more woful music to the skies 
 
 From luckless wight foredoomed by Fate to slip : 
 While youthful imps the giddy pathway skip. 
 
 And gibe at those whom time hath tardier made : 
 Too fat to climb, with bottle at the lip, 
 
 Some think their fellows' toil but ill-repaid, — 
 
 Who pity them in turn, and scorn the midway shade.
 
 200 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Nor these the sagest — they who love to climb 
 The steep of solid earth, or slippery fame 
 
 (And trust me, this is truth, tho' told in rhyme), 
 Will find the climate as they rise grow br-erne: 
 Keen, cutting winds assail the unsheltered frame 
 
 On mountain summits ; and their virgin snow 
 The foot that sullies is consigned to shame — 
 
 Yet, when the sun shines on them, few below 
 
 "Would deem it soothly said — they glare, but never glow. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Full many a well-heaped basket lines the way, 
 
 Wliere tempting fruits and witching liquids spread : 
 
 But such must gaze and grieve who cannot pay ; 
 For that grim guard, with mobcap-muffled head, 
 Scans thro' an eye, by fell suspicion fed, 
 
 Each lounger near, lest such should slily spring, 
 Unstored with coin, by lawless longing led, 
 
 Upon that nest of luxury I sing — 
 
 Now foul mote him befall would do so base a thing ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Hard by, and gazing on that merchandise. 
 
 An elf with watering teeth pulls forth his store, 
 Late won by well-conned task — oh ! envied prize ! 
 
 But won, ere long, to grieve his heart right sore — 
 
 So Fortune tantalizeth evermore ! 
 On fruit and coin his looks alternate rest — 
 
 But, early read in scoundrel, niggard lore, 
 To squander pence it pains his little breast ; 
 And, gnawed too soon by care, he trembles to be blest.
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 201 
 
 XI. 
 
 A mid-aged wight, full fain as he to hoard 
 
 The glittering trash, observes, with anxious eye, 
 The freaks of chance upon the chequered board — 
 
 He tempts her frown — a week's hard wages fly ! 
 
 Close clinging to his coat, and ripe to cry, 
 His urchin son doth see his wealth's decay ; 
 
 Right sad to think how hunger, by and by, 
 Shall pinch for this the little troop who play 
 At home — nor bode of tears to-morrow must survey. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Behold that graceless slave, with shirtless back, 
 
 Shoe down at heel, and kibe-betraying hose, 
 Hat void of rim, surtout like tattered sack. 
 
 All bloodshot eye, and purple-spotted nose ! 
 
 With silver, won by midnight guilt, he goes 
 To yonder jar, which burning liquor fills ; 
 
 And down his throat a brimming bumper throws, 
 That thro' him like a flash of lightning thrills — 
 Most mischief-making draught intemperance distils. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Such recreant knave, escaped to other climes 
 (For in his own he dare no more delay). 
 
 Adds daily to his catalogue of crimes — 
 Assuming characters to suit each day : 
 Sometimes a cripple crawling by the way ; 
 
 Anon, a war-maimed veteran sues thine aid ; 
 The robber's ruffian garb his next array, 
 
 Wliich, flapping, shows the midnight moon his blade — 
 
 A scaffold- scene concludes the guilty masquerade.
 
 202 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Now for the mountain's breezy summit, ■\vliere, 
 
 With bounding hearts, yon merry circle wheels ! 
 Some, lightly springing, seem to tread on air : 
 
 Some beat the earth with iron-studded heels ; 
 
 While the sly minx her taper leg reveals, 
 As tho' unwitting, to the graceful knee : 
 
 Hibernia's planxties, Caledonia's reels. 
 Are plied by those who quaff the cup of glee 
 Sparkling from Pleasure's fount, and feel its luxury. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The dance is o'er : but hark ! the plaintive tone 
 Of minstrel touch is breathing in the wind ! 
 
 There sits, neglected, on the gray cairn-stone, 
 His country's latest Bard — poor, aged, blind : 
 Ah ! why is fate to genius so unkind ? 
 
 Sorrow hath chased the sunshine from his cheek, 
 Her shadow lengthening as the day declined : 
 
 Yet thro' the cloud ethereal flashes break, 
 
 And gleam along the lyre, and bid the spirit speak. 
 
 XYl. 
 
 Couched at his feet an Irish wolf-dog lay — 
 Last, like himself, of once a valued race. 
 
 Whose savage eye flashed wildly every way. 
 Sagacious, fierce, and matchless in the chase: 
 Full oft would he regard his master's face 
 
 With pointed ear, as anxious to obey 
 
 Whate'er of wish or will he there mote trace : 
 
 Nor would he leave that foot by night or day. 
 
 Which faithfully he led, ' by moor and mountain gray.
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 203 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And close beside bim stood a pensive boy, 
 
 Who bore that minstrel's harp where'er he went : 
 
 The passion-breathing lay a painful joy 
 To his rapt spirit in its sadness sent: 
 Won by the spell of song, his soul scarce bent 
 
 To aught on earth: eccentric, warm, and wild, 
 He fled his home of love and calm content, 
 
 Forsook his kindred, by that harp beguiled, 
 
 Which dearer grew than all to Nature's wayward child. 
 
 xvm. 
 And he knew moments — that unfriended youth — 
 
 \Vlnch blood-bought crowns were vainly pledged tu 
 Altho' his ragged weeds might raise the ruth — [buy ; 
 
 Perchance the scorn — of many a butterfly, 
 
 Decked in its gaudy garments, flaunting by — 
 Moments that but the sons of song can know — 
 
 Pure gleams of more than earth-born ecstacy, 
 That light the soul's bold wing to heaven, and throw 
 A magic colouring o'er even this dark world of wo. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Again the minstrel's withered fingers swept 
 The awaking chords! An old and lofty lay 
 
 He chose, o'er which hath regal beauty wept; 
 And valour, starting from love's lethargy, 
 Hath grasped the flashing blade, whose living ray 
 
 Seemed borrowed from the hero's glance of ire. 
 That theme was dear to Erin's happier day, 
 
 When History's Muse exulting strung her lyre ; 
 
 And sang immortal deeds ; and wrote with pen of fire !
 
 204 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Languid and faint the minstrel's song began, 
 
 But soon triumphant Passion claimed her throne ! 
 
 While love and battle o'er the deep strings ran, 
 Soul, harp, and voice, assumed a firmer tone — 
 Spirit of feeling ! he was all thine own! 
 
 Unheard, unheeded, crowds around him tread ! 
 
 But, when the pittance misery claimed was thrown, 
 
 The dreamer woke — the fond delusion fled — [bread ! 
 
 He bowed in humble thanks, yet blushed to sing for 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And now the sun is sinking in the west, 
 And but delays to kiss the eastern hill, 
 
 Warning the weary revellers to rest: 
 
 And now, save bleating flock, and brawling rill, 
 No sound is heard; the heath is lone and still: 
 
 Behind the far blue mountains of Tyrone 
 
 The sun hath set : the breeze of eve grows chill : 
 
 Yet, o'er Lough Neagh's farthest edge is thrown 
 
 A line of purple light where day's last look had shone. 
 
 xxn. 
 On cottage hearth the cheerful faggot burning 
 
 Gleams from the lattice in the vale below; 
 At twilight seen by merry groups returning, 
 
 Who feel a grateful welcome in the glow: 
 
 And many a happy wight, as down they go. 
 Cheered by the blaze which marks his home of rest. 
 
 Counts o'er the joys his cottage can bestow; 
 And owns his lot, tho' humble, very blest — 
 His partner by his side, his infant at her breast.
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 205 
 
 xxai. 
 Loved Hill ! when all forsake I love to rise 
 
 Thy brow, tho' touched with evening's darker hue, 
 And look upon the landscape's fading dyes : 
 
 Tho' oft-times memory steal me from the view, 
 
 And clouds that once rolled o'er the heart renew. 
 Why, gazing from yon cliff, recurs for ever 
 
 That pennant to my soul as once it flew. 
 Which waved the fatal signal, doomed to sever [never ! 
 Those who in heaven shall meet — on earth, oh ! never ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Hostage to Fortune ! cast in manhood's mould 
 
 Of strength and beauty — thy commanding eye 
 Beheld but once, tho' many a year had rolled, 
 
 Would flash its lightning on the memory ! 
 
 And such was he whose fate demands my sigh : 
 Nor truth nor talent, aught availed to save : 
 
 The pitying stranger saw him droop and die : 
 But, when the foreign turf his pillow gave. 
 Recked not how many hopes lay buried in that grave ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Lamented youth ! thy summer day was brief : 
 
 Pride, enterprise, bright prospects led thee on, 
 And there were eyes of beauty dimmed with grief, 
 
 And wounded hearts that bled when thou wast gone ; 
 
 And many a secret sob, and cheeks grew wan 
 Whereon thy smile had shed its winning beam : 
 
 Tears now are shining where young blushes shone. 
 Enough ! this life is but a troubled stream, 
 A melting rainbow hope, and happiness a dream !
 
 206 THE CAVE HILL. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Yet, there are spots amid the wilderness 
 
 Where rapture, like the desert rose, may dwell ; 
 
 And there are springs, the parched lip to bless. 
 Sweet as the flood from Horeb rock that fell : 
 Hope cheers the onward path, and memory's spell 
 
 Illumes her moonlight landscape far behind : 
 If cold injustice stab, the heart must swell. 
 
 But conscious worth the deepest wound can bind ; [kind. 
 
 With these Love pours her balm, and Friendship nobly 
 
 XX vn. 
 Love that nor aim, nor wish, nor purpose knows, 
 
 Save what concentrates in its idol's joy; 
 True in the test of absence, slander, foes, 
 
 That fate itself, tho' blighted, can't destroy ! 
 
 Friendship whose metal knows of no alloy, 
 That counts not future chances to repay 
 
 The present sacrifice : that will not buoy 
 With a false hope, nor frown the claim away, 
 Invited, courted oft, ere dawned the trial day. 
 
 xxvm. 
 And there is one, endeared by Brother's blood, 
 
 Such friendship doth not less to me endear ! 
 Prospects have changed, and hopes have been subdued : 
 
 But thou art constant, generous, sincere ! 
 
 Tho' ocean part us with a bar severe, 
 Yet, from the weeping west, or iced pole, 
 
 To that bright source of day which thou art near — 
 Nay, tho' the stars themselves between should roll — 
 Friendship's elastic chain can bind us soul to soul.
 
 THE CAVE HILL. 207 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The world itself hath changed since we have met ! 
 
 Some who played football with the globe are now 
 Captive to those who were their captives late: 
 
 The bruised laurel stains the humbled broAv: 
 
 True love hath sickened o'er the broken vow : 
 Friends dearly valued are no longer dear: 
 
 The lovely, wrapped in winding-sheets, laid low : 
 The dead forgot. — Reviewing these, I fear 
 Lest thou shouldst ne'er return, or find me wanting here. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Tho' young, thy course hath been thro' toil and danger, 
 
 Peril was sport, and only irksome rest; 
 The deep thy home, to other home a stranger, 
 
 And least enjoyed by those who love thee best ! 
 
 When wilt thou, as the bird her native nest 
 Seeks in the spring, that fled stern winter's reign, 
 
 Revisit scenes in boyhood reckoned blest — 
 All thou hast suffered — seen, — to tell ? Oh, when? 
 Till then may Fortune smile 1 Farewell — farewell till 
 then!
 
 "iriflcs liflltt as g^iii." 
 
 Shakspeaee.
 
 "irijira fight as %»," 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 3i ajkttt. 
 
 Fill up ! who the deuce would remember 
 His griefs with companions so boon ? 
 
 We have all felt the blast of December — 
 Let this be the sunshine of June. 
 
 I see by the flash of each eye, boys, 
 There are none in a humour to whine : 
 
 So, if care should presume to draw nigh, boys, 
 By Bacchus ! we '11 duck him in wine. 
 
 I, too, have my griefs, but forget them 
 In quaffing the bliss of the bowl : 
 
 When flowers are drooping we wet them — 
 And why not the same with the soul ? 
 
 Then, fill ! nor let trifles annoy us — 
 
 Here 's the girl or the friend of each heart : 
 
 While together, by Jove ! we '11 be joyous — 
 'Tis too soon to be sad — till we part ! 
 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 • 9h 6irl and tli^ Wovn, 
 
 " Va ! portez cet ecrit a. Vobjet de mon caur." 
 
 Outstrip the wind, my courier dove ! 
 
 On pinions fleet and free — 
 And bear this letter to my love, 
 
 Wlio 's far away from me. 
 
 It bids him mark thy plume whereon 
 The changing colours range : 
 
 But warns him that my peace is gone 
 If he should also change. 
 
 It tells him thou return'st again 
 
 To her who set thee free : 
 And, oh I it asks the truant when 
 
 He '11 thus resemble thee ?
 
 213 
 
 i^ears. 
 
 The light that beams in beauty's smile 
 Deceives, they say, while it endears : 
 
 But who, whatever may beguile, 
 Can doubt the truth of tears ? 
 
 And, Lily! tho' thy laughing brow 
 First woke emotion warm and deep, 
 
 I never could have loved as now, 
 Had I not seen thee weep ! 
 
 But, if the faith you plighted when 
 Those tears were falling be not kept, 
 
 I '11 ne'er believe in tears again — 
 Altho' an angel wept !
 
 214 
 
 fcrenadi?. 
 
 Wilt thou not listen, lady fair ! 
 
 Thy lover's wild guitar is ringing; 
 
 The stars are out, and the roses flinging 
 Their perfume on the calm night air. 
 
 The summer moon floats high above ; 
 The curtained flowers are all sleeping, love ! 
 And nought is heard, by hill or dale, 
 But the far cascade and the nightingale. 
 
 The bird of passion pours her tune 
 In tribute to the clear cold moon — 
 Hark ! even while her voice is spent, 
 The very pause seems eloquent. 
 
 For, tho' her notes no longer roll 
 Abundant as a fountain's gush, 
 
 We feel them throbbing at the soul 
 In that enchanting hush. 
 
 Oh ! be thou my moon — yet do not be 
 So fickle, nor so cold as she — 
 But light me with such looks of joy 
 As Dian gave the Latmian boy.
 
 SERENADE. 215 
 
 You smile — and answer with a sigli — 
 " Ah ! if the pale Celestial's eye 
 But ill her tender secret kept — 
 When Dian gazed, Endymion slept ! " 
 
 Nay ! toss those tresses back that shroud 
 Thy young cheek like a golden cloud — 
 And flash one glance from thy lattice bar — 
 Tho' transient as a shooting star !
 
 216 
 
 ifi Partr, on hi{ Jf^flh girthdag. 
 
 A MINSTREL waits before thy bower 
 This festive eve to pay his duty, 
 
 Fair infant ! born in happiest hour, 
 And heiress to thy mother's beauty. 
 
 For thine shall be the light that plays 
 Around her form, like morn awaking ; 
 
 And thine a thousand winning ways 
 
 That charm — yet leave the bosom aching. 
 
 Thou hast her eyes of matchless blue — 
 The soul her gentle glance expresses — 
 
 Her pencilled brow is lent to you — 
 Beside her golden cloud of tresses. 
 
 O" 
 
 Her cheek so delicately warm ; 
 
 Her voice so rich ; her laugh so riant 
 Her faultless symmetry of form, 
 
 So round, so beautiful, so buoyant.
 
 TO MARY, ON HER FIFTH BIRTHDAY. 217 
 
 Thou hast her smile, beyond dispute — 
 
 Her Hps like rosebuds bathed in showers — 
 
 By all that's fair ! thou hast her foot — 
 And may it ever tread on flowers ! 
 
 The feeling heart, the soothing hand — 
 For grief shall oft its solace owe thee : 
 
 A monarch, Mary ! may command, 
 
 But cannot gifts like these bestow thee.
 
 218 
 
 i^o a Jjiiii'm!, on his Parriajgi?. 
 
 Dear Henrj ! shall a distant lute 
 
 Be heard in such an hour as this — 
 Altho' but little wont to suit 
 
 Its chords to speak of bliss ? 
 The mj'stic bust of Memnon hailed 
 
 Apollo rising from the sea, 
 And so, thy bridal sun unveiled 
 
 Shall claim a song from me. 
 
 To Hymen let the psean swell ! 
 
 I'll join Avith those, tho' far away. 
 Who wish thee and thy young bride well 
 
 On this auspicious day : 
 My lute is trembling in the light — 
 
 A vase of wine is at my side ; 
 By Cupid ! I '11 drink deep this night 
 
 To thee and thy young bride. 
 
 Blest be the knot that love alone, 
 With rosy fingers, firmly ties — 
 
 There is a world within its zone 
 Which gentle hearts will prize
 
 TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. 219 
 
 Beyond the gross or giddy one, 
 
 The sensual or the senseless choose, 
 
 Who yet, in withered hope, shall own 
 That world of bliss they lose. 
 
 Cold as the bleak cloud driving o'er 
 
 A wintry sky were life's dark day, 
 If love, amid the storm, forbore 
 
 To bid his rainbow play ; 
 When wrong or grief the bosom wring, 
 
 His balm can lend the best relief — 
 • For, oh ! with gentle solacing, 
 
 There is a joy in grief. 
 
 Full oft, as round this world I roam, 
 
 Pursuing dreams that still delude, 
 I '11 think upon thy happy home 
 
 With fond solicitude ; 
 And, whatsoe'er my lot reveal. 
 
 If fortune's star thy voyage bless. 
 Like moonlight flowers, my heart shall feel 
 
 Reflected happiness ! 
 
 To Hymen let the piEan swell ! 
 
 I '11 join with those, tho' far away, 
 Who wish thee and thy young bride well 
 
 On this auspicious day : 
 My lute is trembling in the light ; 
 
 A vase of wine is at my side : 
 By Cupid ! I '11 drink deep this night 
 
 To thee and thy young bride I
 
 220 
 
 Wo Prs. (Pecham, 
 
 BAGOT HOUSE. 
 
 You stand alone amid the crowd 
 In beauty's undisputed right — 
 
 A sunbeam glancing on a cloud, 
 And turning darkness into light. 
 
 Ah ! it should be no idle lute 
 
 That dared to you devote its tone — 
 
 For idle praise but ill would suit 
 Those virtues that are all your own. 
 
 A wife, a mother — blest in all- 
 Possessing charms so seldom seen — 
 
 Your daughters sparkle in the ball, 
 Your sons already serve the Queen. 
 
 And yet — as tho' it were a dream — 
 The rosel^uds are so like the rose, 
 
 These gallant younger brothers seem, 
 And blooming younger sisters those.
 
 TO MRS. MECHAM. 221 
 
 Nor is this all — among the leaves 
 More buds and blossoms we behold, 
 
 As numerous as Joseph's sheaves, 
 From one to sixteen summers old. 
 
 And yet this hour you step the hall 
 With braid as dark, and eye as bright. 
 
 As when, arrayed for your first ball, 
 A new-lit star surprised the night.
 
 222 
 
 Wo a Icauiiful Jrifilturoman. 
 
 If memory ever should whisper the name 
 
 Of one who hath loved thee not wisely, but well ; 
 And dwelt on thy charms with a passionate flame 
 
 That none biit a soul so devoted can tell ; 
 Remember his heart was not tempered like those 
 
 Who have never awoke to the exquisite touch 
 Which passion imparts to a bosom that glows 
 
 'Till its error in love is in loving too much ! 
 
 Remember, if fondness seduced him too far. 
 
 The language that broke from thine eloquent eye ; 
 For who could be blind to so brilliant a star, 
 
 If it shone but on him, tho' a thousand were by? 
 Alas ! 'twas delusion — such bliss was not mine! 
 
 Like a child who regards the moon's path on the sea, 
 I madly imagined the tremulous line, 
 
 Altho' radiant to all, pointed only to me. 
 
 Remember, tho' joyless, and lone, and afar. 
 
 Without one pale hope to illumine my lot. 
 These eyes still shall follow the course of the star 
 
 That shone not for me, yet can ne'er be forgot ! 
 And, when some one more blest shall repose in the light 
 
 Of thy conquering smile, that to me was a spell, 
 Give one thought to the past in a moment so bright — 
 
 Remember the heart that hath lost thee — farewell !
 
 223 
 
 Wo i\u Same. 
 
 Lady ! tho' all too oft mine eye 
 Meet thine, forbear to blame ; 
 
 Nor censure an unguarded sigh, 
 Altho' it breathe thy name. 
 
 For beauty is a planet bright 
 That rules the subject gaze ; 
 
 And every eye a satellite 
 Attracted by its blaze. 
 
 And who hath ever seen thy face 
 
 So dangerously fair, 
 Or gazed upon thy form of grace, 
 
 But wished his sphere were there? 
 
 When the wild brook forgets to run, 
 The living gem to gleam, 
 
 And roses, blushing at the sun. 
 Grow pale beneath his beam ;
 
 224 TO THE SAME. 
 
 When all is changed that charmed before ; 
 
 When young hearts cease to glow : 
 When snow-white bosoms seem no more, 
 
 But turn, indeed, to snow : 
 
 Then, Lady ! bid the spell-bound eye 
 
 Be passionless, e'en when 
 Some form as fair as thine is by — 
 
 But, Lady, not till then !
 
 225 
 
 ®o lite ^:tmt 
 
 Enchantress ! had I never seen 
 
 That sweet regard, that smile divine, 
 The lip of rose, the brow serene, 
 
 And, oh ! those flashing eyes of thine, 
 This night, perchance, my aching breast, 
 
 Acquainted as it is with wo, 
 Had known the uncomplaining rest 
 
 Alas ! it never more can know. 
 
 Think of that hour, long since atoned 
 
 By sighs that make the young heart pine, 
 When thy sweet lip the secret owned 
 
 That ne'er shaU be revealed by mine : 
 Think — but to think is to despair ! 
 
 Flowers from the laughing future cull ; 
 While this shall be thy minstrel's pray'r — 
 
 Be blest as thou art beautiful ! 
 
 Q
 
 226 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Distance and other hopes and fears, 
 
 Time's all-obliterating hand, 
 Shall raze the tale of earlier years 
 
 Like records written on the sand : 
 But, may not still some trace remain 
 
 Whereon unblamed thy mind may dwell ? 
 Some memory, tho' allied to pain. 
 
 Some thought of one who loved thee well ? 
 
 Hope — all but grief and memory gone — 
 
 With nought to solace, nought to cheer ; 
 No distant rainbow lures me on ; 
 
 And all I ask on earth is here ! 
 What boots it, tho' not scorned by thee. 
 
 If, like a slave in orient mine, 
 I mark the wealth that's not for me 
 
 WTiile gazing in those eyes of thine ! 
 
 Another's — one so sternly cold 
 
 That Paradise had failed to bless — 
 A miser trembling o'er the gold 
 
 That might have scattered happiness. 
 Then, turn away that lip and eye, 
 
 Nor urge me still to linger near : 
 Grief flies with me where'er I fly, 
 
 But madness were my portion here !
 
 227 
 
 Ji0 the ^amc. 
 
 Lady ! tho' on many a shore 
 
 My soul hath basked in beauty's light, 
 
 1 never did believe before 
 
 That love could conquer at first sight : 
 And stiU in sceptic pride I might 
 
 Have wandered on, secure and free, 
 But love, indignant at the sight. 
 
 Convinced me by one glance of thee ! 
 
 Perchance we ne'er may meet again : 
 
 If so, I would we ne'er had met ; 
 For then, without one throb of pain, 
 
 I could have seen the white sail set. 
 And hailed the deep : but now, regret 
 
 Around my aching heart shall wind ; 
 For, ah ! that heart can ne'er forget 
 
 The bright blue eyes it leaves behind. 
 
 <l2
 
 228 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Farewell ! I dare not ask the boon 
 
 Of e'en a transient thought on one 
 Who, like a cloud athwart the moon, 
 
 Just crossed thy path, and then was gone : 
 But thou shalt brightly beam upon 
 
 My memory, like a hallowed spell ; 
 While joylessly I journey on 
 
 Thro' this bleak world. — Farewell ! farewell
 
 229 
 
 leautir's Jipfal 
 
 Oh ! doubt not, nor deem 
 That my heart, like a glass, 
 Can reflect other features 
 When yours are removed : 
 You have reft it of all 
 But your image. Alas ! 
 If this be not loving, 
 You have not been loved. 
 
 1 never deceived you. 
 And yet you condemn : 
 Is this the reward 
 My fond truth has achieved? 
 I turned from my friends. 
 And preferred you to them : 
 If this be deceiving, 
 You have been deceived.
 
 230 beauty's appeal. 
 
 Nor deem I forget, 
 Tho' between roll the deep : 
 It were well for my peace 
 Could that lesson be taught! 
 From the dream that recalls you 
 I wake but to weep : 
 If this be forgetting, 
 You have been forgot. 
 
 Unchanged, I am thine. 
 Let what may come to pass ; 
 Then wrong not with doubt 
 A devotion so proved ; 
 Nor ever believe 
 That my heart, like a glass, 
 Can reflect other features 
 When yours are removed!
 
 231 
 
 So I0U. 
 
 Go ! woman of the faithless heart ; 
 
 Indignant, thus I rend thy chain ! 
 Go ! fair and faithless as thou art, 
 
 I bow not at thy shrine again i 
 My bliss when near, my hope afar, 
 
 My sun that cheered the darkest day, 
 My dream beneath the midnight star. 
 
 My joy, my grief — away ! away ! 
 
 Vain, soulless, self-degraded thing, 
 
 How weak were words my scorn to tell ! 
 Yet, ah ! that I should seek to wring 
 
 The heart of one I loved so well : 
 But, go ! for you have been to me 
 
 The evil orb that led astray — 
 The Ughtning that illumed the tree 
 
 It blasted : from my thoughts, away !
 
 232 TO LOLA. 
 
 Go, tell the fool whom now you bless, 
 
 With lips that scarce have lost the heat 
 Wherewith they met my last caress, 
 
 How fond your faithful heart can beat : 
 But tell him not, voluptuous jilt ! 
 
 How oft in hours of dalliance gay. 
 When trembling on the edge of guilt, 
 
 I saved you from yourself. — Away ! 
 
 I sought no joy that ends in tears ; 
 
 No rapture by the reckless quaffed, 
 Dissolving all the pearls of years 
 
 In one intoxicating draught : 
 For I looked forth, with fond delight, 
 
 To many a fair and future day. 
 Destroyer of a dream so bright, 
 
 I tear you from my soul. — Away ! 
 
 Your very warmth and weakness failed 
 
 To prove how worthless you could be — 
 For self-abandonment was hailed 
 
 As fond devotedness to me : 
 Away ! you are beneath my scorn — 
 
 But, mark ! with this indignant lay 
 I send you back the bleeding thorn 
 
 You planted in my breast — away !
 
 233 
 
 It is not that thy lovely eyes 
 
 Have warmed my bosom with their light 
 And yet, as deep blue summer skies, 
 
 Their beam is beautiful and bright. 
 
 Nor is it that thy sweet smiles play 
 Like sunbeams on a dewy rose: 
 
 Tho' dear, the gifts that prompt my lay 
 Are dearer to my soul than those. 
 
 Thy virtues, Lady ! weave the charm 
 Time dare not touch, nor envy taint ; 
 
 And throw a halo round thy form 
 
 Like that which crowns a virgin saint. 
 
 For, the' thy lips had been denied 
 The heart-seducing smile they wear, 
 
 Like moonlight on the darkest tide 
 Thy soul had shed its lustre there.
 
 234 
 
 ^0 ^xoUi. 
 
 WITH A COPY OF VERSES. 
 
 Lady ! the gift but ill may suit 
 To tell thy worth or my esteem — 
 
 'Tis but the echo of a lute, 
 The music of a dream. 
 
 Then not as such I bid thee take 
 This humblest tribute of the bard ; 
 
 But, oh ! to keep for memory's sab 
 The homage of regard ! 
 
 And, trust me, wheresoe'er I steer — 
 Be welfare or be wo my lot. 
 
 Among the names my heart holds dear 
 Thine shall not be forgot.
 
 235 
 
 tt^Id. 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! but, oh ! to thee 
 
 This piercing word is breathed with pain : 
 For who can tell if ever we 
 
 Shall meet on earth again ? 
 
 When, like the clouds of winter day. 
 
 My hopes were driving to their doom, 
 Thou wast upon my pilgrim way 
 A sunburst in the gloom. 
 
 And now I feel a deeper shade 
 
 Than earlier grief had o'er me thrown ; 
 Thy parting tears the truth betrayed — 
 I do not grieve alone ! 
 
 Farewell I farewell ! but, oh ! to thee 
 
 This piercing word is breathed with pain 
 For who can tell if ever we 
 
 Shall meet on earth again ?
 
 236 
 
 'litn^as. 
 
 When youth, like a fountain, 
 Reflected whatever 
 Could flash on the soul, 
 Or repose on the eye. 
 And shadow and sunshine 
 Succeeded for ever, 
 My joy, or my grief. 
 Was a smile or a sigh : 
 But now, like a fountain 
 The frost ices o'er, 
 The blast or the beam 
 Can awake me no more — 
 When tempests are blowing, 
 Or sunbeams are glowing, 
 The heart neither trembles 
 Nor glows as before.
 
 STANZAS. 237 
 
 Oh ! where is the blossom 
 
 That closed or expanded 
 
 As midnight or morning 
 
 Was present to sway? 
 
 It is flaunting no more 
 
 As when summer winds fanned it — 
 
 The flower and the foliage 
 
 Are scattered away : 
 
 How fresh breathed the morning, 
 
 How fragrant the noon, 
 
 When the sun set in gold, 
 
 And the stars came too soon: 
 
 But 'tis vain to remember — 
 
 The blast of December 
 
 Hath blighted the branch 
 
 That is leafless in June !
 
 238 
 
 in a Ihousand. 
 
 Believe me, tho' my idle shell 
 
 Hath never breathed thy name before, 
 It was not that its voice could tell 
 
 Of one on earth I value more : 
 
 When thoughts of thee my soul came o'er 
 I found, alas ! a feeble lay 
 
 But ill expressed the love I bore — 
 It said not what the heart would say. 
 
 And if I now attempt to dwell 
 Upon a matchless mother's praise, 
 
 Each word should, like a cypher, swell 
 The sum my fond affection pays : 
 Remember, did mine infant gaze 
 
 E'er thank thee for thy tenderness ? 
 And, as thy spirit read its rays, 
 
 Imagine all I can't express !
 
 ONE IN A THOUSAND. 239 
 
 What if no proud or prosperous star 
 
 Vouchsafe upon my path to shine : 
 If fortune mar, or still should mar, 
 
 The fault was ne'er, could ne'er be thine : 
 
 Thy love, thy hopes, thy tears, were mine — 
 Thy morning prayer, thy midnight thought — 
 
 I would not for a throne resign 
 The gratitude thy love hath taught. 
 
 Well I bethink me of the day 
 
 The black-plumed hearse was at our gate, 
 Which bore my father's corse away. 
 
 And left thee lone and desolate : 
 
 The muffled drum, no more elate, 
 Its deep and solemn requiem gave, 
 
 As moving on, in martial state, 
 They took him to his early grave. 
 
 Well I bethink me how they laid 
 
 His sword and helm upon the pall ; 
 And how my young eye, dimmed, dismayed, 
 
 Beheld a father's funeral ! 
 
 How thou upon his name didst call. 
 And swooned away in speechless pain — 
 
 Yes, even now, I see it all 
 As truly as I saw it then.
 
 240 ONE IN A THOUSAND. 
 
 And, ever since, thy fostering love, 
 
 Thro' weal and wo, was stiU the same — 
 
 Thy prayer that I should never prove 
 Unworthy of my father's name : 
 And, oh ! if honour's star-born flame 
 
 Within my soul hath ever shone. 
 From thee the noble impulse came — 
 
 My errors have been all mine own. 
 
 Ajid I may grieve to think how ill 
 The lessons thy example taught 
 
 Have ruled my wayward spirit — still 
 I feel they are not all forgot : 
 Like dew, with fertile influence fraught, 
 
 They yet may clothe the naked tree ; 
 And, on the bare and barren spot. 
 
 Wake verdure imperceptibly. 
 
 And there is one true heart to whom 
 
 Thy virtues and her sire's descend. 
 As moonlight beam and sunset bloom 
 
 On clouds of eve a moment blend. 
 
 Oh ! may'st thou long be spared to lend 
 The light that guides her steps so true — 
 
 And yet again, in blessing, bend 
 O'er him who bids thee now adieu !
 
 241 
 
 Mitkr^d W\ohk, 
 
 Long years have fled, pale flowers ! since you 
 Were culled and given in brightest bloom 
 
 By one whose eyes eclipsed your blue — 
 Wliose breath was like your own perfume. 
 
 Long years ! but, tho' your bloom be gone, 
 The fragrance which your freshness shed 
 
 Survives, as memory lingers on, 
 
 Tho' all that blest its birth have fled. 
 
 Thus hues and hopes will pass away — 
 
 Thus youth, and bloom, and bliss, depart — 
 
 Ah ! what is left when these decay ? 
 The faded leaf — the withered heart !
 
 242 
 
 (Dttce In It Ojloomrr olool 
 
 O.N'CE in a gloomy wood 
 
 Hard by the Seine, 
 Lonely one eve I stood 
 
 Listening the strain 
 
 Of tjjf; rapt Nightingale 
 Pouring hf;r plaintive wail, 
 Wliile twilight flung her veil 
 Over the plain. 
 
 Near an acacia-tree 
 
 I marked a maid, 
 Lingering pensively. 
 
 Pale, disarrayed — 
 And as the tear so meek 
 Rolled down her marble cheek, 
 Sob as her heart would break, 
 Under the shade. 
 
 Then in her native tongue 
 Thus she complained — 
 
 " He that my heart hath wrung 
 Prized till he gained :
 
 OXCE Cs A GLOOMY WOOD. 243 
 
 Henry ! mj maiden fame 
 Knew not reproach, or shame, 
 'Till your dishonest flame 
 Flattered, and feigned. 
 
 " Henry ! these eyes were bright. 
 
 'Till you had grieved — 
 Henry ! this heart was light, 
 
 'Till it believed : 
 As the frost's icy wing 
 Blights the green bud in spring, 
 You left me withering ; 
 
 Undone, deceived ! 
 
 " Where shall I hide the cheek 
 
 You said was fair? 
 "WTiere shall my sorrow seek 
 
 Solace — oh I where ? 
 How can I live to see 
 Scorn pointing after me ? 
 Death sets the captive free — 
 Death cures despair ! " 
 
 Next morn a hurried crowd 
 
 Passed o'er the ground, 
 Bearing, without a shroud, 
 One who was drowned : 
 Oh ! 'twas a sight of pain — 
 Her whom I heard complain. 
 Floating along the Seine 
 Lifeless they found ! 
 
 p. 2
 
 244 
 
 Lady ! you bade me read each star 
 
 As did the seers of old, 
 That, by their mystic light afar, 
 
 Your fortune might be told. 
 
 Obedient, I observed the sky, 
 With mingled fear and hope ; 
 
 And strove, in that bright book on high, 
 To trace your horoscope. 
 
 And there I read — " While good as fair, 
 
 The lovely maid shall rest. 
 The past shall never cause a tear, 
 
 The future shall be blest." 
 
 You seek to learn — for who despairs ? — 
 
 Your fortune in the skies, 
 While others, Lady, study their's 
 
 In your triumphant eyes.
 
 245 
 
 * 
 
 ik fast iimc vcs met. 
 
 Oh, how brilliantly sparkled the bowl 
 
 The last night which together we past, 
 And when each came resolved in his soul 
 
 To enjoy it, altho' 'twas the last ! 
 I know not what fortune intends, 
 
 Nor whether she 'U smile.on me yet — 
 But of this I 'm certain, my friends ! 
 
 I '11 remember the last time we met. 
 
 I '11 remember how often that eve. 
 
 In the floodtide of frolic and whim, 
 Each heart paused a moment to grieve. 
 
 And was full, like each glass, to the brim : 
 For we saw, in the midst of our mirth, 
 
 The shadow of parting regret — 
 As long as I live on this earth 
 
 I '11 remember the last time we met.
 
 246 THE LAST TIME WE MET. 
 
 Tho' the present be cheerless and chill, 
 
 And the future frown on to the last, 
 It is something, my friends, if we still 
 
 Can look back with delight on the past : 
 But I '11 cherish the hope in my soul, 
 
 Tho' divided and far, we may yet 
 Meet together once more round the bowl, 
 
 And be blest as the last time we met !
 
 247 
 
 §0 an Infant 
 
 Fair Infant ! I had loved you, tho' your name 
 
 Were foreign to the gentle one you bear, 
 
 And tho' the impress your young features wear 
 Told not so eloquently whence you came : 
 How should I love you, then, since these proclaim 
 
 Your undisputed birthright to whate'er 
 A heart can give which holds your father's fame 
 
 And friendship as a jewel that is rare ? 
 May Hope, for once prophetic, promise true — 
 
 Peace scatter blessings from her full-plumed wing, 
 And Innocence, with her fair retinue, 
 
 Be as the young companions of your spring — 
 And, as you wear his lineaments, may you 
 
 Be found your father's worth inheriting.
 
 248 
 
 io i^neital ^ir Milliam gajjin. 
 
 Historian ! soldier ! laurels to thy page — 
 
 Bright chronicle of council and of war, 
 Illustrating earth's most momentous age — 
 
 A torch for coming nations, yet afar ! 
 Historian, soldier, man ! thy plume of light 
 Hath wafted me thro' many a weary night, 
 
 That, but for thee, had been without a star : 
 Thou who, amid the tumult of the fight, 
 
 Canst cull a flower beneath the howitzer — 
 Dare blame a friend, or eulogise a foe, 
 
 Devoted to thy cause, but just to aU : 
 Who in the breach, mid sights and sounds of wo, 
 Hast yet a sigh for valour's overthrow, 
 
 While planting England's banner on the wall !
 
 249 
 
 4^itr^tudl 
 
 Farewell ! we together have counted 
 
 Some moments that seemed not of earth ; 
 While each spirit, more bright as it mounted, 
 
 Awoke to wit, music, and mirth : 
 Those moments are gone, yet, believe me, 
 
 Wherever my star bids me stray, 
 Tho' to feel they are vanished must grieve me, 
 
 I '11 think of them oft far away. 
 
 That bond of the soul which allied us, 
 
 No distance, no time, can suppress ; 
 For my heart, tho' an ocean divide us, 
 
 Shall be with you, nevertheless : 
 A chance-driven stranger ye found me — 
 
 Cold, wayward, till warmed by the ray 
 Your kindness, your friendship, shed round me. 
 
 And all that I loved, far away.
 
 250 FAREWELL. 
 
 Should chance again lead me where pleasure 
 
 Sheds the light of her smile on the sovd ; 
 And wit scatters gems from his treasure, 
 
 And beauty and worth crown the whole ; 
 My heart, tho' each joy should invite me, 
 
 Would turn from the brilliant array, 
 That fancy, at least, might unite me 
 
 To those whom I love, far away. 
 
 The Switzer looks back to the mountain, 
 
 And dreams of his cot in the shade : 
 The pilgrim looks back to the fountain. 
 
 Where lately his thirst was allayed : 
 Thus, turning to pleasure departed, 
 
 The distant, the past, I survey — 
 I think of the kind, the true-hearted — 
 
 Of you, and of yours, far away !
 
 251 
 
 ^ujiltjght. 
 
 Appearing at the set of sun 
 The pallid stars come one by one, 
 And sweetest sounds in citron shade 
 The soul o'erflowing serenade, 
 The hour when day and darkness join 
 Like Pluto meeting Proserpine, 
 And Time a moment stays his flight — 
 That 's the Twilight. 
 
 'O" 
 
 Then hearts expand, and flowerets close ; 
 The bee bids farewell to the rose ; 
 And fancy mounts her shadowy throne ; 
 And poets love to be alone — 
 Far from those thoughts of vulgar birth 
 Which chain the spirit down to earth — 
 By lapsing brook, or wood-crowned height. 
 With thee, Twilight !
 
 252 TWILIGHT. 
 
 The lover seeks his lady's bower ; 
 The bat is wheeling round the tower ; 
 And cawing rooks, so prone to roam, 
 Like noisy neighbours travel home ; 
 And fountains thro' the foliage flash 
 Like glances thro' a dark eyelash ; 
 And the eldritch oavI pursues her flight 
 In the Twihght. 
 
 To every heart thy calmness speaks, 
 Or his that bounds, or his that breaks : 
 If blest, thy pensive silentness 
 Gives breathing-time to muse on bliss ; 
 If sad — thy fleeting moments say 
 That life must wane, like thee, away: 
 Both break upon the edge of night — 
 Life and Twilight !
 
 253 
 
 i^0 a 4^ithcr, 
 ^n the icattt of liifi g;tuulitcr. 
 
 They know but little of the heart 
 
 Who seek by words to check its wo : 
 Oh ! let them, would they prove their art, 
 
 Forbid the fount to flow : 
 Or let them with a breath turn back 
 The cloud upon its tempest track — 
 
 In vain ! and, even so, 
 The fountain of the heart will run — 
 The cloud of grief drive darkly on. 
 
 Then be it far from me to say 
 
 Thy wo is weak, thy grief unwise : 
 Should those who loved us pass away 
 
 Unwept, we could not prize. 
 Alas ! the rife, the heart- wrung tear, 
 That falls upon a daughter's bier, 
 
 Becomes a father's eyes : 
 Nor blush that o'er thy cheek it crept — 
 For tears are holy — " Jesus wept !"
 
 254 TO A FATHER ON DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 This life is like the Alpine bridge 
 That hangs above the torrent's flow ; 
 
 And they who tread its giddy ridge 
 Should seldom look below : 
 
 When storms are hushed, and skies serene, 
 
 Thine eye may linger on the scene — 
 But, if the tempest blow. 
 
 Look onward, onward, o'er the tide — 
 
 Our safety 's on the other side ! 
 
 Yes ! there 's a world beyond the tomb — 
 Else what could soothe for suffering here ? 
 
 And she who died in beauty's bloom — 
 So gentle, and so dear — 
 
 Shall hail thee when thy journey 's o'er : 
 
 " She is not lost, but gone before ;" 
 And oft her early doom 
 
 Shall lift thee from this earthly leaven, 
 
 And wing thy thoughts to her in heaven !
 
 255 
 
 i^o an Jnfant. 
 
 When cherub smiles give place 
 To full and flowing tears, 
 
 My infant ! in thy face 
 I see the chart of years : 
 
 Each smile a joy bestowing — 
 
 Each tear a grief foreshowing. 
 
 But, young one ! it appears 
 They differ in amount — 
 
 One hour may tell more tears 
 Than a day of smiles can count 
 
 How many clouds we gaze on 
 
 For one the rainbow plays on. 
 
 By day the sunbeam glows ; 
 
 But soon its glories set : 
 Thro' morn and midnight flows 
 
 The sobbing rivulet : 
 Thus joy a while keeps glowing ; 
 But grief for ever flowing.
 
 256 TO AN INFAXT. 
 
 My cup of hope is quaffed — 
 Yet this I '11 hope for thee — 
 
 Be thou the green young graft 
 Upon the leafless tree ; 
 
 And hopes 'twere vain to nourish, 
 
 Be found in thee to flourish. 
 
 Tho' others' emblem be 
 
 The deadly cypress shade — 
 
 Be thine the citron tree, 
 
 That knows not how to fade : 
 
 But, through each change of weather, 
 
 Bears fruit and flowers together. 
 
 Thy childhood be as gay 
 As springtide just begun : 
 
 Thy youth a bright May-day, 
 And ardent as its sun : 
 
 Thy prime. Midsummer sweeping 
 
 O'er harvests ripe and reaping. 
 
 Nor let thy sun's decline 
 One noble thought assuage. 
 
 But rather, like old wine. 
 Grow generous with age : 
 
 In life thy soul be chainless — 
 
 In death thy name be stainless.
 
 TO AN INFANT. 25- 
 
 And, when lie who writes this verse 
 
 Shall smile not nor repine, 
 Be thou beside his hearse — 
 
 He could not look on thine ! 
 And, when thy shroud is o'er thee, 
 May a son of thine deplore thee.
 
 258 
 
 <§h §o\Mi Sanrijr. 
 
 You have heard of the land 
 Whose bright scimitar waved 
 The signal of Freedom — 
 And death to the foe ! 
 You have heard the dark tale 
 Of that Nation enslaved — 
 Tho' she gave the best veins 
 In her bosom to flow. 
 
 You have heard how the despots 
 Combined to undo her, 
 And quench the pure flame 
 That ennobles the free : 
 You have heard how the eagles 
 Were leagued to subdue her, 
 With the Bear of the North 
 From the ice-fettered sea.
 
 THE POLISH LANCER. 259 
 
 Yes, Land of the fearless ! 
 
 Thy heart's blood was streaming — 
 
 And liberty bled 
 
 With each wound that was thine : 
 
 Yet the star of thy chivalry, 
 
 Splendidly beaming, 
 
 Was lone in the sky 
 
 'Till its darkened decline. 
 
 The Lion then slumbered — 
 Tho' long 'twas his glory 
 To succour the friendless. 
 To tramp on the proud : 
 But the wrong was avenged — 
 Nor forgotten the story — 
 Albuera's wild echo — 
 Proclaimed it aloud ! 
 
 The forked lightning breaks 
 
 Thro' yon cloud which advances : 
 
 It bears in its bosom 
 
 The thunderbolt's peal : 
 
 Oh, no — 'tis the flash 
 
 Of their far-gleaming lances — 
 
 Thro' sulphur and dust, 
 
 'Tis the tempest of steel. 
 
 -1- s 2
 
 260 THE POLISH LANCER. 
 
 Dread and sudden the charge — 
 "Wide and widely destroying : 
 And Albion's white bosoms 
 Heaved sad for the day : 
 Pale death hovered nigh ; 
 And, the triumph enjoying, 
 Saw one moment a host 
 Which the next swept away. 
 
 Yet, curse not the deed 
 
 Of the death-dealing Lancer : 
 
 His freedom — his nation — 
 
 His name — are no more ! 
 
 When he fought, and appealed to the brave, 
 
 None would answer — 
 
 And they are his foes 
 
 Who forsook him before. 
 
 One name and one deed 
 
 On the tablet of glory 
 
 Made sacred that day, 
 
 Dearly purchased, to fame : 
 
 'Twas thy sword, dauntless youth ! 
 
 While destruction swept o'er thee. 
 
 In letters of blood 
 
 Wrote the deed and the name.
 
 THE POLISH LANCER. 261 
 
 Yes, Latham ! while squadrons 
 
 Were fiercely careering,* 
 
 Mid terror and carnage 
 
 Thy resolute eye 
 
 Saw the red-cross in danger — 
 
 Its fate only fearing, 
 
 You rushed, and exclaimed — 
 
 " To preserve thee — or die ! " 
 
 His strong arm fell shattered — 
 But not ere it parted 
 The flag from the staff — 
 'Tis redeemed — 'tis concealed — 
 In his bosom it staunched 
 The warm gore as it started : 
 And he cried — " Thou art saved!''' 
 As he sank on the field. 
 
 * Captain Latham, 3rd Bufifs, of whom his native county, 
 Tipperary, may well be proud, was severely wounded at the 
 battle of Albuera. Perceiving the colours of his regiment on 
 the point of being taken, and the officer who had carried them 
 killed, he rushed forward, and, in the act of tearing the flag 
 from the pole, lost his right arm, received a frightful cut in the 
 face, and a lance-wound in the body. Regardless of every- 
 thing except tlie honour of his regiment, he succeeded in sav- 
 ing its standard, and was found, on the morning after the 
 battle, in a state of insensibility, with the colours pressed to 
 his heart, and stiffened with his blood. He was promoted in 
 acknowledgment of his devotion, and the 3rd Butts presented 
 him with a magnificent gold medal, representing on one side 
 the scene of action, on the other an appropriate inscription.
 
 262 
 
 FIFTY-SECOND REGIMENT. 
 
 The drum was heard at dead midnight, 
 
 And thousands, at the stirring call, 
 Were marshalled by the torch's light, 
 
 Round Belgium's crowded capital. 
 The cannon boomed, the bugle wailed, 
 
 The falchion from its scabbard flew, 
 For Britain's lion-banner hailed 
 
 The field of Waterloo ! 
 
 11. 
 
 But this all know, and all shall know, 
 
 While earth is rolling in her sphere, 
 While honour bids the soldier glow. 
 
 And glory crowns his sepulchre ! 
 Of One alone my lute shall tell — 
 
 The young, the brave, the kind, the true- 
 I knew him, and I loved him well — 
 
 He died at Waterloo !
 
 TO THE MEMOEY OF CAPT. BLACKWOOD. 263 
 
 in. 
 
 Blackwood ! I need not here proclaim 
 
 Thy blazoned shield, thy lineage high : 
 Let those who boast no better fame, 
 
 Eake all they can from Heraldry : 
 Enough for thee to have achieved 
 
 A wreath of amaranthine hue — 
 Enough to live as thou hast lived. 
 
 And die at Waterloo ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thy sword, on Lusitania's plain, 
 
 Its maiden laurel won and wore ; 
 And many a hard-fought field of Spain 
 
 Beheld thee with the gallant Moore ! 
 A boy, thou bled'st at Badajos, 
 
 And fought'st the glorious struggle through : 
 Thy sun on Luscian mountains rose. 
 
 And set on Waterloo ! 
 
 Thy course was like a shooting-star. 
 
 Whose light made loftier planets dull : 
 And eyes are wet that hailed it far, — 
 
 The bright, the brief, the beautiful ! 
 The bolt that crossed thee on thy way. 
 
 Smote many a gentle bosom thro' ; 
 And many a hope was slain that day. 
 
 With thee, at Waterloo !
 
 264 TO THE MEMORY OF CAPT. BLACKWOOD. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But deeds like thine can never fade — 
 
 Can never be achieved in vain ; 
 Altho', without a tomb's parade, 
 
 Thou sleep'st upon the battle plain. 
 Thy last, best field, was freedom's fort, 
 
 And Fame unfolds to History's view — 
 With Poictiers, Crecy, Agincourt — 
 
 Triumphant "Waterloo ! 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Captain Robert Blackwood was eldest son of the Hon. Hans 
 Blackwood, who afterwards succeeded to the titles and estates 
 of Dufferin and Claneboy on the demise of James " the Good.'" 
 The author is entitled to take some interest in the fortunes of 
 the race, James Lord Dufferin having been his guardian during 
 his minority, and being descended from the same ancestors, his 
 great -great-grandfather's father having been next brother to 
 James Viscount Claneboy, whose only son, James, was created 
 Earl of Clanbrasil by James the First. The earldom and 
 viscountcy became extinct on the demise of the earl, who left 
 no male heir. Captain Archibald Hamilton, of Killyleagh 
 Castle, is the direct descendant and representative of the 
 family to whom these titles belonged; and consequently an 
 opinion prevails that he had the best right to the title of Clan- 
 brasil. It was, however^ conferred by George IV. on the Earl 
 of Roden, who in right of it, as a peer of the realm, sits in 
 the House of Lords.
 
 265 
 
 Wo i\u P([morg of a ^^i*^*^^^- 
 
 And is thy sun for ever set ? 
 
 And are thy pains and pleasures o'er ? 
 I little thought, when last we met, 
 
 That we should meet on earth no more ! 
 
 For I had fondly hoped ere long 
 
 Those hours I passed of old with thee 
 
 Might haply be renewed among 
 The classic haunts of Italy. 
 
 But, when I reach that lovely land 
 
 Whose wonders led thee o'er the wave, 
 
 It will not be to clasp thy hand. 
 But gaze upon thy early grave. 
 
 And, ere another summer fade, 
 
 A pilgrim to a distant shrine 
 Shall seek the spot where thou art laid. 
 
 And kneel beside that grave of thine. 
 
 And if some stranger, drawing near 
 While o'er thy quiet couch I bend. 
 
 Should ask for whom I shed the tear — 
 I '11 tell him that thou wast my friend.
 
 266 TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEXD. 
 
 I '11 tell him many a heart was thine 
 Beyond the blue and bounding sea ; 
 
 That thou wast of a noble line, 
 
 And all the hopes that died with thee. 
 
 And then we'll plant the laurel bough 
 Above thy narrow bed to bloom — 
 
 Since death denied it to thy brow, 
 
 Its leaves shall tremble o'er thy tomb !
 
 267 
 
 %mn sucjcjcsted Ijir ii portrait. 
 
 Patrician Beauty ! I betliiuk me well 
 Of the land's glory while I gaze on thee ; 
 
 For eyes and lips like thine first wrought the spell 
 That made us what we are — the great — the free- 
 And bade earth bow to England's chivalry ! 
 
 Oh ! who could dare be recreant to his name, 
 His Faith, his Queen, his Home, his Ancestry — 
 
 Who could be dead to love — to honour's flame — 
 
 Were such a form as thine the guerdon of fame ? 
 
 Then fear not, England ! an opposing world. 
 So long as beauty fires the warrior's breast ! 
 
 And when thy Lion-banner is unfurled, 
 
 To wave its awful shadow o'er th' opprest — 
 And when thy red lance quivers in the rest, 
 
 Be " Home and Beauty" still the battle-cry ! 
 Winged by that living word, thy meteor crest 
 
 Shall flash confusion on the foeman's eye — 
 
 One pulse, one passion felt — to triumph, or to die !
 
 268 
 
 (f^tia^h. 
 
 Beneath this truth-recording stone 
 
 Sleeps one beloved, remembered well — 
 In sterling worth surpassed by none ; 
 
 As those who knew him best can tell : 
 The friend of all in want or wo, 
 
 Whom aid could soothe, or pity cheer : 
 Tho' gone where tears no more can flow, 
 
 He leaves us his example here. 
 
 C^l^iigmm. 
 
 The French detest the English. — Granted, Jack: 
 
 Yet we have shown attentions, tho' they spurn them ; 
 
 Paid Paris two kind visits some years back : 
 
 They're only vexed because they can't return them.
 
 269 
 
 ihe MmWx Moon. 
 
 " This night, methinks, is but the daylight siclc — 
 It looks a little paler." Shakspeare. 
 
 The gorgeous sun may rise in gold, 
 And set again in ruby blaze, 
 Wliile clouds, pavilioning his rays, 
 
 Like domes of amethyst unfold : 
 
 Far more, when night is at its noon, 
 
 Each star a diamond stud above. 
 
 And heaven one sapphire arch, I love 
 To mark the zenith moon. 
 
 Her car of mother-pearl she yokes 
 To fleet and silver-footed deer, 
 Who whirl her thro' yon azure sphere, 
 
 With flowing rein and flashing spokes. 
 Among the stars profusely strewn 
 
 As early dew-drops glittering 
 
 On beds of violet in spring — 
 Thus rides the zenith moon.
 
 270 THE ZENITH MOON. 
 
 Sometimes she wraps her in a shroud 
 Of snow and silver-tissue woof ; 
 Anon, Hke Fortune, far aloof, 
 
 She comes bhnd-folded by a cloud ; 
 Then, like a girl in revelling tune, 
 She peeps from underneath her mask ; 
 
 And bay, and spire, and mountain bask 
 Beneath the zenith moon. 
 
 She throws a bridge of light athwart 
 The emerald desert of the deep. 
 Whereon the green-haired mermaids keep 
 
 Their festivals ; and, if report 
 
 Speak truth, on dark blue nights of June, 
 
 By dolphins borne, they glide along, 
 
 Chanting a wild and witching song, 
 To thee, the zenith moon. 
 
 The pilot loves thy quivering smile 
 
 Upon the green phosphoric wave ; 
 
 The widow seeks the new-made grave, 
 Wan as thyself, to sorrow while 
 
 Her orphans sleep : and screech-owls prune 
 Their haggard wings ; and o'er her head. 
 Wailing as if they wailed the dead. 
 
 Stare at the zenith moon. 
 
 The lover, poet, lunatic, 
 
 Were still liege subjects to thy sway : 
 One sighs the midnight hours away ; 
 
 The next, almost as fancy-sick
 
 THE ZENITH MOON. 271 
 
 Turns clouds to castles in his lune; 
 The maniac's moodier extasy 
 Sees beckoning ghosts none else can see, 
 
 All by the zenith moon. 
 
 Star of the restless ! when the whirl 
 
 Of giddier hours had winged their flight, 
 And, like a bride on her nuptial night, 
 
 Thy brow was crescented with pearl. 
 To me thy smile hath been a boon ! 
 
 For thou canst tell, and thou alone. 
 
 What waking nights these eyes have known 
 With thee, the zenith moon. 
 
 Even here, beneath a foreign sky, 
 Wliere orange buds perfume the air, 
 And storied vase, and statue fair, 
 
 Are eloquent of days gone by. 
 
 And the nightingale's voluptuous tone 
 
 Floats full and far on summer gales, 
 
 And o'er thy palace, proud Versailles ! 
 Careers the zenith moon — 
 
 Even here, thy pure transparent glow 
 
 Falls on my heart Hke friendship's eye — 
 
 For in this scene's exotic dye 
 All things are strange to me, save thou : 
 
 Pale planet of the night's lone noon ! 
 I meet thee on a foreign strand, 
 As one I knew in another land — 
 
 Shine on, thou zenith moon !
 
 272 
 
 How brilliant on the Etliiop brow of night 
 
 Burns yon fixed star ! whose intermitting rays, 
 
 Like woman's changeful eye, now shun our gaze. 
 And now break forth in all the life of light ! 
 Far fount of beams ! thou scarce art to the sight 
 
 In size a spangle on the Tyrian stole 
 Of Majesty, mid hosts more mildly bright — 
 
 Although of worlds the centre and the soul ! 
 Sure, 'twas a sight for angels to have seen, 
 
 When God hung out those lustres through the sky- 
 And Darkness, turning pallid, sought to screen 
 
 With dusky wing her dazed and haggard eye : 
 In vain ! for, pierced with living Ught, she died : 
 
 And now her timid ghost dares only brood 
 
 O'er planets in their midnight solitude — 
 Doomed all the day in ocean caves to hide. 
 
 Thou burning axle of a mighty wheel ! 
 Dost thou afflict the beings of thy sphere 
 With anguish such as man must suffer here ? 
 
 Doth any weep o'er blighted hope ? or curse 
 That hour thy light first ushered them to life ? 
 Or malice, keener than assassin's knife. 
 
 Stab in the dark ? or hollow fi-iendship, worse,
 
 THE STAR. 273 
 
 Skilled round the heart with serpent coil to wind, 
 Forsake, and leave a sleepless sting behind ? 
 
 No ! did I deem it, I should cease to look 
 Beyond this earth, where millions know such ills : 
 
 Nor longer read that brightly lettered book 
 Which heaven unfolds, whose page of beauty fills 
 The heart with hope of an immortal lot. 
 When tears are dried, and injuries forgot. 
 
 Oh ! when the soul no longer earthward weighed, 
 Shall soar toward heaven on exulting wing. 
 Among the joys past fancy's picturing, 
 
 It may be one to scan, through space displayed, 
 Those wondrous works our blindness now debars — 
 The awful secrets written in the stars !
 
 274 
 
 irj3lo(}u^. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A COMPANY OF SCHOOL-BOY 
 
 COMEDIANS. 
 
 With little aid of scene, and less of art, 
 
 Inspired by you, we mount our Thespian cart, 
 
 The buskined sons of Momus for the present, 
 
 Resolved to do our best, by all that's pleasant; 
 
 Pay willing honour to the closing year. 
 
 And welcome Christmas with a hearty cheer ! 
 
 Melpomene we court not, tho' divine, 
 
 Nor offer bleeding hearts upon her shrine : 
 
 On loftier boards the tragic muse appears — 
 
 We lay no plot to rob you of your tears : 
 
 Our fondest aim some moments to beguile. 
 
 And win the approbation of your smile. 
 
 Before your partial eyes, so fair, so bright. 
 
 We tyroes make our first essay to-night : 
 
 No secret foe, no bilious critic near, 
 
 To daunt with scorn, or wither with a sneer. 
 
 For life's dull tasks there's surely time enough, 
 
 Themes, lessons, sums, translations, and such stuff; 
 
 Eising at five, to read by candle-light. 
 
 And bundling off to bed by nine at night ;
 
 PROLOGUE. 275 
 
 But little time for breakfast or for dinner, 
 
 And less allowed for play, as I'm a sinner ! 
 
 Then if your task's unlearned you're in the lurch — 
 
 Though chalk's not sugar-candy, birch is birch ! 
 
 Ah ! you may shake your head, and think I'm mocking, 
 
 It's true enough, and, what is more, it's shocking I 
 
 They talk a deal of Science, and her march — 
 
 The logarithmic curve, cycloidal arch ; 
 
 Of motive povsrer, and chymistry, and gases — 
 
 Quite proud to prove our grandpapas were asses. 
 
 I wish these fellows, famous for inventions. 
 
 Would find some mode to simplify declensions ; 
 
 Employ their time more wisely in their attics. 
 
 By teaching (without study) mathematics; 
 
 Make clear the way through learning's thorny thicket, 
 
 That scanning Greek might be like playing cricket. 
 
 Till then, the wise, or otherwise, may fuss — 
 
 For what are their discoveries to us? 
 
 Still, mid this coil of study and vexation. 
 
 Thank heaven, there's such an advent as vacation ! 
 
 We're free to-night, however sad the past is ; 
 
 So, with your leave, we'll now begin Bombastes. 
 
 They're in a horrid fright behind the curtain, 
 
 And wince like Hercules with Nessus' shirt on : 
 
 You must encourage them — do, be so good ; 
 
 And, in return, accept our — gratitude ! 
 
 T 2
 
 276 
 
 Farewell to the world ! tho' before me 
 
 Some winters, perchance, may remain : 
 The spell is dissolved it threw o'er me — 
 
 Farewell to its pleasure and pain : 
 Farewell to the smile that requited — 
 
 The arch of the beautifiil brow — 
 Farewell to the lip that delighted, 
 
 Though ne'er more delightful than now ! 
 
 Farewell to the lute, whose persuading 
 
 Seduced me for many a day ; 
 And told of the laurel unfading, 
 
 The fame that soon passed not away ! 
 Farewell to my pride and ambition ; 
 
 To hopes that have died with the dead ; 
 Farewell to each earlier vision, 
 
 That flattered a moment — and fled ! 
 
 Farewell to my follies, they're over — 
 The music of hound and of horn ; 
 
 The friends at the side of the cover — 
 The chase that astonished the morn —
 
 FAREWELL TO THE WORLD. 277 
 
 The steed that o'er mountain and level 
 Swept onward as fleet as the wind — 
 
 The midnight of song and of revel — 
 The mirth that was mingled with mind. 
 
 Farewell to the friends who surrounded, 
 
 And knew me too well to condemn : 
 Farewell to the foes I confounded — 
 
 I waste not a thought upon them ! 
 For, breathe on your sword and its beaming 
 
 A moment is clouded, — no more; — 
 The next, and its polish is gleaming 
 
 As bright and as keen as before ! 
 
 Farewell to the fret and the fever 
 
 Of those who seek title and gold : 
 Farewell to the smooth-faced deceiver — 
 
 But hail to the honest and bold ! 
 Farewell to the world ! though before me 
 
 Some winters perchance may remain : 
 The spell is dissolved it threw o'er me — 
 
 Farewell to its pleasure and pain !
 
 / 1^
 
 ERRATUM. 
 
 Page 100, 1st line of motto. 
 
 For " Oh ! blest retreats of infancy and ease !" 
 Bead " Oh ! blest retreats of infamy and ease ! "
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by Smith, Eldeb and Co., 
 
 Little Gbeen Aebour Court, Old Bailet, E.C.
 
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