3/39 WI77s THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 8 W IK T.LAM"'. t. -iancholy o .... . ( , - which my often rumination \?raps me. )H It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objeo' ; and indeed the sun-irv 'ion of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps Hie, is a most humorous sadm ss ! SHAKSPEAB.E. PUBLISHED BY CUMMtNGS & HILLIARD, BOSTON BOOKSTORE, JVo. 1 Cuinluli. . BELLAMY, PRINTER. 1881, DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit . District ClerVs Office. BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twenty ninth day of March, in the Forty Fifth year of the Independence of the UNITED STATES of AMERICA, ELISHA BELLAMY of the sud District, has deposited in this Office the Title of a 'Book, the Right whereof he claims as Proprietor, in the Words follow ing, to wit : " Sukey.. ' It is a.melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects ; and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, m which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humoruut sadness ." IShakspeare.' 1 ' 1 In Conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled '"An act for the encouragement of learr.ing, by securing the copies of maps, chart? and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned :" and also to an act entitled, " An act supple mentary to an act, entitled, an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprie tors of such copies during the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefit? thereof to the arts of designing, engraving and etching historical, and other prints." JXO. W. DAVIS, Clerk of the District of Massachutetts PREFACE. The nature and design of this Poem, may not at first be com pletely and thoroughly understood. It demands a patient and frequent perusal. It aims at something higher and better than mere amusement. I have wished to do something in an uncom mon way, it is to be confessed for morality, poetry, and manners ; and I cannot but believe if that which I have written be rightly apprehended my attempt will not be wholly frustrated. Some time ago I formed the design of writing three poems on subjects intimately connected with peculiar branches in the philosophy of the human mind. This is the first fruits, of a less ambitious char acter to be sure, than the other two, VEIMAR or DESTINY, a Dra matic Romance, and the DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE, which I shall publish in the course of this summer, or farthest, in the autumn of the year. This poem, however, is simply intended to illustrate some of the curious facts, set forth in the newly received opinions concerning the Doctrine of Association of Ideas. I have been in duced to do this by certain convictions forced upon my own mind after reading the following reflections from Foster's essay on A MANS WRITING MEMOIRS OF HIMSELF. Men realize their existence in the surrounding objects that act upon them and form the interests of self, rather than in that very self, that interior being, which is thus acted upon. So that this 027432 IV PREFACE. being itself, with its thoughts and feelings, as distinct from the oh- jects of those thoughts and feelings, but rarely occupies its own deep and patient attention. Men carry their minds, as they car ry their watches, content to be ignorant of the mechanism of their movements, and satisfied with attending to the little exterior cir cle of things, to which the passions, like indexes, are pointing. It is surprising to see how little self knowledge a person not watch fully observant of himself may have gained in the whole course of an active, or even an inquisitive life. In some occasional states of the mind, we can look back much more clearly, and to a much greater distance, than at other times. I would advise to seize those short intervals of illumina tion which sometimes occur without onr knowing the cause, and in which the genuine aspect of some remote event, or long for gotten image, is recovered with extreme distinctness by vivid spontaneous glimpses of thought such as* no effort could have commanded ; as the sombra features and minute objects ofa dis tant ridge of hills become strikingly visible in the strong gleams of light which transiently fall on them. Places and things which have an association with any of the events or feelings of past life, will greatly assist the recollection of thfm. If an old man wished to animate for a moment the languid and faded ideas which he retains of his youth, he might walk with his crutch across the green where he once played with companions who are now probably laid to repose in another spot not far off. An aged saint may meet again some of the affecting ideas of his early piety in the place 'where he first thought it hap py to pray. A walk in a meadow, the sight of a bank of flowers, perhaps even of some one flower, a landscape with the tints of au tumn, the descent into a valley, the brow ofa mountain, the house where a friend has been met. or has resided, ur has died, have often PREFACE. V produced a much more lively recollection of our past feelings, and of the objects and events which caused them, than the most per fect description could have done ; and we have lingered a consid erable time for the pensive luxury of thus resuming, if I may so express it, the departed state of our minds. But there are many to whom local associations present images which they fervently wish they could forget ; images which haunt the places where crimes have been perpetrated, and which seem to approach and glare on the^criminal as he hastily passes by, es pecially if in the evening or the night. .Vo local associations are so impressive as those of guilt. It may here be observed, that as each one has his own seperate remembrances, giving to some places an as pect and a significance 'which he alone can perceive, there must be an unknown number of pleasing, or mournful, or dreadful associations, spread over the scenes inhabited or visited by men. We pass \vithout any awakened consciousness by the bridge, or the wood, or the house, where there is something to excite the most painful or fright ful ideas in the next man that shall come that way, or possibly the companion that walks along with us. How much there is in a thousand spots of the earth, that is invisible and silent to all but the conscious individual. I hear a voice you cannot hear ; I see a hand you cannot see. Most persons, I presatne, can recollect some few sentences or conversations which made so deep aa impression, perhaps in some instances they can scarcely tell why, that they have been thous- an Is of times recalled, while all the rest have been forgotten ; or they can advert to some striking incident, coming in aid of instruc tion, or boing of itself a forcible instruction, which they seem ev en now to see as clearly as when it happened, and of which they Tl , PREFACE. will retain a perfect idea to the end of life. In some instances, to recollect the instructions of a former period will be to recol lect too the excellence, the affection, and the death, of the per sons who gave them. Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance, it will be a consolation that they are not entirely lost to us. Wise monitions, when they return on us with this mehncholy charm, have more pathetic cogency than when they were first uttered by the voice of a living friend who is now silent. It will be an inter esting occupation of the pensive hour, to recount the advantages which we have received from beings who have left the world, and to reinforce our virtues from the dust of those who first taught them. SUKEY. I. J. AM one of those melancholy men, Who sometimes like to strike a harp of sadness, And joy to hear its chime, though it may pain, Like love sick maiden's songs which breathe of madness ; And why ? I shall not give myself the time, To tell, but straight this wayward tale in rhyme, II. Unfold, as you may wish ; but you must know, This rhyming spirit business of the brain, Is not so easy work ; the brightning glow Of Fancy's fires is sometimes sought in vain, And then, we Poets feel, dull, sick and lone, As if a funeral bell toll'd for some kind friend gone ' III. This SUKET that I mean to speak about, Was quite a pretty lass, with eyes of blue, And form symmetrical. She loved a rout, But more than all, those parties where a few Cay girls may dance with tamborine and fiddle, And shew off all their beauty in the riddle, IV. Of a long contra-dance while cotillion And reel are given up because the fashion At least, in towns where leader's of the ton, Delight to shew their spirit and to dash on Is, to reject, jig waltz hornpipe minuet, Reckless of all the laws of city etiquette, V. And hold, the contra-dance, the only dance is, Where one may sport the graceful attitude, And bound of happy feeling, such as FRANCIS, (1) That Prince of gallantry I now allude To Him of Gaul the Monarch who once said, Surely I've not forgot No ! in my head, VI. I have it now aye ! that his court-room ring 1 When ladies were not there fair Venus' powers ! Was like the year without the gentle Spring, Or rather like the Spring without its flowers ! It is a pretty thought ! but I was saying, This dance that Monarch thought far overswaying VII. All others of his times and so I think, Maugre all threats from those who think they know, That which is only right ; I never shrink From giving my opinion ; let this go ! SUKEY was fond of dancing so am I, Though now my dancing days have long past by ! VIII. This pastime had its rise when Arthur wore (2) The crown of Britain and her red cross shield. The Fairy race belated shepherds saw Holding their revels near some grassy field Or forest glade where summer flowers were springing, And chrystal streams to the sweet solitude singing ! IX. Such is at least, the tale, romancers tell. The peasants told it to their guests and they In towns and cities taught each beau and belle ; But why go on ? I only wish to say All this I learnt (how complaisant and yielding) From a fine poem inscribed to Lady Fanny Fielding. (3) X. I wish I could pourtray on this white paper A shape that might appear a living semblance Of SUKEY'S person when without her wrapper, She shone a form etherial ! remembrance May bring back many such to those who love, And dream they see their angel figures move, XI. When the high-canopying arch of heaven at night, Is sprinkled o'er with stars ; and clouds of snow Are sweeping in their stillness and the light Of the round MOOD comes softly down ; the flow Of wreathed brightness gloriously spanning The spiritual walk and west winds fanning ; XII. And Musick all unearthly comes ! dying From its full swelling in the shadowy air, Along the still lakes bosomr slowly flying Upon the echo's pinions mingles where The dingle copse wood grows and low fount caves, Or, in the solemn glen where peers the place of graves ! XIII. The holiest of holy hours ! on high The spirit pure, from fragile clay may swell ! It mingles with Loves light ! The DEITY Is there calm glorious bright ineffable ! And this is Heaven ! till overwrought it falls, And sinks again to earth which still enthralls ! XIV. Yet still it gazes on bright visions there And makes of one, a form too brightly seen ; Fashioning to itself a shape of air, As sweet as that, which shall be, and has been., And dreams of beauty which shall ever last, When all the imagings of Time are past ! 8 XV. And so it keeps through life to death, unbroken, This passion while each fond memory leaves Of the once loved a hallowed, mournful token, A something, that we know not, that deceives With unsubstantial mockeries, and with sadness, The credulous heart, grown wise in its own madness ! XVI. HER hair was of the chestnut hue ; but many Pretend not to like this colour, the reason why I never ask'd ; it may be few if any, Who thus protest, can boast such hair, and shy Of losing the good opinion of their lovers, Affirm such hair as this, no cranium covers ! XVII. Dispute it, if you will I shall not soon ; But if the newspapers speak truth a dye Of such a hue, is found at the Saloon, In Market Street by DICKSON sold ; and I Have known him long, as one who is no Jew, But I am telling now what every body knew. 9 XVIII. No matter ; her hair was chestnut and its flow Sunk down in silken softness like the wings Of the night birds in Paradise ! Neck of snow And forehead meek, as that chaste seraph brings, On which is prest the kiss of heavenly love, When done her deeds of earth in welcoming above ! XIX. I speak not of her eye that seem'd to pour The mellow light of sunset in its glance, Or when the soul was touch'd, would brightly shower The arrowy lightnings of the tempest ; the dance Of spectre forms, from iris circle leaping Waving their diamond wands ; or in its weeping, XX. When the upgushing waters of the heart, Were there and its full orb was sunk, not spent Its light the long lash'd lid with quivering start Open'd and shut as when the heavens are rent, And the visible fires burst forth in glory, And pass away in gloom ! Now to my story. 10 XXI. But stay ! I mast speak of her foot and ankle ; Think of a model such as great CANOVA, (4) Would carve as beautiful, to walk or prankle Over the fields, when hearts are light, or a Green sloping bank, where moonlight sleeping Sheds brightness, calm and still, while Zephyrs creeping, XXII. Unveil the tender flowers and drink the dews ! There are but few, that I know, who could make, So as to fit right well a pair of shoes For SUKEY'S feet nor Chadwick Morton, Lake, Nor any other of their cast, she wrought The slippers that she wore they were not bought ! XXIII. Speaking of slippers those which now are worn, (Prunella) are easier to wearers far, Than leather, cheap, and if, perchance, are torn By any carelessness a little care Will make them whole again I shrewdly ween, So that, indeed, the rent will scarce be seen. 11 XXIV. She was a village girl an orphan child ! Her parents died when she an infant yet, Knew not her smiles a father's heart beguiled Of all his cares, and made him oft forget ! Nor how a mother's anguish was overpaid While for a little time, in this dark world, she stayed ! XXV. A little time ! and in the church -yard ground ; You may have seen the spot, if e'er you rode, Through X Y where a greensward mound In spring is seen they make their last abode ! The turf is gay with braided flowers but now You scarce can find the place so deep the snow. XXVI. Last summer I was there, and recollect, Walking at even tide through that lone spot ; The loneliness was lovely, and the effect, Was, as it is ! oh ! ne'er can be forgot ! I feel it now ; the sunset o'er the mountains, The black birds, dirge like soug, and welling fountains ; IS XXVII. With waters rustling down the darksome glen ! The ploughmans thoughtless whistle and the bell Swelling its deep ton'd reckoning ! solemn then, I threw myself upon a tomb and well, Remember all the busy thoughts which rose, Dark on my mind, rousing its vain repose ! XXVIII. There is a mystery, that fills with awe Around GOD'S temple standing lonely there ! Looking from its green depth* of sycamore, And aged elms making communion fair,- While far above ascends the moss clad spire, With a most holy light of heaven kissing fire XXIX. Hanging around it pointing silently To the unknown of rest, above. It seems, To tell the soul in whispering majesty, That there is hope, when all its earth born dreams, Have vanished into nothing, with old time ; With the IMMACULATE PRESENCE and SUBLIME ! 13 XXX. Then oh my soul how gushing o'er thee, came, The visions of thine infancy now gone ! Forever gone ! yet still thou wert the same ! Shadows of Friends that all forget to mourn, Seem'd gliding o'er the place, in the still air, Beck'ning with looks of love to read a moral there ! XXXI. There sleep the ancient and the sage together ! The enemy and lover low and high ! Distinction hath no place ! Spring's sunny weather, The breeze the storm o'er quench'd mortality Pass each alike with a strange, ominous doom Heedless alike of tangled sod, or vanity's proud tomb ! XXXII. But let this pass ! a kind old lady took Young SUKEV home with her, (a maiden aunt) Well versed in all the arts which make a cook ; And this is all some modern husbands want, But she had more to boast ; had often read The authors of old days her mind had fed, XXXIII. Upon the banquetings of gods ; De Foe Bunyan and Stnollet Richardson and others But best of all her Bible prized, and so You see, with Parsons, Spinsters Guardians, Mothers, Altho' she boasted not of wealth and birth, She passed for something of exceeding worth. XXXIV. When six summers more or less, went by And SUKEY was thought old enough to go, To school, aud learn her book her destiny It was, in a short time, as you must know High praise to win from the village school dame, A good old soul no matter for her name. XXXV. She never whipped her pupils for she thought With Shenstone's matron that the green birch rod, (5) Upon the incorrigible ne'er wrought A perfect work and with the gentler would Make matters worse quick freezing up the feelings, To finer issues touched by such hard dealings. XXXVI. I have, indeed, heard SUKEY say that, some Strange punishment-* were common with the matron ; Namely, the pulling of the hair, a gentle doom ! And soon forgot, yet many a mother's son, Knew that her pins were sharp, and hard her thimble Struck on the dull brained skull, and oft how nimble, XXXVII. She'd sweep across the room to shake some urchin Guilty of some high wickedness, such as, Telling a falshood, picking pockets, lurching, And other pranks of nature like such as, When life was young, right often we have seen, Those days, alas ! are gone would they had never been. XXXVIII. And SUKEY was a favorite not only With her mistress, but the scholars. She climb'd The ladder of learning, and soon won the Top such is the pride of genius ! she rhym'd With power poetic could recite JACK HORNER That selfish boy who ate his pie within the corner, XXXIX. Of his own father's fire place ! and MOTHER GOOSE, Who wrote so many wondrous tales in verse ! The Jack and Jill! ah ! wretched friends, to lose, And to be lost, was the all fearful corse, Entailed npon them in their hoar of ill. When both together fell down the precipitous hill ! XL. The Man of Thessaly ! that mighty sage Who dared a dubious conflict, quenched his sight, And struggled for new vision ! a dark page ! Those of the Bo^l at Sea ! One of the Wight, Riding o'er moonless skies ! She of the Shoe, Cursed with her progeny ! and He, the Sleeper, Blue ! (6) XLI. At home, she grew in fondness and in love, With that dear friend, the relative I named, Who watched her with a tenderness above All powers of language ; I should be ashamed To tell of ail she did. but I must say To all ch knew herself, she taught the way 17 XLII. In culinary lore, it wag her pride, To make her neice, clever and shrewd and wise ; In all that's roasted, toasted, boiled, baked, fried ; Puddings, tarts, custards, syllabubs and pies ! Oh ! I can see her now, her white arm out Rolling the crust, turning it round about XLIII. With taper fingers, her'white apron on, ' Pure and unspotted as the drifted snow, And smiling lips while ever and anon Some lively song she sings ! the jocund flow Of dancing spirits bright with merriment, Such as all feel, when life is innocent. XLIV. Time was when maidens fair for pleasures sake, So say, the Scriptures, read them, could prepare, The fatted calf and bake an oatmeal cake, And of their household take peculiar care, Or milk the goats, and in the pastures range To feed the snow white flocks but times have known a change ! 18 XLV. There are but few, among the pretty creatures, Kind chance has given to my scrutiny, Who think it not a spoiling of their features To toil before a fire, sad destiny Patience beyond if they must keep an eye, On things belonging to such drudgery ! XLVI. ******** ******** XLVII. Our daughters now, are taught French, German, Spanish, All tongues, except their own ; Italian, Greek, Choctaw and Chickasee, Hebrew, Scotch, Danish, Dutch, which all allow they speak, With a just accent, neither low nor high, And singular elegance and propriety. XLVIII. These things, our Mother's knew not, in their days. The vantage ground is ours. Our foreign masters, 19 They who have shone in courts, or played at plays, Can teach us better now ; some few disasters May now and then occur yet soon forgot, We triumph still in our more fortunate lot ! XLIX. Besides, there's something so delightful sweet To have one so familiar, and so kind ! Girls, always have some hero at their feet ; And wonder how the world can be so blind ! Not to perceive in that fine form bright eye, The unfortunate and brave ! like THADDEUS SOBIESKI ! L. ******** ******** ******** LI. I speak it to their shame free be it spoken, And freely heard ! now, had I a sister, My language should be such ! the charm is broken ! And for my wife though I might not resist her, If she said, nay ! yet should 1 love her more, Would she do this, and willingly, before 3 L1I. 1 told my wishes ! no ! a lonely being And bachelor of course, strange, whimsical, All which I am cannot at times help seeing Some things I cannot like all which I shall Take soon an opportunity to tell, When the right hour, and humor bears me well ! LIII. And years did pass away ! this lovely girl, Our SUKEY, gathered to the grace I sung Some little while ago ! How quickly whirl, The wheels of Time noiseless as rose leaves flunj Upon the moonlight lake ! oh ! never more Will they return no matter what they bore 1 L1V. The past is vanished ! whether good or ill ; There is no present shall the future come ? Alas ! why speak of that, it comes to kill, So much we know of earth, the fearful doom, Of things which live, quick hurrying to the tomb, AH that we love in happiness or gloom ! LV. Yet there are recollections to some hearts, Which prompt the mind, some wishes yet to coin !- The chain forever winding never parts; Or if it parts, the viewless links rejoin Binding 1 the spirit, till the destined hour At last comes forth, and death's resistless power, LVI. Gives it to light and life ! hut, who can tell How it shall be with soul hereafter ? "where Unclothed with flesh it goes? the mystic spell Dissolved, that charmed it to existence here ? And grave worms feed upon that body now, That once was rife with its etherial glow ! LVII. What is our hirth, hut sleep ? our death a life ? The soul that springs from GOD has been before ! Decay, it knows not, in our being's strife ; Its glory is not quench'd ! and when no more, The shadows of our prison house enclose It passeth, like a star, from whence it rese ^ LVIH. What are its visions in this world of things ? Strife Love Ambition Fame each change e'er lonj, And then depart, like false imaginings ; From youth to age the fancies of a song; The visionary gleamings of a sky, Which brighten terribly upon a maniac's eye J LIX. It knows not, but believes, that it will last, When that, shall all dissolve, it now inherits, Like the small dust upon the whirlwind's blast ; And be itself, immortal, like the spirits Of higher instincts and forever be, Glorious in its own bright Eternity ! LX. These may be questions, rather metaphysical ; They teach us, how to think, and for those, who, Like to review such, well ; the phthisical, Who wear the hectic cheek, and soon must go Down to the worms dwelling I would calmly say, It is decreed ! be cheerful while you may ; S3 LXI. Beware such pondering 'tis preposterous folly Thus wasting all the spirits one may have ; The soul is sicksned by dark melancholy ; All hopes and fears, are bounded by the grave ! And when the last, last lingering hour, is come, Look calmly in Death's face nor shudder at the doom ! LXII. But to return ! what is a poem or novel, Without two lovers with their joys and sorrows ? It is impossible to make one go well, Either for fame or money though one borrows All power of language ; without Lovers, Love You may depend your book will nothing move ! LXIII. And this is not exceedingly absurd, Though many prate and swear that it must be ; Since LOVE has fled the earth like a bright bird To holier climes but this to you and me, Is idle all ; I do believe as yet, It warmeth still young hearts who never can forget ! LXIV. It has its bovvers of rest rich springing flowers ; The sunshine of a sky, sweetly diffusing, Its beams of unquenched light innocent hours Bright tears chaste smiles and joys of heavenly musing ! It cannot die ! it shall not pass away But with the soul of this imprisoning clay ! LXV. Oh ! 'tis a holy, changeless, nameless thing ! A sanctioned Power pure habitant of Heaven ! Blessing seraphic which alone can bring From its eternal Home whence all is given, A vision like itself that still must be The invisible emblem of the DEITY ! LXVI. Therefore, I'll have a Lover in this book. And he shall love my SUKEY and she him ! He shall be what ? I know not ; if you look Over a few ;nore lines this very whim Of mine, may give some information Concerning him, his character, vocatioa ! LXVII. And I'll begin e'en now ! once lived a youth Of a romantic turn, who knew his kind, But as they seem'd to be, all love and truth ! And he was brave and generous ; of a mind, That look'd above the world with kindling eye, Holding communion with the starry sky ! LXVIII. Much had he read and thought ! and often loved To be alone, when he might sum non forth, The spirits of the past ! anJ w*ien he roved, Like a wild hunter of the stormy north, The deepning valley, and the mountain high, Were still his favorite haunts ! He loved the cry, LXIX. Of eagles in their solitudes ; the roar Of catraracts ! the darkness of that hour, When spectres are abroad ' the lonely shore, When tempests revelled in their mightiest power ! Thunierings and lightnings glorious in their might !- Filling his breast with terrible delight ! LXX. Oh ! many a time and oft, in their young days, Seated by sunny hill or valley green, He would discourse, and her bright beauty praise, And crown her with a wreath, and call her queen, His Q,ueen of May, or sportively would shower Roses and violets round, as her most princely dower ! LXXI. Or scenes, she loved the best, he wished to show; To guide her safely o'er the passage bridge, That cross'd the fierce, dark torrent, deep below, And gaze upon the broad sun o'er the ridge Of the far hills ; or list the woods along The shrill ton'd redbreast, pipe his farewel song ! LXXII. Poetry was his idol and his passion ! His soul's sun ! that glorified and brighten'd ! And many a song of love, be oft could fashion To win her love, and thus merrily lighten'd His heart at times. It will not take me long To copy in this place, his favorite song. i. And they may say. thy long dark hair, Clustering its shadow'y flow. Is like the raven's plumage there, Veiling that moonlight brow ! The roseate flush, that dyes thy cheek, All I'right with beauty's glow Is like the radiant crimson streak, Of sunset o'er the snow ! There is a charm more bright for me, THY SOUL OF SENSIBILITY ! And they may say, thy soft blue eye, When raised its living shroud, Outshines the diamond gem on high, That lights yon azure cloud ! Thy lips as plants of coral red, In bloom, where pearl drops shine ! Thy breath, like heavenly incense shed From virtue's holiest shrine ! There is a charm, more rich for me, THY HEART'S LONG PROVED SINCERITY ! 3. And they may say, thy light step, where They wake the graceful dance, Is like, a seraph's motion there, Or wild bird's, swift winged glance ! And lingering yet, thy form of love, Is like, a dream of heaven ! Thy voice, like music breath'd above, Among the clouds of even ! There is a charm more dear to me. THY SPIRITS SPOTLESS PURITY ! LXXIII. He never talk'd of bridal hours as yet, Because, he deem'd dependency the devil, i And thought it wrong, that one must run in debt And poverty in rags, a serious evil. There is no doubt, much truth, in what he said ; Particularly concerning love, and daily bread. LXXI7. But it is quite impossible, that man, Like that most curious creature the chameleon, Should feed on air, or that he ever can ; E'en though he basks within a king's pavillion, And, therefore, he must starve, or else must eat, And money, is the best thing to purchase meat. LXXV. Upon the whole, our Hero's fix'd opinion, That creditors are troublesome sometimes ; Seems generally correct ! gay Fortune's minion Disporting in the wealth of eastern climes, He, that a rumpled rose leaf would awake From his soft sleep as quickly as a snake LXXVI. Coiling 1 around his delicate white neck, May scarce believe such things are ever so ; But those who owe, either by bond or check, Feel oftentimes an agony of woe, Mangre their hollow smiles if on the day Of settlement, they can't their creditors pay. LXXVII. Oh ! dim wild world, we know thee not as yet, Sufferance is ours ! the lot of human kind ; Nothing endureth ! to live and to forget ; To walk this earth in faith ; though dark and blind. And keep the heart up in this pilgrimage, And make our fervent youth like virtuous age ; LXXVIII. To seem and be ; yet reverently concealing Deep in the bosom cell its passionate dreams, And as each glory, dazzlingly revealing Its holiest charms, like spiritual beams From crowns of light, so soon to pass away Is all we know of Life's sad darkness, or its day ! 30 LXXIX. And we will now suppose, that we may make, To cut, this part of our long story short I do it simply, for my reader's sake, And not my own, oh no ! God knows there's naught, In this large breathing world, I like so well, As stringing rhymes, in this, my lonely cell LXXX. And, if I pleased, I might go on forever, No matter, we're only now supposing A parting of the Lovers! thus to sever Them so soon, is hard ; I hate this prosing, I wish my lines to sweetly flow you see, Like sun bright waves of blue upon a summer sea ! LXXXI. ******** ******** ******** 31 LXXXII. Well, thus it is resolv'd ! SUKEY, her aunt's permission, For this, she thought her duty, dared to ask To make a visit to some friends, ambition ! Might prompt some other girls, this humbling task, Without reluctance to omit LXXXIII. I will not now protract, this pleasant story, In speaking of the preparation, that She made, How many bonnets, gowns, and all the glory, Of three, huge, closed pack'd trunks ; enough is said, When I affirm, that few within my knowledge, Have been so well equip'd from fashion's college. LXXXIV. It was a Winter's morning ! clear and bright, The broad blue firmament bowed down and clouds In their deep fullness heaving, swept in light Along the horizon's verge, and snowy shrouds Hung beautiful over the mountain's brow, Wide wrapping all the pride that slept below j LXXXV. The rest of Nature ! lo ! the warriour Sun, With bright hair'd steeds, swift trampling o'er the heaven, Drives on through orient depths, his chariot throne ! Quick flash the sparks from heaven's red pavement driven ! With banner'd pomp, and trumpet's pealing cry, Spear, shield and helm of light, in glorious panoply ! LXXXVI. The widow'd trees, are thick with diamond stars And gems of lustrous brilliance ; rainbow hues Changing and flashing, through the chrystal spars, In dazzling splendour, which around diffuse The pageantry's of magic ! all are there Enchantments, work'd by spirits of the air. LXXXVII. And far away, the blue smoke, slowly curling From cottage roofs ; and loose white sails in motion ; Beacons along the lone coast, flags unfurling, Waving o'er castled walls ; the deep blue ocean Dark rolling now, as in its earliest hour ; Eternal in the strength, of its almighty power ! 33 LXXXVIII. Such scenes are fraught with wisdom ; and they fill The meditative mind with thoughts sublime ! What tho', no rural sounds awake the hill ? The reaper's blithe song hush'd a little time ! What though the winter winds rave hoarse and high, And blighted all the bloom, which brighten'd o'er the eye ?- LXXXIX. Yet there are lessons taught, in such an hour, Of high morality, our souls to mend, Teaching the best, by a mysterious power ! The Winter of Man's being ! who shall lend Spring, Summer, Autumn to his age again. If rightly conn'd, we need not ask in vain. XC. Such was this Winter's morning and the stage sleigh, (7) First made a halt, where Sukey's dwelling stood ! I hope no one has any thing to say 'Gainst this conveyance be it understood That in my time, I've often travell'd so, And found it more convenient cheaper too !- XCL 'Tis 4 but a moment, and the parting's over, Shed is the tear, the last warm grasp is given ; The throbing pulse is still ; and thoughts which hover, In darkness o'er the soul, like clouds of even', Pass quick away, the trembling bosom's swell Is silent now, and mute the sad farewell ! XCII. 'Tis but a moment, and the Driver's ready ; His coat is button'd with a knowing look ; The reins adjusted now, right slow and steady; Cracks the loud whip, and ratling bells are shook ; Quick with a spring, he gains his cushion'd seat, And swift the snorting steeds, go rushing down the street ! XCIII. ******** ******** ******** 35 XCIV. Is there a spot, more dearly lov'd than all, More than all others, which this world can give ? Where flowers, forever bloom, and pleasures call ! For which we dare to die, and love to live ? Where center all the joys, our lives have seen ? Where days are always bright, and nights serene ? XCV. Is there a spot, to which the exile turns, When wandering lonely on a distant shore ? The while, his struggling heart within him burns, Longing to visit its fair scenes once more ! Where pure ones dwell, who love his memory yet, Far o'er the dark blue sea, he never can forget ? XCVI. Is there a spot, where we would ever be, From cradled childhood to declining age ? Where noble Minds exult, and souls are free, Glorious in light ; where dwell the brave and sage ? The beautiful and bright, where'er we roam ? There is, there is our Country and our home ! 5 36 XCVII. My Country, oh ! my Country, to the last, The First and Last; tho' torn in heart alone ! Thou art my dream ! but clouds have overpast ! In all the changeful scenes, which I have known, I hold to Thee, and kneel before thy throne, Majestic in thy strength, Thou Great Imperial One !- XCVIII. Homeless ! Thou art my Mother ! to the end ! A wanderer exile ! Thou wilt ever be What Thou hast ever been, proud hearts shall send From thy far lands, the omnipotent and free ; A greeting to thy child ; for he is thine ! Oh God of Light, make it thine altar-shrine ! XCIX. And Thou wilt not forsake me, this I know ! Long years and I revisit thee again ! I never ask'd a tear in all my wo ! Oh ! Earth of my Idolatry ! in vain, Would I uplift my heart, and pray Thee to forget ! Home of my Sires thou art my heritance yet! c. But what's this to the purpose I can't see, Some one may say perhaps an idle thought, It came across my brain so let it be ! I think the stanzas handsomely are wrought ; And some there are, whose feelings may be touch'd If they have souls to feel with what I have avouch'd ! CI. 'Twas at an evening *rty, at the mansion Where SUKEY stayed as is the custom, given On her account with liberal expansion, She met some pretty girls just twice eleven, I like to be exact eyeing this new comer, With looks unceasing ! did her dress become her ?- CII. It was a white sprigg'd muslin ! and a ribbon Of sky blue color, bound her taper waist; She never look'd so handsome ! and even GIBBON, Would then have prais'd her very pretty taste ; Aye ! had he seen her wave her spangled fan, In presence of his love, sweet Susan of Lausanne I cm. This GIBBON was an infidel ; he loved ! And rosy wreaths were twin'd around his heart ; Pure and eternal as this passion proved, It could not break those principles apart, Which form'd his whole existence ! there in vain The tempter came but could not burst the chain ! CIV. Such is man's destiny, traced out by Heaven ! And who shall mar it in this breathing scene ! Enough ! thou creature of the dust! is given To make thee wise, and teach thee how to glean The field of human hopes however small If CURCHOD had been true where would have been DE STAHL ? CV. Oh ! LOVE ! and yet we never, ne'er can know, Thy spiritual essence ; we are content To creep along, and in our beings flow, To make thee like a sea ; thou art not spent Within the inmost parts of our mind's vision, We cling to thee as yet, pure, bright, elysian ! 39 CVI. And yet, let but this being sleep in hope, All that we know, we never would redeem ! We do not ask it if it still must cope With our most earnest longings ; Shall the beam With this existence fade ? and thus faintly pass, Like dreams of spectres in a magic glass ? CVII. And is this all, dread dreamer, when life's o'er ? Dim star-light of a night, when clouds are dark? The lonely flow of waves, without a ihore ? No heaven of blue, with its all-glorious spark, 40B To light its mysteries forth, cheering the gloom Of this dark vale, brightniog beyond the tomb ! CVIII. Oh yes ! my soul ! there is, a sabbath home, For thee, hereafter, an invisible dwelling! Of spirits pure, who never doubt their doom ; Exulting ! thou shalt claim it, brightly swelling In that immortal and unwithering bloom ! Sceptred, and winged, and crowned the eternal throne assume ! CIX. Well, our SUKEY, passed that bright reviewing J Return'd the eye stare in a modest way ! Taking all opportunities of showing Her better qualities of heart ! in play Of coquetry like April sunbeams shining Through hovering cloud* of mist, on woody hills reclining !- CX. But I shall have occasion very soon, Of saying something 1 more about these maidens ! My watch informs me 'tis the hour of noon ! And I'm obliged to read a poem of LEYDEN'S, (8) Before I dine but first a verse I'll write, To shew some characters in proper light ! CXI. MUSE ! shall I tell their names ! the first is MARY, A laughing, lively girl, with eyes of grey, Her form is of the royal stamp, (but wary Let me be) gay jocund, as month of May ! A heart, soft, frank, and generous, with a soul That never fears, and ne'er will brook controul ! 41 CXII. FLORENCE, is fair and gentle, but inclined Too much to ope her feelings to a crowd, A soul all tenderness, and taste refin'd, With judgment, just enough, and sweetly proud; No one, would call her beautiful, but grace Is in her mien, and sunshine in her face. CXIII. And IDA too, who now is far away, The young and delicate, whose harp can wake The spirit dreamings of a brighter day, Her syren voice of melody would make The blood of Eld, quicken with livelier flow; And melt from frozen hearts, a generous tear for wo ! CXIV. And ANGELA, with down-cast look of love, The enthusiast of romance ! with pallid cheek, And forehead wan, where strange thoughts seem to move ! Yet is she woman all, fond, kind, and meek, That you must love her, tho' you hate romance ; And grant, that soul beams forth in every tearful glance. cxv. Oh ! who shall e'er forget ELIZABETH ! With heart as pure, as diamond waters flow ! Modest, as lily flower, o'er which the breath, Of summer wind?, ne'er pass'd, lone hid below In garland woven caves, where Love is sleeping ! And unsunned fountains in their stillness weeping ! CXVI. Biit too retiring, and of feelings cold, Like that chaste virgin of the crescent crown ! Yet, have I seen her, when a tale was told, Dash pity's tear, stealing her cheek adown, And brighten in her beauty and the swell Of her full soul, shine out, most eloquently well ! CXVII. ONE more ; yes, 'tis a shape of loveliness ! Of earth, and yet of heaven, that matchless shines !- Like that, the angel wears, who comes to bless, The loved in life and death, whose faith resigns, All fears, and joys, and dreams, of mortal time, Then soars on plumes of light, in majesty sublime !- CXVIII. Oh yes, of heaven and earth too surely made ! Why is it o'er the sun, black clouds will sweep ? Why do the ros-33 of the garden fade ? Why swell the storm waves, o'er the moonlight deep ?- And why art thou, all lovely as thou art, Doom'd still to try, the mockeries of the heart? CXIX. I know not why, nor is it mine to know ; All are but dreamings of existence here ! Bringing too much of happiness or wo ! Withering the plants, springing and blooming fair ! Shedding aroun 1 a flame-of dazzling tight, Like meteors flashing o'er the dungeon's night! cxx. But none, can know thee, who will love thee not ! Feeling, and taste, and genius, all are thine ! And friendship tells a tale that ne'er forgot, Will hover o'er the Future, like the sign That hung* o'er Israel's march, cheering the way ! A phantom vision ! never to fade away ! CXXI. * * x * * * * * * ******** CXXII. My dinner was but poor to-day, and cooked Most wretchedly some have no compassion, For us lean men ! I'm sure they never looked (I mean the cooks) into that Glass of fashion ; The book wherein they're counselled to take heed, "First catch a Turbot, then you thus proceed" CXXIII. The why and wherefore, I could never learn ! But there are things I like a haunch of Venison ! Geese ! Salmon ! Brants ! new butter from the churn ! And fresh laid Eggs ! and when I see the hens on Their straw built nests I always scare them off For eggs, are daintiest, new tho' squeamish persons scoff ! (9) CXXIV. I've dined at great men's tables, and I would, So heaven help me, dine there, every day ; I like their liquors, often they are good ; Strange things are often told but 'tis my way, Ne'er to dispute the master of the feast, E'en though his Wines are sour, his Porter, yeast ! (10) cxxv. And I can bear my bottle, and more could, Under my belt, nor feel my brain the lighter; Clarets my favorite, though Madeira's good Champaigne is well enough, to make wits brighter, Yet could I have my choice, as the best sort, To make men merry I should choose Old Port. CXXVI. Not long ago, (by way of episode) A party were invited out to dine, By some one of our friends who often showed He had a cultivated taste for wine ; He promised them that day to give his best, All were delighted, and their joy confest ! 4(5 CXXVII. They met dined dessert prepared C looked wise, And now, much* more important far, than ever, "Here, John, go fill me from the bin I prize, In the small arch, under the front room cellar, These wine decanters and be very careful, Bin, number two, why do you stare, you fool ! CXXVIII. f Vanish, begone !" John slowly shook his head, Looked strange, and knit his brows and straight departed ;- "Now this wine, Gentlemen, as I have said, His cross'd the Atlantic thrice was started Some fifteen years ago I beg you'll mark, First from the cargo of our ship, the Lark ; CXXIX. I don't pretend to say there's none like mine, A host, you know, should never boast and you" "Well, John, aye ! this looks something like the wine You took it from the Bin mark'd number two? Where did you gat it from ?" he smiling cries, And winks the servant with lack-lustre eyes ! cxxx. "Where did I get it," and John turn'd away "Why, from the cellar, sir," -'and pray what bin ? You understand from number two, you say ?" "No from the demijohn sent home to-day, From STACKPOLE'S store I hope I've done no sin But as ibr Number Two I couldn't find that Bin ! CXXXI. But once more to return, I'm always straying, From my sweet SUKEY, and the evening party ! When all was over, and each done surveying, They all appear' d to be, more frank and hearty, Mute was the tongue of Envy, and the eye Of Jealousy was veiled, and Love stood smiling by! CXXXII. Ring after ring, quick at the front door peal'd ; More visitors announced; the rooms were throug'd, Blithely and briefly, and around revealed, A galaxy of beauty ! eyes have long'd To see such sights so wonderfully sheen, All loveliness and bloom, but yet have never seen ! 48 CXXXIII. Soon might be heard, light whisperings and the voices Of happy human creatures, in their mirth ! Oh ! who will ask if most that soul rejoices, Whose face is constant flashing with the birth Of roselip smiles if there no darkness hovers ? And happiness within the only garb that covers ? CXXXIV. If wise, forbear such hours must pass away i-r And midnight, morning, comes alas ! too soon ! Why lift the festal mask, when all is gay ? Lights, music, laughter, all will soon be gone ! Why coldly blight Life's little pleasures now, Or ask, if that be joy which sparkles o'er the brow ? cxxxv. Match me, ye belles, one dancer like that girl ? She of the bright blue eye now gently bending, In graceful elegance now in the whirl, Of Fancy's maze her white long arm extending, To meet her stupid partner's ungloved fingers, Her busy feet quick glancing ! mark! she lingers, CXXXVI. That he may overtake her fearful creeping . Like some dull truant, who expects a whipping, Or like a dormouse after six months sleeping, Or cautious Pantaloon afraid of slipping Down a smooth icy hill ! this for aught I know, May be all right ; but twenty years ago, CXXXVIL When I was young such things have strangely changed, The dancers then, some show of spirit had, When light along the floor they nimbly ranged In sprightly wheelings ! now, they seem as sad As soldiers marching, when a death drum beats, Or mourners in black weeds, who go about the streets! CXXXVHI. But now, the dance is ended and the trays Come furnished in, with sweetmeats, creams, and fruits, And hands and mouths are busy ; long delays Are dangerous now and ill the occasion suits Those who have come half fatnish'd here to eat ! He only is the wise, who ne'er expects a treat ! 50 CXXXIX. How sly that tall boy looks as any cat ! Aye he has filched a cream cake from the board, An enterprise of skill ! That man of fat, The Falstaff of the crowd, has got his hoard Of nuts and raisins, each for number one ; The conduct of the world for ages past and gone ! CXL. "Sir, shall I trouble you to hand a custard 1 ' "Why, Mr. K I can't see one as yet," "You've spoilt my new coat with that c d mustard, Pray be more careful" " 'Tis useless, Sir, to fret" "Miss L will take an orange " "Will she ? ah! Go round the other side they're better, far !" \ ^ CXLI. "Why, where are all the knives ? dear C lend Me yours, to cut this ham your charming wife." " 'Twould give me pleasure, but you know my friend, I have as yet ate nothing.*' "oh ! that knife, You've run it through my hand." "Sir, no matter!" "Sir, let me tell you." -'don't keep such a chatter !" 51 CXLII. And Beauty holds but small advantage here, The age of gallantry is gone and gone Those courtesies of life, that make life dear ; Where are the gentle hearts to give the tone To manners as they should be, and to show, What bright examples, from politeness flow ! CXLIII. Yea, 'tis a shame, that those whose rank is high, Who sweep along with fashion's sceptred power; Should be so cold and mean, in vain they try The semblance of good breeding, or its power, When every word, look, actioa, proves their soul Is wrapp'd in self alone. CXLIV. Go when you will, you see them every where, These monkies of Monboddo, without tails, With shape indeed of men, but minds as bare Of sense, as is a new shorn chin, these snails And worms of earth, blighting the ground they crawl Seem made but for themselves, this earth their all in all. 7 CXLV. Now in a knot the literati there, Are holding high discourse, for each to scan, Sententious paragraphs and maxims rare? \ "What, not read his Lordship's last Don Juan ?" "Pray Miss, what think you of the last Review?" "Somethings were good ; but nothing very new" CXLVI. "Why S I am astonished ! not seen him yet ? But you will be delighted with our KEAN ! Let critics talk about his tricks, and fret, And tell of things which are, and long have been ! He moves alone, flashing in peerless light, Sweeping a burning track, the comet of a night." CXLVII. It comes at last ! the vision pomps sublime ! All that we dreamt of in our earliest hours ! Instinct with life from a mysterious clime ! Matchless Magician of majestic powers ! The Prophet of the Past! we now behold, THOU of the purple robe, and diadem of gold ! (11) CXLVIII. The essential inspiration, that could make The glorious immortalities of mind ! From thine forth springing bright forms, uncreate Of clay and yet as palpably combined With our own kind, as though each walk'd the earth, And held like human things, the boon of common birth ! CXL1X. Like to the monarch mountain pine outflinging, Its thousand warriour arms when storms are gone ! Like to the Eagle bird sublimely winging Through azure depths engirdled with a zone Of earth consuming fires dread, fearless, lone, Hovering in glory round the Thunderers throne ! CL, Like to the mighty rock supremely swelling, With sun gilt crest, above the rolling sea ! In that eternity of waves proud dwelling Unscathed, in its own grand immensity ! When thunder clouds are sweeping by in terror, r when the ocean shines a chrystal moonlight mirror ! 5* CLI. Imperial SHAKSPEARE ! was thy bosom torn, When thou wert wrapt in extacy divine ? How did thy heart exult, when high upborne, By seraph shapes bowing before GOD'S shrine ? Or when the world of dreams rolled o'er thy sight? Wert thou not phrenzied, when the o'erwhelming light GUI. Poured like a cataract down ? Sovereign pwwer ! Was not thy vision blasted quenched in night ? Fire, Promethean, stealing ? no human dower Was thine ! Time wings his weaned, ceaseless flight, Till the sun sets in blood ! but earth no more, Shall look on One like Thee ! that hope is past and o'er ! CLIII. We have beheld ! and trembled ! but 'tis gone ! All burst to sight, then vanished from the eye, Like thronging hosts of angels when are blown The silver trumps of morning minstrelsy 1 Waving aloft their star gemtn'd banners fold, Soaring on rainbow wings, with radiant crowns of gold ! 55 CLIV. "He will return to France, and live alone, To meditate and write." "Pray where's his wife, They say the daughter of that lonely one, Is like her Father." "Really, take her life !" "Then you do think that WALTER SCOTT has written Those famous novels ?" "I thought his heart was smitten.' 1 CLV. "No I can't say so the Black Dwarf is mine." "Yes, he is very handsome." "Who is Morris." "A worthy fellow, loving his lass and wine !" "But Campbell, Rogers, Wordsworth." "Mr. Norris Will you oblige me." "That I may safely grant, He has the wealth of kings poor Otway died of want." CLVI. "But Byron stands upon the pinnacle Of earthquakes shatter'd." "Lord, it may be soon." "When tempest spirits ride." "Well Sir, the binnacle !"- "And couch their meteor spears." "My task is done, My theme into an echo it is fit " "Is it not beautiful ?" "Moore ?" "protracted, writ is writ.' V CLVII. Hark ! there's a tumult in the hall helow ! Louder it grows the ladies are affrighted, And all stand wondering and their faces show, That carmine tints are very often blighted By linen handkerchiefs, as well as fear ! And now an Afric's form is seen what does he here ?- CLVIII. His tale is quickly told ! He came to hear A letter from his master to the lady Who was the mistress of the mansion there, That stated in few words "That one already, Known as a friend of old would wait upon her, If she, being disengaged, would grant that honor ; CLIX. Having just landed from a hrigantine, Taken in fight, that evening, in the bay, After a desperate conflict ; and in fine, The morning sun would see him on his way, For friends he loved but first he wished to see, The patron of his youth whom he loved tenderly !'* CLX. Such were the words, I think that letter put in : The story of the Afric more complete ; He said it was the hour when daylight shut in, And grey-plumed twilight comes far from the fleet, A stranger sail bore down and hoisted high, Her blood red banner o'er the evening sky ! CLXF. Then came the farewell greetings of brave men, Who ne'er might meet upon the deck again ! Then all was hushed and silent saving when The boatswain's whistle shrilly sung! in vain We looked for safety, and a fearful chillness Crept o'er the heart ! when suddenly, that stillness CLXII. Was broken up ! a cannon shot came booming, O'er the long waves ! it sunk before our prow; They gain upon us, the darkening seas illuming With flaky light ranging beside us now, Their ground tier opes its black artillery In thunderings and flames quick and incessantly, CLXIII. The guns rolled forth over the heaving water, And in that smokey canopy they tried, And grappled with our own good ship ! the slaughter Cry was heard and many a brave one died ! Sabres dripped drunk with gore ! and muskets pealing, Mingled their dreadful echoing with the yelling CLXIV. Of Paynims, as they dropped down by the side Of the dark ships ! our bloody deck was gained ! Rushed on the renegadoes the war tide Swelled high ! then sunk ! in vain we might have strained, Our heart strings in the struggle, had not HE, That saviour youth, been there, to give us victory ! CLXV. Where thickest raged the fight he fought alone ! Quick swept his blade, most terrible in death, Crimsoned with gore, a bloody meteor shone ! With every blow a shriek of parting breath ! With every flashing stroke a life was gone ! They fell around him, as the ripened corn CLXVI. Before the reaper's sickle ! his battle cry E'en the half dying heard and rose to listen, To catch the welcome sound and then to die. That sword of power ! e'en now, I see it glisten Amid the sulpherous gloom, with awful quivering, The black clouds of the storm like lightning shivering ! CLXVII. It was a fearful hour ! The Pirate Chief Swept on his tiger eyeballs burning start ! Their cutlass blades whirled fire ! oh ! fierce and brief, That conflict dread the steel has scorched his heart ! He falls flashed o'er his brow, hell's lurid fires ! The GOD OF CHRISTIANS, curses and expires ! CLXVIII- ******** ******** ******** CLXIX. The Stranger Youth is come who won the fight ! - la all that crowd, alone whom sees he then ? 8 60 Whose eyes are weeping when before her sight, She sees the Loved of infancy again ! HE, the enthusiast that romantic boy ! HE, that my SUKEY loves ! LXX. But why protract the tale ? In idle hour I seized my Harp but now its strings are riven ! Its music thrills not o'er my soul in power, As once it chimed, to holy echoings given ! It was my pride when earthly joys were gone, And I could feel myself not quite alone ! CLXXJ. Farewell to Thee awhile ! there is a feeling Of wildering darkness now, that mocks at rhyme ! There was a time, when o'er the bosom stealing, Far other hopes were mine ! There was a time The memories of years, too mournful tell ! There was a time, when thy full hallowed swell Was like Religion ! Say, are these visions past ?- I know not now, but rest, .as if this were my last !- NOTE S. NOTE I. a such as FRANCIS, Thai Prince nf gallantry I now allude To him of Gaui" FRANCIS I King of France. He was successor of Lewis XII. He flour' i=hed from 1515 to J547, when he died at Ramboulliet. Hi? life wa.<- t\'>-> in- guished by many eventful vicissitude*. The famous battle of Marignan, fought against the Swiss, and his military expedition? in Navarre, have made him illustrious as a warrior. It is well remembered, that the treaty of Noj on, (tl.e eternal treaty of peace,) lasted indeed only two days, that was made between him and Charles V. Soon after the siege and victory of Pavia, he was taken prisoner in a tremendous charge, which it is said he headed in per son, and on this occasion, wrote the letter to his mother, which is reported to be extant ; and in which he says "That he had lost his all in the world ex cept his honor/' Several truces and leagues were made and as suddenly brok en up between the rival covereigns but the assistance which his distinguish ed enemy received from Henry VIII. of England gave in tht upshot of their long and hateful national struggles, a decidedly unquestionable advantage to the allied sovereignties, Peace was concluded with Germany in 1544 and in 154t! 7 with England. Francis was the Patron of letters, and one of the most accomplished prin ces and courtly gentlemen that ever sat upon a throne. The splendid re flections which Dr. Robertson has given upon his character and his rivalship with Charles V. is altogether unequalled in the annals of fine historical writing- There is not a man of letters who should not be as familiar with it, as with his alphabet. Francis was indeed one of the extraordinary of the earth. "Notwithstanding the many errors conspicuous in his foreign policy and do mestic administration, he was, nevertheless humane, btneficentand generous. He possessed dignity without pride ; affability free from meanness, and court- eey exempt from deceit. All who liad access to him (and no man of was ever denied that privilege) respected and loved him. Captivated with his personal qualities, his subjects forgot his defects as a monarch, and admir ing him as the most accomplished gentleman in his dominions ; they never murmured at acts of mal-administration, which in a Prince of less engaging disposition would have been deemed unpardonable. Science, in his time, and the Arts made little progress in France. They were just beginning to advance beyond the -limits of Italy, where they had revived, and which had hitherto been their only seat. Francis, took them immediately under his protection and vied with Leb himself, in the zeal and munificence with which he en couraged them. He invited learned men to his Court ; he conversed with them familiarly ; he employed them in business ; he raised them to offices of dignity, and honored them with his confidence. That race of men, not more prone to complain when denied the respect to which they fancy themselves entitled, than apt to be pleased when treated with the distinction which they consider as their due,though they i culd not exceed in gratitude to such a benefactor, strained their invention and employed all their ingenuity in panesyric. The appellation of Father of Letters, bestowed upon Francis hath rendered his memory sacred among historians, and they seemed to have re garded it as a sort of impiety to uncover his infirmities, or to point out his defects." Such is the language of eulogy in which Robertson writes, and never was the language of eulogy, more like truth. Other later historians have adopted yery dissimilar sentiments but their opinions when placed in hostility to those which 1 have chosen to adopt from the profound and magnificent writings, already set forth, seem to me, altogether ill founded and insecure. NOTE II. * " This pastime had its rise when Jlrthur wore The crtwn of Bntian and her red cross shield. " This may be deemed with those who know any thing about the earlier history of Britian, an allowable anachronism in invention. The national standard of England was originally a white cross, in the time of the crusades, while the French was oriflame, a red cros. When they were beaten by Henry V. at the battle of Agincourt, this emblem of their sovereignly was lost. Be it, moreover, understood, that a reasonable pretence of subjection, induced the English kings to adopt the red cross of France. The Dauphin, Charles VII. according to some historical facts set down in some work that I have met with, changed the ensign to a white cross, that being intended to represent the national colour ; hi? own ensign was white, and it has erer lince been distinguished by the name of la cornette blanche. I need say nothing here of ARTHUR, his Knights and Round Table : Duu- lop, iii his History of Fiction, has been sufficiently prolix on this subject ; and the old English Chronicles and Romances, abound with stories of him and his Court. The elegant poet, Warton, has written a sonnet on king Arthur's Round Table, which, I shall here transcribe, as it is not generally to be met with. Where \[enta's Norman castle still uprears Its raftered hall, that o'er the grassy foss, And scattered flinty fragrants, clad in moss On yonder steep in naked state appears ; High hung remains, the pride of warlike years, Old 4,3r//mr'* Board on the capacious round Some British pen has sketched the names renowned In masks obscure, of his immortal peers. Tho 1 joined by magic skill with many a rhyme The Druid frame unhonored falls a prey To the slow vengeance of the wizard Time, And fade the British characters away Yet Spencer's page, that chaunts in verse sublime, Those chiefs, shall live unconcious of decay. NOTE III. "From a fine poem intcribed to Lady Fanny Fielding." This poem may be found at length in the well judged and selected Ex tracts made by that erudite scholar, Vicesimus Kuox. NOTE IV. "Think of a modtl such as great Canova." Canova and Chauntrey are the greatest sculptors in the world. Lord By ron thus praises the former. Italy ! Time which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents Of thine imperial garment, shall deny And hath denied, to every other sky Spirits which soar from ruin ; thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity Which guilds it with revivifying ray ; Such as the great of yore, CANOVA is to day ! Canto 4, Harold- 66 The very comparison of this noble stanza, with Warton's Sonnet in Note 2, induces me, once for all,to say something concerning the Plagiarisms of By ron. It is merely a matter of curious literary speculation, and nothing more. Our judgment, concerning the matter, rests simply here. His Lordship, knew that he was stealing from ethers, and that every body else knew i% or that, having worked up a new garment from the old he was so well pleased with it, that he was determined to make it his own, without thanks or without apology. The first example which occurs to my mind is that of the Eagle ia the the English Bards. "So the struck eagle stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ! Keen were his pangs but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel !" But what says Waller, That eagle's fate and mine are one Who on the shaft that saw him die, Espied a feather of his own Wherewith he wont to soar so high ! In the Poem of the Siege of Corinth, when Alp meets with the former lady of his love all that fine passage, commencing with There is a light cloud by the moon, Tis passing and will pass full soon by his Lordship's own acknowledgment, is taken from Valhek, a work by the way, which we do not admire quite so much as he does, and which to us ap pears singularly tawdry in its affectations of the sublime, either in prose or poetry ; -and the other still more admired passage in the same poem Once she raised her hand on high, It was so wan and transparent of hue You might have seen the moon shine through. ia evidently taken from Macpherson's Ossian where Crugal's Ghost is dei- oribed as having Stars dim twinkling through his form, &c. In Parasina And still, and pale and silently Did Parasina wait her doom ; How changed since last her speaking eye Glanc'd gladness round the glittering room, Where high-born men were proud to wait Where Beauty watch'd to imitate Her gentle voice her lovely mein And gather from her air and gait The graces of its queen ; Then had her eye in sorrow wept A thousand warriors forth had leapt, A thousand swords had sheathless shone, And made her quarrel all their own ! All who remember and who does not Burkes famous passage of "It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,thcn the dauphiness at Versailles, and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her rising above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in glittering like the morning-star, full of. life, and splendour, and joy. Oh ! what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate without emotion, that elevation and that fall ! little did I dream when she added ti tles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant respectful love, that she carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to a- venge even a look that threatened her with insult but the age of ehivalry is gone," will trace the resemblance. The whole of the magnificent apostrophe to the Ocean in Childe Harold,is but a versification of Keate's sublime Address to the Ocean in his Sketches. I open the first page in this last named production of the Noble Bard, and I read, I saw from out the M'aves her structures rise, As by the stroke of an enchanter's wand But that mighty witch of romance, Mrs. Radcliffe, has said before, in the Mysteries of Udolpho, that "Venice rises from the bosom of the ocean as if touched by the stroke of an enchanter's wand." And again, compare her description of an Italian sunset, with his XXVII. stanza in the same work, and see how much his poetry differs from her prose- 68 What is the difference between Tacitus' "Solitudinem faciunt, pacera appellant," and Selim's words, in the Bride of Abydos, "He makes a solitude, and call* it peace." There are many other examples, that I might produce, particularly, from the works of Wordsworth, Moore, Coleridge, Croly, and Campbell, hut it is time to forbear. I do not wish even to appear hypercritical. I grant without reserve that many of his Lordship's re?emblances and pilfering* are inten tional, and others accidental. I think Lord Byron, the first Poet of the age, but, at the same same time, I know his faults, and knowing them, will fear lessly and unhesitatingly declare them. NOTE V. " With SHESSTONE'S matron that the green birch rod." The School Mistress of 5'nenstoue is a well known and well written poem. How many delightful associations spring up in our minds when we remember that romantic spot of the Pastoral Poets Solitude. The LEASOWES are as hallowed as the mysterious retreats of Vaucluse. There are yet hi- winding walks snd ivied wal!, his favorite trees and groves, and all the tasteful mon uments of his fine fancy and exquisite geniu. The inscription upon one of them, in memory of her he loved, is cherished in the memories of all. Heu .' quanta minus esl cum rtliquu vtrsari quam tui meminisse. In a little poem which I published in the Daily Advertiser, a little while ago, with this motto affixed to it, and which I shall print again here, doing it, however, not so much to gratify particularly any feelings of personal vanity, or that it may now stand a chance of claiming something of a more enduring and ambitious character, by being introduced here but simply and honestly because that poem has become doubly valuable to me, from certain circum stances of a nature peculiarly and tenderly mournful, which have occurred, since the hour dedicated to its composition ; may be found three or four ex amples of what I believe to be intimately connected or perhaps .even intrin sically forming, what is simply pathetic and elegant in poe'.ry ; and which I have endeavoured to maintain, (with what success the reader mnst judge,) whenever an opportunity has presented itself in the Poem of SFKEX. WHERE IS HE ? .' quanta minus est cum rdiquis versari quam tui mtminittc." His way was on the water's deep, For lands, fur distant and unknown ! His heart could fee! his eye could weep For sufferings other than his own ; And he could seem what others be, Yet only seem but WHERE is HE ? I wander through this grove of love, The valley lone and climb the hill, "V\ here he was wont in life to rove, And all looks calm and pleasant still ! And there, his bower and cypress tree, That tree of gloom ! but WHERE is HE ? The sun above shines now as bright Through Heaven's blue depths as once it shone ; The clouds roll beautiful in light, Sweeping aiound the Eternal's throne ! The singing birds are full of glee, Their songs as sweet but WHERE is HE ? The mirror of the moon on high, That bright lake, seems as softly calm ; The stars as richly throng the sky ; The night winds breathe their fragrant balm ; Rolls on as bright that deep blue sea Its mighty waves but WHERE is HE ? Here is the wreath he twined but now This rosy wreath is twined in vain ! Tears, nor the bosom's warmest glow, Will ever give it life again ! All this is dark and strange to me, Yet still, 1 ask but WHERE is HE ? I touch his HARP the magic strings, The loveliest sounds of music pour! But sadly wild as if the wings Of DEATH'S DARK ANGEL swept them o'er ! The chords are lulled ! It may not be ! And spirits whisper WHERE is HE ? His way was on the water's Jeep ! His corse is on an unknown shore ! He sleeps a long and wakeless sleep And we shall see his face no more ! 'Tis a sad tale ! he died for me ! Oh ! GOD! enough ! but WHERE is HE ? NOTE VI. She of the Shoe, Cursed with her progtny .' and He, the sleeper, Blue ! This may be supposed by many, to satirise the Wordsworth an d Southey school of poetry. I confess that they are not altogether incorrect. Notwith standing all the eloquence of the former, his system, as he calls it, of poetry will never entirely hold good. There is a great difference between silli ness and simplicity. Things which are altogether mean and contemptible can never be made respectable or dignified by the sorcery of poetry ; and we should no more expect it there, than in real life. An ideot dressed up in kinglike array of purple, and fine linen is an ideot still. Wordsworth and Southey, however, have suffered not, from the droll satire of Byron though one can hardly help feeling merry at their expense. His lordship has been sufficiently severe upon them both, in his English Bards, and is, perhaps, too personal in his new code of commandments, in Don Juan. "Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second, drunk the third, so quaint and mouthy ;" &c. The Excursion of Wordsworth is a noble poern, and will live when many others, by this generation reported as immortal, will have gone down to their oblivion. I wish I could say as much of his Lyrical Ballads, and his last work, Peter Bell. Of Southey, I could say a good deal. I have been watching his track, ever since his Joan of Arc fell into my hand?. It would have been well for him to have taken the advice of Mathias, the reputed author of Pur. suits of Literature ; The Curse of Kehama, Thalaba, and Roderick the Last of the Goths, would then have been equal to his Madoc, which is certainly one of the most magnificent Poems in our language. I know of nothing more affectionately touching, than We art Seven, by Wordsworth, and the Battle of Klenheim, by Southey ; not even excepting, the Exile of Erin, by Camp bell, or The Orphan Boy, by Thelwall. NOTE VII. "Such was this Winters morning and the stage sleigh''' This kind of vehicle, the sleigh, is altogether disused, and perhaps by ma ny unknown, in England. It is wonderful with what rapidity journies are performed in our Country with it, particularly in the Eastern and Nor thern States, when the snow lies deep over the ground, and hardened to an icy firmness by the severity of the cold. It is a convenient convey- ance on many accounts, all of which will readily occur to the minds of those, who have ever travelled in one. I wish 1 could say as much of the comfort and pleasure it affords to the delicate, and feeble in health. On our fine clear winter nights, however, when, a glorious firmament of stars is burning above, you may see in our populous towns and cities, thousands of sleighs of various descriptions,gaily painted, and tastefully decorated,crowd- ed with human beings, wrapped in furs and warm clothins, passing with the velocity of light along ; and it is this very rapidity of motion, undoubt edly, in conjunction with pleasant society, lovers and loved, dancing, music, bells, and mulled wine, that goes far to make a quiet, contemplative philo sopher-like man, really in good truth, at times, believe, that the pleas ures of all sleighing parties are infinitely superior to all sufferings, whether physical or moral, that one has to undergo from the stern and relentless en counters of bleak frosty winds, and the terrible bitterness of the cold. NOTE VIII. Pm obliged to read a poem of LEYDES'S." One of his finest poems, a translation of the famous Portnguese Mariners' Hymn, Jive. Maria Stella, may be seen in Shoberls partial translation of Cha teaubriand's Beauties of Christianity, (page 523, Notes,) the rest in a collec tion of his works, published sometime in the year 1819. NOTE IX. "For eggs, are daintiest, newtho'* tqueamish persons scoff.' " Vide Introduction, 2d Canto of Column's Lady of (he Wreck, "The Egg is daintiest when 'tis taken new And love is sweetest in the honey moon." NOTE X. ".E'en though his Wines are sour, his Porter, Yeast ! ' n Socrates was of opinion, that Wine was the best, that was drunk at the ex pense of another. He is not the only philosopher of quiet, staid, sober habits who embraced the same opinion. 72 NOTE XI. "TTiou of the purple ro&e, and diadem of gold ! " This noble line, I am proud to quote from a poem generally ascribed to ne of the most magnificent painters and poets in our Country. I allude to Washington Allston. His Sylphs of the Seasons, and the Paint King, which is quite an extraordinary, daring and original production, every one has by heart. I cannot speak of this highly gifted genius in a manner which I could wish. There are too many sweet and delightful memories of past years that crowd upon me, and I am afraid I should appear too enthusiastic, and my words would sound like the words of adulation ; He could not despise this, more than I should, myself. And it is for this very reason, also, that I refrain now, from saying what I have an earnest-longing to say, of Pierpont's Airs of Palestine ; and of Neal's JVY'agara, GoWau, and Otho. The authors of these works, I know. Pierpont has done that which sends his name sparkling down forever the stern tide of human time. Neal has given up altogether, the writ- ins; of poetry. The last poetical production of his pen, was written at my re quest, in my room, the last he will ever write ; and I speak truth when I say, that I believe, there is no poem in the whole compas* of English poetry, of the same length, equally beautiful As there are but f*w men, so there are but ftw friends like him ; (to use the energetic language of Byron,) so true in council, and trusty in peril,so often tried and never found wanting ; certain ly, at least, with three or four exceptions, as it regards myself ; of these, a- las 1 two are dead, and of the others, I feel this is neither the place, nor the time to speak. And I forbear. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-4,'61(B8994s4)444 3159 Walter - .;177s Sukey m mil mil in 1 001 228191 1 MAI' 6 1^61 PS 3139 W177s UCLA-Young Research Library PS3139 .W177S L 009 616 566 7