V> ~1 .V '\ ^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA ; &c. &c. &c. &c. THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA, AND OTHER POEMS BY LAURA SOPHIA TEMPLE, AUTHOR OF LYRIC POEMS, fife. LONDON : PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE-STREET ; by w. bulmer and co. cleveland-row, st. james's. 1S12. r'R CONTENTS. Page Introductory Lines 3 The Siege of Zaragoza - - 7 Youth and Age - 23 An Evening Ode 28 The Joys of Faith 31 The Feast of Gknullin - - 39 The Interrogation 47 The Judgment Day 49 The Soldier's Grave - 52 The Years to Come - - 57 Somebody - 60 Solitude - - 63 Fair Rosalie - 65 Memory, Hope, and Despondency - 70 The Sick Man's Counsel to Youth - 73 The Rose of Love - - 77 The Wish - 79 The British Stripling's War-Song - 81 K->* CONTENTS. Page The Warrior's Return from Battle - 83 Woman's Love - 86 The Fall of Babylon - - 90 The Tale of my Heart - - 95 The Days of Chivalry - - 98 The Death of the Youthful - 103 The Death of the Aged - - 105 The Withered Rose - - 107 Son? - - - 109 The Orphan's Tale - - 111 The Haunted Manor-House - 118 The Contrast - - - 123 The Victory - - - 124 Despondency and Resignation - 127 Song of Gladness - - 130 Reflection - - - 132 Beauty's Grave - - 130 Time — an Ode - - 138 Reason and Vanity - - 142 The Vision - 146 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. B INTRODUCTORY LINES. v/N Spanish plains, by pale moon-light, Was heard the sound of soft guitar, While youth in gallant trim bedight, Danced to the tinkling minstrelsy. — And often did that beam of night Behold the blushes of the Maid, The Maid who listen'd with delight, To Love's fond tone of ecstacy. — The Peasant's cot in safety smiled — He till'd his field — he pruned his vine — The mother lull'd her sleeping child, And all was peace and harmony. INTRODUCTORY LINES. But lo ! the loud drum beat to arms ; " To arms !" each Spanish heart replied — From song, from dance, from beauty's charms, They rush'd to wild-war's anarchy. The Spoiler came — and o'er their land, His vulture-grasp of ruin spread ; And call'd his grim, and ruffian band, To deeds of murderous revelry. But not, as wont, did Fortune's tide Smile on that stern and ruthless pow'r ; For ne'er till then the Demon vied With arms of so much bravery. — Pale, — but undaunted — all the flower Of Catalonia firmly stood ; And in the battle's darkest hour Oft rais'd the shout of Victory. INTRODUCTORY LINES. And old Galicia flung the yoke From off her proud indignant neck, Yea — like a starting Giant broke The galling chain of slavery. — Abandon'd, and alone — she rose And gazing on the reeking plains, Rush'd desperate on her tyrant foes And stemm'd the flood of misery. a — But who shall sing Thy deeds of might, Fair, fallen Ci(y? — who shall tell How Zaragoza met the fight, Her watch-word — Death or Liberty ? Return, thou dark, and evil hour ! To Fancy's rapt, enthusiast view; Again the storm of battle lour, " And flash the red artillery." INTRODUCTORY LINES, Wizard of Song ! — awake — awake ! And hover o'er my wild-harp's strings ! And bid my hand such music make As suits this glorious history. " Wizard awake !" — the wizard came But frown'd on the presumptive hope, Which deem'd my numbers, weak, and tame, Might reach this tale of Chivalry. " Yet weave the lay" — that Wizard cried— " O sing ! till nobler bards arise." — My falt'ring hand the cadence tried, And roused this humble melody. [7] THB SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. r ierce blazed the war!-— o'er sad Iberia's land Was spread Destruction's dark and giant hand, — Now on her plains the bold invader trod, Sack'd her fair fields, defaced each household God, — Rent with his blastments ev'ry tender tie, And basely proffer'd — Deatli or Slavery. " Rouse, Spaniards, rouse !"— they heard the wakening call, And swore to vanquish, or to greatly fall, Youth — Manhood — Age — all felt the patriot glow, And rush'd indignant on the vaunting foe ; 8 THE SIEGE OF ZAUAGOZA. Rusli'd o'er the plains where ruthless slaughter stood, Gloating with drunken joy on scenes of blood ; And pledged themselves a ravaged land to save, Or die — unbranded with the name of slave.— Lo ! where the City midst her vineyards smiled ! Prosp'rous, and gay, the sov'reign of the wild : Brave were her sons — a proud and noble race, Firm in resolve — unsullied by disgrace; Whose manly bosoms scorn'd the throb of fear, Yet melted at the sight of Beauty's tear : That City own'd full many a home of bliss, Endear'd by woman's smile, — by childhood's kiss, Where fondness met the mild and matron eve, And listen'd to the lisp of infancy. — Sweet scenes! that were how short a time to last, Sweet homes ! uprooted by the whirlwind's blast ! The minstrel-lyre may wake a solemn lay, To tell how all your joys were swept away, THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. V To paint in strains of mingled grief, and pride, How Rapine triumph'd, — and how Freemen died. Long had the war-fiend waved his sword of flame, When lo ! to those devoted walls he came — Blew his shrill clarion — fierce defiance hurl'd, And all the terrors of his might unfurl'd : Woe to the battlements that frown on high ! Woe to each home — each heart of liberty! Now swells upon the blast the horrid din, The yell that cries — " our work of death begin !" — " For blood — for patriot blood our rapiers thirst, " Soon shall those haughty towers be levell'd in the dust." Sons of Renown ! who heard that demon-yell, And while ye listen'd — deem'd it freedom's knell — Heard red-eyed Massacre your doom forbode, Heard the loud engines of his wrath explode, 10 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. Saw the dun war-cloud dim the noontide light, And dreadful brightness fire the glooms of night, — The while ascended to the troubled sky The bosom-rending scream of agony Sons of Renown ! in that tremendous hour, Say, — did your firmness lose its wonted power ? Did horror pale the lustre in your eye ? Did coward weakness urge your steps to fly ? No ! — in your scornful glance high honour spoke, And all the hero in your souls awoke, Ye thought upon each dear domestic tie, And plunged amid the fight, resolved to win, or die. Proud in her sorrow — unsubdued by woe, Brave Zaragoza oft defied the foe ; With potent arm their dire approach repcll'd, And many a slave, and many a tyrant fell'd j Saw her scath'd walls bedrenched with the flood Of many a Gallic traitor's recreant blood : THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. 1 1 So oft their ranks retreated in dismay, So doubtful seem'd the fortune of the day, That Valour's Angel rear'd his crest on high, And almost peal'd the shout of Victory. — — But what is that pale, meagre form, Which shrieks amid the battle's storm ? In whose eye and haggard mien The terrors of despair are seen ? — Avaunt ! avaunt! 1 know thee now — I know that care-contracted brow — I know that keen and hollow eye, Which chills the heart of bravery ! — Ghastly Famine comes to blight The sturdy Soldier's arm of might ! b Ghastly Famine comes to swell The triumph of the Fiends of Hell ! 12 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. Wan Disease, her steps attending, Saps the frame of youth and health, And, with powers of darkness blending, Drains the Nation's richest wealth. — — Weep — O weep ! to-morrow's ray, Shall see the ruffian host prevail ; Fallen Spain, to grief a prey, Shall mourn her heroes, cold, and pale — The banner'd hall,— the castled wall Shall soon be levell'd low, And children — maidens — wives — all — all To slavery shall go ! — Not yet — not yet ! — for courage makes One desperate effort more ; — Not yet th' enfeebled grasp the sword forsakes,— Nor yet is hush'd the cannon's deafning roar.— But ah ! the ruthless foe Has scaled the bastion's height ! THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. 13 And now around — above — below, Deepens the deadly fight ! Yet still repell'd — doth that foul band Full many a time its gory steps retread; Full oft the ruin'd streets by valour's hand Are ramparted with dead. — Again returns the hideous din ! — And red the fire of battle blazes — O who shall fall — and who shall win ? — My fancy shudders as she gazes ! Ha, Fiends ! and must your strife defile The sacred House of God ? c Must carnage stain the holy aisle, Where Saints and Martyrs trod ? Shall Murder hold his revelry Within Religion's fane ? Shall now be heard the dying cry, Where rose the solemn Anthem's heav'n-fraught strain ? 14 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. " O mercy ! — mercy !" — cease the pray'r- Their hearts no mercy know ; Weep orphans — weep — mourn violated fair, Your Fathers — Brothers — Lovers — all laid low, Yet unsubdued ! alas, ye brave — Your struggles are in vain ! No — no ! — give us a glorious grave, But not the tyrant-chain — " Rally, comrades ! for the cause Of justice, and of truth ! Die — to preserve our Altars, and our laws ! To shield the dwellings of our youth.— The floors on which our children play'd, Are stain'd with guiltless blood ; — Within our Temple's hallow'd shade Rushes the battle-flood ; The vineyards of our toil are waste — The Altars of our God defaced — THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. 15 — On — on — to freedom or the tomb ! To glory— or to darker doom !" — "Tis finish'd all ! — the strife is o'er — The sword of valour gleams no more, — The patriot heart is hush'd in sleep, And widow'd love may wail, and weep ! — — 'Tis not for my faint tongue to tell How long they struggled, and how well; 'Tis not for my weak hand to raise A monument to speak their praise ; Some prouder Bard shall sweep the lyre, Some soul of true poetic fire, Shall twine around the column of their fame, A never-dying wreath— to eternize their name. 16 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. Brave Zaragoza ! — though thy sun is set, Yet ne'er shall Spain thy noble deeds forget ! While, on her sad and desolated plains, 0)ie hireling slave of guilty France remains, In the red combat's wildest, direst hour, When reigns around each fierce and vengeful power, From every tongue may thy loved name be heard : Thou be the Soldier's proudest battle-word ! — Brave Zaragoza ! thou hast done thy part ! Long shall thy mem'ry live in ev'ry patriot heart — In years long hence — when this disastrous day, With all its tempest-clouds, hath roll'd away ; When the dark history of this age is told And wonder'd at — like many a tale of old ; When heroes now unborn, shall hear with pride, How their bold Ancestors have fought and died — Thy wrongs shall live in many a warlike strain, To bid the flame of valour blaze again j THE SIEGE OF ZVRAGOZA. 17 Oft as the Minstrel-harp repeats the theme, Shall Youth's warm eye with wilder radiance beam, — Shall Youth's romantic bosom heave the sigh, And wish, like Thee, to struggle, and to die : — When his firm step shall seek the battle-field, His arm the sword of Freedom stoutly wield, ce Brave Zaragoza !" — will the Warrior cry ! " Thy Mem'ry nerve my soul — For Death or Victory ." THE SIEGE OF ZARAG0ZA. NOTES. Note a Abandon'd, and alone — she rose — And stemm'd the flood of Misery. That desolated, and devoted Spain, under circum- stances of distress so complicated, — convulsed by intestine feuds, — disheartened by frequent defeat and treachery — harassed,— dismembered — and left desti- tute of the necessary resources and support — should, in the hopeless extremity of her situation, at length give up a struggle so unequal, would be nothing more than we might naturally expect: but that many of her provinces, like Catalonia, and Galieia, should still resist, with unshaken firmness, the concen- tred force of the victorious enemy, and even obtain signal superiority on several occasions, is a history so new in the Annals of Mankind, so far transcending any of the other mighty events that in our times have THE SIEGE OF ZAttAGOZA. If) overspread the political horizon, that it seems to defy the utmost stretch of credibility : and we are tempted to class it with the splendid prodigies of Fable. — Yet amidst the wreck of suffering humanity, and the pro- gressive horrors of triumphant guilt, with which we have too long been familiar — anxiously does the mind, emerging from the unfathomable abyss of crime and misery, look around for the light that springeth from darkness — and fixing again an eye of solemn contem- plation on the scenes of fierce and disastrous contention, behold a new day bursting from the confines of Despair and Death. Note b. Ghastly Famine comes to blight The sturdy Soldier's arm of might. Surrounded by every species of nun and calamity — involved in smoke and flame, which, confusing the laws of nature, darkened the face of heaven ; or glaring terrifically on the spectacles of devastation, produced the more dismal effect of nocturnal day — stunned by the hourly shock of exploding mines, or bursting 20 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. bombs — hemmed in on all sides by falling rafters, or the blockade of dead bodies, which strewed every ave- nue — Famine and Pestilence approached to aid the work of destruction : — \ et the spirit of Zaragoza coped with her difficulties — the fire of her valour, strength- ened by the winds of adversity, blazed the more in- tensely — she hurled defiance On the foe, and firmly confronted every danger. — Overpowered at length by numbers, the Zaragozians sunk amidst the ruins of their City — but immortality is the price of their blood ; — the memory of their deeds shall live for ever ; — yea, the glory of Zaragoza shall be the inheritance of her sons, — the trophy of their might. — and the monument of their fame. — Vengeance and Zaragoza, through the vast sweep of ages yet to come, shall nerve the Host of Spain, — shall kindle the thirst of noble enterprise — shall prove the tutelary fate of battle, — and crown with never-dying praise the brave defenders of their native land. THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. 21 Note c. Ha, Fiends ! and must your strife defile The sacred House of God ? The last scene of the tragedy was reserved for the church adjoining the Monasteries of St. Augustine and Las Monica, into which the enemy having forced a pas- sage, a conflict ensued that inundated the pavement of the Sanctuary with the mingled blood of Spain and France — but in the midst of the fury of carnage, the falling in of the roof seemed fated to close the horrors of the combat, and silence the groans of Zaragoza. — The crash for a moment suspended thought, and hushed the scene in torpid consternation ; but those who es- caped immediate death soon roused again to action, and renewed the fight with unabated vigour. — The assailants received new reinforcements every hour ; yet the gallant champions of Zaragoza continued the defence, and rallying round the sepulchre of their fallen comrades, still performed miracles of hardihood and valour. — Noble is the picture — and important the moral that it teaches; but the Author here drops the pen, lest she 22 THE SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA. should be suspected of violating historic truth to em- bellish a partial representation, or a fanciful hypothesis. — Yet she will not cease to pray, that long after the calamitous events which darken the present times, are erased from the page of recollection, and every trace of those tremendous powers are swept from the face of the earth, by the judgments of its Almighty Rider, — she will not cease to pray that the name of Zaragoza may still survive ; to strengthen the .-acred duty of repelling injustice, cruelty, and oppression ; and nobly to prove that a nation's best defence is in the firmness, spirit, and independence of the individual. C ^ 1 YOUTH AND AGE. YOUTH. JNay, chide not ! old grey-beard, at hearing me dwell On the theme of my raptures and fears : Nay, chide not ! the dream that you seek to dispel Sheds light on the bloom of my years. Let me grasp, let me gather, the fugitive flowers That embellish the morn of my day ; Let me quaff the rich sweets of those love-breathing hours, Ere the nectar hath passed away. AGE. Fond fool ! heed my counsel — the counsel of one Who has proved the delusions of life, Who wishing his wearisome pilgrimage done, Turns alike from its joys and its strife. 24 YOUTH AND AGE. What is that thou call' st rapture ? a thing which the frowns Of an ingrate may melt into air ! What is love, but a sweet-bitter chalice that drowns The wits of the wise and the fair ! YOUTH. Ah ! falsehood, thou Cynic ! I'll listen no more To the heart-freezing words of thy tongue j Farewell ! to the Sage, with his wisdom and lore, Who forgets that he once too was young ! Whose rancour would sully and poison the springs Of a bliss he no longer can taste ; His glance o'er the bright earth who scowlingly flings And cries — " 'tis a desolate waste!" AGE. Yet stay, thoughtless railer ! yet heed me awhile Ere thou go'st on thy journey of pain ; O stake not the peace of thy soul on a smile, If thy soul would its greatness retain. YOUTH AND AGE. 25 Turn back from those wilds that enamour thy sight, And the path of thy duties pursue; Quit the meteors of passion for truth's steady light, And bid Fancy a final adieu. YOUTH. Part with Fancy! no! no ! I have worshipp'd her long; To her my first ofFrings were made : Ah ! ne'er from my bosom — ah ! ne'er from my song — May the beam of her loveliness fade. And bid'st thou my steps from a paradise go, To the tame barren regions of truth ? Ne'er shall they — I'll yet pluck the blossoms that grow On the sun-gilded uplands of youth. AGE. And how wilt thou feel when the blush of thy prime Hath met the cold breath of decay ; When bowing, like me, 'neath the rigours of time, Thou waitest the close of thy day? 26 YOUTH AND AGE. What triumphs of virtue — what thoughts of the past, To thee will rob death of its gloom ? What deeds o'er thy name will a radiancy cast That will shine thro' the night of the tomb ? YOUTH. Oh ! father, my father! the spell is no more That around me its witchery spread ; To the heights of renown do my proud wishes soar; I have dreamt — but my dreamings are fled : — And yet, 'twas a vision so beauteous, 1 weep That its graces so rapidly flew ; And am tempted to wish that the spirit of sleep Would the dream of my transport renew. AGE. Nay, mourn not, my child, that the shadows are flown Through which thy blind footsteps have trod; O scorn the vain toys that thy soul hath outgrown, And arise at the voice of thy God ! YOUTH AND AGE. 2J He bids thee the race of thy virtue begin, Ere time shall have silver'd thine hair; He bids thee, he bids ev'ry pilgrim of sin, For the day of his judgment prepare. YOUTH. Yet hold ! gloomy mentor ! soft whispers descend To mine ear from the mansions above, They tell me the task of my labours to blend With the sweet smile of soul-wedded love. Return then, dear guest ! and thy station resume, In the folds of this sensitive heart — There dwell 1 till the chills of the mouldering tomb Command thee again to depart. [ '28] AN EVENING ODE. Ihou summer Wind, whose loaded wing Rich with the treasured sweets of Spring, Oft fans me at the close of day As down the glen I wend my way, In calm, yet melancholy mood, To the green home of Solitude ! — Thou summer Wind ! if I, like thee, Were buoyant, strong, and swift, and free, I would not haunt the woodland bower, To drink the sweets of herb, and flower ; 1 would not loiter by yon tide, That rolls along in silver pride, Whose limpid waters kiss a land Where beauty waves her richest wand : AN EVENING ODE. 29 However fair that land might be, Its graces should not fetter me ; However green its vales might shew, To other realms my wings should go ; Should swiftly soar an awful height, And plunge amid the fields of Light. Thou land unknown ! — thou world on high ! O might a mortal's curious eye The wonders of thy day explore ! Learn when the night of death is o'er The joys that blessed spirits prove In that pure scene of light and love : — Pulse of my soul ! thy throbbings cease— Ah rest, poor flutt'rer ! rest in peace ! Ah rest awhile ! — this dream of strife, This little twinkling lamp of life, Is wasting fast ; the time is nigh When thou and doubt shall bid good-bye : 30 AN EVENING ODE. For mark ! how fast the hours decay How summer seasons melt away ! Another and another year, Brief flowers arise and disappear ; Scarce doth the rose of summer blow, Ere winter winds have laid it low ; How fast do Time's dark pinions ply To reach that goal — Eternity. L 31 ] THB JOYS OF FAITH. — vJ let me weep ! — Nay, do not chide the tears, The burning tears that mourning nature gives To woes like these. — Look round this ample Earth, View all its scenes of anguish and of blood. Go to the fields of War, the ghastly fields When drunken slaughter battens on the brave ; Hear thou the groans that rise from widow'd hearts Made desolate — look on those famish'd ones That wring a Mother's soul with cries for bread — ■ Gaze on the Wretch who hath no friendly home To shield him from the storm, who wanders forth O'er the bleak world, biding the bitter blasts Of penury and scorn ; — Hear the low plaint That tells how Falsehood's smooth and honied tongue 32 THE JOYS OF FAITH. Wrought on the maiden-ear — how damned arts Robbed beauty's bosom of its proudest gem And left a canker there ; Then if thou cmist, Forbear to weep. O when my mind sums up The deadly aggregate of crime and grief With which our nature teems — when Reason's eye Surveys the path of life, marking the cares, The chequer'd ills, that rise and thickly crowd Our passage to the tomb, — when it looks down On the world's passing pageant, — and beholds The naked and the gilded misery On their sad journey through this vale of tears, Sees foolish Man (of ev'ry vain desire The sport and slave) drinking, yea to the dregs, The cup of bitterness — then doth my soul Her courage lose, and o'er my stricken heart, A sorrow comes, like thai which once of old THE JOYS OK FAITH. 33 The Psalmist felt, when hy the rivers wide Of Babylon, the mighty and the proud, He sat him down and wept. Thou dream of Life ! What is there in thee that can yield delight To them who inly feel, as I do now, The woes that feeble nature hath to bear. What though the dawn of youthful hope may give Awhile its pleasant light — though jocund health May point the sparkling eye, and dearest charm Of fond affection hold the willing heart In sweetest, gentlest bonds — yet these shall go — Yea they shall go What mortal grasp can hold The toys that Hope's creative hand presents To charm her Votary ? or what art essay To ward the subtle shaft of wan disease ? And O what magic call again to life The soul of withered love? — Where is the Man D 34 THE JOYS OF FAITH Who clasping to his breast the flowers of Joy Can say, " Ye shall not fade ! — Time hath no power To scath my fair possessions — in my strength I proudly, safely walk !" Child of the dust ! Doat not on shadows ! — in this grovelling scene There is no real and substantial bliss To feed the craving soul — Her bourne of rest Is far away — here doth she sojourn sad In piteous bondage, till her Father's voice Shall call her home. — Then praised be the Power That comes to whisper to the meek of heart Glad tidings, — in the dark and evil day When there is none to help, that sooths, assures, And mildly counsels ; whose unchanging ray Shines forth a beacon on the wilds of life To guide the Pilgrim, as the watch-tower's blaze Lights the lone wand'rer on his midnight way, THE JOYS OK FAITH. 85 Whom storms drive devious : — Sacred Religion! Staff of the weary ! Lo ! thine hallow 'd form Breaks through the gloom, and wraps my bowed mind In solemn trance ; — Now on my wond'ring ear A tide of music pours, rich as the song Whose cadence swept o'er Zion's holy hill To cheer the shepherds who at midnight watch'd In Bcth'lem's vale — Fled are the fleshly fears That compassed me, and weigh'd my spirit down E'en to the depths of woe. Awake, my Lyre, And sing a joyful strain ! O sing of Her Who brings the wretched peace, and turns to day Sorrow's Cimmerian darkness : — O'er my lyre Some Angel hover, and assist my hand To swell the lofty lay ! Approach, ye many, Ye whom the fickle sun of worldly joy Ne'er warm'd ! Come, all ye desolate ! and tell 36 THE JOYS OF FAITH. What, of your heavy load of cares and pains, Lightens the mis'ry. O, ye outcasts sad ! Who mark with wistful eye the plenteous feast That ye must never taste — who see the Earth Teeming with goodly fruits, which bounteous Heav'n Gives for the use of all — and see those fruits Grasp'd by the Monster Power, — who faint and slow, Totter to Plenty's gate, and trembling ask, (x\nd vainly oft) the bread of life — whose tears Water the crust the proud-rich man bestows ; Tell how the blessed hand of Faith upholds, And leads your footsteps through the rugged paths Of sorrow : turning all your deepest groans To hymns of gladness — how it rends away Futurity's dark veil, and gives to view That promis'd hour when all who dwell on Earth, And all who rest within the silent grave, Shall stand before the Mighty One of Heav'n. When He (the Just) has sworn to wipe away THE JOYS OF FAITH. 37 His people's tears, and heal the grievous ill Of them that are in pain. Look on that Bier ! And view yon mourner who with fixed gaze Hangs o'er the breathless clay ! — " Farewell," he cries, '•' But not for ever ! — we shall meet again That sacred covenant of truth and love, That vow which made two faithful spirits one, Ends not with this brief clay; — O, gentle Saint ! Thou yet art mine ! —what though the greedy worm Destroy that form on which my doating eye Hath dwelt delighted ! — what though that fair cheek Be pillow'd in the dust, — Thou, beauteous Clay, Wert but the casket that awhile contain'd My treasure — dust shall to the dust return — But tli' ethereal flame, — that flame divine, Lit up by God's own hand, shall never die. — Farewell but not for ever." 38 THE JOYS OF FAITH. Power Benign ! Friend of the wretch who has no friend but thee ! O Father of the fatherless ! thine arms, Thine everlasting arms, are round the child Who loves thy name. — Weep — weep no more, Thou orphan one ! His eye is on thy path, His hand will ne'er forsake — despis'd of Men, Droop thou no more ! — Thy Father is in Heav'n- — O when upon this unrepining soul His chastisements have fallen, when my heart, My orphan heart looks round this desert world And, like Noah's dove, finds not a resting-place ', — W'hen faint I journey o'er the wilds of life, With sullen Misery my heritage, My only home the Grave — O then, sweet Faith ! Nerve my sick heart — and guide my weeping eye To thy bright land of promise ! — so my soul Shall smile at every storm of earthly grief, Shall triumph o'er despair. [ 39 j THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. — 1 he Minstrel was feeble — the Minstrel was grey — Yet Age bad not dimm'd the dark fire of bis glance, Tbrough tbe balls of Glenullin resounded bis lay, That told of the days and the deeds of romance : — He dwelt on the theme of the heroes of old, The chiefs who were foremost in striking the shield,* They heard him relate how the war-tempest roll'd Its terrible wrath o'er the blood-streaming field. * " I struck thrice my echoing shield, — the starting foe arose — we rushed on, in the sound of our arms ; their crowded steps fly over the heath ; they thought that the mighty Fingal was come — the strength of their arms withered away." Ossian. 40 THE FEAST OE GLENULLIN. He spake of the joy that the Warrior knows Who gloriously falls 'mid the hills of his fame : Whose harte, as it sinks to eternal repose, Hears the praise of the valiant embalming his name ; — The Laird of Glenullin his claymore half drew, And courage flamed forth from his red-rolling eye ; A proud glance of scorn on the nobles he threw, Then smiled on his Bride, who sat droopingly by. Lo ! the measure is chang'd — and far dift'rent the theme- No longer it tells of the death-dealing strife ; The minstrel now sings of the loveliest dream, That sheds its soft smile on the morning of life — He sings of Affection — that pearl of the breast Which, when genuine, ne'er can be melted away — The pride of Glenullin is charmed to rest While thus flows the tide of that old Minstrel's lay. THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. 41 THE MINSTREL'S SONG OF LOVE. The sun's last beam had left the west, Hie mavis long had gone to rest, When forth I stole with thee, Ellen ! Say doth thy heart remember now, The warm, the pure, the tender vow, Which then I breath'd to thee, Ellen ? Dost thou recal that hour of bliss, The modest, sacred, fervent kiss, That seal'd thy love for me, Ellen ? Hast thou preserv'd, as token dear, Thro' many a storm and many a year, The pledge I gave to thee, Ellen ? I've worn the love-lock and the ring, Thro' many an autumn, many a spring, I once received from thee, Ellen ! 42 THE FEAST OF GLENULL1N. And now my tried and faithful flame, Returns the rich reward to claim That once thou proinised'st me, Ellen. The grey Minshvl leant o'er his harp's tuneful wires, And brush'd from his dark eye the gathering tear, Then flash'd its wild glance with mysterious fires, And again did the chieftains his sweet cadence hear. But why turns the cheek of that lady so pale ? She who sits at the banquet, — Glenullin's fair bride ? Why fast fall her tears on her golden-weft veil ? Why now is her fair face with blushes all dyed ? She hath gazed on the wand'rer, the warbler of song, And she knows the warm beam of a love-lighted eye, Yea, — her heart knows the form it has worshipp'd so long, But she thinks of Glenullin, and wishes to die.— THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. 43 The bright-flowing goblet still blush'd on the board, Still the sallies of mirth flew around undecay'd ; To the court of the castle fresh bridal guests pour'd, But none mark'd the grief of the white-bosom'd maid. Her eye once again sought the spot where he sung, But the seat it was vacant — the harper was gone — Round the hall her sad glances she fruitlessly flung, They met not the form of the loved Athalone. — Ah ! was it the ghost then of him she adored, That came from the death-field to warn her away ? Had fate for an instant her lover restored, To beckon her soul from the precincts of day ! But what are those sounds that tumultuously rise ? Climb, Warder — O climb ! to the battlement's height ! And say, thro' the blackness that curtains the skies, What object of terror may gleam on thy sight ! — 44 THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. " Ah woe to Glenullin ! — All ! woe to her chief! And woe to her tall banners waving on high ! Her courts shall re-echo the wailings of grief, Her Clans shall be scatter'd — the foemen are nigh." But who is that warrior whose proud-champing steed Dashes wild thro' the gloom, as to share in the fight ? — Ill bodes to Glenullin his terrible speed ! — 111 bodes to Glenullin his claymore so bright ! 'Tis He — 'tis the Minstrel — a minstrel no more, 'Tis the peerless in battle, the young Athalone ! " False traitor ! my soul's beauteous idol restore ! Give me back the rich treasure thou basely hast stol'n! Coward kinsman ! my life hath escaped the dark snare, Hath escaped the foul blow of the murderous hand ; Thro' the storms of the wave, and the wilds of despair, The exile returns to fair Scotia's dear land. THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. 45 On — on to the death-fight ! Glenullin the proud ! My brave trusty Clansmen but ill brook delay; Thou bonneted Chieftain ! thy crest shall be bow'd Ere yon darkness is chased by the red beam of day." Lo ! they rush to the combat ! the Castle's wide halls Re-echo the din of the blood-flowing strife, Athalone strikes the death-blow — He falters — he falls- — Glenullin is low — and apace ebbs his life — ■ And now — his dark spirit for ever is fled ! Peace ! peace to his manes ! — his sins be forgiven ! And now shall the lover to happiness wed, Taste the permanent bliss, the pure rapture of Heav'n. — She hath told him the tale which they framed to deceive ! — That her hero had fallen in honour's proud bed; And — her agonised bosom yet more to bereave, How the stern voice of tyranny doom'd her to wed. 46 THE FEAST OF GLENULLIN. (c Never more — never more shall the malice of art, E'er sully with tempests the morn of thy hloom ! We meet — and not even in death will we part — Together our hearts shall descend to the tomb." [47 ] THE INTERROGATION. When sprightly Youth no longer pours Her rosy smiles on me ; When all that gilds her pleasant hours Hath wholly ceased to be ; When Time hath touch'd these locks of mine, And tum'd them all to snow ; Say, shall Affection's tide divine, Through this fond heart continue still to flow ? Shall Tenderness still lag behind. Unwilling yet to take her flight ? Shall Hope still shed illusive light ? Or o'er my dull and sober'd mind, Will a cold twilight steal, forerunner of the night. 48 THE INTERROGATION. Tell me, my heart, wilt thou forget The?e fragrant flowers of May ? Or lose the Mem'ry, when its beams are set Of the bright orb that lit thy summer-day ! Shall words, and looks, that Fancy's eye Counts over with a Miser's care, Be swept from pale Reflection's sky, Nor leave a wreck to tell that " such things were *'" Forbid it Heav'n ! — when on my brow Is stampt the seal of Age ; When Hope's soft song, and passion's vow, No more my charmed thoughts engage; As in the west, at even-tide, A rich and purple glow is seen, To mark, where in the footsteps of his pride, The beauteous Monarch of the day hath been ; Ah ! thus let Fancy conjure to my view, The sweet remembrance of these seasons fair; Shew me the scene where first Affection grew, And — lo ! mine eager eye shall dwell for ever there [49 ] THE JUDGMENT DAY. " And the Heavens departed as a Scroll, when it is rolled together and every Mountain and Island were moved out of their places And the Angel which I saw stand upon the Sea, and upon the Earth, lifted up his hand to Heaven, and sware by Him that liveth for ever and ever, that there should be time no longer And the seventh Angel poured out his Vial into the air and there came a great voice out of the Throne saying — " It is done." Revelations, chap. vi. 10, 18. Awake ! — the night of Death is past — The Trumpet sounds a final blast ! Behold ! the Heavens have roll'd away ! Come, Sinner, to the Judgment-day. E 50 THE JUDGMENT-DAY. Yawn wide, ye graves ! and give to view The pale, the trembling, ghastly crew ! Yawn wide ! and all your dead restore, For conquer'd Time is now no more. Rise, Sinner, from thy bed of dust, And hear the sentence of the Just ! Thou canst not hide — thou canst not fly, Thou canst not 'scape His wrathful eye ! The seventh vial is pouring out ! And hark ! the universal shout That issues from the jasper throne ! Tis finish'd all — His will be done. — Now those that wept shall weep no more, The trial's past — the struggle's o'er — Now they that felt affliction's rod, Shall view the glories of their God. THE JUDGMENT-DAY. 51 Arise ! the night of death is past — The trumpet sounds a final blast ' Behold ! the Heav'ns have rolled away, Come, Sinner, to the Judgment-day. [ 52] THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE, OK, THE DEATH OF MOORE. — It is a wild and lonely spot Beside the ocean-wave — Come then ! and I will shew to thee A British Soldier's grave. No marble there, in sculptured pride, Arrests the traveller's eye, To vaunt the praises of the dust Which 'neath that sod doth lie : THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 53 Yet, He was great and good ! no fear His manly bosom knew, And never in a sordid cause His trusty blade he drew. At Honour's call —in Honour's field His arm its prowess tried ; And as the lofty Hero wish'd, In Honour's bed he died. The valiant deeds which he had wrought Sweeten'd the pang of death ; And tranquilly the gallant Chief Resign'd his noble breath. He heard the shout of Victory ! And raised a dying hand. To speak the triumph that he felt And bless his native land. 54 thb soldier's grave. "Farewell, my Country ! may thy voice * My life — my death approve ! Be mine the meed — the precious meed, A generous Nation's love !" — 'Twas Night — and now the Battle's din Began at length to fail — And fitful gleam'd the cold moon's ray On many a visage pale. * Meanwhile Sir John Moore, who had exerted himself with his usual animation, fell, like Wolfe, at the moment of Victory. He was advancing at the head of the 42d regiment, which he had just addressed in a short speech — his death was occasioned by a cannon ball which struck him in a mortal part — he was carried to a tent supported by sashes. — While his wound was probed, be said to an officer whom he desired to attend him during the short time he had to live — " You know I have always wished to die this way." — Although suffering great pain, he ap- peared eager to speak again, and the first question put by him was — "are the French beaten?" On being assured of this fact, he exclaimed — " I hope the people of England wiil be satisfied — I hope my Country will do rne justice." Official Account. THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 55 The winter-wind howl'd mournfully Across that dreadful plain ; Seeming, to Fancy's startled ear, A requiem for the slain : When lo ! to drear Corunna's walls A mournful train drew nigh ! And tears of manly sorrow fiow'd From many a soldier's eye. Silent and sad — with trembling hands They laid him in the grave — Then sooth'd with one deep bosom-prayer The manes of the brave. To that rude turf let Spanish maids And Spanish youths repair ; And oft repeat the sacred name Of him who slumbers there. 56 the soldier's grave. And wreaths of laurel let them strew, And heave the grateful sigh, For him who died, their land to save From yoke of slavery. Come to the wild and lonely spot Beside the ocean-wave ! — O come ! and let us proudly view A British Soldier's grave ! [57] THE YEARS TO COME. JV1y transient hour, my little day, Is speeding fast, how fast ! away : Already hath ray summer sun Half its race of brightness run. Ah me ! I hear the wintry blast ; My " life of life" will soon be past, The flush of youth will all be o'er, The throb of joy will throb no more ; And Fancy, mistress of my lyre, Will cease to lend her sacred fire. My trembling heart — prepare, prepare ! For skies of gloom, and thoughts of care 58 THE YEARS TO COME. Sorrows and wants will make thee weep ; And fears of age will o'er thee creep. Health that smiled in bloomy pride, Will cease to warn thy sluggish tide ; The shaft of pain, the frost of woe, Will bid the current cease to flow ; And who, alas ! shall then be nigh, To sootli me with affection's sigh i To press my feeble hand in their's, To plead for me in silent prayers, And cheer me with those hopes that shed Rapture o'er a dying bed ? Days of the future cease to roll Upon my wild, affrighted soul ! Mysterious Fate ! I will not look Within thy dark, eventful book. Enough for me to feel, and know That love and life must shortly u<> ; THE YEARS TO COME. 59 That joy will vanish, fancy fly, And death dissolve the closest tie. E'en now — while mourns my pensive rhyme, I list the warning voice of time ; And O this sigh ! this start of fear ! Tells me the night will soon be here. [GO] SOMEBODY. VV hen day has bade the world farewell, And winds of midnight hoarsely swell, O, with what deep, and earnest care, I offer up the whisper'd prayer, For Somebody ! And when, with blush of orient dye, Fair morning greets my waking eye ; Far doth my soul her views extend, And many a warm good morrow send To Somebody. I hear of honour, virtue, truth, The boasted gifts of many a youth ; 1 hear and sigh 1 turn aside, And think, with mingled grief and pride, Of Somebody. SOMEBODY. 61 I join the vain fantastic crowd, And with the rest I laugh aloud ; They know not that my peace is fled — They do not see the tears I shed For Somebody. O Fortune ! gay capricious power ! Who rul'st at will life's chequer'd hour, Might I one instant bribe thine aid, How blissful should the lot be made, Of Somebody. His destin'd path all strewn with flowers, Fragrant as those in Eden-bowers, Beauty and Love, with gentle wile, Should pour their brightest, sweetest smile On Somebody. 62 SOMEBODY. The praises of the good and great Should on his graceful foot-steps wait, And ever on the breath of Fame, Should swell the dear, remember'd name Of Somebody. But — ah ! — where do my wishes fly ? Alas ! not fortune's wand have I, And deep esteem that e'er shall live, Is all my doating heart can give To Somebody Father of mercies ! — save ! O save ! And smooth his passage to the Grave — O bless with thy Almighty power The life, and sooth the dying hour Of Somebody ! [63 ] SOLITUDE. 1 o Wye's fair banks a wanderer came, Cloath'd in the weeds of sadness ; To whom forgotten was the name, The pleasant name of gladness ; The languid look, the deep-driwn sigh, Bespoke a heart o'ercharged with woe; And often from the downcast eye, Would silent tears unbidden flow. " And O receive thy child again ! " Who flies from crowds to peace and thee : " O take me to thine arms ! and deign " My bosom-friend once more to be ! — " Yes— Solitude ! to thee I fly— " Thy shades to me will ne'er be dreary, " For I have roam'd the world's wide waste, Si And now return, how sick, and weary ! — 64 SOLITUDE. " O let me sit beneath thy willow, (i And listen to the rippling tide ! " O be this verdant turf my pillow ! " And now farewell the dreams of pride ! " And oh ! farewell the faithless gleams " That flit athwart pale fancy's sky ; " Hope's meteor beams " That flash and die— " The kiss of Friendship when she swore ' No time our hearts should sever The smiles that will return no more, " The seasons gone for ever" She said — and sat her down to rest Beside the silver wave ; And bared her wildly throbbing breast, And call'd on Solitude to heal and save. [65 ] FAIR ROSALIE, OR THE BRIDE. txooD morrow, good morrow, thou bonnie Bride, All deck'd in thy vestments gay, See, the broad sun blazes in all its pride To welcome thy wedding-day. The altar's prepared, and the priest is there, And the bridegroom waits for thee, Then hasten to bind thy dark-brown hair, Oh ! hasten fair Rosalie. F 66 FAIR ROSALIE. She hasten'd to bind her dark brown hair With wreaths of the brightest dye, But pale was the cheek of that ladie fair, And the tear was in her eye. She dash'd it away — that burning tear — With that beauteous hand of snow, And glittering in all her costly gear, She descended faint and slow. As a statue pale, and I ween as cold, At the altar's foot she stood, And they that beheld her, both young and old, Declared she was fair as good. O bless thee ! O bless thee ! thou bonnie bride, Why droop'st thou thy lovely head? The guests are assembled, the dancers glide, And the marriage-feast is spread. FAIR ROSALIE. Cj " And what is the dance and feast to me ? And what are the guests so gay ? And what is the splendour, though proud it be, That waits on my wedding-day ? " Will it make me forget that gallant youth W T ho received my maiden vow ? Will it pay me for all the tender truth Once plighted — but broken now ?" O cheer thee — O cheer thee, fair Rosalie ! For behold thy wide domain, See the wealth and the grandeur that smile on thee, See thy vassals, a goodly train ! " Will the wealth and the grandeur that smile on me Any real joy impart ? Will the vassals that bend the servile knee, Will they cure a broken heart ? G8 FAIR ROSALIE. " I think of the days that have rolled by Since we parted — to meet no more ; I see the last glance of my Ronald's eye Ere he sought a foreign shore. " I have sweet love-tokens (ah ! precious wealth) That dwell on my perjured breast — With miser's care do I view them by stealth, In the lonely hours of rest. " O why did ye urge me, ye Parents dear ! To break my fond maiden troth ? Ye 've doom'd me to life-long sorrow — and fear Of my angry Maker's wrath. " But my course will be short ; — from this world of woe My soul ere long will depart ; Grief surely kills — though the work be slow — I shall die of a broken heart." FAIR ROSALIE. 69 And short ivas her course in this world of woe — No hand could a balm impart ; Sorrow's Angel struck the unerring blow — She died of a broken heart. [70] MEMORY, HOPE, AND DESPONDENCY. utrike. Minstrel ! strike the chords once more ! And give my soul some soothing strain; Yet not the lay thou breath'd'st before, That roused alone the slumbering nerve of pain : — Didst thou but know what thoughts arise When that sweet Dirge I chance to hear, How Memory with reverted eyes, Gazes through many a withcr'd year, On many a hope in bright array, That Time's rude wing hath swept away ; On many a scene of calm repose, And many a morn that cloudless rose ; On many a joy long since decay'd, And many a wish by wisdom doom'd to fade ; MEMORY, HOPE, AND DESPONDENCY. 71 Thy voice would cease — thy strains would die, Nor longer wake the nerve of agony. — Yet strike, O Minstrel ! strike the Lyre ! And let me have that lofty lay, Whose liquid flow — whose notes of fire, Entranced my heart, and stole my griefs away. That swell prolong ! The pomp of Song, Hath roused my soul from sadness — I find, I find My kindling mind Glow with a noble madness ! I pant to join the ardent band Who combat for a deathless name ! I long, with firm, advent'rous hand, To snatch the laurel-wreath of Fame ! Like those who wont, in days of yore, To breathe such notes as made a world adore. — 72 MEMORY, HOPE, AND DESPONDENCY. Alas — alas ! The hope how vain ! Of mine no rich and mellow'd strain, Shall win the meed of Glory — — Alas — alas ! — my humble name Will never swell the trump of fame, Nor shine in distant story Cease, Minstrel, cease the lofty lay ! My high resolves have past away; The flame of hope no more within me burns, To earth, to grovelling earth — my drooping soul returns, [73 ] THE SICK MAN'S COUNSEL TO YOUTH. Why art thou sad ? the fields of life To thee are fresh and fair ; — Why dost thou to thy bosom clasp The demon of despair ? — While health and strength are thine — while youth Yet pours its jocund ray, O peace should crown thy balmy night, And rapture gild thy day. The breath of spring — the summer's bloom, Alike must yield delight; But he who hastens to the tomb, Drinks not their beauties bright. 74 THE SICK-MAN'S COUNSEL TO YOUTH. Nor breath of spring, nor summer's rose Avails when health is fled ; In vain, in vain to wan disease, Are all their glories spread. Ah waste not then the precious store In idle, fruitless woe ! While health and virtue smile, thy tears Have no just cause to flow. For thee the bounteous hand of Heav'n Lights up the genial day ! — And would'st thou, fool, ah would'st thou turn From Nature's feast away ? I once, like thee, in love deceived, The path of sadness trod ; Forgot each duty, spurn'd each joy, And murmur'd at my God. THE SICK-MAN'S COUNSEL TO YOUTH. f5 But lo ! He came on fiery wing My foolishness to quell ! Before his chastisements of wrath, My pigmy sorrows fell. His mighty arm my strength laid low, And wither' d up my prime; — His anger turn'd these locks to snow, And not the hand of Time. Then did I think of days mis-spent, Occasions long gone by. And wish that I had sooth'd the heart Of drooping misery. No deed of mine, no generous deed, Had cheer'd the breast of woe, For selfish griefs, for selfish cares, My tears had wont to flow. 76 THE SICK-MAN'S COUNSEL TO YOUTH, And now upon my lone death-bed What bosom-stores have I ? What soothing whispers of the past, What food for memory ? O gaze upon this hollow eye, Dimm'd by severest dole ! And husband well thy morn of life, That seed-time of the soul. Shake off thy griefs, and feed the poor, And chase the orphan's sigh, So shalt thou grasp an envied wreath Of flowers that never die. i 77 ] THE ROSE OF LOVE. Lxo, Rose of Love ! and grace some other breast, No more to mine shall thy bright leaves be prest ! I know full well how fast thy sweets decay, How soon thy beauty vanisheth away ; And my romantic soul would never bear To view the ruins of a gem so fair. Thou shalt not render me a wretch forlorn ! — Go, Rose of Love ! — ere I have felt thy thorn. Could I believe thy brilliant hues would last, Might'st thou survive, unshaken by the blast Of time and fate — Ah ! then delicious flower ! With joyous haste I'd plant thee in my bower. 78 THE ROSE OF LOVE. Thy charms should ne'er my ravish'd sight depart, For ever would I clasp thee to my heart : But as it is — sweet bud ! adieu ! — adieu ! I may not, dare not sip thy heavenly dew — Go, Rose of Love ! and grace some other breast ! No more to mine must thy bright leaves be prest. [79] THE WISH. \J would I were a little Babe Once more upon my mother's knee ! Clinging unto the sacred breast Which nourished me. I wish that time would dawn again, When I nor fear nor anguish knew ; When every tear was soon dispersed Like morning dew. O hour of Infancy ! Sweet calm ! That riper age must never know ; How ill exchanged for manhood's care, And days of woe. 80 THE WISH. How ill exchanged for Reason's lore, That leads the wilder'd heart astray; How ill exchanged for Hope's soft song, And meteor ray. How ill exchanged for Passion's dream, For Siren Pleasure's transient bliss; How ill exchanged for Friendship's smile, And Judas' kiss. O, would I were a little Babe, Once more upon my mother's knee ! Clinging unto the sacred breast Which nourish' d me. [81 ] THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S WAR-SONG. JDehold the young Hero who flies to the battle, The foe of his country to meet ! How proud is the glance of that eye as he passes ! It dreads not the shame of defeat. " Farewell to thy green hills, thou island of beauty ! Thou land where my forefathers sleep ! In spirit undaunted I rush to the death-field, The harvest of valour to reap. " Thy hearths shall be circled by love and by friendship, Still sacred thy altars shall be ; Or the red plain of carnage, where lie my brave comrades, Shall serve as a pillow to me. G 82 THE BRITISH STRIPLING^ WAR-SONG. " Begone, ye dark bodings ! with pride and with conquest, The blade of my good sword shall glow ; While shame, and the ravaging Demon of slaughter, Shall seize on the insolent foe. " My Country — farewell ! o'er thy hills and thy vallies, The branches of Liberty wave ! Unfell'd by the tyrant— O still shall they flourish, Or thou — field of War, be my grave !" [83] THE WARRIOR'S RETURN FROM BATTLE. Tl o m e, Warrior, home ! now the combat is ended — And under the shade of thy laurels repose ; The Demon of battle with carnage is sated, 'Tis time that the day of thy labour should close. The wife of thy bosom shall watch for thy coming, With love's wildest rapture shall gaze on thy face ; Thy children shall lisp out the name of their father, And struggle to share in a father's embrace. Speed, Warrior, speed ! — why that dark look of sorrow? See — thy path with the garlands of victory strewn ; — " Peace — peace — / see nought but the shades of the slaughtered — Long — long shall I think of their last dying-groan/' 84 the warrior's return from battle. O cheer thee ! O cheer thee ! — for Fame with her trumpet Shall boast of thy valour, and drown all their cries ; And soon shall the gore-dripping phantoms that haunt thee Be chased by the beam of thy Rosalind's eyes. " But [ met on the War-heath a poor frantic maiden, And wildly she bade me her lover restore" — He was brave — he was beauteous — the joy of my bosom, And must I behold thee, my true-love, no more f " I met too a Widow, who sought for her husband Amid the grim heaps of the weltering dead ; She found him — the mourner in frenzy was gazing On eve-balls whose lustre for ever had fled. [ger : " Two orphans clung round her — with coldandwith hun- The famishing wretches did bitterly weep, And oft would they kiss the pale cheek of the murder'd, And wish that their father would wake from his sleep. THE WARRIOR'S RETURN FROM BATTLE. 85 " Are these then the horrible spoils of my conquest — The tear of the orphan — the widow's despair — Must my heart, as I speed from the field of my ravage, Be wrung by the grief of the love-stricken fair ? " Adieu to the joy of my terrible triumph ! And farewell, Contentment, for ever to thee ! The voice of my Country may welcome her Hero, But peace never more must be tasted by me." [ 86] WOMAN'S LOVE. 1 ell me once more the moving tale, The piteous tale of Woman's love ! How that poor Maiden — shrunk, and pale, With hopeless passion vainly strove. — Relate — how, milder than the dove, She met his proud unfeeling scorn ; And tried to smile — though doom'd to prove Mis'ry's most sharp and deadly thorn.- — Tell, how with dim and fixed eye She saw him woo a fairer bride ; One — who could all the homage buy, That worldlings pay to fortune's tide ; woman's love. 87 How — quelling all her wounded pride, She his cold perfidy forgave, And breath 'd a blessing, ere she died, On Him who doom'd her to her grave. Thy story cease — no more I'll hear ! Such sorrows are for me too deep ; For selfish man, I cannot bear That faithful woman thus should weep, And from her pure affection reap No other harvest than despair ; That Fate her early bloom should steep Thus in irremediable care. O hapless Woman ! — thy poor heart Grief's keenest pang must surely know; Ah ! — couldst thou act the Stoic's part, And from thy mind the traitor throw ! 88 woman's love. Man merits not the tears that flow From the fond Virgin's trembling eyes; Her stedfast faith — her tender glow, His fancy is too coarse to prize. Hope not in him that e'er thou'lt find The words of truth — the flame sincere j No plighted vow his heart can bind, Or check his passion's mad career. Let but a fairer form appear, And all his constancy gives way ; Thy deepest sigh — thy saddest tear, One instant will not bribe his stay. And thou art left with bosom torn, (A wound that time can never heal) With bloom defaced— with soul forlorn, " To feel the grief that wretches feel"— woman's love. 89 To droop — and only comfort steal From the dark vista of the tomb ; Alas ! that Fate should set its seal On those that merit gentler doom ! [90] THE FALL OF BABYLON. " A sword is upon the Chaldeans — saith the Lord, and upon the inhabitants of Babylon — and upon he Princes, and upon her wise men; — therefore the wild beasts of the desert shall dwell there, — and it shall be no more inhabited for ever I — neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation-- — Because the Spoiler is come upon her, — even upon Babylon! — for the Lord God of recompences shall surely requite: — and 1 will make drunk her Princes and her wise men, — hercaptains and her rulers ! — and tlic v shall sleep a perpetual sleep ! We would have healed Babylon — but she is not healed — her broad walls shall be utterly broken — and her high gates shall be burnt with fire ! " Saith the King — whose name is the Lord of Hosts."' Jeremiah, chap. 1 und li. JVIetii ought I roam'dthe crowded street Of Babylon the proud ; The laugh of noisy wassail ers Re-echo'd long and loud. THE FALL OF BABYLON. 91 From gorgeous halls I heard the sound Of lute and harp arise ; Where monarchs sat, who drank the draught Of love from ladies' eyes. Loud, loud the silver timbrels ring, And mirth each heart employs ! But sin and blasphemy are there, And rude, unholy joys. The captains and the mighty men Are drunk with pride and power ; Nor deem they that the word of God Hath will'd their final hour. I heard a voice go forth throughout Chaldea's smiling land ; I saw o'er that fair City spread Destruction's giant hand. 92 THE FALL OF BABYLON. u O thou most proud ! — behold I come ! — Thy doom, thy doom is nigh ; Thou canst not turn aside my wrath, The time is now gone by. — " I would have heal'd thee — but thou vex'd And mock'd the Lord thy God — And now thy guilty tribes shall feel The judgments of my Rod. " Thy brazen gates, thy lofty walls, The spoiler shall destroy ! — And groans shall rise, where now is heard The riot shout of joy. — " The crowded halls, where now reside Thy wise and mighty men, Shall be the panther's dwelling-place. Shall be the lion's den." THE FALL OF BABYLON. 1)3 I heard and vvorshipp'd — but the ears Of these by sin were closed — The Princes and the Rulers still In pleasure's lap reposed ; The laws their Maker gave to them, Beneath their feet are trod ; And drunk with foolishness and pride, They cry — " there is no God !" — '■' I sat me down and wept" — when, lo ! How dim the noon of day — I gaze, and find that banquet-scene Hath vanished away. — Ah me ! where now the stately towers Of Babylon the proud ? Her pond'rous gates are broken down, Her lofty walls are bow'd ! 94 THE FALL OF BABYLON. Her crowded streets are desolate, Her Rulers are no more — And in her courts and ruin'd halls I hear the lion's roar. When will my chasten'd heart forget That solemn dream of woe ? Ah ! never ! — till the hand of death Shall lay this bosom low. [95 ] THE TALE OF MY HEART. Ihou heart of my bosom ! come tell unto me Each feeling and thought that belongeth to thee ! O tell me the tale of thy hopes and thy fears, The gloom and the sun-shine, the bliss and the tears. All, all that hath brighten'd or clouded thy fate, Thou heart of my bosom ! I charge thee relate. " In sooth 'tis a story so gay and so sad, A record of seasons so dark and so glad ; So sullied by error, so warm'd by the ray, Young tenderness flings over life's rugged way, That what I disclose to thine innermost ear, A medley of follies may haply appear. — 06 THE TALE OF MY HEART. " Well, list! — O Remembrance thy treasures unfold ! Call back at my bidding the moments of old,— And lo ! I survey them — their spring-tide I taste, And all the cold present is quickly effaced: I hail the soft tint of each beautiful flower, Its perfume that gives to life's first sunny hour ; — - " That sweet hour of morning ! when bright-eyed Romance Holds the senses of youth in her love-blooming trance, That sweet hour of morning ! — and comes it once more The proud flowing tide of my joys to restore ? Shall hope breathe her descant ? her descant whose trill Promised blessings unnumber'd, and years without ill ? " No never ! — sad day when Reality came ! And told me that happiness was but a name ; Alas ! as she spake, how my happiness flew ! — So fast that I scarcely could bid it adieu ; My pulse seem'd suspended — how chill'd was the glow That erst bade my current so rapt'rously flow ! THE TALE OP MY HEART. 97 " Ah me ! shall I tell thee what relics are mine ; What buds, that have blossom'd to waste, I inshrine ? What once tender feelings — now wither'd in death! All nipp'd by the blight of ingratitude's breath — No, fool ! thou hast whisper'd that secret of pain, Hast dwelt on its sorrows again and again. " But soft ! I ne'er told thee how Peace comes to throw Her soft shining beam o'er the sabbath of woe ; She chases my sadness — she makes me her nest, She lulls all my turbulent throbbings to rest, And bids me no longer in bitterness cry " O would I were moulder'd ! — why cannot I die ?"— H [ 98] THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. " The age of Chivalry is gone — And the glory of Europe " is extinguished for ever." Burke. 1 he days of Chivalry are fled, And Beauty's empire is no more ! — No longer in her fetters led, Do mighty Monarchs tremble and adore ! The high-toned spirit of those olden years, Prompting the wild romantic deed, For ever quench'd — no more shall Woman's tears Bid Valour rush to conquer, or to bleed ! — THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. 99 Ye banner'd halls ! where knights and ladies fair Listen'd the Minstrel-lay; Where bright eyes spread the gentle snare, Long have ye moulder'd to decay ! O'er your tall battlements the thistle waves, The lute's sweet voice is silent now, And sadness muses o'er unletter'd graves Where beauty's conscious smile bless'd passion's fervent vow. How silent now the strain That mourn 'd the fair one's proud disdain ! How cold the hand that bade the cadence wake ! That combated a world for Beauty's sake ! The heart that loved, the hand that fought, Are mingled with the dead ; Their sorrows now — their deeds are nought, Their memory is fled. — That, which was erst of every tongue the theme, Now lives but in the Poet's dream. 100 THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. He — Child of Fancy and Romance, Turns from this iron age To con a fairer page That opens to his raptured glance. The golden years return once more, The years ere Love from earth had ta'en his flight— The Cherub wears the smile which then he wore, The Sun of Chivalry pours forth its radiant light. That Sun will never rise again In Europe's stormy sky ; The nations now a prey to grief and pain, Heed not the lustre of proud Beauty's eye. The Fiend of Discord, starting from his sleep, Bared his red arm and swore That o'er the land and o'er the deep His legions he would pour — They came — and in a sea of blood Quench'd the young, the brave, and good. THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. 101 I saw the mailed monarch fly, Terrors flaming from his eye ; I saw him on the gory heath, Brooding o'er the scene of death ; I mark'd his frown, I heard his troublous cry — His drunken shout of victory. O dark, distemper'd years, That meet my startled view ! O dimm'd by blood and tears, By crimes of deepest hue ! When will your terrors roll away, And peace once more bestow her lovely light? Say will there dawn no azure day To chase this wild terrific night? Lo ! where winter winds are raving O'er the pale uncoffin'd slain ! See ! where Gallia's banners waving, Mock the grief of wretched Spain ! 102 THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY". Heard'st thou the shriek that rose From Zaragoza's blood-stain'd tower ? What tongue can tell the wrongs, the woes Of that disast 'rous hour, When Murder waved his crimson sword on high, And held his dreadful revelry. Nor woman's tear — nor childhood's rosy charm Had power to stayth' exterminating arm. O History's foulest page ! O records of a guilty age! Records that tell the coward deed That bade the helpless and the lovely bleed — The days of Chivalry arejled! A)id Europe's glory is no more — A cloud of darkness o'er the earth is spread, And Mercy's Angel seeks some happier shore. [ 103 ] THE DEATH OF THE YOUTHFUL. .Death came to the couch of the Youthful, And said — " Thou must go with me !" " I am ready — " the victim replied, " I am ready to go with thee !" Yet life was but just in its morning, The race of existence new, To the Maiden, who, thus so calmly, Could bid the bright earth adieu. Perhaps, though, the sharp tooth of misery Had prey'd on her virgin breast ? And she long'd, from the arms of sorrow, To fly to the cold grave's rest ? 104 THE DEATH OK THE YOUTHFUL. Perchance she had writhed with the anguish From love unreturn'd that flows ? Perhaps the keen frost of indifference Had blighted her beauty's rose ? No ! — Sadness to her was a stranger She was blest with requited love, Yet meekly she bow'd to the summons, — It came from the realms above. [ 105 ] THE DEATH OF THE AGED. -Death stole to the bed of the Aged, And whisper'd — " Thy task is done ! The shades of the night fall around thee, Tired wretch, to thy rest begone !" But the Aged with grief heard the summons, And begg'd for a short reprieve ; It was hard — very hard — he murmur'd, The blessings of life to leave. " And what, are the blessings thou boastest, At the close of thy wint 'ry day ? When each hour, as it swiftly passes, Beholds thee more feeble and grey ? 10G THE DEATH OF THE AGED. " When the last gleam of health and pleasure From thy cheerless path has fled, And the friends whom thy youth delighted All sleep with the silent dead ? " O what is the hidden motive That makes thee so cling to life, And repine at the gracious mandate That tells thee to quit its strife ?" 'Tis that life is an old acquaintance, With whom I am grieved to part 'Tis the thought of its brighter moments That throbs at my partial heart. 'Tis to me as a worn-out garment I am loath to throw aside, Rememb'ring the gloss and the beauty It shew'd in its days of pride. C 107] WITHERED ROSE. JD e ii o ld yon rose ! — yon wither'd rose, So late the pride of May ; No more in beauty's garb it glows, Its hour hath pass'd away. — No more the wild-bee checks his flight, To visit that fair shrine ; No more it strikes the ravish'd sight With blushes, pure as thine. Yet still it charms the pensive heart Far more than brighter flowers, For e'en in death its leaves impar The sweets of Eden-bowers. 108 THE WITHERED ROSE. With holy sadness and delight, The traveller lingers nigh. To ponder o'er its early blight, And catch its balmy sigh. For thus do Virtue's lovely deeds, Give sweetness to decay ; Thus do they live, when gaudy weeds Have bloom'd — and pass'd away. Pride can but fret its little hour And share the general doom ; But Virtue's fair and fragrant flower Can triumph o'er the Tomb, [ 109 ] SONG. O ing not of Love ! — to me the theme Is only fraught with pain ; Wake not the memory of a dream I ne'er shall taste again. Its blushing hopes, its tender fears, This heart would fain forget ; For sad to Fancy's eye appears The sun whose beams are set. Romantic hours ! in vain I try Your sweet idea to lose — Where'er I turn, where'er I fly, The Ghost of bliss pursues. 110 SONG. Some charm that bloom'd in days of yore, Commands my tears to flow ; Some cherish'd hope that lives no more, The present turns to woe.- Mysterious alchemy of mind ! That poisons pleasure's stream — And bids me life's warm noon-tide find A cold and sunless dream. Ah tyrant Love ! to fickle man Thou art a frequent guest ; But ever since the world began, Thy home was Woman's breast. [ 111 ] THE ORPHAN'S TALE. GERTRUDE. XtouGH is the road, and dark the sky, The blast of Winter hurries by ! A wanderer at the close of day, Ah ! whither shall I bend my way ? The hour of want apace comes on, Friends of my youth, ye all are gone ! Not one remains to wipe the tear Of helpless grief, and pain, and fear; On me no tender parent smiles, No brother's love my woe beguiles ; The hand once prone to guide and save, Is long since moulder' d in the grave, H2 THE ORPHAN'S TALE. And when I press the couch of death, Ah ! who shall catch my parting breath ? — STRANGER. " And who art thou — O lorn one ! say — That journeyest on thy lonely way ? Ah ! stay awhile — and /will guide, And help to stem misfortune's tide ! Thou sad complainant, faint, and pale, Tell me thy bosom's secret tale ; Scant arc my means — but, Child of care Come, and my humble dwelling share My tongue shall sooth — my tears shall flow, My heart will share the mourner's woe ; Then, sad complainant, faint, and pale, Tell me thy bosom's secret tale !" GERTRUDE. Shall I describe my dawning day ? That vernal time, when, bright and gay, THE ORPHAN'S TALE. 113 The sun of sweet contentment smiled Upon a happy playful child ? Could I again an infant be, Upon my blessed mother's knee ! Might I again my fond arms spread, And in her bosom hide mine head ! Ah ! could I to her feet repair, And lisp once more my nightly prayer ! Hear once again the blessing given, That was to me the voice of Heaven ! — Those hours roll'd by, and others came That own'd a sweeter, dearer name — Then how that Mother, wise and good. Her Gertrude's guardian Angel stood ; Oh ! while she spake of sacred things, How pure Devotion's snowy wings Lifted my raptured soul on high, And taught me how to live and die !— I 114 THE ORPHAN'S TALE. — Days of delight, — for ever fled ! Mother ! long number'd with the dead ! I yet behold ye ! — o'er my soul The shades of joys departed roll; I see the youth who bravely strove ; Who sought and won my virgin love ; Again I thread the mazy dance, I meet his fond impassion'd glance, With him I read, with him I stray, And life's fair spring-tide rolls away. — This dream was far too sweet to hold, It vanish'd as a tale that's told ; The tempest rose — it loar'd afar, We heard the deadly blast of War, My Frederick's heart the signal knew, -v His battle- blade the Hero drew, And oh ! he cried — " Adieu ! — Adieu ! J THE ORPHAN'S TALE. I 1 5 " Fair Munich's banners proudly wave, I join the standard of the brave ! Thou Idol of my doating heart, And must we then — oh ! must we part ! — Yet weep not thus — there is a Power Shall guard me in the evil hour ! Mid horrors of the gory field, His mighty arm shall be my shield — — Yes — we shall meet some brighter day — — Now my firm soul — away — away !" He said — and from our humble door Departed to return no more ; The bolt of War unerring sped, My Frederick's lofty spirit fled — The manly form — the heart of truth, The face lit up with joy and youth, That face in which I loved to read The soul which will'd the noble deed 116' THE ORPHAN S TALE. Mid weltering heaps unshrouded lay, Upon the cold and frozen clay. Where was the hand that should have closed Those lids on which pale death reposed ? Where was the maid on whose fond breast Thy spirit should have gone to rest ? That hapless Maid, — misfortune's heir, Was biding all the blasts of care, Gaunt Poverty her steps pursued, Her tears a Mother's grave bedew'd, Those sacred eyes were seal'd in sleep, And I was left — to roam — and weep : — With no kind arm to shield and save, Without a home — beside the grave. When shall I to the tomb descend, And dwell with thee, my childhood's friend ? When shall I hail, in realms above, The sainted object of my love ? THE ORPHAN'S TALE. 1 1/ Ah soon ! — not long this heart will beat- Yes., Frederick, we shall surely meet." The stranger cheer'd the dying Maid, But vain was all his kindly aid — The tide of life refused to flow — " I go," the Martyr cried, " I go. Heaven opens on my ravish'd sight, Adieu, thou World — thou mass of Night." — — He whisper'd o'er her corse a prayer — Composed her limbs with decent care, Then yielded to the greedy tomb The sweetest Maid that e'er did bloom. [ 118] THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE. A FRAGMENT. " Where, Traveller, art thou journeying This dark and stormy night ? The moors are bleak and shelterless- — O wait the morning light ! (l - There have been strange and fearful sights Beheld on that wide heath ; And fiendish laughter has been heard, Mix'd with the shriek of death. THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE. 119 t( Within a thick and gloomy wood, Which skirts that barren wold ; There dimly rises on the sight A Mansion vast and old j " Its ancient towers, with ivy clasp'd, Are mouldering to decay ; No blaze has cheer' d its ruin'd hall Full many a winter's day. " O, Traveller ! 'tis a dismal spot, The Mansion in the wood ! For many say that there was done Some horrid deed of blood. " At midnight hour, I've often heard, • Pale glimmering lights are seen To wander o'er that ancient pile j (No earthly lights, I ween.) 1 20 THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE. " And often, through the wood's dark paths, A form is seen to glide — O mercy ! — they that met that form, With fear have almost died." — The Traveller spurr'd his foaming steed- He scorn'd the idle tale ; And soon he far behind him left The Hamlet in the vale. It was a shrewd and biting wind, That swept across the wold, But he was " wrapp'd and coated well," And might defy the cold. THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE. 121 He reach'd the wood — and now the moon Broke through the stormy sky, And rested on a dusky pile, That met his eager eye. And now he check'd his panting steed, To view that Mansion drear- — But while he linger'd — o'er his heart There crept a nameless fear. It was so wild and lone a spot, It seem'd such glooms to wear, The stoutest heart might surely think That Murder lurked there. Around that old and crumbling pile The night-wind whistled shrill — He gazed within its frowning porch — There — all was dark and still. 122 THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE. " But what is that which steals along With slow assassin-pdce ?" — The Traveller shudder' d as he view'd A pale and spectre face. On which the cold moon's sickly beam Diffused a doubtful light ; And now a deadly groan disturb'd The solitude of night. The Traveller chid his throbbing heart, And vaulted from his steed, For much he fear'd some ruffian hand, Had done a murderous deed. — [ 123 ] THE CONTRAST. Ihoo art blithe, and free from care, I inherit dark despair; Thy young heart with hope beats high, Mine is fraught with misery ; Thou hast pluck'd Love's sweetest flower, Love forsakes my joyless bower ; Health on thy fair cheek doth bloom, I am hastening to the tomb Death to thee appears a foe, I'm impatient for his blow, To escape Misfortune's wave In the chambers of the grave. [ 124] THE VICTORY. .Hark ! hark ! how the merry bells pour out their peals ! — They tell that the battle is won — Each patriot bosom exultingly feels The deeds that our heroes have done ; Joy — joy to those heroes ! their path shall be strew'd With the laurels that bloom for the brave : With reverence, with rapture, the Chiefs shall be view'd, Who combat the feeble to save. But how is the triumph Britannia hath gain'd, The triumph — ah ! how is it bought ? The robe of her conquest with carnage is stain'd ', I weep at the woe that is wrought. THE VICTORY. 125 I've been to the death-field — I've ponder'd awhile O'er the mangled remains of the dead ; And now, plumed Victory ! I shrink at thy smile ! The lustre that graced it is fled. My fancy hath gazed on the Warrior's eye As it roll'd in the frenzy of death — I have seen how the vulture flew eagerly by To her meal on that blood-stained heath : I have heard the last sigh of the Lover, that rose To his lips in a half-utter'd prayer — Heard him bless his soul's idol — for Constancy glows E'en amid the cold frosts of despair. The wind of the winter more sullenly blew, As it swept o'er that terrible plain ; The mild orb of night her fair radiance withdrew From that scene of destruction and pain ; 126 TIIK VICTORY. But the field was illumined by death-fires that blazed, Ah, horribly blazed ! from afar, — For the hut of the peasant the spoiler had razed — Such — such are thy miseries — O War ! Thou home of my Fathers ! thou land of my birth, Join the death-dealing combat no more ! Though the Demon of blood o'er the nations of earth His ravaging legions shall pour, Yet waste not the lives of thy good and thy brave In the war-strife, though noble it be ; Though the tempest of battle still fiercely may rave, Let Peace smile for ever on Thee ! 127 ] DESPONDENCY AND RESIGNATION. -" And I said — that I had wings like a Dove .'- for then would I Jlcc away and be at rest.'" 1 hou little Dove, that wand'rest free, O would that I had wings like thee ; How soon, if of thy powers possest, I'd fly away, and be at rest . My heart is sick — my heart is sad — No strain of mirth can make it glad \ Way-worn and faint, I struggle on, My wishes cross'd — my hopes all gone ; 128 DESPONDENCY AND RESIGNATION. Each day bedimm'd by chequer'd fears. Each night of anguish mark'd by tears. And if in life's meridian hour, This weight of misery is my dower ; If thus, while summer breezes blow, I start, and shiver as I go : Alas ! — how will my bosom bear That dark and wintry hour of care, When I shall stand, a lonely tree, No kindly aid to shelter me ? When the last tie is snapt in twain, That bound me to a world of pain. And must I know that dreadful day ? Must my last hold be rent away ? 'Ye Powers of mercy — save ! — oh save ! And take me to an early grave. — " Thou selfish wretch ! — and wouldst thou die ? Wouldst thou from every duty fly ? DESPONDBNCV AND RESIGNATION. 129 Forsake the fond and faithful breast, That cradled all thy cares to rest ? Leave stranger-hands to close the eye That smiled upon thine infancy?" No ! — I will kiss affliction's rod — Will bless the chast'nings of my God ! E'en that dread hour of dark despair, My bowed heart shall learn to bear : (And sure for every meaner grief My patient soul may find relief) My thoughts, my hopes, I'll fix on high, — And gaze upon Eternity. K [ ISO ] THE SONG OF GLADNESS. Awake, my Lyre ! the lowering storm At length has rolled far away; No more the clouds of care deform The calm horizon of my day. — Awake, my Lyre ! and let thy strain In clear and sprightly numbers flow; For soft contentment's smiling train, Now chase the haggard sprites of woe. Fair Spring ! again I hail thy sweets, And on thy charms delighted gaze; I haunt the woodlands green retreats, I wend the mountain's secret ways. THE SONG OF GLADNESS. 131 Thou dost not mock a wretch forlorn, Thy presence comes to heal and save — Nor will the sun that lights thy morn, Shine on a mother's recent grave. To pluck thine earliest wildest flower, With her o'er thymy heaths I'll rove ; And balmy gales from every bovver, Shall tint once more the cheek I love. That languid eye shall reassume Its mind-fraught, soul-inspiring look ; On that dear brow shall Peace re-bloom, Where pale Disease his station took. And / will gaze — and smile — and weep, — And inward pour the fervent prayer, To Him whose tender mercies keep This heart from madness and despair. — [ 132 ] REFLECTION. Oome, pale Reflection ! dwell with me ! Come be my bosom's sober guest ! From pride divorced, from passion free, My wearied heart with thee shall rest O come !— and let us read the page Remembrance opens to our view ! O come ! —and let my riper age Smile at the pictures that my girlhood drew ; And view my former self, A little simple elf, That trusted Falsehood when she coax'd and smiled Nor ever deem'd that life, (The chequer'd scene of strife) Was other than a morning bright and mild. REFLECTION. 133 Ye lovely, lovely days ! What time shall e'er erase Your cloudless sunshine, and your vernal green ; What hand from this fond soul Shall rend the sacred scroll That holds the records of what once hath been. I'm not the creature I was then ! — I've seen the busy haunts of men, I've known the powers of Malice and of Art Plunge their arrows in the guiltless heart ; No more Simplicity — sweet maid ! (A blushing tenant of the shade) Smiles with confiding joy on all she meets - } This bosom once so gay, Now to cold doubt a prey, The kindly glance no more with rapture meets. 134 REFLECTION. Yet tho' the world's rude blast has scath'd Full many a bosom-flower ; Tho' all that dew is gone which bath'd My first fair, vernal hour ; Still much remains of hope and bliss To gild my noon-tide sky ; The Muse's witching smile, and Friendship's kiss, And holy presages that shall nut die. What though th' enchanter Love For my sad brow hath wove (Unmingled with a flower) a wreath of thorns; Yet Patience hath a balm The mightiest griefs to calm, To sink beneath their weight my spirit scorns. Man is a pilgrim here, Waiting with hope and fear, The moment when his Father's voice, Bidding his heart rejoice, REFLECTION. 1S5 Shall call him home, — O let not then th' immortal mind Ignobly be confined To this dim vale through which 'tis doom'd to roam : — Walk humbly — mourner — on thy destined way, And look beyond the grave — to Heaven's eternal day. [ 136 ] BEAUTY'S GRAVE. 1 read softly, Stranger! — this is ground That no rude footstep should impress — With tender pity gaze around, Let sadness all thy soul possess. — Tread softly ! — lest you crush the flowers That o'er this turf arc taught to wave, Transplanted from their native bowers. To shed their sweets o'er Beauty's grave.— And, Stranger — let your musing heart Mark ivell this fresh and verdant sod, And ere you from the scene depart, O let your soul commune with God ! BEAUTY S GRAVE. Thus die the fragile buds of earth ! Thus fade the lovely and the brave ! Come here ye thoughtless sons of mirth, And pause awhile o'er Beauty's grave. Sweet vvither'd Rose ! may thy pale doom Call tears into the virgin's eye. O may a voice within the tomb Remind her all that live must die; And tell her in the days of youth To think of Him who being gave ; And bid her seek the ways of truth Like her who sleeps in Beauty's grave. [ 13S ] T I M E, AN ODE. 1 hese azure days are waning fast. And soon the rough autumnal blast Will come and strip the forest-bower, Of summer's last, last lingering flower; And wintry snows will then be seen Where smile yon hills of vivid green ; O'er the heath and o'er the plain, Will howl the storm, will drive the rain. — And thus doth Time with rapid stride O'ertake our youth's meridian tide. O glances of proud Beauty's eye, How soon your liquid lustres die ! TIME. 139 O graces of the virgin brow ! love-born smiles ! where are ye now ? One moment since that cheek how red ! — And now the blush of conquest fled : Those locks that did so richly flow, — Ah ! turned, turned all to snow ! " Relentless Time !" the Poets sing, " To wither youth's voluptuous spring, And from the maiden's cheek remove The rose that woke the sigh of love." While thus they of his thefts complain, My Lyre shall wake another strain : To me lie is no dreaded foe, 1 gaze on him — and feel not woe. — To his power I patient bend, And own him for my kindest friend. — Take the gifts that youth bestows ! Take, oh Time ! her flaunting rose. 140 TIME. These I owe thee — these, and more, For all thy preciuus — precious lore : — 'Twas thou that taught'st me not to weep When starting, as from troubled sleep, I found the dream of Hope untrue, And bade its witcheries adieu. — Thou hast told me not to deem That Friendship's smiles are what they seem ; Hast proved how oft with gems divine My fancy deck'd a worthless shrine : Hast shewn my sad and weary breast, This world was not its home of rest. O truths, that sages vainly preach ! O lore, that none but Time can teach ! 'Tis thou that art the truest test Of what is wisest, safest, best ; 'Tis thou that lull'st the deadly throe That throbs when disappointment's blow TIME. 141 Hath fallen on the shrinking heart, And bade both hope and peace depart. Oh friend sincere ! oh kindliest aid ! When all my brighter visions fade ; When vanish'd is that sweet romance, Which held up friendship to my glance, As the pilot that would guide My bark o'er life's careering tide ; When I have seen — and wept to see Affection hath no boon for me : To thee I trust my load of grief, And find for all a sure relief — The wounds of fate I erase to feci. What are the wounds thou can'st not heal ? [ 142 ] REASON AND VANITY. In the pride of my heart would I vauntingly cry " I will build an illustrious name — To the summit of bliss will I eagerly fly On the wide-spreading pinion of fame. All panting with ardour my bosom shall spurn At the views of the low-minded throng; With nobler ambition my spirit shall burn, Shall burn for the triumphs of Song. " The storms that howl o'er me, the perils of chance, Will break not my sabbath of joy — With thee for my comrade, O wild-eyed Romance ! My raptures shall meet no alloy. REASON AND VANITY. 143 The broad wing of Time, as he passes, we'll load With trophies that never shall die. Unwearied my soul shall pursue the bright road That leads to a station on high. " Yes — strains of my wild harp ! your memory shall glow When to dust this frail body's consigned — O'er the tomb of my slumbers the laurel shall grow, Its leaves with the eypress entwined — Yes — strings of my wild-harp ! your heart-prompted lay From oblivion's dark ocean may save— O Genius ! the beams that illumine thy day, — Shall irradiate the night of the Grave." J Twas thus that my spirit, with gladness elate, The theme of her wishes pursued, And still as I turned to the pages of Fate, This vision of bliss was renewed. 144 REASON AND VANITY. — When sudden — there burst on my wondering ear A voice that my senses awoke : I listened in breathless attention and fear, When these were the words that it spoke : "Vain Boaster! and think'st thou thy labours shall claim The meed that to Bards is assigned, Who for ages have shone in the annals of fame. And left every compeer behind ? Vain Boaster ! the songs that so precious you deem In the fever and madness of pride, Shall pass down the current of Time's rapid stream And be lost in oblivion's dark tide. ce Then turn thee, O child of the dust ! and pursue A path that will lead to the sky — Keep the precepts of virtue for ever in view, And so shall thy name never die. — REASON AND VANITY. 145 The glories of Genius but blaze for awhile, And then are extinguish'd in night \ But Virtue for ever and ever shall smile In Eternity's Regions of Light." C MG J THE VISION VUKOK^U L 006 339 581 8 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC AA 000 079 082 4 ' t t *' 'mP- r**^| *'^^ ' — 12 ' : ® 5* 1