POEMS 
 
 MISCELLANIES 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE 
 
 WRITINGS OF MISS ELIZA TOWNSEND. 
 
 PRINTED BUT NOT PUBLISHED. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PRESS OF GEO. C. RAND & AVERY, 
 
 No. 3 CORNHILL. 
 1856.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, 
 
 BY MART P. TOWNSEXD. 
 in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 THIS volume is printed for the use of friends, as a memorial of the late Miss 
 ELIZA TOWNSEND, a lady whose gifts and virtues had, for many years, drawn around 
 her the unfeigned respect and love of a large circle in this community. She was 
 born in Boston, June, 1788, spent her life in her native city, and died at her 
 house in Hawkins street, on the night of January 12th, 1854, in the sixty-sixth 
 year of her age. It is an act of simple justice to present a prefatory record, how- 
 ever inadequate, of grateful reminiscence. 
 
 To attempt to delineate in a few words, and in strong, life-like colors, the sev- 
 eral distinct points, each by itself, which present themselves as we remember Miss 
 Townsend, would be like trying to decompose a fine fragrance into its component 
 parts. She has been known and distinguished among us as a literary character, not 
 of the school of the present day so much as of a past period. Her acquaintance 
 with the British classics was very remarkable ; and in the walks of English liter- 
 ature, and among the thoughts of the worthies of England's golden age, she was 
 entirely at home. On themes like these she was truly eloquent ; for here her heart 
 and intellect met in happy sympathy. Her friends of former days, as well as those of 
 a recent period, cannot fail to remember with what delight they were accustomed to 
 listen to the easy flow, the rich and sometimes gorgeous style of her conversation, 
 when she was interested and excited by animating trains of thought ; for there have 
 been among us few so good talkers. She had a quick and strong perception of 
 poetical beauty and sublimity. No one could be acquainted with Miss Townsend, 
 without perceiving that her mind was of a high order. It was rich in the gathered 
 
 762992
 
 2 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 stores of early and long continued culture, embellished by a living fancy, and made 
 effective by a sound judgment. Those who were familiar with her, were much im- 
 pressed with this wealth of her mind, but at the same time felt that there was 
 nothing in it approaching to exhibition or display. What of literature she had 
 and it was by no means an ordinary share sat gracefully and appropriately upon 
 her character. Most evidently it had been gathered not to be shown, but because 
 the love of elegant letters was a natural, spontaneous taste. This high mental cul- 
 ture was the more remarkable, when we consider that in her early years the field of 
 female education was by no means so wide and diversified as at present. What 
 she gained came not from the forcing processes of the schools, but from an innate 
 love of intellectual improvement. 
 
 It should be added that the rapid growth and expansive strength of her mind 
 were greatly promoted by the excellent instructions and advice of a brother, whom 
 she dearly loved, and whose memory she always cherished with the fondest affec- 
 tions of a sister's heart the late Alexander Townsend, Esq., long well-known in 
 Boston as a man of vigorous mind and warm heart, an accomplished gentleman, 
 and a lawyer of high reputation. * 
 
 As a writer, Miss Townsend evinced an energy of thought and a vigor of 
 imagination, which won for her a high place hi the estimation of the best judges. 
 Her prose style was strong, terse and impressive ; and her poetry breathed the 
 power of genius. She published many beautiful poetical pieces, some of which 
 were suggested by occasions, and some were furnished to the periodicals of a former 
 day. Mr. Griswold made a selection from them in his volume entitled " The 
 Female Poets of America ;" and in the introductory notice Mr. Griswold remarks 
 that Miss Townsend " was the first native poet of her sex, whose writings commanded 
 the applause of judicious critics the first whose poems evinced any real inspira- 
 tion, or rose from the merely mechanical into the domain of art." He adds " The 
 late Mr. Nicholas Biddle, whose judgment in literature was frequently illustrated 
 by the most admirable criticisms, once mentioned to me that a Prize Ode which 
 
 * Mr. Townsend died April 5, 1835, aged 62 years.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. o 
 
 Miss Townsend wrote for the Port Folio,* while he himself was editor of that 
 miscellany, soon after the death of Dennie, was, in his opinion, the finest poem 
 of its kind which at that time had been written in this country ; and many of her 
 other pieces received the best approval of the period, but, as she kept her authorship 
 a secret, without securing for her any personal reputation." Among the pieces 
 omitted in Mr. Griswold's selection is a very beautiful one entitled " The Rain- 
 bow,"! which was published in the third volume of " The General Repository 
 and Review," a journal edited by Mr. Andrews Norton, Cambridge, 1813. 
 Several of Miss Townsend's later poems were of a religious character. Of one of 
 these, on " The Incomprehensibility of God,"$ the Rev. Dr. Cheever has said, 
 that "it is equal in grandeur to the Thanatopsis of Bryant, and that it will not 
 suffer by comparison with the most sublime pieces of "Wordsworth or of Coleridge." 
 It was difficult to overcome her reluctance to be known as a writer, and in late 
 years she shunned entirely the notoriety of authorship. 
 
 With this strength of mind was united in Miss Townsend an uncommonly quick 
 sensibility of feeling. Her own sympathy was both easily moved, and deep. There 
 was a peculiar beauty in her love to her friends, and in her kindness to their 
 friends. She felt a warm and hearty interest in such as were connected with those 
 whom she had loved, and whose cherished memory seemed to say to her, " inas- 
 much as ye have done it unto them, ye have done it unto me." To the poor and 
 the distressed she was a generous friend. She seemed always to think more of 
 others than of herself. If she was indifferent to the comfort and indulgence of 
 any one, it was to her own. Her keen sensibility to cases of suffering and sorrow 
 created perhaps the only disquiet to her otherwise tranquil happiness. But stronger 
 even than that feeling was her trust in Him, who maketh all things work together 
 for good. 
 
 One could not but be impressed with the serious integrity of feeling and of 
 judgment, which marked alike the conduct and the opinions of Miss Townsend. 
 
 * See page 139 of this volume. f See page 133. $ See page 80. 
 
 B
 
 4 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 "What she thought and did was the result of a definite, matured state of mind. 
 While her emotions were lively and warm, they always seemed the outgrowth of 
 principle, not the sudden start of impulse. Whether you agreed with her views or 
 not, you always felt that they had been adopted in perfect honesty of judgment, 
 and with a deep sense of their truth and importance. There was no trifling, no 
 indifference, no carelessness, no playing fast and loose, in the processes of her moral 
 or intellectual nature. With all this firmness, she had a fair and kind regard to 
 the beliefs of others, however much they differed from her own. There was cer- 
 tainly no lack of independence ; and as certainly there was no lack of charity. 
 Warmth of feeling mingled with her opinions, enough to make them seem deeply 
 real and truthful, but not so as to communicate to them the heat of passion. On 
 nearly all subjects in literature, in religion, in civil and social matters, her taste 
 and turn of thought were strongly conservative. But her conservatism was not a 
 prejudice, not a blind adhesion to the old or the past, but a settled conviction that 
 the principles, on which she formed her judgments, were sound, salutary and 
 righteous. If she was not a philanthropist in the way which others chose, she was 
 so in her own way of kindness and of doing good. She would not be importuned 
 into giving aid where she did not believe the claim to be just and right ; but in 
 cases selected by her own conscientious judgment, her unostentatious bounty was 
 ready and true hearted, as kind in manner as it was benevolent in spirit. There 
 was in her character a union of firmness, of sympathy, and of excellent feeling, 
 which no one who knew her well could fail to respect. 
 
 It should be said of Miss Townsend that she was a sincerely religious woman. 
 The Unitarian faith was that which substantially approved itself to her judgment 
 and her spiritual feelings. For its leading views she entertained an enlightened 
 and well-established preference. But no person could be more free from bondage 
 to a sect. She rose above all party predilections to the great and holy principles 
 which bring the soul into hallowed union with God and the Savior. It was 
 manifest that upon these she loved to rest her deepest interest and affections. 
 Nothing would sooner awaken her indignation than any instance of narrowness or
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 bigotry, let it appear in what part of the religious community it might, whether in 
 that to which she was herself attached, or in another. With respect to doctrinal 
 peculiarities, and the hope of acceptance with God for the conscientious and the 
 good, her soul was as large, free, and comprehensive as the spirit of the Gospel 
 itself. She was well acquainted with the prevalent theological discussions, and 
 spoke of them in a manner which showed that her fine understanding could apply 
 itself to these topics with the same clearness and dignity of thought, which marked 
 its other developments. No one heard from her a word of asperity on such 
 subjects. There was sometimes a playfulness in noting what she believed to be 
 religious errors, which instead of appearing as levity, only testified to the kindly 
 spirit that ran through all her feelings and statements. For the institutions of 
 Christianity Miss Townsend cherished a hearty reverence. In attendance on the 
 public services of religion she was constant, not as a matter of custom, but because 
 she loved the associations and privileges of the sanctuary. The interest she felt in 
 preaching and in religious books was evinced by her frequent discussion of them 
 with such candor, seriousness, and practical appreciation of their value, as might well 
 rebuke the flippant tone of frivolous criticism so common in these matters. Her 
 faith in the Gospel was a deep, living sentiment. He who came to bring life and 
 immortality to light, was in very deed to her the way, the truth, and the life ; and 
 by habitual communion with God on earth her soul was ripened for that better 
 communion to which she has ascended. 
 
 Our tribute to the memory of this excellent lady is offered heartily, because it 
 is believed to be honestly merited. Her departure from the midst of us has left a 
 void in the old and dear associations of many, which will not easily be filled. But 
 the eye of faith looks with calm trust to that which is highest. 
 
 " Yet again we hope to meet thee, 
 When the day of life has fled, 
 Then in heaven with joy to greet thee, 
 Where no farewell tear is shed."
 
 6 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 The manuscripts which Miss Townsend left are of a miscellaneous character, 
 produced as occasions in which she was interested happened to suggest. From 
 these, and from writings already in print, a sister, who, after having lived by her 
 side many years of dearly remembered happiness, is now deeply chastened by a loss 
 which has left her alone in the world, has made such a selection as seemed best 
 fitted to represent her genius and taste. It is hoped and believed that it will prove 
 an acceptable memorial to those who have known and loved this gifted lady. The 
 pieces are arranged in chronological order, as far as the dates of their composition 
 are known.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Introductory Notice, 1 
 
 To A. T., on his importuning the writer to compose something of magnitude, .... 9 
 
 Tributary Lines to James Fennell, 11 
 
 Lines on the Death of Mrs. Warren, formerly Mrs. Merry, of the London Theatre, 18 
 
 Occasional Ode, 21 
 
 To Cheerfulness, 34 
 
 A Hymn for First of May, 37 
 
 A Petition, 39 
 
 Another " Castle in the Air," 41 
 
 To Sarah, Countess of Rumford, 44 
 
 An Epitaph on Mrs. Mary H. Shaw, daughter of Judge Howel, of Providence, . . 47 
 
 Yesterday, To-day, To-morrow, 49 
 
 An Inscription, 55 
 
 Stanzas commemorative of Charles B. Brown, of Philadelphia, Author of " Wie- 
 
 land," " Cimond," " Arthur Mervyn," etc 59 
 
 Stanzas, 64 
 
 A Rhapsody. To Robert Southey, 67 
 
 Duncan M'Intosh, 75 
 
 Incomprehensibility of God, 80 
 
 Lines to the Memory of Thomas F. Palmer, 83 
 
 The Eastern King and Southern Queen, (A Hebrew Fable,) : 85 
 
 A Vision, 91 
 
 A Ballad occasioned by the late fatal Combat on the Maryland Border, 99 
 
 A Fragment, 106 
 
 To C , 110 
 
 " When shall we three meet again ?" 112 
 
 The Vase, 114
 
 8 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Stanzas commemorative of the twenty-third day of December, 1815, when the 
 
 British were repulsed from New Orleans. An attempted Imitation of Sir 
 
 Walter Scott's Verses on Mr. Pitt's Birthday, 118 
 
 Stanzas on a View of Newstead Park, belonging to a Seat late the Property of the 
 
 Right Honorable Lord Byron, 121 
 
 Stanzas supposed to have been written near a Villa in Naples, once the residence 
 
 of Emma, Lady Hamilton, 128 
 
 The Rainbow, 133 
 
 Ocean. A Naval Prize Ode, . 130 
 
 A Fragment, 152 
 
 The First Gravestone, 155 
 
 The Dead, 157 
 
 Lines suggested by a Study-Chair belonging to the late Horace Holley, 159 
 
 On a Wreath brought by F. Alexander from the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, in 
 
 Pere le Chaise, 161 
 
 An Inscription for a Monument to the Memory of Gen. Humphreys, 163 
 
 Lines on a Stone from the Field of Waterloo, 165 
 
 To A. T., at Washington, 167 
 
 A Dirge, written at the decease of John Adams, July 4, 1826, 169 
 
 Ode to whom it concerns, 1 74 
 
 To M 180 
 
 Lines to a Wall-Flower from the Coliseum, 182 
 
 To our Java Sparrows, 185 
 
 Little Canary, 187 
 
 The Dead Bird, 189 
 
 To little " Wag," 190 
 
 The Wife of Seaton, or the Siege of Berwick : an Historic Tragedy, 198 
 
 Considerations on the Character of Lady Macbeth, 261 
 
 Childe Harold, 272 
 
 Kokeby, 286 
 
 Montgomery's Poems, 300 
 
 Waverly, S14 
 
 Madame Necker, 393 
 
 Madame de Maintenon, 331 
 
 Thoughts on Milton, 336 
 
 On Mrs. Grant's Letter relative to George IV and Queen Caroline, 345 
 
 Obituary, , . 353
 
 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES.
 
 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 TO A. T, 
 
 ON HIS IMPORTUNING THE WRITER TO COMPOSE SOMETHING OF MAGNITUDE. 
 
 [ Salem, 1808. ] 
 
 OFT have you said, (or scolded rather,) 
 
 In many a literary quarrel, 
 Why strive these useless sprigs to gather, 
 
 E'en though they should be " sprigs of laurel ? " 
 No ! strive to have some lofty tree, 
 
 Whose branches stretching o'er the plain, 
 Reclined beneath thou It gladly see ; 
 
 Then take thy ease, nor plant again ! 
 Thou dearest one ! and dost thou, then, 
 
 Prize the rude lines I thus indite ? 
 And think of manners and of men 
 
 Thy minstrel qualified to write ? 
 Grant that a the tree " thy wish would raise, 
 
 To meet thy wish, had grown and flourished,
 
 10 POEMS AOTI MISCELLANIES* 
 
 Protected by thy guardian praise, 
 
 And by thy kind attention nourished ; 
 Grant that its early buds were fair, 
 
 That taste and tint its fruits combined ; 
 Its dewy foliage cooled the air, 
 
 Its balmy fragrance blessed the wind ; 
 Grant that its roots were firmly fixed, 
 
 Its limbs its just proportion knew, 
 Duly its soft'ning shadows mixed, 
 
 And pruned each shoot that wildly grew ; 
 All unadmired those leaves would fade, 
 
 Untasted be that fruitage-store ; 
 Ah ! withered soon its slighted shade, 
 
 Its wasted fragrance breathed no more ! 
 Thy hand alone, indulgent friend, 
 
 Its garlands, meet for praise, would twine, 
 And eVry sweet it e'er might lend, 
 
 Would satisfy no sense but thine. 
 Then cease, thou partial prompter, cease 
 
 The wish to urge a loftier strain ; 
 The humble-hearted taste a peace 
 
 The rash aspirant ne'er could gain, 
 And still indulge the careless muse ; 
 
 These wild-flower shoots, as wont entwined, 
 The tears of love its only dews, 
 
 Then graft the chaplet on thy mind.
 
 TRIBtJTARY LINES. 11 
 
 TRIBUTARY LINES. 
 
 TO JAMES FENNELL. 
 
 WHERE is the one, whose soul of amplest plan 
 In Nature's mint received the stamp of man ? 
 When erst the goddess, fired with noblest rage 
 At the vile cheatings of a bankrupt age ; 
 Intent her treasury, the stage, to clear 
 From dazzling counterfeits, late current here ; 
 Bade from her mines their purest ore be brought, 
 Mines, pervious only to the track of thought ; 
 And taught the braggart witlings to behold, 
 And learn the diff' rence 'twixt their dross and gold. 
 While just discernments give to worth its due, 
 Detect base metal, and admire the true. 
 
 Say where the one, thus singled from an host, 
 Nature's exemplar, votary, and boast ? 
 Tell me, ye crowds, who owns that eye-ball's glare, 
 That form majestic, and that martial air ? 
 Who, grateful for the impress which he bore, 
 Has much received, but still has rendered more. 
 
 * First printed in " The Emerald," Boston, 1808.
 
 12 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Language to him unlocks her countless stores ; 
 
 And deep and wide the critic's glance explores, 
 
 Ulumes the archives, gives the poets' lore 
 
 To speak a latent sense, unknown before ; 
 
 While Taste's keen orbs their covert charms discern, 
 
 And teach their " thoughts to breathe, their words to burn ; " 
 
 Judgment's strong lamp emits a steadier ray, 
 
 And Fancy's sunbeams blaze a brighter day. 
 
 Supremely skilled to point the forceful phrase 
 
 Of secret rancor or ingenuous praise ; 
 
 Minutest meaning, studious to explain, 
 
 Nor let a particle be given in vain ! 
 
 A thousand voices swell the loud acclaim ; 
 
 A thousand voices echo FENNELL'S name. 
 All hail, thou master of the drama's art ! 
 Thou necromancer of the human heart ! 
 Thou speak'st the word ; it glows with tenfold heat, 
 Thou speak'st again ; its pulses cease to beat. 
 With wily potency, thy skill entwines 
 The charm that trances, and the spell that binds. 
 Like the weird sisters at thy MACBETH'S word, 
 The subject Passions throng around their lord. 
 While strong Enchantment's various force he tries, 
 These sink to softness, those to frenzy rise ; 
 Empowered Despair's dark breast with Hope to cheer, 
 And wring from Cruelty Compassion's tear.
 
 TRIBUTARY LINES, 13 
 
 To thrill with joy, transfix in awe profound, 
 Melt with a look, and madden with a sound. 
 
 But bolder yet ; thou dar'dst thy way to wind 
 Throughout the devious mazes of the mind ! 
 Nature, here too, allowed th' advent'rous claim, 
 Herself an ARIADNE to its aim. 
 Led by her clue, and with her ensigns graced, 
 The human labyrinth her champion traced ; 
 Where each crooked purpose, with alternate power, 
 Becomes the Monster of the darkened hour. 
 Where embryo mischiefs nameless ill presage, 
 Or plagues embodied taint a present age ; 
 Where the brain quivers with its own intent, 
 And guilt's design becomes guilt's punishment ; 
 Where crazed Reflection to a fiend dilates, 
 And starts from furies which itself creates ! 
 
 Conversant thus with moral, mental power, 
 'Tis these have taught thy genius thus to tower ; 
 More than thy voice's strength, thy awful mien, 
 Thy frown tremendous, or thy smile serene ! 
 Contemned the churlish contrast that essays 
 To sink the player's worth, the poets raise. 
 Restored an art half lost by false pretence, 
 And proved the drama's proud pre-eminence ! 
 So rare in one the varying gifts unite, 
 Our country thought to " die without the sight,"
 
 14 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Myriads indeed, with high, theatric rage, 
 Or mere mechanic art, can stalk the stage ; 
 Can leave their writer's meaning on the shelf, 
 And find a substitute in sapient self; 
 Till broad Burlesque too plainly shows his face, 
 And struggling Laughter bids Grief give him place ; 
 While poor MELPOMENE, o'ercome with shame, 
 Disowns the changeling that assumed her name. 
 But he who wears his author deep enshrined, 
 Joins heart to heart, and mixes mind with mind ; 
 Feels as he wrote, enforces all he taught, 
 Quickens perception, and embodies thought ; 
 Bear witness, Truth ! Scarce such an one appears 
 Within the circuit of an hundred years. 
 Though scores of poets graced ELIZA'S throne, 
 The perfect player was a prize unknown. 
 'Twas this conviction Avon's bard impressed, 
 To task with foreign aim his restless breast, 
 Made buskined JONSON seem the wretch he knew, 
 And SHAKESPEARE act the character he dreiv. 
 Most rash and vain ! Was genius e'er assigned 
 Without some limit its excess to bind ? 
 Enough ; his mind's creative daring placed 
 A second Eden in the world of taste ; 
 And flowers and fruits the grateful garden crowned, 
 And human nature dignified the ground.
 
 TRIBUTARY LINES. 15 
 
 Here sunk his strength ; to animate the whole 
 
 Another's power must breathe THE LIVING SOUL. 
 
 FENNELL ! for him tliy efforts have prevailed, 
 
 And gained for SHAKESPEARE where HIMSELF had failed ! 
 
 MACBETH had still, within his page, 'tis true, 
 
 Instructed some, perhaps th' attentive few ; 
 
 But like the fated writing on the wall, 
 
 That told Chaldea's monarch of his fall, 
 
 By most unheeded, had enticed in vain 
 
 From the rich banquet, and the mirth profane ; 
 
 Had not a moving hand that all might see, 
 
 Beckoned to all itself a prodigy ! 
 
 Pointing alike the menace and the sign, 
 
 The acting muscles lived along the line, 
 
 Traced each strong character in deepest dye, 
 
 And forced the warning on the startled eye ! 
 
 'Tis hence that WOLSEY proves, by thee applied, 
 A living lesson on th' effects of pride. 
 Hence HAMLET'S anguish answering anguish found ; 
 And hence the night by high deserving crowned, 
 When public plaudit told the ear of Fame, 
 That ROMEO was perfection's other name ! 
 
 Ere thy example gave our actors law, 
 Remembrance, aid their portraitures to draw ! 
 Our lovers paid their vows at beauty's shrine, 
 With smirking simper, or with whimpering whine.
 
 1'G POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Oiir heroes, quick to desperation driven, 
 
 "With ceaseless storm besieged both earth and heaven. 
 
 Our villains, never such a dangerous clan ! 
 
 Looked dark, talked sentiment, and killed their man. 
 
 Love, shown by thee, is tenderness sublimed, 
 The condescension of the loftiest mind. 
 'Tis JOVE, who bending o'er his JUNO'S charms, 
 Smooths his dark brow, and spreads his mighty arms ; 
 With fondness wins whom majesty had awed, 
 And is at once, the lover and the god ! 
 
 If memory e'er disturb the spirit's rest, 
 Or earthly honors please th' immortal's breast ; 
 Should PERCY'S* soul recall that tort'ring hour, 
 When from its frame 'twas forced by MONMOUTH'S power, 
 Some balmy solace for the wound renewed, 
 Had soothed its pangs, could he thy powers have viewed ; 
 When beams of glory round thy HOTSPUR shone, 
 That Scotia's chieftain had not scorned to own. 
 
 Thy villain hold ! No villain can we see ; 
 E'en ZANGA wins us, when performed by thee ! 
 Moved by thy plaints of his disastrous fate, 
 We melt in pity o'er the wretch .we hate ; 
 The rising curse is smothered on his tomb, 
 And hell implored to mitigate his doom. 
 
 * I do not know that this character has been personated by Mr. F. on the stage. To those 
 parts of it given in his recitations, the remarks equally apply. t
 
 TRIBUTARY LINES. 17 
 
 And shall the minstrel cease these feeble lays, 
 
 Nor touch one chord, that yields thee sweeter praise ? 
 
 That says, whene'er confessed to public sight, 
 
 Thou play'st some motley hero of the night, 
 
 Where lights and shades of good and ill combine 
 
 Native the virtue foreign is the crime. 
 
 Not in thy acts the critic-eye can trace 
 
 The private failings of the Thespian race; 
 
 Nor cynic-voice the contrast rude proclaim 
 
 Of mimic honor, and of real shame. 
 
 Whate'er of greatness marks thy scenic strife, 
 
 'Tis thy best praise to copy from the life. 
 
 Still well-sustained thy arduous part hath been 
 
 Through all the shiftings of its various scene. 
 
 When dark Misfortune's gathered clouds were spread, 
 
 And winds and thunders roared around thy head, 
 
 Like thine own LEAR, erect th> unshrinking form 
 
 Met the sharp lightning, and sustained the storm. 
 
 Still strict to virtue's as the drama's laws, 
 be thy meed, thine own and Heaven's applause ! 
 So while the actor " bids the reign commence, 
 Of rescued nature and reviving sense," 
 The man shall aid the efforts of the sage 
 To mend the morals of a miscreant age ! 
 
 VENOXI.
 
 18 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. WARREN, FORMERLY MRS. MERRY, OF THE 
 LONDON THEATRE. 
 
 [1808.] 
 
 SHALL Belvidera's voice no more 
 Lend to the muse its peerless aid, 
 
 That erst on Albion's ingrate shore, 
 Soothed Otway's discontented shade ? 
 
 She, to no single soil confined, 
 
 Sought in our climes extended fame ; 
 
 The wreaths of either world entwined, 
 And taught both continents her name. 
 
 Nor, of those strains that crowds have hailed, 
 Small is the praise, nor light the gain ; 
 
 Clio can boast, such sounds prevailed, 
 When Faith and Freedom prayed in vain. 
 
 Such notes the Mantuan minstrel owns, 
 Long lured his Trojan from the main ;
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. WARREN. 19 
 
 And bleeding Arria in such tones, 
 Assured her lord she " felt not pain." 
 
 Such notes, in Eome's delirious days, 
 
 Could liberty and laws restore ; 
 Could bid " be still " sedition's waves, 
 
 And faction's whirlwind cease to roar. 
 
 'Twas by such suasive sounds inspired, 
 The matrons pressed the hostile field ; 
 
 The Volscian hosts amazed retired ; 
 The proud Patrician learned to yield. 
 
 Such powers, oh had Calphurnia known, 
 Great Julius all unharmed had stood ! 
 
 No senate-walls beheld his doom, 
 
 Nor Pompey's marble drank his blood ! 
 
 For thee though born to happier times, 
 And gentler tasks than these endured, 
 
 Thy voice might oft prevent those crimes 
 
 Which e'en thy voice could scarce have cured. 
 
 Although no civic aim was there, 
 
 Yet not in vain that voice was given, 
 Which often as it blessed the air, 
 
 Informed us what was heard in heaven !
 
 20 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Sure, when renewed, thy powers shall rise, 
 To hymn before th' empyreal throne, 
 
 Angels shall start in wild surprise, 
 To hear a note so like their own !
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 21 
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 
 
 FIRST of all created things, 
 
 God's eldest born, tell me, Time ! 
 E'er since within that car of thine, 
 Drawn by those steeds, whose speed divine, 
 Through ev'ry age and ev'ry clime, 
 
 Nor pause nor rest has known ; 
 
 'Mongst all the scenes long since gone by, 
 Since first thou op'd'st thy closeless eye, 
 Did its scared glances ever rest 
 Upon a vision so unblest, 
 So fearful as our own ? 
 
 If thus thou start'st in wild affright 
 At what thyself hast brought to light, 
 yet relent ! nor still unclose 
 New volumes vast of human woes. 
 Thy bright and bounteous brother, yonder Sun, 
 Whose course coeval still with thine doth run, 
 Sick'ning at the sights unholy, 
 Frightful crime, and frantic folly,
 
 22 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 By thee, presumptuous ! with delight 
 
 Forced upon his awful sight, 
 
 Abandons half his regal right, 
 
 And yields the hated world to Night. 
 And e'en when through the honored day 
 He still benignly deigns to sway, 
 
 High o'er th' horizon prints his burnish'd tread, 
 Oft calls his clouds, 
 With sable shrouds, 
 
 To hide his glorious head ! 
 
 And Luna, of yet purer view, 
 His sister and his regent too, 
 Beneath whose mild and sacred reign 
 Thou darest display thy deeds profane, 
 Pale and appalled, has frowned her fears, 
 Or veiled her brightness in her tears. 
 While all her starry court, attendant near, 
 Only glance, and disappear. 
 
 But Thou, relentless ! not in thee 
 
 These horrors wake humanity : 
 
 Though Sun, and Moon, and Stars combin'd, 
 
 Ne'er did it change thy fatal mind, 
 
 Nor e'er thy wayward steps retrace, 
 
 Nor e'er restrain thy courser's race,
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 23 
 
 Nor e'er efface the blood thou'd'st shed, 
 Nor raise to life the murdered dead. 
 
 Is't not enough, thou spoiler, tell ! 
 That, subject to thy stern behest, 
 
 The might of ancient empire fell, 
 And sunk to drear and endless rest ? 
 
 Fallen is the Roman eagle's flight, 
 
 The Grecian glory sunk in night ; 
 And prostrate arts and arms no more withstand ; 
 Those own thy Vandal flame, and these thy conq'ring hand. 
 Then be destruction's sable banner furled, 
 Nor wave its shadows o'er the modern world ! 
 
 In vain the prayer. Still opens wide, 
 Renewed each former tragic scene 
 Of Time's dark drama ; while beside 
 Grief and Despair their vigils keep ; 
 And Mem'ry only lives to weep 
 The mould'ring dust of WHAT HAS BEEN. 
 How nameless now the once famed earth, 
 That gave to Kosciusco birth, 
 The pillared realm that proudly stood, 
 Propped by his worth, cemented by his blood. 
 
 As towers the lion of the wood 
 O'er all surrounding living things, 
 So, 'mid the herd of vulgar kings, 
 
 The dauntless DALECARLLAN stood.
 
 24 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ' Pillowed by flint, by clamps enclosed," 
 Upon the mine's cold lap reposed, 
 
 Yet firm he followed freedom's plan ; 
 " Dared with eternal Night reside, 
 " And threw inclemency aside," 
 
 Conq'ror of Nature as of Man ! 
 
 And earn'd by toils unknown before, 
 Of blood and death, the crown he wore ; 
 
 That radiant crown, whose flood of light 
 
 Illumined once a nation's sight, 
 
 Spirit of Vasa ! this its doom ? 
 
 Gleams in a dungeon's living tomb ! 
 
 Where'er the frightened mind can fly, 
 But nearer ruins meet her eye. 
 
 Ah ! not Arcadia's pictured scene 
 
 Could more the poet's dream engage, 
 
 Nor manners more befitting seem 
 The vision of a golden age, 
 Than where the chamois loved to roam 
 Through old Helvetia's rugged home ; 
 Where Uri's echoes loved to swell 
 To kindred rocks the name of Tell ; 
 And past'ral girls and rustic swains, 
 Were simple as their native plains. 
 Nor mild alone, but bold, the mind, 
 The soldier and the shepherd joined ;
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 25 
 
 The Roman heraldry restored ; 
 The crook was quartered with the sword. 
 Their seed-time cheerful labor stored ; 
 Plenty piled their vintage board ; 
 Peace loved their daily fold to keep ; 
 Contentment tranquillized their sleep ; 
 Till' through those giant guards of stone,* 
 Where Freedom fixed her "mountain-throne," 
 Battle's blood-hounds forced their way 
 And made the Human Flock their prey ! 
 
 Is it Fact, or Fancy tells, 
 That now another mandate's gone ? 
 
 Hark, e'en now those fated wheels 
 Roll the rapid ruin on ! 
 
 Lo, where the generous and the good, 
 The heart to feel, the hand to dare ; 
 
 Iberia pours her noblest blood, 
 Iberia lifts her holiest prayer ! 
 
 The while from all her rocks and vales 
 Her peasant-bands by thousands rise ; 
 Their altar is their native plains, 
 
 Themselves, the willing sacrifice. 
 While HE, the strangest birth of time," 
 Red with gore, and grim with crime, 
 
 * The Alps.
 
 26 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Whose fate more prodigies attend, 
 And in whose course more terrors blend, 
 And o'er whose birth more portents lower, 
 Than ever crowned, 
 In lore renowned, 
 The Macedonian's natal hour ! 
 
 Now here, now there, he takes his stand, 
 The 'stablish'd earth his footsteps jar ; 
 Goads to the fight his vassal-band, 
 While ebbs or flows, at his command, 
 The torrent of the war ! 
 
 Could the bard, whose powers sublime 
 Scaled the heights of epic glory, 
 
 And rendered in immortal rhyme 
 Of Rome's disgrace the blushing story ; 
 Where, formed of treason and of woes, 
 Pharsalia's gory genius rose ; 
 Might he again 
 Renew the strain, 
 That once his truant Muse had charmed, 
 
 Each foreign tone 
 Unwak'd had lain ; 
 And patriot Spain, 
 And Spain alone 
 The Spaniard's patriot heart had warmed !
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. . 27 
 
 Then had the chords proclaimed no more 
 His deeds, his death renowned of yore ; 
 Who,* when each ling'ring hope was slain, 
 And Freedom fought with Fate in vain, 
 Lone in the city, 'reft of all, 
 While Usurpation stormed the wall, 
 The tyrant's entrance scorned to see, 
 But died with dying Liberty. 
 
 Those chords had raised the local strain ; 
 That bard a filial flight had ta'en ; 
 Forgot all else ; the ancient past, 
 Thick in oblivion's mists o'ercast, 
 Or past and present both combined 
 Within the graspings of his mind ; 
 In what now is, viewed what hath been ; 
 The dead within the living seen : 
 Owned transmigration's strange control, 
 In Spaniards owned the Cato-soul ; 
 And wailed in tones of martial grief, 
 The valiant band and hero-chief, 
 Who shared in Saragossa's doom, 
 And made their Utica their tomb. 
 
 Bright be the am'ranth of their fame ! 
 
 May Palafox a Lucan claim ! 
 
 * The younger Cato.
 
 28 POEMS AXD MISCELLANIES. 
 
 That bard no more had filled his rhymes 
 With Caesar's greatness, Caesar's crimes ; 
 Another Caesar waked the string, 
 Alike usurper, traitor, king. 
 Another Caesar ? rashly said ! 
 Forgive the falsehood, mighty shade ! 
 'Mong'st Julius' treasons, still we know 
 The faithful friend, the gen'rous foe ; 
 And even enmity * could see 
 Some virtues of humanity. 
 
 But thou ! by what accursed name 
 Shall we denote thy features here ? 
 
 In records of infernal Fame 
 Where shall we find thy black compeer ? 
 
 Thou, whose perfidious might of mind 
 Nor Pity moves, nor faith can bind ; 
 Whose friends, whose followers vainly crave 
 That trust which should reward the brave ; 
 Whose foes, 'mid tenfold War's alarms, 
 Dread more thy treachery than thine arms. 
 The Ishmaelite, 'mid deserts bred, 
 Who robs at last whom first he fed, 
 
 * " His enemies confess 
 The virtues of humanity are Ciesar's." 
 
 ADDISOX'S CATO.
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 29 
 
 The midnight murd'rer of the guest 
 With whom he shared the morning's feast, 
 This Arab wretch, compared with thee, 
 Is honor and humanity ! 
 
 And shall that proud, that ancient land, 
 In treasure rich, in pageant grand, 
 Land of romance, where sprang of old 
 Adventures strange and champions bold, 
 Of holy faith and gallant fight, 
 And bannered hall, and armored knight, 
 And tournament, and minstrelsy, 
 
 The NATIVE LAND OF CHIVALRY ! 
 
 Shall all these " blushing honors " bloom 
 
 For Corsica's detested son ? 
 
 These ancient worthies own his sway, 
 
 The upstart fiend of yesterday ? 
 
 0, for the kingly sword and shield 
 
 That once the victor monarch sped, 
 What time from Pavia's trophied field 
 
 The royal Frank was captive led ! 
 May Charles's laurels, gained for you, 
 
 Ne'er, Spaniards, on your brows expire ; 
 Nor the degenerate sons subdue 
 
 The conq'rors of their nobler sire.
 
 30 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 None higher 'mid the zodiac line 
 Of sovereigns and of saints you claim, 
 
 Than fair Castilia's star could shine, 
 And brighten down the sky of fame. 
 "Wise, magnanimous, refined, 
 Accomplished friend of human kind, 
 Who first the Genoese sail unfurled, 
 The mighty mother of an infant world, 
 Illustrious Isabel ! Shall thine, 
 Thy children, kneel at Gallia's shrine ? 
 No : rise, thou venerated shade, 
 In heaven's own armor bright arrayed, 
 Like Pallas to her Grecian band ; 
 Nerve ev'ry heart and ev'ry hand ; 
 Pervious or not to mortal sight, 
 Still guard thy gallant offspring's right, 
 Display thine ^Egis from afar, 
 And lend a thunderbolt to war ! 
 
 God of battles ! from thy throne, 
 God of vengeance, aid their cause ! 
 
 Make it, conq'ring one, thine own ! 
 'Tis faith, and liberty, and laws. 
 
 'Tis for these they pour their blood : 
 
 The cause of man the cause of God !
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 31 
 
 Not now avenge, all-righteous power, 
 Peruvia's red and ruined hour ; 
 Nor mangled Montezuma's head ; 
 Nor Guatimozin's burning bed ; 
 Nor give the guiltless up to fate, 
 For Cortez' crimes, Pizarro's hate ! 
 Thou, who behold'st, enthroned afar, 
 Beyond the vision of the keenest star, 
 Far through creation's ample round, 
 The universe's utmost bound ; 
 Where war in other shape appears, 
 The destined plague of other spheres ; 
 Other Napoleons arise 
 To stain the earth and cloud the skies ; 
 And other realms in martial ranks succeed, 
 Fight like Iberians, like Iberians bleed ! 
 
 If an end is e'er designed 
 
 The dire destroyers of mankind ; 
 
 0, be some seraphim assigned, 
 
 To breathe it to the patriot mind ! 
 What Brutus, bright in arms arrayed, 
 What Corde bares the righteous blade ? 
 Or if the vengeance, not our own, 
 Be sacred to thy arm alone ; 
 When shall be signed the blest release, 
 And wearied worlds refreshed with peace !
 
 32 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 could the muse but dare to rise 
 
 Far o'er these low and clouded skies, 
 
 Above the threefold heaven to soar, 
 
 And in thy very sight implore ! 
 
 In vain. While angels veil them there, 
 
 While faith half fears to lift her prayer, 
 
 The glance profane shall fancy dare ? 
 
 Yet there around, a fearful band, 
 
 Thy ministers of vengeance stand. 
 
 Lo, at thy bidding stalks the storm ; 
 
 The lightning takes a local form ; 
 
 The floods erect their hydra head ; 
 
 The pestilence forsakes his bed ; 
 
 Intolerable light appears to wait ; 
 
 And far-off darkness stands in awful state ! 
 
 For thee, time ! 
 
 If still thou speed'st thy march of crime, 
 'Gainst all that's beauteous or sublime ; 
 Still prov'st thyself the sworn ally, 
 And author of mortality ; 
 
 Infuriate earth, too long supine, 
 Whilst demon-like thou lov'st to ride, 
 Ending every work beside, 
 
 Shall live to see the end of thine, 
 Her great revenge shall see !
 
 OCCASIONAL ODE. 33 
 
 By prayer shall move th' Almighty power 
 
 To antedate that final hour, 
 
 When the archangel firm shall stand, 
 
 Upon the ocean and the land ; 
 
 His crown a radiant rainbow sphere, 
 
 His echoes seven-fold thunders near, 
 
 The last dread fiat shall proclaim : 
 
 Shall swear by His tremendous name, 
 
 Who formed the earth, the heavens, and sea, 
 
 TIME shall no longer be !
 
 34 POEMS AM) MISCELLANIES. 
 
 TO CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 [ 1810.] 
 
 GODDESS of the playful mien ! 
 Goddess of the pleasant scene ! 
 Of Innocence and Peace the friend, 
 Obedient to my call attend ! 
 
 Come, from care and languor free. 
 
 Make thy blest abode with me ! 
 
 Grant me all thy magic power 
 
 To beguile the dreary hour ; 
 
 For thou canst blunt misfortune's fangs, 
 And cheat e'en anguish of its pangs ; 
 
 Then come, from care and languor free, 
 Make thy blest abode with me ! 
 Powerful Goddess steel my heart, 
 Firm t' encounter Envy's dart. 
 
 In fortune's smiles or frowns the same, 
 If free from all deserved blame. 
 Then come, &c.
 
 TO CHEERFULNESS. 35 
 
 Heightener of Prosperity ! 
 Soother of Adversity ! 
 Thou canst bless alike all hours, 
 And make every pleasure ours ; 
 Then come, &c. 
 
 Come, ever welcome to my heart, 
 Come, and from it ne'er depart ; 
 Since every station thou canst bless, 
 With peace, if not with happiness : 
 Come, &c. 
 
 If flowers and fragrance are not found, 
 In every path of life's dull round ; 
 Yet with the buds and blossoms crowned 
 We tread as on enchanted ground. 
 .Then come, &c. 
 
 Should Heaven not grant my ev'ry claim, 
 A thousand blessings still remain ; 
 And with thy aid, I yet may find 
 Large comforts in an active mind. 
 Come then, &c.
 
 36 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Living, I'll confess thy power, 
 
 And love thee e'en in life's last hour ; 
 
 When Death, dread conqueror, shall inv" ade, 
 
 And every charm of life shall fade, 
 
 Smiling, his entrance may I see, 
 
 Upheld by Innocence and thee ! 
 
 Come, then, from care and languor free, 
 EVER make thy home with me !
 
 HYMN FOR FIRST OF MAY. 37 
 
 A HYMN, FOR FIRST OF MAY. 
 
 [1809.] 
 
 Lo ! all the waste of Winter's past 
 The darkened sky, the ocean's roar; 
 
 No more is heard the rising blast, 
 The icy fetters bind no more. 
 
 Lord of the seasons ! may we raise 
 Unblamed, the notes of worship here ? 
 
 And honest hearts and cheerful praise 
 Welcome the seed-time of the year. 
 
 The simplest herb, the meanest flower, 
 Both to their several purpose tend ; 
 
 Each insect lives its little hour, 
 Each Avorm fulfils its destined end. 
 
 Then even such as we may dare 
 To ask those aids, enabling man 
 
 Within some small degree to bear 
 His part in thine eternal plan.
 
 38 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Not of the humblest be it said, 
 
 They ceased to join the social strife, 
 
 While air we breathe and earth we tread 
 Are full of motion, order, life ! 
 
 For knowledge, plenty, peace bestowed, 
 For life preserved and health enjoyed, 
 
 That here no midnight plague has come 
 Nor noonday pestilence destroyed ! 
 
 Supreme Protector of mankind ! 
 
 To Thee may we our praise express ; 
 And next, to those on earth assigned 
 
 Thy chosen instruments to bless. 
 
 0, guide us o'er life's wintry sphere, 
 And through its closing shadows bring 
 
 To know in Heaven's eternal year, 
 Another and a brighter Spring !
 
 A PETITION. 39 
 
 A PETITION. 
 
 [ 1809. ] 
 
 I ASK not pomp, I ask not power, 
 Thou Giver of all gifts to man ! 
 
 Nor fickle Fortune's golden shower, 
 Nor life beyond the common span. 
 
 Grant me a heart to good inclined, 
 That gift all other gifts above, 
 
 An active hand, a liberal mind, 
 
 The hearts and lives of those I love 1 
 
 And 0, forbid that e'er again, 
 
 With bleeding heart and weeping eye. 
 I mingle with the mourning train, 
 
 Where Friendship's funeral passes by ! 
 
 Spare me but that, Almighty Sire ! 
 
 All other blessings I'd resign ; 
 Let not its flame of life expire, 
 
 But last beyond the date of mine !
 
 40 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Should toil and want be still my share, 
 And disappointment and disease, 
 
 Still more my wasted form impair, 
 
 And wrench my hold from peace or ease ! 
 
 If never mine to know the joy 
 
 To draw Detraction's poisoned dart, 
 
 The power of penury to destroy, 
 
 And cheer the stranger's desert heart ! 
 
 Yet may not merely selfishness 
 Exhaust my wishes or my fears ; 
 
 May hardened guilt receive my prayers, 
 And misery ever have my tears ! 
 
 And still, let weal or woe betide, 
 May that fraternal One be nigh, 
 
 Who rose and ripened by my side, 
 
 With whom I've lived for whom I'd die ! 
 
 Then give nor dare I ask for more 
 
 A righteous life, a tranquil end ; 
 Till raised to join, when these are o'er, 
 t My Heavenly Guide my earthly Friend.
 
 ANOTHER "CASTLE IN THE AIR." 41 
 
 ANOTHER CASTLE IN THE AIR" 
 
 [1809.] 
 
 " To me, like Phidias, were it given 
 
 To form from clay the man sublime, 
 And like Prometheus, steal from heaven 
 
 The animating spark divine ! " 
 Thus once in rhapsody you cried ; 
 
 As for complexion, form, and air, 
 No matter what, if tliougld preside, 
 
 And fire and feeling mantle there. 
 Deep on the tablets of his mind 
 
 Be learning, science, taste impressed ; 
 Let piety a refuge find 
 
 Within the foldings of his breast ; 
 Let him have suffered much ; since we, 
 
 Alas ! are early doomed to know 
 All human virtue we can see 
 
 Is only perfected through woe.
 
 42 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Purer the ensuing breeze we find 
 
 When whirlwinds first the skies deform, 
 And hardier grows the mountain hind 
 
 Bleaching beneath the wint'ry storm ; 
 But, above all, may heaven impart 
 
 That talent which completes the whole 
 The finest and the rarest art 
 
 To analyze a woman's soul. 
 Woman that happy, wretched being, 
 
 Of causeless smile, of nameless sigh, 
 So oft whose joys unbidden spring, 
 
 So oft who, weeps, she knows not why ! 
 Her piteous griefs, her joys so gay, 
 
 All that afflicts and all that cheers ; 
 All her erratic fancy's play, 
 
 Her flutt'ring hopes, her trembling fears 
 With passions chastened, not subdued, 
 
 Let dull inaction stupid reign ; 
 Be his the ardor of the good, 
 
 Their loftier thought and nobler aim. 
 Firm as the towering bird of Jove, 
 
 The mightiest shocks of life to bear ; 
 Yet gentle as the captive dove, 
 
 In social suffering; to share.
 
 ANOTHER " CASTLE IN THE AIR." 43 
 
 If such there be, to such alone 
 
 Would I thy worth, beloved, resign ; 
 Secure, each bliss that time had known 
 
 Would consummate a lot like thine. 
 But if this gilded human scheme 
 
 Be but the pageant of the brain, 
 Of such slight " stuff as forms our dream," 
 
 Which waking we must seek in vain, 
 Each gift of nature and of art 
 
 Still lives within thyself enshrined ; 
 Thine are the blossoms of the heart, 
 
 And thine the scions of the mind ; 
 And if the matchless wreath shall blend 
 
 With foliage other that its own, 
 Or destined not its sweets to lend, 
 
 Shall nourish for thyself alone, 
 Still cultivate the plants with care ; 
 
 From weeds, from thorns, oh, keep them free ! 
 Till ripened for a purer air, 
 
 They bloom in immortality !
 
 44 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF RUMFORD. 
 
 WRITTEN BY REQUEST, JANUARY, 1811. 
 
 THE winds that breathe our mansions round, 
 
 So long and loud that Fancy's ear 
 Oft hears in each distressful sound 
 
 The groanings of the dying year 
 These winds, though harsh their notes we deem, 
 
 Ere long shall sweep a softer string ; 
 E'en now their tones but preludes seem 
 
 To merrier music from the spring. 
 That spring, as wont, a frolic fair, 
 
 Whene'er she treads our hills again, 
 Shall tempt thy truant steps to dare 
 
 Once more the perils of the main. 
 What powerful, what resistless hand 
 
 Beckons thee o'er a waste of wave, 
 Where other hills o'ertop the land, 
 
 Whose borders other waters lave ?
 
 TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF RUMFORD. 45 
 
 Thy SIRE'S ? Ah, then no longer fail ! 
 
 Cheer him, who cheers a grateful age ; 
 And winged by duty, fly to hail 
 
 At once the father and the sage ! 
 Oft the false lights that learning shows, 
 
 But lead the Vildered wretch astray ; 
 The meteor, GENIUS, often glows 
 
 Only to dazzle or dismay. 
 A nobler image pictures him ; 
 
 (No baleful star in vengeance hurled ; ) 
 The CENTRAL ORB, whose blessed beam 
 
 Not only lights but warms the world. 
 Go then ! yet ah, could wish of mine 
 
 Embodied wait upon thy will, 
 'T would cause the sweetest suns to shine, 
 
 And bid the boist'rous gales be still ! 
 Be thine the tributary hours 
 
 That Judgment rules, that Taste refines ; 
 May Art present her fruits and flowers, 
 
 And Science ope her thousand mines. 
 Farewell ! yet one request remains : 
 
 When Gallia's gayer scenes are shown, 
 Forget not, 'mid her fairy plains, 
 
 The modest merits of thine own.
 
 40 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The humble pleasures deck our soil 
 
 Pleasures which, simple as they seem, 
 Have ever mocked the worldling's toil, 
 
 And fled the guilty, gilded scene. 
 Wearied with flights the world around, 
 
 (Whilst war's red deluge drowns the rest,) 
 The doves of Peace at length have found 
 
 Within our ark a sheltered nest. 
 Here enterprise and toil engage, 
 
 And friendship firm, and awful truth. 
 Here kindness cheers the frost of age, 
 
 And counsel checks the fire of youth. 
 These are our boast nor here alone 
 
 The social graces love to dwell; 
 But hallowed still in every Jiome, 
 
 The hermit-virtues find a cell. 
 Here Temp'rance rules our vain desires, 
 
 Toil lifts Contentment soothes the mind, 
 And holy Hope to heaven aspires, 
 
 And leaves the less'ning world behind. 
 
 Oh, love this land ! where'er thou art, 
 Where'er thy wand'ring feet may roam, 
 
 Still hither turn thy constant heart, 
 And fondly, proudly, own its HOME !
 
 AN EPITAPH. 47 
 
 AN EPITAPH 
 
 ON MRS. MARY H. SHAW, DAUGHTER OF JUDGE HOWEL, OF PROVIDENCE. 
 
 [1811.] 
 
 HERE sleep the charities of heart combined, 
 
 To meliorate the energies of mind ; 
 
 Where purest wit and liveliest fancy graced, 
 
 And reason wore the ornaments of taste. 
 
 With her, enthusiast feeling's warmest flame 
 
 Consumed the selfish in the social aim; 
 
 Hers the firm faith that calmed the flutt'ring breath, 
 
 And hers the holy hope that lived in death ! 
 
 Mother of babes, with every kindred grace, 
 
 And equal parent of an orphan race, 
 
 Each duty, bliss of life, within her call, 
 
 She felt, fulfilled, enjoyed, resigned them all ! 
 
 No fav'rite virtue sparkled in her breast 
 
 With fatal brightness, to eclipse the rest ;
 
 48 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Like yon white arch, whose stars unite as one, 
 Her circling virtues blended each a sun. 
 When ruined health found aid and effort vain, 
 Nobly she triumphed o'er protracted pain, 
 And sweetly slumbered, till the just shall rise, 
 And God pronounce her welcome to the skies !
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW. 49 
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW. 
 
 [ 1810.] 
 
 ON Hallow Eve, as late I lay, 
 And vagrant Fancy chose to stray, 
 She met the Sisters three 
 Who realize the tales of yore, 
 Of fabled Fates in ancient lore, 
 Who held within their stern decree 
 What was, what is, and what shall be. 
 
 But theirs was but fictitious power, 
 The idol of an augur's hour, 
 Mythology's fantastic scheme, 
 The pagan's pageant, poet's dream ; 
 Far din 'rent force to those is given 
 Whom late I met on Hallow Even, 
 On whom depends, in very truth, 
 All vice or virtue, joy or ruth, 
 That man can e'er befall ;
 
 50 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 All of the scenes that Life we call, 
 All that makes death invite appall, 
 All that in Heaven can hope enthrall, 
 Or Hell affright withal ! 
 
 The elder was of pensive air, 
 With sable eyes and jetty hair, 
 And dark brow, darker tinged with care, 
 That neither joy nor peace could share. 
 And to the world, she seemed to quit 
 With ever swift-retreating feet, 
 Small notice could she spare ; 
 Yet now and then a glance was lent 
 To mark the steps, which way they bent, 
 Of her young sister, called TO-DAY ; 
 But as those steps would constant stray, 
 And reckless take the downward path, 
 Then, " more in sorrow than in wrath," 
 She turned her head away. 
 
 Slow she receded from my sight, 
 
 To distant domes of shadowy night, 
 
 To reach the spot where, shrouded, stood 
 
 Her family, beyond the flood ;" 
 
 Nor to my aching voice or eye, 
 
 Or looked regard or deigned reply ;
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW. 51 
 
 But still that saintly form and mien, 
 Solemn though mild, though sad serene, 
 Seemed an embodied voice, to say 
 Mortal ! my name is YESTERDAY ! 
 
 The second of the kindred race 
 Received from heaven a livelier grace ; 
 With health's own rose her cheek was dyed, 
 
 Bright was her hazel eye, 
 And graceful activeness supplied 
 
 The place of majesty. 
 
 But truly active while she seemed, 
 
 What were her aims no soul could guess ; 
 
 For still, in Wisdom's view, 'twere deemed 
 But busy idleness. 
 
 In careless guise she roamed around, 
 And picked her pebbles from the ground, 
 And when attained the worthless store 
 She flung them by and gathered more ; 
 And all her actions, as her thought, 
 Life's sunny surface only sought, 
 Nor ever searched the secret springs 
 That move beneath the face of tilings,
 
 52 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Though latent pearls beneath the sand 
 Awaited but her seeking hand, 
 And sleeping diamonds seemed to say 
 Give us the sun's awakening ray ! 
 
 Thus reckless though she roved, yet near 
 Methought I traced the frequent tear ; 
 And that she noted not the care 
 Or sorrows of the elder Fair, 
 Was not that (captious or severe) 
 She ceased to deem that sister dear, 
 But that her fond and eager sight, 
 (That else its glance had backward turned, 
 
 And taught it there to rest,) 
 Now with extatic ardor burned, 
 And darted onward on its light, 
 Where, seeming just from Ida's height, 
 As Hebe young, as Venus bright, 
 
 TO-MORROW stood confessed ! 
 
 There in a vista through the shade 
 Above whose arch the sunbeams played, 
 The fairest form that e'er was seen 
 Is pranking o'er the dewy green, 
 Peeping each mazy walk between, 
 Or playfully intent to screen
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW. 53 
 
 That dazzling hair and angel mien 
 Amid the boughs that intervene ; 
 Those amber ringlets far behind 
 Wave in the sportive western wind, 
 And ever 'mid the green leaves seen, 
 Sparkle like fairy-light between. 
 But with her mantle's hues so fair 
 What tints of Nature could compare ? 
 'Twas April's once so poets say 
 But Proteus stole the robe for May, 
 And Iris tinged it with her ray, 
 And Hope had borrowed from the skies 
 The colors for those azure eyes, 
 Whose tempered radiance, softened dyes, 
 
 Allured but not fatigued the sight ; 
 And seemed a sunny orb to view, 
 Wreathed by a cloud of faintest blue, 
 
 That swam in liquid light ! 
 
 0, matchless maid ! forever hail ! 
 Forever thus thy power prevail ; 
 Each former inspiration o'er, 
 On other forms I gaze no more, 
 Nor wonder that the world agree 
 To slight thy sisters worship thee.
 
 54 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 For sure, without thy pitying power, 
 The first might prove the final hour ; 
 And each his fettered life would free, 
 But for the blissful hope of thee. 
 As clouds the present scene o'ercast, 
 And Memory mourns the buried past, 
 The future, shown by thee, appears 
 Of fadeless joys and endless years. 
 Thou bath'st the Christian's aching eye 
 With dews from a celestial sky ; 
 Thou calm'st the poet's troubled mind, 
 Whisp'ring " the world will yet be kind ;" 
 Then bid'st before the patriot's soul 
 Visions of civic glory roll, 
 When ransomed realms shall give to fame 
 His laurelled bust, his pseaned name ! 
 
 Fairest and best, accept the song ! 
 To thee my lays myself belong. 
 All other thoughts I'd tell to flee, 
 And consecrate my soul to thee ; 
 All other cherished loves depart, 
 Thou, only thou, shalt rule my heart !
 
 AX INSCRIPTION. 55 
 
 The following lines were originally entitled, " An Inscription for a Monument at 
 Richmond." The reflections, however, suggested by the subject, having extended be- 
 yond the limits usually allowed to inscriptive composition, they are now offered without 
 a name, and may be supposed the natural effusions of every mind, on contemplating 
 the scene of that memorable conflagration. 
 
 [1812.] 
 
 PILGRLM, whose pious steps have led thee on, 
 To pause and ponder at this sacred shrine, 
 Where relics rest, of sanctifying power 
 Greater than Mecca or Loretto knew, 
 Lo ! this the spot, where, at the very hour 
 Of social sentiment, of scenic show,* 
 When eye met eye participant of pleasure, 
 As passed the varied forms of mimic life, 
 E'en at an hour like this, came Death's dread angel, 
 Shrouding his mystic form in smoke and flame, 
 And still dilating, till his presence filled 
 Rapid the dome through blazing fires anon 
 Through deepest darkness here his mighty arms 
 Grasped close his victims ! 
 
 * Conflagration of the Richmond Theatre.
 
 56 POEMS AXD MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Pilgrim, no common sigh, 
 No vulgar tear ! Profane not dust like this 
 With aught but purest griefs, with holiest sorrows, 
 Meet for the good, the great, the brave, the fair! 
 . How much of worth worth greatest at the last ! 
 If e'er thy heart throbbed high at the remembrance 
 Of him who bore from Illion's heaven-doomed walls 
 And smoking battlements his aged sire ; 
 Or her * who sought, in Gallia's guilty hour, 
 Death with the friend she loved ; or, later yet, 
 The glorious Scot,f whose daring aid preserved, 
 Spite of the searching flames of civil war, 
 Hundreds of hearts who shall attest his praise 
 In earth and heaven ! 0, if thy spirit stirred 
 At such exploits, look here, and it shall own 
 Kindred pulsations. Here Affection proved 
 As proud a triumph ; undismayed at danger ; 
 Strong even as death, and dearer far than life, 
 Embraced the fiery ordeal of her faith. 
 Think on't ; th' admiring thought shall flush thy cheek 
 And dry the dews of Pity. Soothe thee, too, 
 To think what they were spared ! Not theirs to totter 
 Unto the utmost verge of useless life, 
 And tremble on the brink, dreading to go, 
 Yet unallowed to stay. Not theirs to feel 
 
 * Princess de Lamballe. t Duncan M'Intosh.
 
 AS. mSCBIPTION. 57 
 
 Ling'ring disease that slow but certain poison, 
 
 Perpetual martyrdom, incessant death ; 
 
 Nor, what were even worse, if worse can be, 
 
 To witness such decay the wasted form, 
 
 The ruined intellect, the fevered brain, 
 
 The fitful hectic of the cheek, succeeded . . 
 
 By pallid hollowness ; and ! the eyes 
 
 That roll their wild dilated orbs around, 
 
 Imploring aid, till the beholder's heart 
 
 Hails with a kind of horrid hope the hour 
 
 That ends the being which was best beloved ! 
 
 God, of his mercy, spared them sights like these, 
 
 And gave their final moment one brief pang 
 
 That pang the first and last. " These died together, 
 
 Happy in ruin, undivorced by death." 
 
 Their love so powerful was not left to dull 
 
 On earth's low cares its fervors, but preferred 
 
 To where its essence shall be more sublimed 
 
 Its extacy exhaustless. And if e'er, 
 
 Stranger, the wretched havoc which the passions 
 
 Too often make, has pierced thy pride of nature, 
 
 'Twill heal thy heart to know they here asserted 
 
 Their native rank, primeval destination, 
 
 The firm allies and generous guards of virtue.
 
 58 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 'Twill raise thy hopes of man, and lift thy prayer 
 To Him, who, when he formed our beings mortal, 
 Made them immortal, too that be thy call 
 As sudden, thou mayst breast thee to the shock, 
 And buffet Fate as greatly, gallantly, 
 As those who perished here !
 
 STANZAS. 59 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 COMMEMORATIVE OF CHARLES B. BROWX, OF PHILADELPHIA, AUTHOR OF 
 " WIELAND," CIMOND," " ARTHUR MERVYN," ETC. 
 
 [ 1810.] 
 
 COLUMBIA ! mourn thy buried son 
 Fancy's beloved, the Muses' heir ; 
 Mourn him whose course too soon was run ; 
 Mourn him, alas ! thou ill canst spare. 
 
 Mourn thou of whom the tale of old, 
 So oft, so tauntingly is told, 
 That all thy earth-born sons refuse 
 Alliance with the heavenly muse ; 
 
 That though, o'er many a warrior's grave, 
 Thou bidst the trophied banner wave, 
 And rescued realms shall give to fame 
 The laurelled bust, the poeaned name.
 
 60 POEMS A3D MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And though thou boast on glory's scroll 
 Of patriot worth a splendid roll ; 
 Their wealth, the gain of equal laws, 
 Their bribe, the boon of self applause ; 
 
 And though thy ocean-hero's name 
 Revived the ancient Decian claim ; 
 While e'en the Turk can point and tell 
 Where Somers, Wadsworth, Israel fell ; 
 
 Yet of the sacred sons of song, 
 How far too few to thee belong ; 
 With Pallas' strength, with Hermes' fire. 
 Lovers of letters or the lyre. 
 
 Though nature with unsparing hand, 
 Has scattered round thy favored land 
 Those gifts that prompt th' aspiring aim, 
 And fan the latent spark to flame ; 
 
 Such awful shade of black'ning woods, 
 Such roaring voice of giant floods, 
 Cliffs which the dizzied eagles flee, 
 And cat'racts tumbling to the sea ;
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 That in this wild and lone retreat, 
 Great Collins might have fixed his seat ; 
 Called Horror from the mountain's brow, 
 Or Danger from the deeps below ! 
 
 And then, for those of milder mood, 
 Heedless of forest, rock, or flood, 
 Here too are found, the pebbly rill, 
 The honied vale, the breezy hill ; 
 
 Gay fields bedecked with golden grain ; 
 Rich orchards, bending o'er the plain, 
 Where Sydney's fairy pen had failed, 
 Or Mantuan Maro's muse had hailed ; 
 
 Yet 'midst this luxury of scene, 
 
 These varied charms, this graceful mien, 
 
 Canst thou no hearts, no voices raise, 
 
 Those charms to feel, those charms to praise ? 
 
 Then mourn thy Brown ! whose ardent mind 
 Aonian worship early joined ; 
 Who chose his shrine from classic bowers, 
 His lares from the studious hours. 
 
 61
 
 62 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Amid the busy hum of men, 
 He plied the strong descriptive pen, 
 And sketched whate'er within, around, 
 In motley vision could be found. 
 
 He watched of livid death the tread, 
 And marked each fated shaft that sped ; 
 He crossed destruction's midnight way, 
 And plagues that waste in open day.* 
 
 Nor chiefly here his powers were shown ; 
 Each lighter theme he made his own ; 
 As Folly's different freaks engage 
 The serious or the smiling sage. 
 
 Where'er his lucid colors glow, 
 Manners and life the portrait know ; 
 And through the canvass, fiction deemed, 
 Reality's bold features gleamed. 
 
 Nor only his the skill to scan 
 The outward acts of varied man ; 
 But his was nature's clue, to wind 
 Through mazes of the heart and mind. 
 
 * Arthur Mervyn.
 
 STANZAS. 63 
 
 The moral painter well portrayed, 
 The cause of each effect surveyed ; 
 And breathed upon the lifeless page 
 The informing soul, the K noble rage." 
 
 If gifts like these might well demand 
 The gen'rous tear, the votive hand, 
 E'en where such gifts full wide prevail, 
 In Latium's porch or Arno's vale ; 
 
 Then mourn, my country ! mourn thy son 
 Fancy's beloved, the Muses' heir ; 
 Mourn him whose course so soon was run, 
 Mourn him, alas ! thou ill canst spare.
 
 64 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 THE writer of the following stanzas was importuned by a friend, some time since, to 
 supply the deficiencies of the " Ode on the Passions." It was replied that such an 
 undertaking would resemble the attempt of a journeyman carpenter to finish a statue 
 of Praxiteles. The request, however, being renewed, was so far effectual as to elicit 
 this fragment ; not as a presumptuous endeavor to add anything to Collins's Ode, but as 
 an humble distant effort, to imitate the character of that celebrated production. 
 
 [ 1810.] 
 
 BEHOLD yon monstrous shape appear ! 
 The Gorgon head, the Danaides' heart ; 
 
 Their stings the curling serpents rear, 
 While e'en Ambition owns a fear, 
 
 And Hope and Joy depart. 
 'T was Envy dared the bower invade, 
 And round with curious eye surveyed, 
 To where the Lesbian lyre was laid, 
 Buried beneath its myrtle shade ; 
 That lyre, whose strains so sweet, so strong, 
 To Sappho's touch alone belong ;
 
 STANZAS. 65 
 
 That lyre, whose strains so strong, so sweet, 
 
 No voice but Echo's dared repeat. 
 
 Yet this weird wretch presumed to strive 
 
 The lyric spirit to revive ! 
 
 And emulate those sounds that stole 
 
 O'er poor Alcaeus' subject soul ! 
 
 Remorse approached ; his wasted frame 
 
 Feebly on trembling knees he bore ; 
 Alike in sorrow and in shame, 
 
 Timoleon's form he wore, 
 (What time, from Corinth forced to roam, 
 He wandered far from friends and home ;) 
 With gory hands he struck the lyre. 
 
 The lyre, indignant at the wrong, 
 
 Scorned to pour the soothing song ; 
 And harshly groaned each clotted wire, 
 Now first by murd'rous hand profaned, 
 Now first by human blood distained. 
 Back sprang the wretch, and called Despair 
 To end the strange and " solemn air ; " 
 While still within its banquet flies 
 The gnawing worm that never dies !
 
 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The next that came 
 With sinewy arm of fight, 
 And ardent, eagle-sight, 
 
 Ambition was his name 
 Amid the band, 
 With lawless hand, 
 He dared aspire 
 
 To seize famed Memnon's mystic lyre, 
 And struck those hallowed chords of fire, 
 
 Long sacred to the Sun ! 
 But when the impious deed was done, 
 I saw, what seemed of mortal state, 
 To sudden majesty dilate j 
 I saw him stretch his giant form 
 
 In shadowy length athwart the sky ; 
 His rocky forehead clothed in storm, 
 
 Bloodshot his dark delirious eye. 
 While, at his tocsin's furious sound, 
 Loosened demons danced around ; 
 Joying 'mid the groans profound, 
 Of Virtues, slaughtered on the accursed ground !
 
 A RHAPSODY. <7 
 
 A RHAPSODY. 
 
 TO ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 [1812.] 
 
 0, THOU, whom we have known so long, so well, 
 Thou who didst hymn the Maid of Arc, and framed 
 Of Thalaba the wild and wondrous song, 
 And in later tale of Times of Old, 
 Remindest us of our own patriarch fathers, 
 The Madocs of their age, who planted here 
 The cross of Christ, and liberty, and peace ! 
 Minstrel of other climes, of higher hopes, 
 And holier inspirations, who hast ne'er 
 From her high birth debased the goddess muse, 
 To grovel in the dirt of earthly things ; 
 But learned to mingle with her human tones 
 Some breathings of the harmonies of heaven ! 
 Joyful to meet thee yet again, we hail 
 Thy last, thy loftiest lay ; nor chief we thank thee
 
 68 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 For every form of beauty, every light 
 
 Bestowed by brilliancy, and every grace 
 
 That fancy could invent and taste dispose, 
 
 Or that creating, consummating power, 
 
 Pervading fervor, and mysterious finish, 
 
 That something occult, indefinable, 
 
 By mortals, genius named ; the parent sun 
 
 Whence all those rays proceed ; the constant fount 
 
 To feed those streams of mind, th' informing soul 
 
 Could e'er describe, whose fine and subtle nature 
 
 Seems like the aerial forms which, legends say, 
 
 Greeted the gifted eye of saint or seer, 
 
 Yet ever mocked the fond inquirer's aim 
 
 To scan then: essence ! 
 
 Such alone we greet not, 
 Since genius oft (so oft the tale is trite) 
 Employs its golden art to varnish Vice 
 And bleach Depravity, till it shall wear 
 The whiteness of the robes of Innocence ; 
 And Fancy's self forsakes her truest trade, 
 The lapidary for the scavenger ; 
 And Taste, regardful of but half her province. 
 Self-sentenced to a partial blindness, turns 
 Her notice from the semblance of perfection, 
 To fix its hood-winked gaze on faults alone,
 
 A RHAPSODY. 69 
 
 And, like the owl, sees only in the night ; 
 Not like the eagle soars to meet the day. 
 
 Oblivion to all such ! For thee we joy 
 Thou hast not misapplied the gifts of God, 
 Nor yielded up thy powers, illustrious captives, 
 To grace the triumph of licentious Wit. 
 
 Once more a female is thy chosen theme, 
 And Kailyal lives a lesson to the sex, 
 How more than woman's loveliness may blend 
 With all of woman's worth ; with chastened love, 
 Magnanimous exertion, patient piety, 
 And pure intelligence. Lo ! from thy wand 
 Even faith, and hope, and charity, receive 
 Something more filial and more feminine. 
 
 Proud praise enough were this ; yet is there more : 
 That 'neath thy splendid Indian canopy 
 By fairy fingers woven, of gorgeous threads, 
 And gold and precious stones, thou hast enwrapped 
 Stupendous themes that Truth divine revealed, 
 And answering Reason owned naught more sublime, 
 Beauteous, or useful, e'er was charactered 
 On Hermes' mystic pillars Egypt's boast, 
 And more, Pythagoras' lesson, when the maze 
 Of hieroglyphic meaning awed the world !
 
 70 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Could Music's potent charm, as some believed, 
 Have warmth to animate the slumbering dead, 
 And "lap them in Elysium," second only 
 To that which shall await in other worlds, 
 How would the native sons of ancient India 
 Unclose on thee that wondering, dubious eye, 
 Where admiration wars with incredulity ! 
 Sons of the morning ! first born of creation ! 
 What would they think of thee thee, one of us, 
 Sprung from a later race, on whom the ends 
 Of this our world has come, that thou shouldst pen 
 What Varanasis' * venerable towers, 
 In all their pride and plenitude of powers, 
 Ere conquest spread their bloody banner o'er them, 
 Or Ruin trod upon their hallowed walls, 
 Could ne'er excel, though stored with ethic wisdom, 
 And epic minstrelsy and sacred lore ! 
 For there Philosophy's Gantami f first 
 Taught man to measure mind ; there Yalmic hymned 
 The conquering arms of heaven-descended Ruma ; 
 And Calidasa and Viassa there, 
 At different periods, but with powers the same, 
 The Sanscrit song prolonged, of Nature's works, 
 Of human woes, and sacred Crishna's ways. 
 
 * The College of Benares. 
 
 t Supposed the earliest founder of a Philosophical School.
 
 A RHAPSODY. 71 
 
 That it should e'er be thine, of Europe born, 
 
 To sing of Asia ! that Hindostan's palms 
 
 Should bloom on Albion's hills, and Brahma's Vedas 
 
 Meet unconverted eyes, yet unprofaned ! 
 
 And those same brows the classic Thames had bathed, 
 
 Be laved by holy Ganges ! while the lotus, 
 
 Fig-tree, and cusa, of its healing banks, 
 
 Should, with their derva's vegetable rubies, 
 
 Be painted to the life ! Not truer touches, 
 
 On plane-tree arch above, or roseate carpet 
 
 Spread out beneath, were ever yet employed 
 
 When their own vale of Cashmere was the subject, 
 
 Sketched by its own Abdallah ! 
 
 He, too, of thine own land, who long since found 
 A refuge in his final sanctuary 
 From regal bigotry, could thy voice reach him, 
 His awful shade might greet thee as a brother 
 In sentiment and song ; that epic genius 
 From whom the sight of outward things was taken 
 By Heaven in mercy that the orb of vision 
 Might totally turn inward there concentrated 
 On objects else perhaps invisible, 
 Requiring and exhausting all its rays, 
 Who (like Tiresias, of prophetic fame,) 
 Talked with Futurity ! that patriot 
 Poet of Paradise, whose daring eye
 
 72 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Explored " the living throne, the sapphire blaze," 
 But, blasted with " excess of light," retired 
 And left to thee to compass other heavens 
 And other scenes of being ! 
 
 Bard beloved 
 
 Of all who virtue love revered by all 
 That genius reverence Southey ! if thou art 
 " Gentle as bard beseems," and if thy life 
 Be lovely as thy lay, thou wilt not scorn 
 This rustic wreath ; albeit 'twas entwined 
 Beyond the western waters, where I sit 
 And bid the winds that wait upon their surges, 
 Bear it across them to thine island-home. 
 Thou wilt not scorn the simple leaves, though culled 
 From that traduced, insulted spot of earth 
 Of which thy contumelious brethren oft 
 Frame fables, full as monstrous in their kind 
 As e'er Munchausen knew with all his falsehood, 
 Guiltless of all his wit ! Not such art thou 
 Surely thou art not, if as Rumor tells, 
 Thyself, in the high hour of hopeful youth, 
 Had cherished nightly visions of delight, 
 And day-dreams of desire, that lured thee on 
 To see the sister States, and painted to thee 
 Our frowning mountains and our laughing vales,
 
 A RHAPSODY. 73 
 
 The countless beauties of our varied lakes. 
 The dim recesses of our endless woods, 
 Fit haunt for sylvan deities, and whispered 
 How sweet it were in such deep solitude, 
 To talk to Nature, but to think of man ; 
 Then thou, perchance, like Scotia's darling son, 
 Hadst sung our Pennsylvanian villages, 
 Our bold Oneidas, and our tender Gertrudes, 
 And sung, like him, thy listeners into tears ! 
 
 Such were thy early musings ; other thoughts, 
 And happier, doubtless, have concurred to fix thee 
 On Britain's venerated shore ; yet still 
 Must that young thought be tenderly remembered, 
 Even as romantic minds are sometimes said 
 To cherish their first love not that 'twas wisest, 
 But that 'twas earliest. If that morning dream 
 Still lingers to thy noon of life, remember, 
 And for its own dear sake, when thou shalt hear, 
 (As oft, alas ! thou wilt,) those gossip tales 
 By lazy Ignorance or inventive Spleen 
 Related, of the vast, the varied country 
 "We proudly call our own, ! then refute them, 
 By thy just consciousness that still this land 
 Has turned no adder's ear toward thy muse, 
 That charms so wisely ; that where'er her tones,
 
 74 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Mellowed by distance, o'er the waters come, 
 They meet a band of listeners those who hear 
 With breath-suspending eagerness, and feel 
 With feverish interest. Be this their praise, 
 And sure they'll need no other ! Such there are, 
 Who, from the centre of an honest heart, 
 Bless thee for ministering to the purest pleasures 
 That man, whilst breathing earthly atmosphere, 
 In this minority of being, knows ; 
 That of contemplating immortal verse, 
 In fit communion with Eternal Truth !
 
 DUXCAN M'INTOSH. 75 
 
 DUNCAN M'INTOSH. 
 
 To offer a notice of this departed philanthropist for the Christian Disciple, is to con- 
 cur, it is believed, with the objects of that publication. In a mercantile community it 
 can never be unreasonable to record an exception to the sordid spirit of accumulation ; 
 and in a Christian country, it must always be salutary to contemplate the actual intre- 
 pidity and elevation of the Christian character, in opposition to what has been unfortu- 
 nately asserted of its abjectness and pusillanimity.* 
 
 We may not be as generally apprised in this, as in our more southern capitals, that 
 Mr. M'Intosh was at St. Domingo during the sanguinary revolution of 1793, which 
 threatened the total extermination of the French inhabitants ; and although (as an 
 American citizen) he might have departed in safety, and taken with him the whole of 
 his large property, he preferred remaining and sacrificing that property, together with 
 the interesting hopes connected with its acquirement, to the preservation of the pros- 
 cribed. At every hazard he continued during eight months to freight vessels at his 
 own expense, laden with these destitute fugitives, to the number of nine hundred men 
 and fifteen hundred women and children. At his subsequent arrival in Philadelphia, 
 a gold medal, a public dinner, and every demonstration of enthusiastic respect, were 
 rendered him by the gratitude of the exiles he had saved ; but for services like his, 
 what are all sublunary rewards ? Remuneratio ejus cum altissimo. 
 
 [1821.] 
 
 HAIL ! son of ancient Caledon ! 
 Thy race is sped, thy crown is won ; 
 The voice Supreme thy worth must tell ; 
 Ours only utters Hail ! Farewell ! " 
 
 * Vide Paley and Tenyns.
 
 76 POEMS AM) MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Oft has offended Virtue's frown 
 Withered the chaplets of renown ; 
 Struck by the lightning of her eye, 
 In their first blossoming they die ; 
 And incense, fired to rise for years, 
 Is quenched in her indignant tears. 
 
 Not to the just such fate is given ; 
 Their laurel is the growth of heaven ; 
 Seed, sown amid the storms of time, 
 Expands in that unclouded clime ; 
 The Virtues, guardian angels there, 
 Make the immortal plant their care ; 
 And heavenly hands its leaves suffuse 
 With moisture from celestial dews. 
 It feels the Sun's enliv'ning ray 
 Long ere he gilds our distant day, 
 And winds from primal Eden's vales, 
 Breathe over it their balmiest gales. 
 
 And never tree of glory there, 
 Has towered more fragrant, full or fair, 
 Than that which waves its holy flower 
 O'er Duncan's high immortal bower. 
 Thou hero of an holier flame 
 Than boasts the ranks of martial fame ! 
 Though honored still that steel must be. 
 Which strikes for lawful liberty,
 
 DUNCAN M'INTOSH. 77 
 
 (Such as thy Wallace wont to wield, 
 
 Defender of his native field ;) 
 
 Yet happier is that course maintained, 
 
 Whose trophies are with tears unstained ; 
 
 And worthier benisons should fall 
 
 On him, above each narrower call, 
 
 Who risked his life, his wealth, his all, 
 
 With charity that knew no bound, 
 
 For strangers, on a foreign ground ; 
 
 And felt the outcast alien blend 
 
 The claims of clansman, brother, friend ! 
 
 What time against their ancient foes 
 
 Dark Afric's race like demons rose, 
 
 Past wrongs with present strength conspiring, 
 
 And memory all their passions firing, 
 
 Till mad, and madd'ning all the throng, 
 
 Freedom a Fury raved along, 
 
 With garments rolled in blood ; with hand 
 
 Grasping the desolating brand ; 
 
 What voice but thine alone could dare 
 
 Breathe the forbidden word to spare ? 
 
 From glens and caves the fugitive 
 
 Could look to thee alone, and live ; 
 
 Whose shelt'ring arms a rampart spread, 
 
 Stood 'twixt the living and the dead,
 
 78 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 With angel eloquence to stay 
 The carnage of that direful day ! 
 
 And when the shield that saved before, 
 From power incensed could save no more, 
 Thou gav'st the meed of years of toil, 
 To waft them to a kindlier soil. 
 Vain were the dungeon's terrors, * vain 
 The threatened scaffold's penal stain ; 
 Ah ! vain those fonder thoughts, that pressed 
 For mastery in thy manly breast, 
 And bade thee pause, nor forfeit now 
 The nuptial torch, the mutual vow, 
 The social hall, the festal dome, 
 The comforts of the hearth and home. 
 
 happy in the sacrifice ! 
 For what the suffering to the prize ? 
 What loss of all that earth holds dear, 
 In such a high and proud career ? 
 Let faith, prophetic faith, portray 
 The glories of thy rising day, 
 When grateful thousands shall proclaim 
 Then* kind deliverer's honored name ; 
 Sires hail him, who from direst rage 
 Rescued the filial props of age ; 
 
 * Mr. M. was twice imprisoned, and narrowly escaped death, for his efforts in this cause.
 
 DUNCAN M'INTOSH. 79 
 
 And mothers bless the arm that stayed 
 From infant hearts the ruthless blade ; 
 While from before the mystic throne 
 Erst to the seer of Patmos shown, 
 Sublimest welcome shall accord 
 Thy great exampler and thy lord, 
 "Who onward to his own abode 
 Through sacrifice and suffering trode ; 
 Endured each earthly, heavenly loss ; 
 Kenounced a kingdom for a cross ; 
 Cheerful, himself for others gave, 
 And lived to bless, and died to save !
 
 80 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD. 
 
 I go forward, but he is not there ; and backward, but I cannot perceive him." 
 [1824.] 
 
 WHERE art Thou ? Thou Source and Support of all 
 That is, or seen, or felt, Thyself unseen, 
 Unfelt, unknown ; alas, unknowable ! 
 I look abroad among Thy works the sky, 
 Vast, distant, glorious, with its world of suns, 
 Life-giving earth, and ever moving main, 
 And speaking winds, and ask if these are Thee ? 
 The stars that twinkle on the eternal hills, 
 The restless tide's outgoing and return, 
 The omnipresent and deep breathing air, 
 Though hailed as gods of old, and only less, 
 Are not the Power I seek ; are Thine, not Thee. 
 I ask Thee from the past, if in the years 
 Since first intelligence could search its Source, 
 Or in some former, unremembered being, 
 (If such, perchance were mine,) did they belong to Thee ? 
 And next interrogate futurity,
 
 INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD. 81 
 
 So fondly tenanted with better things 
 
 Than e'er experience owned ; but both are mute, 
 
 And past, and future, vocal on all else, 
 
 So full of memories and fantasies, 
 
 Are deaf and speechless here ! Fatigued, I turn 
 
 From all vain parley with the elements, 
 
 And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn inward, 
 
 From each material thing its anxious quest, 
 
 If in the stillness of the waiting soul 
 
 He may vouchsafe Himself Spirit to Spirit ! 
 
 0, Thou, at once most dreaded and desired, 
 
 Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt Thou hide Thee ? 
 
 What though the rash request be fraught with fate 
 
 No human eye may look on Thee and live ? 
 
 Welcome the penalty ! Let that come now, 
 
 Which, soon or late, must come. For light like this 
 
 Who would not dare to die ? 
 
 Peace ! my proud ami, 
 
 And hush the wish which knows not what it asks; 
 Await His will, who hath appointed this 
 With every other trial. Be that will 
 Done now as ever. For thy curious search 
 And unprepared solicitude to gaze 
 On Him, the Unrevealed, learn hence, instead, 
 To temper brightest hope with humbleness ;
 
 82 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Pass thy noviciate in these outer courts, 
 
 Till rent the veil no longer separating 
 
 The Holiest of all, as erst disclosing 
 
 A brighter dispensation, whose results 
 
 Ineffable, interminable, tend 
 
 E'en to the perfecting thyself, thy kind, 
 
 Till meet for that sublime beatitude, 
 
 By the firm promise of a voice from Heaven, 
 
 Pledged to the pure in heart.
 
 LINES IN MEMORY OF THOMAS F. PALMER. 83 
 
 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS F. PALMER, 
 
 BURIED AT BOSTON. 
 
 [ 1824. ] 
 
 " THOU shalt not have my bones," the Roman said 
 To his ungrateful country. Then, as now, 
 Whoe'er put forth the patriot's voice or arm 
 Incurred the patriot's penalty proscription, 
 Exile, or death. Then blush we not for thee, 
 Whose ashes here repose. The blush be theirs 
 Who doomed thee guilty for in freedom's cause 
 Uttering a freeman's voice as Sydney erst, 
 And sacred Milton doomed thee to the hulk, 
 And desert strand, by felons companied ! 
 (Was not His doom, who spoke to free the world 
 From sin's worse thraldom, to the odious tree, 
 With malefactors at his side ?) On them, 
 On them the shame, albeit thine the suffering ! 
 And meet it was, since thou wert ne'er again 
 To view the white cliffs of thy sea-girt Albion,
 
 84 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The " mighty mother," who, like her of Colchis,* 
 Has sometimes slain her sons ; whose fatal ire 
 Had driven thee from her to the wilderness, 
 With brutes, and men more brutish meet at last 
 To rest thee in a land where Priestly rested, 
 Like him a witness for the truth, like him 
 An exile for its sake. And be thy meed 
 To mix thy dust with theirs, the pilgrim sires, 
 Men after thine own heart, and kindred spirits, 
 Whom persecution banished in their day. 
 Even here what time all here was but a waste, 
 With its fell Indian and its beast of prey 
 Taking their turn before thee ! one in destiny, 
 Confessors of the same heroic faith, 
 Martyrs alike for the same righteous cause ; 
 Rest thee, and rise with them ! 
 
 * Medea.
 
 THE EASTERN KING AND SOUTHERN QUEEN. 85 
 
 THE EASTERN KING AND SOUTHERN QUEEN. 
 
 (A HEBREW FABLE.) 
 
 TO MARY PRINCE TOWXSEJfD. 
 
 [ 1836. ] 
 
 HE sat upon his ivory throne, 
 The mightiest among monarchs known, 
 Who raised Palmyra from the wild, 
 And Balbec's wond'rous fabrics piled, 
 
 Wisest among the sage ! 
 Through farthest Ind, whose gifted name 
 First on the rolls of ancient fame, 
 Jew, Arab, Moslem, join to claim, 
 
 E'en to this distant age. 
 To him each latent cause was known, 
 And Nature's mysteries made his own, 
 Nor could a flower its incense fling, 
 Nor reptile creep bird, insect, wing 
 But still of each created thing, 
 
 He knew its powers to call ; 
 E'en from Libanus' cedar tall 
 To humblest hyssop of the wall.
 
 86 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 He sat upon his ivory throne, 
 And royal Balkis near him stand ; 
 She who proud Nilus' wave subdued, 
 Until his tributary tide 
 Had her vast reservoirs supplied, 
 ' Whence aqueduct and fountain plied, 
 Kefreshing all her garden's side j 
 She, whom the judgment trump shall raise 
 With Hebrew souls of Herod's days, 
 By bright example to condemn 
 That hardened race of ingrate men ; 
 She, high in soul as rank, with mind 
 Enlightened beyond woman-kind, 
 (Though seas and deserts spread between,) 
 Left Araby the Blest, to find 
 
 And prove the far-famed one. 
 That Fair was Sheba's potent Queen, 
 
 That prince King Solomon ! 
 She stood the monarch's throne before, 
 And either hand twin garlands bore, 
 Where Sharon's rival roses show, 
 The paler and the blushing hue, 
 The various tribes of tulips, too, 
 And lilies of the golden view, 
 With that more modest one, that grew 
 Beneath the valley's shelt'ring shade,
 
 THE EASTERN KING AND SOUTHERN QUEEN. 87 
 
 And drooped its bashful bells e'en there, 
 Lest they should meet the gazer's stare, 
 And that one blent with either skin, 
 Snowy without and gold within, 
 Who shamed that Nature ne'er supplied 
 A leafy covering for its side, 
 Is fain its naked stem to hide 
 Beneath the lake's encircling tide. 
 
 There the Carnation lent its share ; 
 
 There blossomed the Narcissus fair ; 
 
 The Almond bud breathed fragrance there, 
 
 And passing all, the rich Gulnare ! * 
 These flowers Arabia's sovereign bore, 
 As Judah's lord she bowed before, 
 And held them up to view. 
 
 0, live forever, glorious king ! 
 Behold, the rural wreaths I bring 
 
 In form and tint have vied ; 
 But one its quickening substance drew 
 From Salem's soil, and sun, and dew ; 
 And one, with imitation true, 
 
 I and my maidens dyed ! 
 And now, king, consult thine eyes, * 
 As thou art wisest of the wise, 
 
 * Name of the Pomegranate's blossom.
 
 88 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And tell, according to thy thought, 
 Which is the chaplet we have wrought, 
 
 And which is Nature's hand ? 
 This boon thy handmaid to command 
 Asks humbly at thy royal hand, 
 Who, since she ne'er a suit preferred 
 But thou most graciously hast heard, 
 
 Not now must ask in vain ; 
 And spices, richer far, and more 
 Than those she lately hither bore, 
 (Though Israel saw not such before,) 
 
 Shall be thy royal gain." 
 
 She ceased, but still her glance confessed 
 The frolic feeling of her breast, 
 Where secret triumph, ill suppressed, 
 Through mimic deference shone confessed. 
 Ceased she, and on the ground her eye 
 Demurely cast, while waiting by 
 Stood Judah's court its monarch nigh, 
 Marvelling that daring dame should try 
 Their king's sagaciousness defy. 
 Awhile the monarch paused and smiled 
 To see his sapience half beguiled 
 By woman's sprightlier wile.
 
 THE EASTERN KING AND SOUTHERN QUEEN. 89 
 
 " And hast thou proved this curious toil, 
 Queen of the South ! my skill to foil ? 
 
 Well may thy friend admire ! 
 And frankly to thee be it known 
 That by no wisdom of our own 
 Could any difference here be shown; 
 But, (as thou know'st,) thy subjects tell 
 That mystic call and powerful spell 
 Force from the spirits, at our will, 
 Their aid of more than mortal skill 
 
 When our behests require, 
 And there be tenants of the air 
 Who make King Solomon their care." 
 
 With that the monarch gave command, 
 Within the queen had fixed her stand, 
 That all the palace windows wide 
 Be opened free on every side ; 
 When, lo ! the insect chemists there, 
 Whose skill compounds the sweetest fare, 
 Rifling from dawn to day's full prime 
 Through balmiest bowers of Palestine, 
 
 Nearer and louder hum, 
 Till to the regal presence hall, 
 As conscious of its owner's call, 
 
 The revellers have come !
 
 90 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Following the vegetable lure, 
 With instinct sensitive and sure, 
 Past the fictitious wreath they flew, 
 And clustered jocund round the true, 
 Whilst shouts th' exultant crowd, to see 
 Their sovereign's ingenuity, 
 
 - Who thus " Bear witness, royal Fair ! 
 These counsellors from upper air 
 Thus aid me judgment to declare." 
 
 " No more, my lord ! the gums are thine." 
 
 " Lady, their fragrance I resign ; 
 The wreath THY WREATH alone be mine ! " 
 
 To thee, dear girl, what need to tell 
 The moral thou hast proved so well ? 
 
 In whom together meet, 
 What jointly must their powers dispense 
 To satisfy a sapient sense, 
 
 The useful with the sweet !
 
 A VISION. 91 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 [ 1832. ] 
 
 " And when the fit was on him I did mark 
 How he did shake 't is true this god did shake ; 
 His coward tips did from their color fly, 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 Did lose its lustre." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 TIME hath been 
 
 When dreams were oracles, and slumber proved 
 The source of inspiration ; when the senses 
 Fast locked to all below, the soul was free 
 For impress from on high, and man awoke 
 Fraught with futurity to nations round 
 Herald and chronicle of coming years. 
 This is the world's beginning ; but for us, 
 On whom its ends have come, our dreams concern not 
 The future, but the past ; the mind revolves it 
 In hours of consciousness, and the mood holds 
 When bathed by Sleep in her lethargic dews.
 
 92 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And mine was such a vision, when in spirit 
 
 I looked, and lo ! before me rose that isle, 
 
 Whose rocky base is worn by waves that bore 
 
 The barque of Gama on its vent'rous way, 
 
 To climes beyond the Ganges and the morn. 
 
 I scaled its cliffs, and heard the sea-bird shriek 
 
 Around its dizzy promontory ; thence 
 
 Stooped to its shadier vale, admiring oft 
 
 The culture that to vegetative bloom 
 
 Could force that sterile soil. And I bethought me 
 
 Of him, the wretched Lusian,* to this spot 
 
 Self-exiled, victim of his own misdeeds, 
 
 And Albuquerque's barbarian policy. 
 
 Scorning to carry his disfigured front 
 
 Among his former peers, or leave at last 
 
 A mutilated corpse to fill its niche 
 
 Amid his fathers' sepulchres ; abjuring 
 
 Country, connections, friends, and kindred dust, 
 
 He hid him here ; and trained the vine, and taught 
 
 The various plants of Europe, like himself, 
 
 To bear a foreign home ; striving by toil 
 
 * Fernandez Lopez, a Portuguese nobleman, who, after the victory at Goa, was punished cru- 
 elly for his apostacy to the Moors, by having his nose and ears slit at the command of the Gov- 
 ernor General a stain on that otherwise magnanimous character. Instead of being sent home, 
 Lopez was, at his own request, landed on this island, in the year 1513, twelve years after its first 
 discovery by John de Nova, and fifteen after de Gama had first doubled the southern promontory 
 of Africa. To Lopez the island is said to have been indebted for most of its early cultivation.
 
 A VISION. 93 
 
 On the hard face of earth less cursed to him 
 
 Than was the face of man to dispossess 
 
 From their stronghold the demons of remorse, 
 
 Despair, and madd'ning memory. Little thought he, 
 
 Another and more memorable exile 
 
 Should, centuries after, pace his bowers among, 
 
 And haply gather the perennial fruits 
 
 His hand had early scattered ! But such thoughts 
 
 And all beside gave way, when I beheld, 
 
 Within his martial couch and warrior shroud, 
 
 The Evil Genius of the present time 
 
 Taking his final leave of it, henceforth 
 
 Part of eternity ! Already settled 
 
 Its awful shadows round his brow, and closed 
 
 His sunken eyelids. One by one each sense 
 
 Had yielded up its function. Can it be ? 
 
 This powerless arm belonged to him, who proved 
 
 In very deed the Syracusan's project, 
 
 And tossed the globe ? This swoln and stiff 'ning form 
 
 Is this the same whose fatal activeness 
 
 Was felt, when, from the Tiber to the Nile, 
 
 Echoed his trumpet and his tread ? The Alps 
 
 Frowned as their everlasting snows reflected 
 
 The lightning of his steel ; and the hot desert, 
 
 Through all its vast and sandy solitudes, 
 
 Has shook to hear his rolling thunders waken
 
 94 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The slumber of the pyramids. But no ! 
 
 'T is fable in the nineteenth age, nay more, 
 
 In one, the star of whose nativity 
 
 Rose in the same horizon with our own 
 
 That such things were and this is all a dream. 
 
 Would it were but a dream ! And, sure, 't would seem so, 
 
 Did not Marengo, Jena, Austerlitz, 
 
 And Lodi's bridge, and Berezina's flood, 
 
 All rife with fate, attest its verity 
 
 With many a dread memorial ! 
 
 But not now, 
 
 In presence of thy bier, would we call up 
 The list of thine offences. Gone thy victims, 
 And gone thyself beyond all human audit. 
 The execrations that had reached thee once 
 Are stilled, for thou art still ; and Death has made 
 Inviolable peace 'twixt thee and man. 
 Thy bier has moved the mem'ry from thy sins 
 To trace thy sufferings. Never change like thine ! 
 The arbiter of Europe's destinies 
 A suppliant for his own ; and he who found 
 A continent too narrow for his march, 
 Now cramped in one small isle. The mighty one, 
 Who set his foot upon the necks of kings, 
 And bade them do him homage for their crowns, 
 Now destined to endure, while he despised,
 
 A VISION. 95 
 
 A courtly minion's petty despotism, 
 Proud, like the keeper of the Lybian lion, 
 Who lords it o'er the royal brute with tyranny, 
 Teasing, yet trifling. 
 
 Thine imperial bride, 
 
 Who would have shared thy banishment, denied thee ; 
 And thy bright son, whose " baby brow " had worn 
 So soon " the round and top of sovereignty," 
 No more to greet his sire. And grant thy heart 
 Less meet than others for familiar ties, 
 Still it was human, and as such has felt 
 When that the right the veriest peasant holds 
 To commune with his own, was reft from thee ! 
 
 Through opening ranks that line the long parade 
 Onward the funeral car has moved, and now 
 Adown the steep the soldiers' arms have borne 
 Their fellow soldier ; long the grenadier 
 Shall boast this burden ! In thy stony chamber 
 They rest thee now, while robed and mitred priests 
 Lift high the prayer and consecrate the tomb ; 
 And thrice from cliff to cliff the cannon's peal 
 Reverberates long and loudly ; while between, 
 From the far distant ship, the groaning gun 
 Sends its according sound the ocean o'er, 
 Startling the Spirit of the stormy Cape,
 
 96 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 To call his tempests round him for reply 
 To such strange menaces. 
 
 And they have sealed 
 
 The stone, and set the watch ; lest e'en thy bones, 
 Thy very skin, like the Bohemian's, minister 
 To mortal fray. So thy career has closed ; 
 A thing to meditate and marvel at. 
 For we but see events ; where tend their issues, 
 Presumptuous we pronounce not, nor decipher 
 The mystic characters by Providence 
 Stamped on the scroll that holds his high decrees, 
 Unmeet for man to utter ! This is plain 
 All lust of power was not concentrated 
 In him whom St. Helena sepulchred, 
 When Austria treads the spark of freedom out 
 That Italy had kindled. When the Czar 
 Joins with the turbaned miscreant 'gainst those Greeks 
 Who rose to wrest the field of Marathon 
 From Moslem profanation. Thou dead one ! 
 It were enough to have compelled thy features 
 To smile Sardonic, when the holy league 
 Thus gave the lie to its own protestations, 
 And to the faith of all those credulous ones 
 Who put their trust in princes. But for thee ! 
 Who shall attempt thine epitaph ? and when ? 
 All have heard evil of thee, but the day
 
 A VISION. 97 
 
 Has not yet dawned when what was good as truly 
 
 Shall be recorded. Sure thou hadst thy good ; 
 
 Impious it were to think the Godhead's image 
 
 Impressed on man could e'er be wholly lost ! 
 
 Witness their love, whose self-devotedness 
 
 Clung to thy shipwrecked barque, with hold as firm 
 
 As when triumphantly it rode the surges, 
 
 With all its canvas and its streamers out, 
 
 Favored by wind and tide. Nor desperate these 
 
 With momentary fervor ; steadily 
 
 They followed to thy prison-house ; for thee 
 
 Renounced the world ; endured the wayward moods 
 
 Of fallen grandeur and of wasting nature ; 
 
 Nor left till life had left. In Wisdom's view 
 
 'Twere worth the price of both thy diadems 
 
 To prove such friendship ! this, of all thy honors 
 
 Most to be coveted. Thou hadst thy good ; 
 
 For splendid Art and philosophic Science 
 
 Owned thee their patron ; and thy height of power, 
 
 If wrongly gained, was rightly used for purposes 
 
 Of wisest legislation. For ourselves, 
 
 Who sit in judgment on thy deeds, have we 
 
 Looked to our own ? The lesson of thy life 
 
 Learned we from thence, who claim a worthier course, 
 
 A holier prize, to copy into ours 
 
 That vigilance, and zeal, and perseverance ;
 
 98 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 That energy unquenchable unnerved 
 
 By no defeat, by no confinement cooled ; 
 
 (As Elba saw, and vaunted Waterloo, 
 
 Where many raised 'gainst one scarce wrought his fall.) 
 
 Then were the social weal with half that ardor 
 
 But sought, as was the selfish, then, indeed, 
 
 Thou hadst not lived in vain, but might'st repair 
 
 The wrong thou didst humanity. An influence 
 
 Strenuous and righteous thus, through the new earth, 
 
 Might mould a race of men, the like of whom 
 
 The sun ne'er looked upon ; who, if he stopped 
 
 His swift career a day in Ajalon, 
 
 Lured by a hero's call, a hero's deed, 
 
 At such a sight as this would gaze forever, 
 
 And night be known no longer.
 
 A BALLAD. 99 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE LATE FATAL COMBAT* OX THE MARYLAND BORDER. 
 
 [ 1823. ] 
 
 AND tkou too gone ! whose name can raise 
 
 The Spirits of romantic rhyme, 
 The legends of departed days, 
 
 The chronicle of elder time ; 
 
 Art thou THUS gone ? who haply placed 
 
 In sable Edward's warlike age, 
 Chaucer's chivalric lines had graced, 
 
 Or sparkled from Froissart's page ! 
 
 For not in camp or tourney high, 
 
 Could knight or noble e'er be seen, 
 Of manlier form or keener eye, 
 
 More dauntless heart or courteous mien. 
 
 * The duel between Commodores Decatur and Barren, which resulted in the death of the former.
 
 100 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And ne'er was fealty more strong 
 In vassal train of feudal lord, 
 
 Than glowed among that hardier throng 
 Who waited on thy martial word. 
 
 Witness his deeds whose prompt relief 
 'Twixt thee and fate, sprang undismayed, 
 
 With his own forehead fenced his chief, 
 And met the Moslem's cleaving blade ! 
 
 Glory to both ! to him whose zeal 
 With loyal heart could burn so high ; 
 
 To thee who sought the seaman's weal 
 Till for thy sake he dared to die. 
 
 Where naval Carthage towered sublime, 
 Cumbers the mosque degen'rate earth ; 
 
 And dozing beys debase the clime 
 Where Hannibal received his birth. 
 
 Where old Phenicia's friendly sails 
 Afar her gen'rous products bore, 
 
 Our age beheld the recr'ant gales 
 Waft to his prey the robber Moor.
 
 A BALLAD. 101 
 
 The oath that bound Hamilian's heir, 
 
 On Rome alone its vengeance hurled ; 
 More fell than Punic ruffian's swear 
 
 Eternal wrath to all the world. 
 
 And emp'rors, kings, and prince or peers, 
 
 The Briton, Spaniard, Belgian, Gaul, 
 Had warred for half a hundred years 
 
 To break that yoke that foiled them all. 
 
 E'en there our mountain eagle flew, 
 
 Fresh in his fierceness from the West, 
 Kept his bold course, untired and true, 
 
 And soared above the Moorish crest. 
 
 Through black'ning tempests round him thrown, 
 
 His stormy baldrick scattered day, 
 And as its conq'ring splendors shone, 
 
 Trembled the crescent's pallid ray. 
 
 Amid that glorious list of men 
 
 Foremost we still distinguish thee, 
 Who broke the Christian captives' chain, 
 
 And freed the mighty middle sea !
 
 102 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And while the merchant's argosy 
 Securely o'er the sea shall roam, 
 
 Shall he not bless the thought of thee, 
 Who drove the pagan pirate home ? 
 
 The shades of that crusading band 
 Who once the Soldan's host o'erthrew, 
 
 Hailed kindred prowess from their hand 
 'Gainst that same misbelieving crew. 
 
 Whilst fire, and flood, and sword, and storm, 
 And every form of death was there, 
 
 Shrank the fierce Turk before that form 
 That seemed " a charmed life to wear." 
 
 And when he saw thy galiot's prow 
 Through threefold forces cut its room, 
 
 Deemed tJiat predestined hour was nigh 
 When Allah willed his children's doom ; 
 
 Saw thy brave brother's life expire, 
 
 And scimitars surrounding clashed, 
 But swift dilating in his ire, 
 On to his march the Avenger dashed ;
 
 A BALLAD. 103 
 
 Singly, five foeman's blades thrust by, 
 
 Rushed to the wretch that wrought his fall, 
 
 And sent the death-stroke from thine eye 
 Before he felt it from tHy ball. 
 
 Nor chief the Saracen to quell 
 
 Sufficed thy conq'ring arm to crown ; 
 Before that arm a trophy, fell 
 
 The lion banner of renown ! 
 
 Though since, that banner turned by fate 
 
 To those who first its ensigns wore, 
 Thy soul in victory unelate 
 
 Its failure undejected bore. 
 
 Did chance or change thy course invade, 
 
 Like clouds that tinge Italian skies, 
 They did but soften by their shade 
 
 The dizzying radiance of its dyes. 
 
 ! who that through our firmament, 
 
 To mark thy radiant pathway, stood, 
 Had thought, ere half the day was spent, 
 
 To see that sun go down in blood ?
 
 104 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 For sunk in powerless sleep is he 
 
 Who once a nation's bolts could throw, 
 
 And Moorish ghosts have laughed at thee, 
 To see a Christian lay thee low. 
 
 Long gazed upon that glorious scene, 
 The Genius of thy country near ; 
 
 Now, more in sorrow than in wrath, 
 He turns him from thy gory bier ! 
 
 From all the scenes that formed the past 
 His partial glance alone would see, 
 
 And bid oblivion screen the last, 
 Could it o'ershadow aught of thee. 
 
 Yet, 'mid thy fault, I fondly view 
 No selfish jar, no private feud 
 
 Though rash and dire the means as true, 
 Their object was thy country's good ; 
 
 Such love that heart thy country gave ; 
 
 To it thy life, thy death was given, 
 Prizing its cause, its service, more 
 
 Than aught of earth alas ! or Heaven.
 
 A BALLAD. 105 
 
 That parent country wails aloud 
 
 The fav'rite of so many years, 
 And would upbraid him, but his shroud 
 
 Changes her chidings into tears ! 
 
 " Son of my strength," I hear her cry, 
 " I bless thee in this last adieu ! 
 E'en I forgive thou thus should die ; 
 
 GOD, OF HIS GRACE, FORGIVE IT, TOO ! "
 
 106 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 [FEBRUARY, 1817.] 
 
 THE wind is high, the tempest is abroad ! 
 Thou hear'st it not, my brother ! feel'st no more 
 Its rude assaultings ; thou who erst could breast 
 The shock of storms and wind with fearless front, 
 That almost mocked the peril others shrunk from ; 
 Alas ! perchance, thence earlier overpowered, 
 Suddenly prostrate, while the selfish souls 
 That cautious calculate the doubtful risk, 
 Live on live long ! whilst thou, beloved ! 
 Art in that lowly house, whereto my thought 
 So often turns, sickening at all beside, 
 And emulous of thy mysterious rest, 
 Whatever it be ! 
 
 The tempest rages on, 
 And not unwelcomely ; afar it keeps 
 The ceremonious guest, the officious friend, 
 Both with one aim to banish from thy tomb 
 The faithful thought, or lead it, truant-like, 
 To lose itself amid the trivial themes 
 And desultory movements of the hour.
 
 A FRAGMENT. 107 
 
 But now alone, and still, and serious here, 
 Tis sweet, how sad soe'er, it still is sweet 
 To be together, love ! amid these gusts, 
 (Which have been likened to a spirit's voice, 
 With reason, though with fancy,) to persuade me, 
 I feel thy presence and I hear thy tones. 
 
 But be this as it may, I am with THEE ! 
 How often with thee in the communings 
 Of secret mind, when all around suppose me 
 Intent on other matter, he alone, 
 The Master Spirit, he alone can know, 
 Or tell, perhaps, to thine. 
 
 Thou who art ever with me, like a God, 
 Unseen, yet omnipresent, witness, Charles, 
 How all unwillingly I turn my mind 
 From musing on thy fate, e'en at the call 
 Of holy duty ; seems it holier, duty, 
 And primal, too at least, my sickly spirit 
 So dreams of it to linger on those hours, 
 Those brief but bitter hours, thy latest ! 
 
 Yet spare me, Memory, spare th' appalling image 
 Of that dear face, such as in death I saw it, 
 And give it back as it was wont to be, 
 Ruddy with health and life. Spare the thought 
 Of that loved voice, now faint and tremulous, 
 Now with delirium wild ! Canst thou not show him
 
 108 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 As for so many years he stood before me ? 
 Why turn tormentor, and thus rack my fancy 
 With visions but of anguish ? 
 
 The spring returned, but not to thee returned ! 
 And summer came thy summer never came ! 
 And next the fatal season follows on 
 That took thee from us ; never more by me 
 That season can be witnessed but with woe ! 
 
 The reaper's song shall wake no glad response, 
 And the bright glories of the harvest moon 
 Shine dimly through my tears. Would I could sleep 
 Until the vintage shall be gathered in ! 
 " The joyous vintage " so they name it. 
 
 The sun smiles on as ever, and the skies 
 With answering looks of clear and cheering hues 
 Seem in contempt to hold the mourner's heart, 
 For Nature mourns with no one. Yet methought 
 Of late it did ; for see, our leaves have fallen, 
 Have fallen like thee, my brother, to the ground, 
 Though not like thee, untimely. They have seen 
 Their summer through ; nor mocked the gazer's hope ; 
 Whilst thou, beloved !
 
 A FRAGMENT. 109 
 
 Yet yon little tree 
 
 Retains its mite of foliage, while the large 
 And loftier ones that skirt our garden round 
 Have lost their honors ; yonder slender stem 
 Still holds its three small twigs toward the sun, 
 And twinkles its few leaves amid the breeze. 
 It is the tree ; thou planted it when thy health 
 Was firm, thine arm was strong, thy hopes were high, 
 And now, how sickens it thy sister's heart, 
 To think the verdure of that little tree 
 Outlasted thine !
 
 110 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 T C . 
 
 [1817.] 
 
 I PLANT no roses on THY grave, 
 
 To mock decay with fragrant breath ; 
 Or gaudy hues in triumph wave 
 
 O'er the pale form that wastes beneath. 
 
 No laurel o'er that form shall tower, 
 To boast a life outlasting thine ; 
 
 And vaunt its leaf's perennial power, 
 In contrast with thy swift decline. 
 
 The sculptured stone the proud uprear, 
 The venal verse by flattery paid, 
 
 Were odious to thy living ear, 
 
 Nor shall they shame thy parted shade.
 
 Ill 
 
 Thy name thyself, in idle hour, 
 
 Graved on the rind of yonder tree ; 
 
 And still through sun and storm and shower, 
 That sylvan record stands of thee. 
 
 Naught else, save but the tear, the sigh 
 That ever must thy loss deplore, 
 
 Till thine own voice in realms on high, 
 Shall bid the mourner mourn no more !
 
 112 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?"* 
 
 [ 1816.] 
 
 LONG years have passed, but vernal May 
 
 Returns this anniversary day, 
 
 When yet 't was mine, in converse sweet, 
 
 A pair of precious friends to greet ; 
 
 The question quick, the prompt reply, 
 
 The quicker language of the eye, 
 
 The flash that lightened either face, 
 
 The hand's close clasp, the long embrace 
 
 These once were mine ; ah, cease the strain, 
 
 For ne'er can these be mine again ! 
 
 The years return, but never more 
 Those friends partake my simple store ; 
 Low in the earth their forms repose, 
 High to the heavens their spirits rose, 
 
 * Macbeth.
 
 "WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?" 113 
 
 Whilst, by life's longer storm oppressed, 
 I gaze with envy on their rest, 
 And to the passing wind complain, 
 " When shall we three meet again." 
 
 Appalling thought ! ere that can be, 
 All things must cease that now I see ; 
 Stars from their stations must retire, 
 Faint the pale moon, the sun expire, 
 Earth must depart, nor heaven remain, 
 Ere we three can meet again !
 
 114 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 THE VASE. 
 
 [1816.] 
 
 HEAR ye ! who list this simple lay, 
 How Lusitanian lady gay, 
 From sunnier regions far away, 
 
 Myrtle and orange bowers, 
 Deigned in our frigid climes to stay, 
 Cheating the dullness of the day, 
 By bidding yonder vase display 
 
 Its imitative flowers. 
 Within that vase, a wondrous thing, 
 Her talismanic touch could bring 
 The mimic progeny of spring 
 
 To live, or seem to live, 
 And in her reverie would seem 
 To foster Fancy's, Memory's dream, 
 Oblivion's images redeem, 
 Teach fond associate thoughts to beam, 
 
 And warmth and fragrance give.
 
 THE VASE. 115 
 
 As brief, as brittle as that dream, 
 The vase, alas ! my mournful theme ! 
 
 Too soon in dust was laid ! 
 Protecting sylphs, is this your care ? 
 And guardian gnomes, ! tell me where 
 
 Where was your wonted aid? 
 That aid, which still from age to age 
 Shall shine in Pope's recording page, 
 
 Yon monster might have stayed ; 
 And ye, too, train of elphin birth, 
 Titania's subjects, sylphs of earth,, 
 Though tiny each, your myriad worth 
 
 Collective might have saved. 
 A fierce grimalkin from the wood 
 Profaned the shrine wherein it stood, 
 And as the Ephesian miscreant viewed 
 
 The temple firm and fair, 
 Alike this modern outlaw, proud 
 And bold, to sure destruction vowed 
 
 This vase, so rich and rare. 
 Nor in suspense the blow was hung ; 
 Swift to his mark the ruffian sprung, 
 
 Like tiger on his prey. 
 Down fell the vase with clashing sound. 
 And all its fragments on the ground 
 
 Beauteous in ruins lay !
 
 116 POEMS AXD MISCELLANIES. 
 
 E'en so Palmyra's prostrate towers, 
 The pride of other days than ours, 
 
 Attract the musing eye, 
 And at Etrurius' mould'ring fane, 
 And thine, 0, classic Greece ! must gain 
 
 The moralizing sigh. 
 If towers and temples thus must fall, 
 E'en vases, too, must hear the call 
 
 Of violence of time. 
 Yet shall the muse thy worth rehearse, 
 Thou shattered subject of my verse, 
 
 In monumental rhyme. 
 'Twas Gallia gave thee to the day, 
 Moulded of purest porcelain clay, 
 
 Thy well-proportioned frame, 
 Thy polished front, thy snowy side, 
 And colors bright, were all her due, 
 
 And hers to give thy name. 
 
 And since the Fates decree that all 
 Of Gallia's arms or arts must fall 
 When leagued grimalkins 'reft her hall 
 
 Of statue and of bust, 
 What wonder if it be presumed 
 Her roses, like her Venus, doomed, 
 
 Should fall and kiss the dust ?
 
 THE VASE. 117 
 
 Behold, all ye this verse who list, 
 How humblest instruments assist 
 
 In every grand design : 
 Columbian cats, though rough the race, 
 Republicans, and out of place, 
 May aid Duke Wellington, His Grace, 
 " Great moral lessons " to impress, 
 While vases share the like distress 
 
 With fallen Napoleon's line ! 
 ! that were mine the votive skill 
 Of him who taught his notes to swell 
 The drowning tabby's funeral knell 
 
 With Orpheus' fabled power ! 
 Then higher should my notes ascend, 
 And fitter melodies attend 
 
 The vase's final hour ; 
 But, since 'tis all a bard can do 
 To do his best, that best for you, 
 
 Lady, my hand essayed ; 
 And if it wake one ready smile 
 Sense of privation to beguile, 
 
 The effort is repaid.
 
 118 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 COMMEMORATIVE OF THE TWENTY-THIRD DAY OF DEC., 1815, WHEN THE BRITISH 
 
 WERE REPULSED FROM NEW ORLEANS. AN ATTEMPTED IMITATION 
 
 OF SIR WALTER SCOTT'S VERSES ON MR. PITT'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 0, DARK was the cloud and more dark the foreboding, 
 
 When the conq'rors of France and the champions of Spain 
 Turned hither those bolts late so fatal exploding, 
 
 Far flashing the lightnings of battle again ! 
 Now the blackness no more the horizon deforms, 
 
 Be the incense of thankfulness wafted on high, 
 Nor let gratitude's flower, which has flourished in storms, 
 
 'Mid the sun of security wither and die. 
 
 When the earth with its groans joins the sea with its roaring, 
 In a menace that startles his tottering walls, 
 
 To his tutelar saint for protection imploring, 
 The terrified Lusian in agony calls ;
 
 STANZAS. 119 
 
 But departs with the danger, the feeling it forms, 
 
 When nature resumes her original guise, 
 And gratitude's flower, that was nourished in storms, 
 
 'Neath the sun of security withers and dies. 
 
 Far from us be the sin of thy slaves, Superstition ! 
 
 Whose ingrate sensations no ardor retain, 
 Till the element war that portends then 1 perdition, 
 
 Shall shock them to feeling and phrenzy again ; 
 More gen'rous emotions our bosoms shall warm, 
 
 Than timidity's tremor that danger is nigh ; 
 Nor shall gratitude's flower, which we cherished in storm, 
 
 In the sun of security wither and die. 
 
 For yet hail we the chieftain commissioned to save, 
 
 We invoked as our guardian from perils at hand, 
 When the bellow of battle was heard on the wave, 
 
 And kindred convulsions were quaking the land. 
 That sea-shout he stilled, those convulsions he stayed ; 
 
 Then be gratitude's fragrancy still wafted high, 
 And beware, lest the flower safe thro' storm and thro' shade, 
 
 In security's sunbeam be suffered to die. 
 
 But cheer we the chief, who, empowered by high Heaven, 
 Reduced civic chaos to order and plan,
 
 120 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Made to contrary forces one impulse be given, 
 And the mind of the many the mind of one man. 
 
 To him and his band, as returns this proud morning, 
 Fresh chaplets we'll culture all change to defy ; 
 
 From our heart's hardy flower that, all seasons adorning, 
 Nor in storm nor in sunshine can wither or die. 
 
 Sprung from Scotia,* whose sons, northern lights 'mid the nation, 
 
 Ulumine the mists of her spirit-starred sky, 
 There beatified Moore,f from his bright elevation, 
 
 Shall bend on thy valor a brother's fond eye ! 
 Ah ! haply, no tear damped the wreath that we form, 
 
 With thy palm and thy laurel no cypress we tie ; 
 They are gratitude's flowers which, immortal through storm, 
 
 In the sun of security never shall die. 
 
 * Sir J. Moore. t Gen. Jackson is said to have been bora in Scotland.
 
 STANZAS. 121 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ON A VIEW OF NEWSTEAD PARK, BELONGING TO A SEAT LATE THE PROPERTY 
 OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE LORD BYRON. 
 
 [1814.] 
 
 FROM scenes like these, that far and wide 
 Rise and expand in sylvan pride, 
 Where fickle man might find in range 
 From hill to vale, congenial change ; 
 From scenes whose very hues impart 
 Good and gay cheerfulness of heart, 
 Could e'er their reckless owner roam, 
 With guilt and gloom to find a home ? 
 To wander, like the exiled ghost, 
 From heavenly fields forever lost, 
 Doomed, with Elysium yet in view, 
 His wayward rovings to pursue, 
 Where tosses Doubt's tumultuous sea, 
 Thy shattered wreck, Depravity !
 
 122 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Degenerate Gordon ! not like thee 
 
 Have proved thy nobler ancestry ; 
 
 Nor rambling taste, nor thirst of gain, 
 
 From them had wrung their loved domain ; 
 
 Naught lured them from their native hall 
 
 But fatal honor's sternest call ; 
 
 Their only signal to depart 
 
 The beating of a loyal heart ; 
 
 That, when Culloden's crimsoned bed 
 
 Heaved with the dying and the dead, 
 
 Followed its guiding beams afar, 
 
 Till set in blood the Stuarts star, 
 
 While heaven and earth combined to sign 
 
 The ruin of that royal line. 
 
 Son of the Muse, celestial guide, 
 Wont to inspire far purer pride ! 
 Son of the Muse ! had gold the power 
 To win from thee thy classic bower ? 
 Of Byron should it e'er be told 
 His birthright bartered was for gold ? 
 
 Alas ! for thou hast sold yet more 
 Than fragile dome or earth-born store ; 
 And Virtue mourns, in early day, 
 A brighter birthright cast away ;
 
 STANZAS. 123 
 
 What time delirious Passion's bowl 
 Dissolved thy priceless pearl the soul ! * 
 0, crowned by heaven with youth and health, 
 And mental hoards and worldly wealth, 
 Vain the vast patrimony's aid ! 
 Thy debt on high has ne'er been paid ; 
 Thy means perverted from the aim 
 That had discharged the loftiest claim ; 
 Guilt's lawless traffic lost for thee 
 The treasures of futurity ! 
 
 Yet might it be thyself thy song 
 Are causelessly accused of wrong; 
 And tell-tale Fame, though still believed, 
 Has still as constantly deceived ; 
 And thy free soul, unleagued with ill, 
 Retains its guardian angel still, 
 Who, when Temptation's fiends assailed, 
 Has wrestled for thee and prevailed ; 
 If so, the burning blush suffuse, 
 The bitterest tear bedim the Muse ; 
 To find it false were cause to rue, 
 Unequalled, save to find it true ! 
 
 * The pearl of the soul may be melted away. T. MOORE.
 
 124 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Yet must the mind misgive thy lot 
 That lingers on this pictured spot, 
 Gazes its many beauties o'er, 
 And still returns to number more, 
 Musing what bliss 'twere here to find 
 A solace for the wearied mind. 
 When long sustained the various parts 
 Of public trust in arms or arts, 
 Blessing and blest how fitly here 
 Might pause from toil a British Peer ! 
 Be welcomed by the well-known shade 
 Where many a truant prank he played, 
 And taste the fruit and pluck the flower, 
 Creations of his earlier hour. 
 
 From courts and camps, in groves like those, 
 
 Thy hero, Blenheim, found repose ; 
 
 To breathe the calm that such inspire, 
 
 Would awful Chatham's self retire ; 
 
 And sacred ever be the shade 
 
 Where, matchless Burke ! thy form was laid, 
 
 When, pond'ring all thy country's woes, 
 
 The genius of prescience rose, 
 
 And spread such visions to thy sight 
 
 As checked the spirit's hastening flight, 
 
 And stopped of age the coming night,
 
 STANZAS. 125 
 
 Bidding, as erst in Ajalon, 
 
 The mental sun not yet go down ! 
 
 Beside that bright and tranquil stream 
 
 How pleasant to recline and dream ! 
 
 Listening the while its gentle sound 
 
 Not even fairy ear might wound, 
 
 Nor passing zephyr dare molest 
 
 The sacred quiet of its breast. 
 
 In gay translucency complete, 
 
 Yet mild as bright 0, emblem meet ! 
 
 The very heaven assigned the just, 
 
 The haunt of beatific trust, 
 
 Where no defilement enters e'er, 
 
 Seems scarce more fair, more calm, more dear. 
 
 Byron ! from this and couldst thou pass ? 
 
 Perchance, because its faithful glass 
 
 To thy inquiring glance has shown 
 
 Features the contrast to its own. 
 
 Far other images might find 
 
 Access to that distempered mind 
 
 The dark wave warring 'gainst the shore, 
 
 The wild cascade's eternal roar ; 
 
 What scorns, or what maintains control, 
 
 Suits the stern habits of thy soul.
 
 126 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Where opes yon vista, to disclose 
 Deep blushing how th' horizon glows, 
 'Twere sweet to watch the sun descend, 
 Like patriarch or like patriot's end 
 The radiance of whose parting light 
 Gleams far athwart the grave's long night, 
 And glances to that distant shore 
 Where suns arise to set no more. 
 
 Or where the hill's serener brow 
 O'erlooks the bustling world below, 
 Wait till that glorious orb arise, 
 And ride along the nether skies, 
 A warrior, awful to assail, 
 With fiery lance and golden mail, 
 Who, while his own impassive form 
 Derides of heaven and earth the storm, 
 Has ireful shafts, so swift, so sure, 
 That mortal strength can ne'er endure ; 
 When that, hi vengeance like a God, 
 O'er scorching realms he proudly trod, 
 But oftener when he glads the view 
 Like as a God in bounty, too, 
 Painting the flow'ret and the stone 
 With tints without his touch unknown,
 
 STANZAS. 127 
 
 Aiding the labors of the swain, 
 Granting to life its feast of grain ; 
 The holiest heart was e'er bestowed 
 Might hail him on his heavenly road, 
 And pardon that the pagan knee 
 Had bent in fond idolatry. 
 
 Sweet scene, farewell ! Although these eyes 
 Behold thee but through mimic dyes ; 
 Though ne'er my step may wander o'er 
 To ancient Albion's distant shore, 
 Yet for this semblance shall my heart 
 Long bless the imitative art. 
 
 But thou ! whose meed it was to know 
 The substance of this shadowy show, 
 At will to visit such a shrine, 
 With the high consciousness 'TWAS THINE, 
 Couldst thou whate'er the syren call 
 From such an Eden fly self-driven ? 
 Its social bower, its festive hall, 
 Its lawns, its waters, woods, its all 
 " ! how couldst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ? "
 
 128 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN NEAR A VILLA IN NAPLES, ONCE THE 
 RESIDENCE OF EMMA, LADY HAMILTON. 
 
 YES, thy enlightened mind can scorn 
 
 The fables of the nursery page, 
 And hold of fraud or error born 
 
 The legends of a monkish age : 
 
 -Of witch or fay, in evil hour, 
 
 Foul demons, garbed in form most fair, 
 
 With heroes spell-bound by their power, 
 Or nature vassalled in their care. 
 
 Yet persons, places, there may be 
 Our doubts could to conviction turn ; 
 
 Make us, what we have heard, to see, 
 And force us on the faith we spurn.
 
 STANZAS. 129 
 
 And this is one ! and stranger, sure, 
 
 If. holily thy heart incline 
 'T will pray, should e'en the syren lure, 
 
 The deafened adder's part be thine. 
 
 For here dwelt one, whose gifts of art 
 
 And grace of nature could combine 
 To harbor a demoniac heart, 
 
 Hid in the goodliest human shrine 
 
 And as the rebel seraphim 
 
 That heaven records with dire renown, 
 Drew other spirits like to him, 
 
 E'en from their high allegiance down 
 
 Son of the morning ! so could she, 
 
 NELSON ! thy noble mind o'erthrow, 
 To forfeit what was due from thee, 
 
 To God above or man below. 
 
 To blight that hero's laurel-crown, 
 
 Her deadly nightshade on she threw, 
 And round the stars of his renown, 
 
 A dark and misty halo drew.
 
 130 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 His " milk of human kindness " all 
 
 Was changed and cursed by sorcerer's art ; 
 
 And milder feelings turned to gall, 
 That wont to circle round his heart. 
 
 False then, to trust luxurious joys 
 
 With barb'rous deeds have nought in kind, 
 
 That swords cannot be joined with toys 
 To supple and to steel the mind. 
 
 Its reckless lord,* 'mid naming Rome 
 Wakening the viol's warbling, stood ; 
 
 And Stuart left his goblet's foam, 
 To banquet upon Russell's blood. 
 
 The vices, allied in their aim, 
 
 Still in each other's tread pursue ; 
 
 And she who loses woman's shame, 
 Soon loses woman's pity too. 
 
 When ruined patriots' cries arose, 
 
 'T was hers the monarch's ear to engage ; 
 
 To turn them fenceless to their foes, 
 
 And quench in blood their " noble rage." 
 
 * Nero.
 
 STANZAS. 131 
 
 'Twas hers the accursed doom to spy,* 
 
 Where aged Honor met his end, 
 Whilst to his death-distorted eye 
 
 Glared horrible the female fiend ! 
 
 Sorc'ress ! when next you meet again, 
 
 In other hands the penal power ; 
 Not thine to wield the vengeance then, 
 
 When next that murdered form shall lower ! 
 
 As when, slow rising o'er the wave, 
 
 It struck the guilty Bourbon dumb : 
 A spectral herald from the grave, 
 
 A monitor of wrath to come ! 
 
 Yet, if the guilt that stains the soul, 
 
 Immortal as that soul may be 
 And crimes their dark, dark shadows roll, 
 
 O'er scenes of far futurity ! 
 
 Then, the blot of Albion's isle, 
 
 Though Italy's ensanguined scourge, 
 Oh Hamilton ! th' avenger's smile, 
 
 Nor further need thy sentence urge. 
 
 * Carocciobi.
 
 132 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The bosom serpents cherished here, 
 
 Hereafter shall that bosom tear ; 
 Medusa's loose and ruthless peer 
 
 Medusa's loathsome doom must bear. 
 
 Then, traveller ! turn thee hence, and curse her not, 
 Who waits, imprisoned 'neath the clod, 
 
 Stern retribution's righteous lot, 
 The final fiat of her God.
 
 THE RAINBOW. 133 
 
 THE EAINBOW. 
 
 [1813.] 
 
 SEEN through the misty southern air, 
 What painted gleam of light is there, 
 
 Luring the charmed eye ? 
 Whose mellowing shades of different dyes 
 In rich profusion gorgeous rise, 
 
 And melt into the sky ? 
 
 Higher and higher still it grows, 
 Brighter and clearer yet it shows, 
 
 It widens, lengthens, rounds ; 
 And now that gleam of painted light, 
 A noble arch, confessed to sight, 
 
 Spans the empyreal bounds.
 
 134 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 What curious mechanician wrought, 
 What viewless hands, as swift as thought, 
 
 Have bent this flexile bow ? 
 What seraph touch these shades could blend, 
 Without beginning, without end ? 
 
 What sylph such tints bestow ? 
 
 If Fancy's telescope we bring 
 To scan withal this peerless thing, 
 The Air, the Cloud, the Water King, 
 
 'Twould seem their treasures joined, 
 And the proud monarch of the day, 
 Their grand ally, his splendid ray 
 
 Of eastern gold combined. 
 
 Vain vision, hence ! that will reverse, 
 Which in Creation's infant year, 
 Bade, in compassion to our fear, 
 
 (Scarce spent the deluge rage,) 
 Each elemental cause combine, 
 Whose rich effect should form this sign, 
 
 Through every future age. 
 
 0, Peace ! the rainbow-emblemed maid, 
 Where have thy fairy footsteps strayed ?
 
 THE RAINBOW. 135 
 
 Where hides thy seraph form ? 
 What twilight caves of ocean rest ? 
 Or in what island of the blest 
 
 Sails it on gales of morn ? 
 
 Missioned from heaven in early hour, 
 Designed through Eden's blissful bower 
 
 Delightedly to tread, 
 Till exiled thence in evil time, 
 Scared at the company of crime, 
 
 Thy startled pinions fled. 
 
 E'er since that hour, alas, the thought ! 
 Like thine own dove, who vainly sought 
 
 To find a sheltered nest, 
 Till from the East, the South, the North, 
 Doomed to be driven a wanderer forth, 
 
 And find not where to rest ; 
 
 Till when the west its world displayed 
 Of hiding hills and sheltering shade, 
 Thither thy weary flight was stayed, 
 
 Here fondly fixed thy seat ; 
 Our valleys and our desert caves, 
 Our wall of interposing waves, 
 
 Seemed a secure retreat.
 
 136 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 In vain ! from this thy last abode 
 (One pitying glance on earth bestowed) 
 We saw thee take the heavenward road, 
 
 Where yonder cliffs arise \ 
 Saw thee thy tearful features shroud, 
 Till cradled on the conscious cloud 
 That to await thy coming bowed, 
 
 We lost thee in the skies. 
 
 For now the maniac demon, War, 
 Whose ravings, heard so long from far, 
 Convulsed us with their distant jar, 
 
 Nearer and louder roars ; 
 His arm, that death and conquest hurled 
 On all beside of all the world, 
 
 Claims these remaining shores. 
 
 What though the laurel leaves he tear, 
 Proud round his impious brow to wear 
 
 A wreath that will not fade ? 
 What boots him its perennial power ? 
 These laurels canker where they flower, 
 
 They poison where they shade.
 
 THE RAINBOW. 137 
 
 But thou, around whose holy head 
 The balmy olive loves to spread, 
 
 Return, nymph benign ! 
 With buds that Paradise bestowed, 
 Whence " healing for the nations " flowed, 
 
 Our bleeding temples twine. 
 
 For thee our fathers ploughed the strand ; 
 For thee they left that goodly land, 
 
 The turf their childhood trod, 
 The hearths on which their infants played, 
 The tombs in which their sires were laid, 
 
 The altars of their God. 
 
 Then, by their consecrated dust> 
 Their spirits spirits of the just, 
 
 Now near their Maker's face ; 
 By their privations and their cares, 
 Their pilgrim toils, their patriot prayers, 
 
 Desert thou not their race. 
 
 Descend to mortal ken confessed, 
 Known by thy white and stainless vest, 
 And let us on the mountain crest
 
 138 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 That snowy mantle see ; 
 0, let not here thy mission close ! 
 Leave not the erring sons of those 
 
 Who left a world for thee ! 
 
 Celestial visitant ! again 
 Resume thy gentle, golden reign, 
 
 Our honored guest once more ; 
 Cheer with thy smiles our saddened plain, 
 And let thy rainbow, o'er the main, 
 
 Tell that the storms are o'er !
 
 OCEAN. 139 
 
 OCEAN. 
 
 A NAVAL PRIZE ODE. 
 [ 1813. ] 
 
 ALL hail, thou mightiest, monstrous Power ! 
 To whom, in this tempestuous hour, 
 
 The nations bow the knee ! 
 This hour, when Heaven's right arm hath hurled 
 Its thunders round a warring world, 
 O'er Christendom one bloody flag unfurled, 
 
 We lift, our eyes to thee ! 
 
 Primeval Power ! ere order sprung, 
 While yet o'er chaos darkness hung, 
 Thou wert j and when, in onward time, 
 The impious mortal stained by crime 
 The image of his Sire sublime ; 
 Then, great Avenger ! didst thou rise, 
 And swelling to the darkened skies,
 
 140 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Each of thy waves commissioned then 
 Whelmed in the worthless race of men ! 
 
 Ocean ! that venerable name, 
 
 What tongue unfaltering shall proclaim ? 
 
 Here, as upon my native plain 
 
 That borders on thy wide domain, 
 
 I stand, and strive one glimpse to gain 
 
 Of half thy worth, but strive in vain. 
 
 Power ! to whose hundred hands is given 
 
 To toss their foam against the face of heaven, 
 
 And, ere insulted heaven its wrath can show, 
 
 Ketreat in safety to th' abyss below. 
 
 Extent I whose untold regions lie 
 
 Where man nor angel e'er could pry, 
 
 Who mantlest round this mighty globe, 
 
 As in one vast, cerulean robe. 
 
 And wealth ! whose many massive heaps 
 
 Lie piled within thy cavern deeps, 
 
 Where new Peruvia's unfold 
 
 Their copious veins of liquid gold, 
 
 And other India's rise to spread 
 
 Of rival gems, thy sparkling bed.
 
 OCEAN. 141 
 
 Yet, grand and awful as thou art, 
 'T is ours with no foreboding heart, 
 
 To count thy glories o'er ; 
 Descendants from that western wild, 
 Of heaven the latest, loveliest child, 
 "Who safe in thy protection smiled, 
 
 Nor asked nor cared for more : 
 Blooming so long from all intrusion free, 
 And known to none but Heaven and thee ; 
 Till he, thy chosen chieftain, came, 
 Genoa's boast, Iberia's shame ; 
 (Blest, had he never ceased o'er thee to roam, 
 Nor found disgrace, and chains, and death at home.) 
 He wooed and won the peerless dame, 
 And gave to her his honored" name. 
 E're since that hour, their children, we, 
 In weal or woe thy aid can see. 
 In war, thy guarding waters rose, 
 A fence between us and our foes ; 
 In peace, thy stars have been our guides, 
 Our coursers swift thy foaming tides, 
 And safe have been our billowy rides, 
 As when some white-winged seraph glides 
 
 To haven of repose.
 
 142 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Far to that execrated shore, 
 Where ancient Carthage towered of yore, 
 'Twas thy supporting arms that bore 
 'Gainst Punic perfidy the band 
 Who well avenged our injured land, 
 And drove the crescent, bathed in blood, 
 To hide its blushes in the flood ; 
 But when no effort could withstand 
 The wily Turk's ensnaring hand, 
 Snatched for themselves the lighted brand, 
 And, mounting in a shroud of flame, 
 Died to the world to live in fame ! * 
 
 And now, though in the recent year 
 That compassed our " diurnal sphere," 
 Defeat, disgrace, and want, and fear, 
 Wherever else we look, appear ; 
 Yet, when to thee we turn our eyes, 
 Some stars amid the storms arise. 
 Lo ! twice within that little year, 
 Behold yon trophied barque appear, 
 
 * This refers to Capt. Somes and Lieutenants Wadsworth and Israel, who, seeing themselves 
 surrounded by three gunboats in the harbor of Tripoli, on the remarkable night of August 4th, 
 1804, with no prospect of escape, preferred death to slavery, and putting a match to the train of 
 the fireship Intrepid, blew the whole into the air!
 
 OCEAN. 143 
 
 Whose eagle, in the wat'ry field, 
 Twice bade the British lion yield ! 
 Whose noble mast yet stands to tell 
 Its native oaks it never fell! 
 And bids Defiance' loudest blast 
 Challenge the world to mate that mast, 
 For service shared, for duty done, 
 For danger dared, for vict'ry won ! 
 
 Ere, echoing round our gladdened shore, 
 The peal of triumph scarce was o'er, 
 Thou bad'st thy winds to bear again 
 O'er all its hills the lofty strain, 
 To tell them that another sail, 
 'Mid dark October's stormy gale, 
 In direst, deadliest shock, could close 
 With hearts as brave as Britain knows, 
 And in that shock prevail ! 
 
 We crowd not on the shuddering sight 
 The horrors of that awful fight ; 
 Not ours to count the cruel scars, 
 And groans, and wounds of ocean wars , 
 Let others note how, side by side, 
 The virtuous and the valiant died ;
 
 144 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Where gun 'gainst gun, encount'ring, lay 
 So near, they crossed each other's way ! 
 And from the suffering and the slain 
 The life-stream mingled with the main, 
 Till Conquest grasped his laurelled crown, 
 Less as a symbol of renown 
 Than to conceal from sight, from thought, 
 Proofs of the price at which 'twas bought ! 
 
 Thou, Ocean ! thou, the seaman's sire ! 
 Witness for us ! while deeds like those 
 Approved our prowess to our foes, 
 Did they not, 'mid ourselves, inspire 
 In all the emulous desire 
 As well to act as to admire ? 
 
 Witness, as well it may, 
 That one could, unattended, roam 
 To Albion's very channel home, 
 
 In vain but bold essay ; 
 And could bid his cannon sound 
 To St. Salvador's farthest ground, 
 Till Andes might the shock rebound, 
 
 Of challenging the fray !
 
 OCEAN. 145 
 
 And soon, with streamers waving nigh, 
 
 On thy blue throne exalted high, 
 
 We hailed another naval son, 
 
 Graced with the gift his arm had won ; 
 
 A rare and goodly gift, to greet 
 
 A country ever proud to meet 
 
 The same chivalrous chief, who bore 
 
 Kich tributes once from Barbary's shore, 
 
 As Allah's sons can tell ; 
 But now a nobler trophy shows, 
 Wrested from mightier, manlier foes, 
 
 Who fought so long so well. 
 Vict'ry was ours, and conflict o'er,, 
 Found mercy had been ours before, 
 And kindness, from elation free, 
 And frank, high-minded courtesy. 
 In losing Peace we have not lost 
 That gentle grace she prizes most. 
 So may the goddess, when again 
 She re-ascends her sacred fane, 
 That fane, whose gates, alas ! now closed, 
 Have stood to force and fraud exposed, 
 Find still upon her altar's urn 
 Unquenched its lambent lustre burn. 
 Without is all the storm and din ; 
 The vestal flame yet lives within.
 
 146 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Once more, upon thy list of fame, 
 Ocean ! inscribe another name ; 
 Surely, we may not ask in vain 
 For him, who ne'er can ask again ! 
 For him, most prized, yet pitied most 
 For Lawrence, honored Lawrence, lost ! 
 For him, who erst the fight maintained, 
 And erst the conqueror's chaplet gained, 
 
 And better, nobler far, 
 Who sprang where battle fiercest bled, 
 Between the living and the dead, 
 
 And stayed the waste of war ! 
 For him, whose virtues were declared 
 By enemies his sword had spared, 
 What time his arm humanely dared 
 The reeling captive to sustain, 
 And snatch the sinking from the main. 
 The life, in fight half lost before, 
 Was now to peril risked once more, 
 Till, aiding in the great emprise, 
 His comrades sank before his eyes. 
 This this may Fame's sublimest song 
 In everlasting note prolong ! 
 0, glorious end ! 0, death of pride ! 
 The victors for the vanquished died !
 
 OCEAN. 147 
 
 But be the shouts of triumph o'er ; 
 Strike the high warbling harp no more ! 
 And let the minstrel's measure know 
 No tones but tones of martial woe ! 
 O'er the slow undulating tide 
 Let only mournful music glide, 
 And but the solemn sounding oar 
 Awake the silence of the shore. 
 Let Fancy to the tufted steep 
 
 For sad sepulchral sights retire, 
 Where wildly o'er the moaning deep 
 The mermaids tear 
 Their golden hair 
 
 And fling it on the funeral pyre. 
 Such sorrows, to the patriot dear, 
 Befit a hero's bloody bier ; 
 Such, Lawrence ! to thy name be paid 
 All that can greet thy gallant shade. 
 0, thou ! whose gen'rous arm could save 
 Thy fellows from an early grave, 
 What blessings had to him belonged 
 Who had a life like thine prolonged ? 
 
 Yet had thy parting been deferred, 
 
 Hadst thou been spared, thou hadst but heard
 
 148 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Thy country to thy claims demurred,* 
 Nor paid thee for thy wounds a word. 
 
 Indignant shade ! I see thee stand 
 On wild Canadia's adverse strand, 
 
 While round the night breeze moans, 
 And pointing with thy shadowy hand, 
 Thy voice exclaims, " Ungrateful land ! 
 
 Thou shalt not have my bones ! " j- 
 
 Long on the saddened mind shall stay 
 The thought of that disastrous day, 
 When, with thy few brave followers round, 
 Thou daredst dispute th' unequal ground, 
 Till sunk beneath thy mortal wound ; 
 Nor then in the recording line 
 Ne'er be it said to yield was thine ; 
 Till reeling sense and fainting life 
 Withheld thee from the desp'rate strife ; 
 Ne'er was that bloody banner down, 
 So lately starred with thy renown, 
 
 * Alluding to the refusal of a vote of thanks by the Senate of Massachusetts, for the victory 
 in the Hornet. 
 
 t Exclamation of Scipio Africanus.
 
 OCEAN. 149 
 
 Long as thy arm could wield a sword, 
 Long as thy lips could breathe a word ; 
 Thy deeds, thy voice, this truth revealed, 
 That Lawrence never knew to yield ! 
 Naught but the final enemy 
 Who conquers all has conquered thee ! 
 
 Yet still the tributary verse 
 Must flow lamenting round thy hearse ; 
 For partial Heaven in thee combined 
 The sternest with the softest mind ; 
 Seemed that thou wert but lent, to show 
 The rest of Ocean's race below 
 How all the charities might blend, 
 Of father, brother, husband, friend, 
 Till, perfecting the patriot plan, 
 The warrior mellowed in the man ! 
 But, hark ! E'en now what tidings swell ! 
 Last, but not least, they speed to tell 
 Where Burroughs the invader spoiled, 
 His arms, his arts, o'erpowered and foiled, 
 But in the struggle fell ! 
 
 Then be it so ! An end so great 
 No sighs but sighs of envy wait !
 
 150 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 What could a Roman triumph more, 
 Than passed his closing eyes before ? 
 With falt'ring hand and bosom gored, 
 'Twas his to grasp a conq'ror's sword, 
 Like gallant Wolfe, well u satisfied " 
 In that he conquered, and he died ! 
 
 Ocean ! when storms of conflict o'er, 
 Shall desolate our coasts no more, 
 But that firm race of thine shall come 
 To dignify a peaceful home, 
 O, grant that race to prove them, then, 
 Better as well as braver men ; 
 Wise to forbear, in civil life, 
 As bold to dare in hostile strife ; 
 For angel eyes, that turn afar 
 Abhorrent from the scenes of war, 
 Have yet beheld, with tears of joy, 
 Virtues which war could not destroy ; 
 That in the hot and tempting hour 
 Of mad success and lawless power, 
 When Av'rice, Pride, Revenge, contend 
 For mastery in the human fiend, 
 Could chain these furies to their den, 
 And make the victors more than men !
 
 OCEAN. 151 
 
 Nor solely to the chieftain free 
 This might of magnanimity ; 
 Bound many an humbler head it glowed, 
 Through many a humbler heart it flowed ; 
 Those who, whate'er their leaders claim, 
 Must fall, themselves, unknown to Fame ; 
 Theirs the toil without the praise ; 
 The conquest theirs, but not its bays. 
 
 Then grant, great Ruler of the Main ! 
 These virtues they may long retain ; 
 So shall thy waters ne'er be viewed 
 Without a burst of gratitude ; 
 So, when War's angry flame retires, 
 And ling'ring, on thy bed expires, 
 These, tried and purified, shall rise, 
 And, phoenix-Hke, ascend the skies.
 
 152 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 LONE on the beatific mound, 
 When evening's shadows closed around, 
 The band have left their leader there, 
 In orison which none might share ; 
 And they have sought the sacred sea, 
 That laves the shores of Galilee. 
 
 But had the adversary power 
 To harass in that darkling hour, 
 That vengeful turned the tide, the gale, 
 Against the fisher's struggling sail ? 
 Though stout of arm and strong of will, 
 His strength is spent and foiled his skill; 
 The night's fourth watch is almost closed, 
 Nor the tired mariner reposed.
 
 A FRAGMENT. 153 
 
 Oh ! vain to toil 'gainst wind and wave, 
 
 And sunk the heart the hope to save, 
 
 And lo ! is yon shape the mist of storm, 
 
 Or whence, or what, that dubious form 
 
 That seems athwart the wave to glide, 
 
 That burst anon our barque beside ? 
 
 Is it his shade, the man austere, 
 
 Of desert haunts the deep- voiced seer ? 
 
 What dread commission brings him here ? 
 
 Or is the shadowy semblance he 
 
 Late of the chosen company, 
 
 The first that Herod's vengeance proved, 
 
 The brother of the best beloved ? 
 
 Comes he to speak that brother's doom, 
 
 And tell us of a wat'ry tomb, 
 
 At such dread time of doubt and fear, 
 
 That aught unearthly should draw near ? 
 
 When lo ! with face as beams our sunbeams bright, 
 
 With robe all whitening in the light, 
 
 (But once again on Tabor's height, 
 
 In after days they saw that sight,) 
 
 Treading the tempest to their aid. 
 
 He calls " 'Tis I, be mt afraid! " 
 
 Their leader stands confessed ; 
 
 The hushed wind is at rest,
 
 154 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And like an infant at his will, 
 Low at his feet the wave lies still. 
 Such power to One alone is given ; 
 TJiat One on earth) ivho came from heaven ! 
 
 Or when upon that mystic sea, 
 We cross in life's extremity, 
 When to worn barque and shattered sail 
 No human art can more avail, 
 The latest night-watch nearly o'er, 
 Nor morning gilds the distant shore ; 
 Again may that resplendent form 
 Dispel the cloud and still the storm, 
 Come to the trembling suppliant's aid 
 'TisI,le not afraid!"
 
 THE FIRST GRAVESTONE. 155 
 
 THE FIRST GRAVESTONE. 
 
 "And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave." 
 
 FIRST of primeval monuments ! of all 
 The long lost trophies won by elder Time, 
 Fondly the mental eye reverts to thee, 
 Reared by the Patriarch to that Syrian spouse, 
 So beauteous, so beloved ! meed of his toils, 
 What time, a wanderer from his father's house, 
 He sought the stranger land, and twice seven years 
 Of labor hard, and harder outrage proved, 
 When by the day the drought consumed his strength, 
 And frost benumbed at night ! yet all was deemed 
 But little for the love and hope of her 
 Who blessed his after life ; and in her turn, 
 For sire and country, friends and kindred left, 
 Found him her all in all, and paid him back 
 The " debt immense " of that long suffering love. 
 Nor died it with her death ; but reared this stone 
 To witness it through ages yet to come.
 
 156 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 True, mightier things have been ; the mounds where Thebes 
 
 Enshrines her nameless dead, and that famed pile 
 
 Of the world's wonders Artemisia reared 
 
 To her lost lord, then died for loss of him ; 
 
 Yet tend'rer thoughts and busier phantasies 
 
 Stray toward the grave of Haran's shepherdess, 
 
 And seek from Bethel's heights to Ephrath's way 
 
 That lonely sepulchre !
 
 THE DEAD. 157 
 
 THE DEAD. 
 
 How happy are the dead ! 
 Ye slumberers of the tomb, I envy you, 
 Who in the midst of this tumultuous world 
 Have hied }^ou to a spot where all its din 
 Rolls over you unheard ! My wearied senses, 
 Vexed with their lingering vigil, call for sleep 
 To seal them up forever. The strained eye 
 Aches with the force that wears its loathing gaze 
 On things half wild enough to make its ball 
 Start from its socket ; and the ear is stunned, 
 And gladly would hold amity with deafness, 
 So it might 'scape the clamor and the jar 
 Of this distracted globe ; and the poor heart 
 The feeling heart, is sick almost to death ! 
 Would it were quite ! 
 
 Yes, I confess it ; nor can sin be called, 
 Nor the stern decalogue itself prohibit,
 
 158 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 An envy like to this ; those interdicts 
 
 Guarded alone our neighbor's living weal, 
 
 Nor dreamed the world should come to such a pass 
 
 Corse or corruption could be coveted, 
 
 (As Eastern sages failed to legislate 
 
 'Gainst parricide, not dreaming such a crime 
 
 Could e'er exist ;) then not unlawfully, 
 
 Ye slumberers of the tomb ! I envy you 
 
 Your dreamless rest. How happy are the dead !
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY A STUDY-CHAIR. 159 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY A STUDY-CHAIR 
 
 BELONGING TO THE LATE HORACE HOLLEY. 
 
 PASTOR, philosopher, and friend ! 
 
 Who fill'st this sacred seat no more, 
 Might I without presumption bend, 
 
 And lean where thou hast leaned before ? 
 
 Memorial of a master mind, 
 
 With power to bring its owner near, 
 
 In living light, like that which shined 
 Throughout his bright but brief career ; 
 
 In inspiration, mien, and air, 
 
 In form and FRONT, " how like a God ! " 
 Such glorious creatures, some declare, 
 
 From higher spheres have walked abroad.
 
 160 POEMS A20) MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Yet those " called gods must die like men," 
 And such the stern and fixed decree 
 
 Which leaves thee, till we meet again, 
 But an immortal memory. 
 
 Thy steady stand at Truth's high call, 
 Thy eloquence that fought and won, 
 
 Thy courtesy that cared for all, 
 Yet, independent, cringed to none; 
 
 "With candid faith, the only shield 
 
 Thy generous zeal would deign to choose ; 
 
 Ah, vain celestial arms to wield 
 
 'Gainst arts thyself had scorned to use ! 
 
 Were but thy mantle fallen here, 
 But part of these, thy spirit's fund, 
 
 Where but a blank can now appear ; 
 
 Who would have asked or wished beyond ? 
 
 It may not be ! But memory yet 
 Faithful thine image shall retain ; 
 
 Which who that saw can e'er forget, 
 Or look upon its like again ?
 
 ON A WREATH. 161 
 
 ON A WREATH 
 
 BROUGHT BY F. ALEXANDER FROM THE TOMB OF ABELARD AND HELOISE, 
 IN PERE LE CHAISE. 
 
 THE wreath ! but not of laurel leaved, 
 
 The conqueror's prize of yore ; 
 The meed of murders past achieved. 
 
 The stimulant to more ! 
 The wreath ! but not from off the vine 
 
 The bacchanalian's boast, 
 Of revelry and wrath the sign, 
 
 Of soul and sense the cost. 
 The sabre's flame, the cup's desire, 
 
 These flow'rets ne'er have fed : 
 Such vanities the living fire, 
 
 These only deck the dead ! 
 A pilgrim to the funeral shrine 
 
 Of famed but fatal love, to me 
 The relic brought ; nor verse of mine 
 
 May chide the friendly felony :
 
 162 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Memorial of a claim more near 
 
 That same sepulchral earth enshrined, 
 The amity of many a year, 
 
 The cordial heart, the beaming mind, 
 That, from its native TAGUS borne, 
 
 From orange groves his waters lave, 
 Where flows the stranger SEINE to mourn, 
 
 Was doomed to find a foreign grave ! * 
 
 * Ann Frances Bulkley, of Lisbon, widow of Ge'i. Humphreys, (re-mnrried to Col. de Walew- 
 ski), was interred in Pere le Chaise.
 
 AN INSCRIPTION. 163 
 
 AN, INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR A MONUMENT TO THE MEMORY OF GEN. HUMPHREYS. 
 
 WRITTEN BY REQUEST. 
 
 [1819.] 
 
 * 
 
 OFT to departed worth benignant Heaven 
 
 A power of working miracles has given, 
 
 Insensate matter's gloomy rest to break, 
 
 Bid dust be eloquent and marble speak ; 
 
 Then e'en this stone by future patriots read, 
 
 May bid the living emulate the dead. 
 
 He who in youth was armed for civil right, 
 
 And shared the dangers braved in freedom's fight, 
 
 These sylvan plains, where first to life he sprung, 
 
 His sword defended, and his numbers sung ; 
 
 In graver years the statesman's toil he proved, 
 
 And served in foreign realms the land he loved.
 
 164 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Ere age advanced, back to that land he bore 
 The fleecy treasures of Iberia's shore. 
 Patron of arts and guardian of the state ; 
 Friend of the poor, and favored by the great 
 To sum all titles of respect in one 
 Here Humphreys rests, beloved of Washington !
 
 LINES ON A STONE FROM THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 165 
 
 LINES ON A STONE FROM THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 
 
 [ 1823. ] 
 
 SERMONS there are in stones, the poet said, 
 
 "With more than poet's truth ; then surely THIS 
 
 May preach most movingly. Thou stone of BlangUer^ 
 
 Midway between the warring hosts, who met 
 
 On that dire battle-field, where blood was poured 
 
 Like water ! Belgian, Briton, German, Gaul, 
 
 In one commingling current, the mad throng 
 
 In mutual rush who trod thee under foot, 
 
 A slighted pebble where and what are THEY ? 
 
 Erst God's erect and animated works, 
 
 But yet survived and vaunted over now, 
 
 By such a thing as thou art ! Thou hast taught 
 
 One awful lesson will the world be learners ? 
 
 How small the gain to liberty, when man 
 
 Attempts to counteract unlicensed power 
 
 By power alike unlicensed ! Crush one head, 
 
 While a seven-headed hydra in its room
 
 166 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Still revels in its brutal banqueting 
 
 Upon the flesh of nations ! What a cheat 
 
 To human hope ! Could stones indeed cry out, 
 
 thou mute witness ! what a testimony 
 
 Were thine ! But thou art cold and still, as they 
 
 Who lately pressed above thee, when thy surface 
 
 Was slippery with the gore of gallant hearts 
 
 Soon pressed in turn beneath thee ! But be dumb ! 
 
 Would that no eye had seen nor ear had heard, 
 
 Nor heart of man conceived it !
 
 TO A. T.. AT WASHINGTON. 167 
 
 TO A. T., AT WASHINGTON, 
 
 WRITTEX AT MIDNIGHT, DEC. 30, 1825. 
 
 SCARCE have the notes of yonder bell 
 Paid to the parting eve farewell, 
 And now 'tis greeting loud and clear 
 The morning of the coming year. 
 But, (as in regal states, 'tis said 
 The grieving for an old king dead 
 Merges his faithful people through 
 In gratulation to the new,) 
 So seems that jocund bell more true 
 To sounds of welcome, than adieu 1 
 As Allegro, with laughing grace, 
 Shoved Penseroso from her place ; 
 Or as that wight to either muse * 
 Addressed, yet if, perforce to choose, 
 Yielded like all his fellows yet, 
 His preference to the bright Cadette* 
 
 * Vide Sir J. Reynold's Garrick between Tragedy
 
 168 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Would that this heart with kindred tone 
 
 Could beat for once in unison, 
 
 The Future teach the Past to flee, 
 
 And Hope take place of Memory ! 
 
 It may not be, unless its spell 
 
 Could minister a miracle, 
 
 And give the shapes my dreams that press 
 
 Once more their wonted consciousness ! 
 
 Yet not to miss, though lone the time, 
 The moral of that cheerful chime, 
 Forbid it that my ingrate strain 
 O'erlook the goods that yet remain. 
 For those around for him apart 
 Be grateful and be glad 'my heart ; 
 And since he wends afar, and may 
 Not meet the good old England way 
 Of wishing well on New Year's day, 
 Bid him from hence the Fates to grant 
 All he can ask, or wish, or want ; 
 And if nought else this doggerel show, 
 E'en as it is, so let it go, 
 Sure in his eyes to stand approved, 
 So early and so late beloved ; 
 Loved by the boy, and by the man, 
 Loved long, ere other loves began.
 
 A DIRGE. 169 
 
 A DIRGE, 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE DECEASE OF JOHX ADAMS, JULY 4, 1826. 
 
 PRAISE to the virtuous dead the Heathen owed, 
 And funeral game, and urn, and chant bestowed ; 
 Praise for the virtuous dead the Christian claims, 
 From higher motives, and with holier aims, 
 0, called too soon, how late soe'r thy knell, 
 Our earliest, longest hope, " Hail and farewell! " 
 That fiftieth sun who brought his faithful ray 
 To gild thine own, and Freedom's fav'rite day, 
 His noontide glories flung around thy shrine, 
 Nor sunk to rest till thou retired to thine ; 
 That sacred rest attained, his parting fire 
 Lit the wide West as for a funeral pyre. 
 
 Survey those lineaments that open smile, 
 The statesman's wisdom, not the statesman's wile 
 The honest front, that knew itself sincere, 
 And scorned suspicion as it scouted fear ;
 
 170 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And hence the viperous brood, that ceaseless wait 
 To bask "beneath the fostering beams of state,* 
 With means more facile found the unguarded way, 
 To sting the gen'rous heart where late they lay. 
 Ah, that the same high orb, whose smile so bright 
 Gives modest worth and loveliest hues to light, 
 Which calls the bee to rove, the ant to toil, 
 And herbs and flowers to bless and grace the soil, 
 By the same power the reptile race must bring, 
 And weeds and thorns, and every creeping thing. 
 
 Enough for thee, that more than half an age, 
 Ruler or ruled, our father, saint, or sage 
 Missioned from court to court abroad approved 
 At home, when most beheld still best beloved 
 Vouchers of thine the meeting virtues stand, 
 The stern that freed, the mild that cheered the land. 
 
 If, while that long-protracted life you scan, 
 Say that he erred agreed ; for he was man, 
 (Eest it with HIM we Sire of mercies call, 
 Sent through that Son whose bosom bled for all ;) 
 From life's first dawning to its latest end, 
 Who shall demand desert, or who defend ? 
 
 * Vide, the Cunningham Correspondence.
 
 A DIRGE. 171 
 
 Who boast the hands so clean, the heart so pure, 
 To turn Inquisitor, and turn secure ? 
 If such there be, to play such part who dare ? 
 Where are they found, objector ? Tell me where. 
 Still dost thou cavil ? Strike thy breast and ask, 
 If with his temper thou hadst had his task,* 
 Through all his trials hadst thou never swerved ? 
 By all his conflicts ne'er hadst been unnerved ? 
 If such the difference, well ! But, lest thou err, 
 Pause yet ; nor call complexion, character. 
 His the wrought marble, rich and veined all o'er, 
 But time and storm its substance somewhat wore ; 
 Thine the rough granite crag, alike unriven 
 Or by the damps of earth or bolts of heaven. 
 
 Though weak the hand this votive wreath to bring, 
 
 And faint this voice the lay of worth to sing, 
 
 Haply its tones may wake some powerful shell, 
 
 In nobler numbers noblest deeds to swell. 
 
 With his own Themis Clio shall engage 
 
 To stamp his name on their enduring page. 
 
 Amidst the glorious circle of compeers 
 
 That crowned ouj perilous but proudest years, 
 
 * Vide The Letters of Col. Pickering.
 
 172 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Record the champion, whose ingenuous youth 
 
 Intrepid fought the righteous fight of truth ; 
 
 Then, when, if ever, public virtue warms ; 
 
 Then, when, if ever, young ambition charms ; 
 
 Though all his country's wrongs the patriot claimed, 
 
 And all his country's hopes the man inflamed, 
 
 Those wrongs, those hopes, his soul refused to see, 
 
 Moved by thy higher call Humanity ! * 
 
 When the cold blood our central pavement pressed, 
 
 And the hot blood beat high in every breast ; 
 
 While an infuriate People's frenzied shout 
 
 Held not its peace, but bade those stones cry out ; 
 
 E'en mid that madd'ning din his voice arose, 
 
 And asked for justice to our fenceless foes ; 
 
 Bade Passion's surges rage not, but be still, 
 
 And Law and Reason sway the public will ; 
 
 And, as the oil on ocean's subject wave 
 
 Has power to lull it, till it cease to rave, 
 
 His suasive accents dropped as charms, to bind 
 
 The hoarser tumult of tempestuous mind ! 
 
 Such the fair promise of his opening year, 
 Such the rich harvest of his ripe career ; 
 
 * His defence of the British soldiery, 4th March, 1775.
 
 A DIRGE. 173 
 
 Gathered to great and good, renowned of yore, 
 
 In classic haunts long communed with before ; 
 
 With those of his own time the wise, the brave, 
 
 Who lived to serve the state, or died to save. 
 
 What else need grateful Mem'ry ask or tell ? 
 
 Once more, Illustrious Dead, "HAIL and FAREWELL! " 
 
 43
 
 174 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ODE 
 
 TO WHOM IT CONCERNS. 
 [ 1832. ] 
 
 O CAROLINA ! wilt thou sever 
 
 The silver cord so long confessed ? 
 And must our nation's eagle never 
 
 His wing on thy Palmetto rest ? 
 Wrenched from thy course by these wild jars, 
 
 Madly through space to run ; 
 Wilt thou forsake the fixed stars, 
 
 To be a wandering one ? 
 
 Star of the South ! that wont to gleam 
 
 So steady and so bright, 
 Shedding afar its guiding beam 
 
 Through War's tempestuous night ;
 
 ODE. 175 
 
 When England's " meteor flag " full high 
 
 " Terrific burned " o'er all, 
 Between us and the darkened sky, 
 
 Like 'scutcheoned funeral pall ; 
 
 Star of the South ! thy glorious ray 
 
 O'erpowered that boding glare, 
 Till the broad banner, rent away, 
 
 No more could menace there. 
 Long as the rescuing blade was bared 
 
 That cut our passage free, 
 The danger dared, the duty shared, 
 
 Canst thou forget ? can we ? 
 
 0, land of Marion and his band, 
 
 That, ever tried and true, 
 With gallant heart, with strenuous hand, 
 
 The same, yet ever new, 
 " Came, saw and conquered," like the sprite 
 
 More than like mortal men, 
 And sped them as the arrowy flight, 
 
 That none knew where or when.
 
 176 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Land of the Laurens' ! son and sire, 
 
 Each peerless in his place, 
 A Spartan pair, a seed of fire, 
 
 Like Lacedsemon's race. 
 He, captive in the ocean strife, 
 
 Immured in foreign thrall, 
 Who perilled fortune, freedom, life, 
 
 At stubborn duty's call. 
 
 Yet, while the Julian towers confined 
 
 Their veteran prisoner fast, 
 The mantle of that dauntless mind 
 
 Was to his first-born cast ; 
 Last victim of an hostile hour, 
 
 Nor less heroic he, 
 Who fell, in life, in death, the flower 
 
 Of Carolina's chivalry ! 
 
 Then did the reign of Peace reveal 
 
 Throughout its better day, 
 The gentler, not less generous zeal, 
 
 That cheered our common way. 
 Whene'er disease had forced to flee, 
 
 Or feel its deadlier thrust, 
 We yielded all we loved to thee, 
 
 Nor thou refused the trust.
 
 ODE. 177 
 
 Thy luscious fruits, thy sunny sky, ' 
 
 Thy bland and balmier air, 
 And more than all that these supply, 
 
 Thy hospitable care ; 
 All thine, the sufferer felt was ours, 
 
 Who helplessly had come, 
 But found, within a stranger's bowers, 
 
 The kindly hearts of home. 
 
 No half disgust that scarce could hush, 
 
 E'er made thy greeting tame ; 
 No dread lest that strange hectic flush 
 
 Might sere thee with its flame ; 
 Reckless of selfish risk or not, 
 
 Watchful but to befriend ; 
 God ! and is it all forgot, 
 
 And is it all to end ? 
 
 The wise, the weak, who dwell at ease, 
 From storm and strife apart, 
 
 May marvel at the blasts that freeze 
 The tempest-beaten heart.
 
 178 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Let statists calmly count thy throes, 
 Let fools thy cause malign ; 
 
 The bosom its own burden knows 
 I may not measure thine. 
 
 And, lo ! the threat is on thy tongue, 
 
 The scowl is on thy brow ; 
 Yet, Carolina ! ours so long, 
 
 Do not desert us now ; 
 Forbid that present interests screen 
 
 Or right or wrong from thee 
 The memory of what once has been, 
 
 The hope of what's to be. 
 
 Alas ! how old so'er the tale, 
 
 'Tis not less true than trite, 
 Wherever kindred feuds prevail, 
 
 Neither is fully right. 
 Yet man in every age and clime 
 
 His story well has shown, 
 Perversely scans his brother's crime, 
 
 And recks not of his own.
 
 ODE. 179 
 
 For us may better views betide 
 
 Than such a half survey, 
 Nor narrowing mists prevail to hide 
 
 What truth the times convey ; 
 But patriots still, afar or nigh, 
 
 Till civil discords cease,* 
 Echo impartial Carey's sigh, 
 
 For party not, but " Peace ! " 
 
 * Lucius Carey, Lord Falkland. His disinterested dread of the ultimate success of either side, 
 his own or the opposite, from a conviction of the injury that would ensue to the common weal, 
 and his choice of death rather than life, (a death so gallantly sought and found,) that he might 
 not witness what he could not avert, must be familiar to all who are conversant with the story of 
 the English civil wars.
 
 180 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 TO M- 
 
 [ 1832. ] 
 
 THE first fruits for thine album's store, 
 Mary ! another hand should bring ; 
 
 The far-fetched boon is valued more 
 Than the familiar offering. 
 
 And wherefore need this tell-tale page 
 Proclaim to strangers o'er and o'er, 
 
 What should alone thine ear engage, 
 But that thou know'st it all before. 
 
 That since our being's earliest source, 
 As o'er the stream of life we glide, 
 
 One chart below to mark our course, 
 One star above that course to guide ;
 
 181 
 
 Nearest in blood, in heart as near, 
 
 Through all our fair or stormy weather, 
 
 Like LADIES OF THE LAKE, we steer 
 Our simple shallop still TOGETHER. 
 
 And let what winds or tides prevail, 
 (Until the final blast upset her,) 
 
 u THE SISTERS " still imparted sail, 
 And I for one will ask no better ! 
 
 45
 
 182 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LINES TO A WALL-FLOWER FROM THE COLISEUM. 
 
 [ 1832. ] 
 
 NAY, grieve not if thy flow'ret sent 
 
 The promise of the Latian year 
 With faded tints and foliage bent, 
 
 And broken stem should now appear. 
 
 For sure these aspects of decay, 
 Fitlier its native scenes recall, 
 
 Than when in golden front, so gay, 
 It flaunted o'er a Roman wall. 
 
 Where erst the marvel of the world 
 A tottering arch, a crumbled way 
 
 If Ruin's hand on those was hurled, 
 
 Should this endure more firm than they ?
 
 LINES TO A WALL-FLOWER FROM THE COLISEUM. 183 
 
 Yet might the muse invest the flower 
 
 (As legendary lays pretend) 
 With sentient life and vocal power, 
 
 'T would thus its life and death defend 
 
 " Wand'rer and witness of our days ! 
 
 Behold to things like us 'tis given, 
 In answer to the asking gaze, 
 To vindicate the ways of heaven. 
 
 u Though quickened into life and bloom, 
 
 Our roots have sprung from Christian gore, 
 When at some royal murd'rers doom 
 Then: blood like water wont to pour. 
 
 " Ere gathered to our parent earth 
 
 Mindful of its avenging call, 
 The flower that owed th' oppressed its birth, 
 Shall triumph in the oppressor's fall. _ 
 
 " Shall round his shattered column sport, 
 
 O'er all its prostrate pride elate ; 
 And glitter 'mid its mould'ring court, 
 In mockery of their buried state !
 
 184 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 " Then, when its destined work is done, 
 
 No more its leafy flag shall wave, 
 But duteous end where it begun, 
 And deck in death the martyr's grave ! "
 
 TO OUR JAVA SPARROWS. 185 
 
 TO OUR JAVA SPARROWS. 
 
 JANUAKY, 1839. 
 
 FAIR warblers from a summer clime, 
 Who bid'st with us in wint'ry time, 
 Though cold the soil on which we live, 
 Warm is the welcome that we give. 
 
 Companions to our kinsman given, 
 Through boisterous days, and tempest driven, 
 And tossed through many a rougher night, 
 The feathered freight still kept aright, 
 Still followed in his billowy track, 
 Cheering the bark that brought him back, 
 And chirped and hopped the time away, 
 As blithe as on their native spray ! 
 
 But now, with frost encompassed round, 
 And captives on a foreign ground,
 
 18G POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Far from their Java's spicy grove, 
 No more with early mates to rove ; 
 Though freedom, country, clime be lost, 
 That sprightly carol is not crossed. 
 With Quaker coat, and beaver on, 
 And smooth white collar, neck upon, 
 And ruddy beak of healthiest hue, 
 Cheerful they meet my morning view, 
 And doffed the curtain from the day, 
 Quick hail'st it with their matin lay. 
 
 Brave birds ! ah, would' that such as we 
 Meet lesson might have learned from ye ! 
 Despite of change and season drear, 
 Still with unconquered note to cheer. 
 Pick each sweet seed, howe'er astray, 
 And cast the refuse husk away, 
 Sip the clear stream, where'er 'tis given, 
 And look up, thankfully, to Heaven !
 
 LITTLE CANARY. 187 
 
 LITTLE CANARY. 
 
 AFFAIRS of state so excited of late 
 That even the feathered creation 
 To politics made their pretension, 
 Left their shady retreat 
 The emergence to meet, 
 Sending one of their swift delegation, 
 The fleetest for settling the nation, 
 To fly to the Whig Convention. 
 
 From what part of the country come 
 
 He has not said nor sung, 
 But a naturalized foreigner he 
 This Whiggie appeareth to be, 
 Since up to the chamber he made his way, 
 And into the cage where it hung 
 He very familiarly sprung, 
 
 Helped himself to what edibles round about lay, 
 Seemed very contented and happy to stay, 
 And made himself quite at home.
 
 188 FOEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 With a bright, new, straw-colored vest, 
 And a uniform coat and crest, 
 And a carol can vie with the best, 
 In praise of the Chief of the West! 
 Nor has Harrison any 
 'Mongst all of the many 
 In his canvass, or farther or nearer, 
 With voices or consciences clearer 
 (However they vary) 
 Than constituent Canary, 
 Who has turned, for his tribe, 'Lectioneer.
 
 THE DEAD BIRD. 189 
 
 THE DEAD BIRD. 
 
 DEAR Bird, that late inspired the lay, 
 Unnoticed shouldst thou pass away ? 
 Whose life, whose death, excited here 
 Friendship's fond care and final tear ? 
 No ! to thy fate shall not refuse 
 Her dirge the moralizing muse, 
 Taught hy thyself each changing moon, 
 To keep the voice in cheerful tune. 
 Through summer bright or winter hoar 
 Above the ills of earth to soar, 
 So might her days like thine be past, 
 Cherished and solaced to the last ; 
 Then be her lot like thine, to die 
 Without a struggle or a cry ! 
 
 47
 
 190 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES, 
 
 TO LITTLE WAG." 
 
 [1853.] 
 
 AH, darling dog, thou canst not know 
 What tears were shed for thee ! 
 
 And there be those might meet their flow 
 With smiling mockery. 
 
 Yet who that owns a human heart, 
 From friend of twelve long years, 
 
 Proved and found perfect, e'er could part, 
 And yet refrain from tears ? 
 
 Companion of our couch by night, 
 Beneath our board by day, 
 
 Content while we remained in sight, 
 But sorrowing when away, 
 
 Still watching at the window-pane, 
 Or guarding on the ground 
 
 Erect, the proffered boon to gain, 
 Or pranking all around,
 
 TO LITTLE "WAG." 191 
 
 In frolic play to catch away 
 
 The slipper as it dropped, 
 And force us, fleet in stocking-feet, 
 
 To chase him ere he stopped. 
 
 Too mannerly to take the lead 
 
 On stairway or at door, 
 Waiting (unlike the human breed) 
 
 Till others went before. 
 
 The ready food from morn till eve 
 
 Untasted might remain 
 When separate, till at our return 
 
 He banqueted again ! 
 
 In journeyings nestling at our side, 
 
 Or crouching at our feet, 
 Well pleased alike to walk or ride, 
 
 A guest our hosts to greet. 
 
 Yet, when the ringing bells would prove 
 
 The Sabbath's wonted sign, 
 Aware with us he must not move, 
 
 He'd tranquilly recline ;
 
 192 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Prompt in our cause his aid to lend, 
 And zealous service show ; 
 
 Wagging his welcome to a friend, 
 But barking off a foe. 
 
 Grateful for kindly word or will, 
 Most patient when in pain, 
 
 With laboring breath, caressing still 
 The hand that would sustain ! 
 
 And, if the grace of love and trust 
 Fit beings for the sky, 
 
 The spirit that informed that dust 
 May claim its place on high. 
 
 How this may be I cannot see, 
 Since there is none to show, 
 
 And those that frown such fancy down 
 Themselves as little know. 
 
 At least, I'M SURE, and make an end, 
 
 This marvel has occurred, 
 
 One funeral record has been penned 
 
 Without a flattering word I
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON 
 
 THE SIEGE OF BERWICK 
 
 AN HISTORIC TRAGEDY.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 ALEXANDER SEATON, Governor of the Town. 
 
 PATRICK DUNBAR, Of the Castle. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 EDWARD III., King of England. 
 
 MORDAUNT, 1 
 
 NEVILLE, j 
 ATTENDANTS, &c. 
 
 DONALDUS, A Seer. 
 
 LADY AGNES SEATON, Wife to the Governor. 
 
 MARGARET, Her Attendant. 
 
 I His Envoys.
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 GENIUS of Celtic Song ! who, high enthroned 
 
 Amid lona's hallowed sepulchres, 
 
 Hath dread communings with a buried world ! 
 
 Thou, who disowning all Ausonia yields 
 
 To fix poetic gaze on contrasts strong 
 
 Of ruined grandeur and luxurious life, 
 
 Art's noblest forms decaying tantalized 
 
 By ever blooming Nature, (where the rose 
 
 Flaunts through the chasms of Antonius' wall, 
 
 And balmy breezes sport, and laughing suns 
 
 Shine, as in mockery, o'er the fallen domes 
 
 Where once the Caesars swayed !) from these hast turned 
 
 With Spartan scorn thy tread, to rear a seat 
 
 Far in the lone Ebudse ; where, for voice 
 
 Of man or note of bird, no sound is heard 
 
 But the contending ocean's ceaseless roar 
 
 'Gainst the bold rock that dares oppose his force, 
 
 And breast, with craggy front, his onward way.
 
 198 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Genius of Celtic Song ! if haunts like these 
 
 Have power to win thee from the southern muse 
 
 If, wedded to thy country still, thy soul 
 
 Prefer that bride, unportioned though she be, 
 
 With cliffs and deserts only for her dower, 
 
 To Tuscan vineyards or Hindostan groves 
 
 If Scotia's native ruggedness of clime 
 
 From all refinements of a richer soil 
 
 Still hold thy constant heart take then this lay, 
 
 To Scotia consecrate ! And should its tones 
 
 But wake one note accordant with the sounds 
 
 That oft have called thy mountain echoes forth 
 
 To speak the glories of thy native sons, 
 
 O, grant thine inspiration to the theme, 
 
 And give the muse that aid which can perform 
 
 Those miracles of chronicles and song 
 
 Roll back the tide of far receded time, 
 
 Restore the Douglas days awake the dead !
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1. A room in the Governor's home. SEATON alone, leaning 
 on a table covered ivith maps, plans, &c. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 MY native country, what a fate is thine ! 
 Thy Bruce no more, his infant son afar, 
 His faithful Regent treacherously slain, 
 His rival, Baliol, roused again to arm 
 In contest for the crown scarred as thou art 
 With former wounds, and must thou bleed afresh, 
 From the remorseless blows of civil war ? 
 Yet more, those home-bred feuds have proved the heralds 
 Of foreign war, and now its best ally, 
 As these three ling'ring, suffering months can witness, 
 Since haughty Edward, with a chosen host, 
 Buckled his armor on and spurred his steed 
 To Berwick's menaced walls.
 
 200 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 (Enter ATTENDANT.) 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 My lord ! the envoys, 
 The British envoys seek you. 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 Strait admit them, 
 
 Then, Walter, to the castle's commandant, 
 Greet him from me, and ask his presence hither. 
 (Exit ATTENDANT. Enter NEVILLE and MORDAUNT.) 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 Hail we not here Sir Alexander Seaton, 
 The Governor of Berwick ? 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 You are right ; 
 
 I own the name and office, with the purpose 
 Ne'er to discredit either. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 Be it so ! 
 
 Like trait is ours in this our embassage. 
 We bear a message from our royal master, 
 Edward of England. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 What hath England's king 
 For Seaton's hearing ?
 
 THE WIFE OF BEATON. 201 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 Even to demand 
 
 The town's surrender as our monarch's right, 
 And holden by his father's heretofore, 
 Ere farther loss of time, and wealth, and life, 
 Serve to impoverish you, exasperate him, 
 And make the path to future peace and concord 
 Less easy than the present We have said. 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 I will convene the council, and impart 
 Promptly their answer ; meantime, worthy Barons, 
 If such poor cheer as times like these allow 
 Meet your regard, betake you to our board. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 We are beholden to your courtesy. 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 Myself the Lady Agnes will apprise 
 What guests do honor us. She hath a son, 
 Alas ! within your custody, and doubtless 
 Will profit of your presence to indulge 
 A mother's fond inquiries. This way, sirs.
 
 202 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 SCENE 2. Another apartment. MORDAUNT, NEVILLE discovered, to 
 whom enter SEATON and DUNBAR. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Barons, the Scottish Council have decreed 
 That I should thus reply unto your mission : 
 Berwick was always ours, till thirst of power 
 Prompted your monarch's warlike ancestor 
 By violence to seize it ; but when Bruce, 
 Our glorious champion, won his country back 
 From its usurpers, Berwick with the rest 
 Resumed its ancient government and laws. 
 But more, ; the right of conquest thus obtained, 
 By right of treaty was confirmed ; for, pressed 
 And counselled by the wise men of his land, 
 Four years ago your English King renounced 
 All right himself or his forefathers claimed 
 To Scotland's crown, and swore to leave its realm 
 Free as it was ere the contending claims 
 Of Bruce or Baliol rose, pressed by no yoke 
 Of foreign servitude ; even to return 
 All scrolls of compacts, bonds, or whatsoe'er 
 Might seem a vestige of a subject state ; 
 And, on our part, we promised to repay 
 A stipulated sum for those domains 
 By Edward and his sires possessed among us,
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 203 
 
 To yield to him our lands in England held, 
 And even to consider Stanmore's cross 
 Our utmost boundary. To fix this league 
 We farther fastened on the added tie 
 Of family and friend ; our Prince espoused 
 The sister of your sovereign, and the names 
 Of Robert and of Henry to our ears 
 
 Were as the names of brothers. 
 
 
 
 Wherefore, then, 
 
 Have we been thus assailed with secret art 
 And open warfare, while ourselves in aught 
 Had ne'er infringed those articles of peace, 
 Nor would reject it now on any terms, 
 So they were honorable? 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 Is this all? 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 This for your monarch ; for yourselves, as missioned 
 
 To mediate between us, we would urge 
 
 A claim to favorable offices ; 
 
 Such as may seem to you as but comporting 
 
 With duty to your country ; well persuaded 
 
 You cannot prove yourselves less true to Edward 
 
 By being just to Scotland. You are answered.
 
 204 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 I am concerned our orders should insist 
 
 Plainly and positively on this point, 
 
 Stated at first the rendering up of Berwick. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 But, surely, you did not at first exact 
 Instant surrender. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 Truly, no, we did not ; 
 And to the farthest we are authorized 
 To grant you, will we go. Take a given time ; 
 Name it yourself; till which, if no relief 
 Come to the garrison, (aware tha soon 
 The Douglas will arrive,) you then- consent 
 To yield it to our arms. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 I must consent ! 
 
 Unwilling howsoe'er. Too well you know 
 I have no choice. 'Tis now the thirteenth day 
 Of our midsummer month ; if ere the thirtieth 
 No succors reach the town from Douglas' force, 
 I yield it up.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 205 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 But further, our instructions 
 Demand that, as a pledge for the performance 
 Of this engagement on your part, your son, 
 (Twin-born with him who now is pris'ner with us,) 
 Be rendered for an hostage. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 My poor Duncan ! 
 
 Must he, too, go ? His brother's early valor 
 Already had betrayed him to captivity ; 
 Must I be reft of both ? 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 You press us hardly ; 
 
 As men, as knights, I put it to yourselves ; 
 Are not these harsh conditions ? 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 Tis not ours 
 
 To make them easier ; though, to your discretion, 
 I own the wish that they were otherwise. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 Our worthy host and his compeer are each 
 
 Too well informed upon a soldier's duty 
 
 Not to acknowledge it the part of such 
 
 But to discharge their orders not dispute them.
 
 206 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Yet soldiers do remonstrate ; aye, rebel, 
 
 When their own rights, or real or supposed, 
 
 Have seemed to be impaired ; their pay withheld ; 
 
 Their privileges lowered ; causes like these 
 
 Sometimes create such things as mutinies, 
 
 Even in English armies. But for injury 
 
 Done toward others for a stranger's wrong 
 
 Then to expect resistance or regret 
 
 Were all too high or low for sober manhood 
 
 Chimerical or childish. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 Little know ye 
 
 The mind of him we serve, if you imagine 
 That aught in us were prevalent to alter 
 His strenuous will, or check his dread resolve 
 On sovereignty here. 
 
 DUXBAR. 
 
 Vain expectation ! 
 
 Can iron break the northern iron ? No ! 
 Ours is yet harder metal than your own. 
 Witness the many shocks by which 'twas bent, 
 But never yet was riven. Your Koman master 
 Obtained no mastery here. His legions scaled 
 Our cliffs in vain ; and to his eagle's scream
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 207 
 
 Athwart our cliffs, was borne with echo back, 
 Answering defiance from our native eyrie. 
 Since then the like assault hath still received 
 The like discomfiture ; our frigid clime 
 Had reared a race too rough for the grim Norman 
 Or bloodier Dane to quell. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 The more the glory 
 If we succeed. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 How far succeed, I pray ? 
 What if a castle fall, a town be taken ? 
 Dream not that Scotland is subdued ! that stake, 
 So long contested, cannot thus be won. 
 Behold the board whereon the game is played ! 
 Look far and wide ; each rock shall prove a castle, 
 Each crag a tower, each cave a walled city ; 
 Kamparts of strength, on which the miner, Nature, 
 Hath wrought so secretly, and surely, too, 
 That human prowess vainly may assail 
 The superhuman barrier, 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 Nay, go on ; 
 
 Stop not with Nature, Canst not tell us somewhat 
 Of marvels passing Nature, which your Celts 
 Have long had credit for ?
 
 208 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Did I think meet 
 
 For tongue of sturdy soldier or the ear 
 Of Christian knights to note such fantasies 
 For such they seem, albeit they may be more 
 There were enough to occupy more time 
 Than, by the strictness of our several callings, 
 Could now be warranted. Of sprites that haunt 
 Our Caledonian forests, all their own, 
 With nameless mischiefs for intruding alien ; 
 Of shapes that people all our Highland mists, 
 And spread its dimness on the eyes beneath 
 They would bewilder ; of the goblin brood 
 That prank them ever in our lochs and fens 
 To lose the wanderer by the light that leads him. 
 
 Enough of these. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 But you did not include 
 
 The strange pretensions of those bold diviners 
 Who claim to call the future and it cometh ? 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 True, Englishmen, I did not ; for, believe me, 
 There's more of might, whate'er of mystery, 
 In this than merits scoffing ; nor would I 
 To stranger eyes expose a gift thus solemn ; 
 The less that, peradventure, at some period, 
 Themselves may mark its power. 
 
 (Enter DONALDUS behind, unperceived by all lut Seaton.)
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 209 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 They mark it now. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Woe ! woe ! 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 To whom denounced ? 
 To whom, Donaldus? 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 To all ; to thee, good Seaton, even to thee ! 
 Thou and thine house. The hovering pestilence 
 Strikes down the righteous with the reprobate. 
 The dogs of war once out, the bloodhounds track 
 No less the anchorite in his hermitage 
 Than robber in his den. Woe, then, to Scotland ! 
 And woe to England, too, the ruthless cause ! 
 
 Woe to us all ! 
 
 [ExU. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 It is the gifted seer, 
 
 Who, hand in hand with dark Futurity, 
 Sees that, to others without form and void, 
 Moulded to shape, and fraught with circumstance. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 Truly, an awful presence ! felt you not (to MORDAUNT) 
 As with the disembodied ?
 
 210 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 But, my comrade, 
 
 Be that as may, our business toucheth not 
 The world of spirits, but concerneth merely 
 Such an inferior sphere, that I would counsel 
 We put the warning to some present use ; 
 Letting it hasten us in our leave-taking, 
 Soon as the Governor prepare his hostage 
 To bear us company. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 I'll not detain you ; 
 What must be, must ! Go with me now. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Then, sirs, 
 
 Fare you well, hence, in all but your attempts 
 Against my country. 
 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 With like reservation, 
 Prosperity to you. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 Good Commandant, 
 The same from me. 
 
 [Exit all. 
 
 ENB OF THE FIRST ACT.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 211 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1. The interior of Benvick Castle. DUNBAK discovered, to 
 tvkom enters the FRIAK. 
 
 FEIAK. 
 
 Save you, son ! 
 
 I do attend your summons, and would now 
 Inquire its cause. 
 
 DUNBAK. 
 
 \ The troops of Douglas, father, 
 
 Have just arrived, in sight of friends and enemies, 
 And halted on the Hill of Halidon. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 St. Andrew speed them ! This is welcome news. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Aye, father, but the news is overburdened 
 With heaviest tidings for our worthy Governor. 
 The faithless king, despite his stipulation 
 To stay proceedings till the day appointed, 
 And reckless of the truce yet unexpired, 
 Has sent a threat unless the place be yielded, 
 That he will order summary execution 
 On both the sons of Seaton.
 
 212 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Barbarous monster ! 
 What must what can be done ? 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 I stopped the herald 
 
 Before he reached the wretched Governor, 
 And took upon myself to bear the message ; 
 That, haply, it be told him in some manner 
 Shorn of its first ferocity. For this 
 Did I despatch the page to you, good father, 
 To ask this Christian service at your hands, 
 That you would break the matter as you may 
 Unto the parents of these fated cliildf en. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Well may I shudder at my woeful errand, 
 
 Yet must not shrink from it. But what dost think ? 
 
 WiUSeaton 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Ask me not I cannot think, 
 Cannot advise, in circumstance thus shocking. 
 No sire myself, how could I counsel others 
 To that which I can ne'er be called to suffer ? 
 How estimate such call ? It were presumptuous ! 
 Nay, it were obdurate ! Well you know that Seaton 
 Is worthiest of the worthy ; brave, yet sage ;
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATOX. 213 
 
 Sparing, albeit, in words, but full in judgment ; 
 
 With wariest caution, skilled to counteract 
 
 The inconsiderate sallies of the rash, 
 
 And to conciliate the feuds of others 
 
 By the example of his own forbearance. 
 
 All this he is ; and if he have a weakness, 
 
 'Tis for his sons as, sometimes, the best blades 
 
 May yield the most the proudest, tenderest parent ; 
 
 Fond, e'en to dotage ; (and, in truth, the bantlings 
 
 Do well become it ;) hence, I doubt his course, 
 
 In exigence so sharp, and my reliance 
 
 Leans with more fixedness upon his consort. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 The noble Agnes ! 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 To her ghostly guardian 
 I need not urge how well the loftier traits 
 Of an heroic soul are blent in hers, 
 With all the touching tenderness of woman. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 I long have noted it.
 
 214 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 So have I, from the first. My own near kinswoman, 
 
 And, had my fortune favored, I had aimed 
 
 To make her somewhat nearer ; failing that, 
 
 I do rejoice her lot has fallen to one 
 
 Who, far as man can merit, merits her, 
 
 And willingly could forfeit one poor life 
 
 But to have kept from both an hour like this ! 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 These sufferings of the good, my son, are mysteries 
 Beyond our fathoming. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 They are so, father. 
 
 Now to our several tasks. Thou to the Seatons, 
 I to attend the herald, whose safe conduct 
 I must inspect, lest the exasperate sentinel 
 Should follow Edward's lead, and disregard 
 The known immunities of time and person.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 215 
 
 SCENE 2. The front of the castle. Enter DONALDUS. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Ah, sinful Scotland! 'tis thine own offences 
 
 That toss thee now with tempests. Had thy sons 
 
 Been true to thee and to themselves, and proved 
 
 A hardy brotherhood, still leagued together 
 
 For mutual weal or woe, rather than prowled, 
 
 A horde of bandits, bent against each other 
 
 In predatory warfare then, indeed, 
 
 What could have wrought them harm ? had they not stretched 
 
 (Blinded by wrath) their hands toward the stranger, 
 
 To battle in their broils the stranger, then, 
 
 Had not, as now, become the general spoiler, 
 
 In justest retribution ! Watchful Edward 
 
 Hailed in disunion's hour his hour of triumph, 
 
 And to the horrors of the home-brewed storm 
 
 That lowered around the genius of the North, 
 
 Sent from abroad his thunders, to combine, 
 
 Gather and burst, in bolts of final ruin. 
 
 So his own Cornwall's craggy coast has shown 
 
 Yet harder hearts and rougher hands, to snatch 
 
 E'en from the shipwrecked prey of winds and waves 
 
 The refuse of the elements ! So, too, 
 
 What time the frighted Lusian, forced to fly 
 
 From crash of falling tower, leaves all for life,
 
 216 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The daring robber rushes to his home 
 
 To rifle what the whelming earth had spared ! 
 
 [Pauses, then starts and speaks. 
 
 Whence comes this darkling mist, that riseth round me 
 
 So chill and ominous ? and mighty powers 
 
 Of earth or air ! what means that shadowy scaffold, 
 
 And those dim forms that fill it ? Spare them, Edward ! 
 
 But for the sake of thine own flesh and blood ! 
 
 For thy soul's sake, be not the slaughtering Herod 
 
 To innocents like these ! It all disperses. 
 
 Can this be fiendish juggling, or, indeed, 
 
 A boding from on high ? 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT,
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON, 217 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1. An oratory. LADY AGNES SEATON kneeling before a 
 representation of the Blessed Virgin. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 OH holy Mary, hear and answer me ! 
 
 A miserable mother, lo ! I come 
 
 To spread my griefs before thee. Blessed One, 
 
 Though now thou art with heaven's beatitude, 
 
 I call on thee by the remembered pangs 
 
 That once were thine on earth ; by the sharp sorrows 
 
 That pierced, as with a sword, through thy own soul ; 
 
 As thou hast known a parent's deadly anguish, 
 
 To feel for mine ! 
 
 'Tis unavailing all ! 
 E'en prayer relieves not. 
 
 (Enter FRIAR.) 
 FEIAR. 
 
 Peace be with you, daughter ! 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 0, father, mock me not with words like these ! 
 Peace can be mine no more. 
 
 54
 
 218 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 The peace of Heaven, 
 If not of earth ; full rarely they agree ; 
 And thus the soul that compasseth the one 
 Must oft renounce the other. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 I have sought it ; 
 
 Have been imploring succor from on high ; 
 But Heaven and earth alike conspire against me, 
 And all is dark above below around 1 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 0, say not thus ! these clouds are earth-engendered. 
 'Tis from our saddened thoughts the mists arise 
 And dim the tearful vision, intercepting 
 The Light above, thence deemed to hide itself, 
 Though shining still forever and the same ; 
 E'en as the restless world turned from the sun, 
 And when the night succeeded, lo ! 'twas deemed 
 The sun had turned from them. She heeds me not. (Aside.) 
 Lady, as is my office and my wont, 
 I came to solace and to strengthen thee 
 With words of ghostly comfort ; but, I know not, 
 The sight of thy sore suffering hath unmanned me, 
 And what I would I lack the heart to utter.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 219 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Father, I own and thank thy sympathy. 
 All that a mortal can to mortal lend 
 I know thou dost ; but never lot like mine 
 Called forth thy kindly services, for none 
 Was ever tried like me. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Think, daughter, think 
 Upon the Syrian of our sacred records, 
 The ancient patriarch of the chosen race, 
 Called to destroy the son in whom alone 
 That race could be continued. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Such a sacrifice 
 
 Had never been demanded from a mother.* 
 The sire may proudly, fondly love his son; 
 (Full well I know it by the bitter case 
 Of my own gallant, broken-hearted Seaton ;) 
 But, to the tenderness of manlier natures, 
 The mother adds, moreover, new affections, 
 Whose height and depth no being but herself 
 And Him who gave them to her comprehendeth. 
 
 * This sublime answer was actually made to a French monk, when urging a mother to resigna- 
 tion by the mention of Abraham.
 
 220 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Lady, I doubt it not. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Then, think that I 
 
 Ain called to speak the doom of do I live 
 To think it, even ? not of one alone, 
 But both my precious boys ; my duteous ones ; 
 That I, their mother for it falls on me, 
 Since Seaton's mind, torn with conflicting claims, 
 Station, paternity, and patriotism, 
 (The rent sail, shiv'ring in the shifting blast,) 
 Turns to my own to speak the words of fate. 
 Mother, forsooth ! Ha, am I such, good father ? 
 A fitting task for such ! 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 I pray thee, talk not 
 So very terribly. (Not since the burial 
 Of Bruce's royal heart in Palestine 
 Knew I as dark an hour.) 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 I've heard the learned 
 
 Tell of that Colchis woman one Medea 
 Who killed ! dost shudder, father ? killed her children. 
 Wouldst thou believe it ? If men doubt the fact, 
 Let them look here, and gain the fell conviction.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 221 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 0, think not for an instant, noble Agnes, 
 
 To liken thee with her. She was a sorceress ; 
 
 Fair incarnation of a fiend most foul ; 
 
 Who, to the guilty flame that fired her spirit, 
 
 Shamed not to sacrifice her sons ; whilst thou 
 
 But yieldest thine to meet the sacred cry 
 
 Thy country sends to thee. 'Twas hers to loose 
 
 The vilest passions thine, to bind the best. 
 
 LADY AC5NES. 
 
 But men will note the sameness of the fact, 
 
 The direful fact, nor stay to scan the motive. 
 
 All are not calm, like such as we, good father, 
 
 To make the due distinction. But, thou saidst 
 
 (Or my dull sense deceived) somewhat of country. 
 
 I've said the same within my conscious soul ; 
 
 But then the tempter cometh, to remonstrate, 
 
 What doth a woman with her country's weal, 
 
 Whose world is her own home, her fireside group, 
 
 Kindred and friends?" And then he whispereth, "Pride, 
 
 Belike, unseemly and unsexly pride, 
 
 Misleading by the name of heroism, 
 
 Hurls me and mine to this abyss." Is 't so ? 
 
 0, tell me, father ! . prove it be but pride, 
 
 And I will bless thy name forevermore !
 
 222 FORMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Resist the arch one, lady. These dark hours 
 He ever seizes for his own ; to conflicts 
 Of flesh and blood still superadding those 
 Of wrestling with bad spirits ; thus to crush 
 The overburdened mortal. But for thee, 
 Noble and virtuous dame, I have petitioned, 
 And hope for better things. The pride thus called 
 Were heathen ! nay, were hellish ! like his own ; 
 Unlike the gentle and benignant bearing 
 That, from the innocence of infancy 
 To thy devout and gracious womanhood, 
 Hath still characterized thee. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 So I trusted, 
 
 Till the misgivings of this evil time. 
 Surely, the lure of Fame could not have led me ; 
 Her note, they say, is gladdening to the sense ; 
 Not like that stern and solemn voice of duty 
 That called me calls me still. 'Tis near the moment 
 When I must meet my husband. I but asked, 
 For orison at this our Lady's shrine, 
 And to commune with you, my reverend father, 
 An hour's delay. One fearful interview 
 With him is past the next and all is over. 
 But will it e'er be over ? Never, never !
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 223 
 
 FRIAK. 
 
 St. Andrew's blessing go along with thee, 
 And guard thy high resolve ! 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the hour! (Starts up.) 
 
 These tremblings now ? (sits.) Yet, yet I may not linger, 
 Though life or reason reel. I must not leave 
 My lord in his extremity but who 
 Will be with them in theirs ? 0, horror ! horror ! 
 
 [Clasps her hands, and rushes out. 
 FRIAE, (alone.) 
 
 That task shall be my care. I would not hazard 
 The fresh emotion to her o'erwrought feelings 
 Of telling mine intention, but hereafter, 
 The conflict past, 't will prove to her a solace 
 To know I shrived them for then? last account ; 
 My sacred function will protect my person ; 
 If not, my life is vowed unto my Master ; 
 To lose it in his cause, the cause of charity, 
 Would be to gain the crown of martyrdom. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 224 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 SCENE 2. A room in the Governor's /louse, (with folding-doors back 
 of the scene.) SEATON discovered, to whom enters LADY AGNES. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 My honored lord hath said, in other times, 
 My presence brought him comfort ; now, alas ! 
 Agnes hath none to offer. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Say not so ; 
 
 Community is comfort, even in wretchedness. 
 But of thy mind what of thy mind, my wife ? 
 My own 's unstable as the ebbs and flows 
 Of Solway's current. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Thou wilt hate me, Seaton, 
 When I disclose it. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Ha ! sets the stream that way ? 
 Woman ! canst thou ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Nay, hearken to me first, 
 And then, canst thou ? 
 
 SEATON. 
 Go on!
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 225 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 I bore those bairns, giving them life, thou know'st, 
 With half the loss of mine. (Had it but been 
 "Would it had been the whole !) Parts of myself, 
 And nourished by myself within mine arms, 
 Or at my bosom ever, day and night, 
 In health or ailment thou canst witness for me, 
 No weariness or watching e'er o'erpowered 
 My ministering vigils. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 'Tis most true, 
 
 My tried and faithful Agnes ! Oft I chid 
 Thy ceaseless carefulness. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Their opening forms 
 To my rapt gaze seemed infant deities, 
 And their first lispings fell upon my ear 
 Sweeter than angel voices. (Hold, my heart ! 
 These memories will melt me ! When I need 
 The hardness of the rock, am I become 
 Like water ?) 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 None can like myself avouch 
 What thou hast ever been and done, my love ; 
 But is not this an argument to spare 
 The purchase of such pangs ?
 
 226 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 I did not mean 
 
 An idle vaunt thus to bespeak thy praise, 
 However precious. That which then was done 
 Now seems too little. They deserved it all, 
 The darlings pshaw ! this childishness again ? 
 What I had meant to say, before this theme 
 Bewitched me with its fond remembrances, 
 Was, that if I, a mother, (and, thou own'st, 
 A kindly one,) give up my being's right 
 In theirs, 't is surely no impeachment, then, 
 Of thy paternal tenderness, that thou 
 Should set the seal upon the sacrifice. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 The sacrifice ! and dost thou know its worst ? 
 Not death alone ; but such a death, my Agnes ! 
 The place, the mode the gibbet and the cord ! 
 The felon's fate ! Agnes, 't were double death 
 To die thus vilely. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 The like fate attended 
 
 Our peerless Wallace. What he bore unblemished 
 Can ne'er disparage those who after him 
 Tread the same path to heaven.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 227 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Thou needs not put it to thy loyalty. 
 
 Thou hast a king, though young, and far away, 
 
 Son of the Bruce, (and destined, as we trust, 
 
 To prove his lineage by his future deeds,) 
 
 For whom his faithful subjects all are bound 
 
 To keep his royal heritage unspoiled ; 
 
 Nor yet to urge upon thy patriot heart 
 
 The sacred claim of country to be held 
 
 Back from th' invader's grasp ; still less to cite 
 
 (All which thou know'st far better than myself) 
 
 What I have gathered from the wise discoursing 
 
 Of those, that chronicles of old attest, 
 
 To aid the fortunes of the failing state 
 
 Gave up themselves and theirs. Our later days 
 
 Showed as good samples, where a single household 
 
 Sufficed to turn the adverse tide of war. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 No, I forget them not. Thou mean'st the Hayes.
 
 228 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Yes, those three men of humble station, then, 
 Though since assigned, as meed for their exploit, 
 Rank with the highest those three husbandmen, 
 Father and sons, who, laboring on the glebe, 
 Rushed with their rustic implements of toil, 
 The spade, the harrow, whatso'er they held, 
 To stop the flight of their retreating countrymen 
 Driving them back upon the enemy, 
 Thence to return as conquerors ! 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 They deserved 
 
 The fame that followed them, and I will own 
 Such fame were dear ; yet are my sons far dearer. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Think not the loss of that alone I heed, 
 
 Though that were much ; the burning brand of infamy 
 
 Might yet be quenched, by others or ourselves j 
 
 Not so the inward, inextinguished fire, 
 
 Still scorching, ne'er consuming. Voice of man, 
 
 Without us, may capriciously award 
 
 Its censure or acclaim, and we contemn it ; 
 
 But of man's Maker, in us, who shall scorn ?
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 229 
 
 SEAT ON. 
 
 I own its hallowed sanction to thy pleadings. 
 
 LADY AGXES. 
 
 Besides, if thou desert thy trust, and thus 
 Betray the sons of all the sires in Scotland 
 To save thine own, blotting the fair escutcheon 
 Worn by thine ancestry unsoiled till now ; 
 Bethink thee, after all, if thou be sure 
 To gain the guerdon ? to deliver those 
 For whom all else were forfeited ? Not so ! 
 For if, in mockery of the faith of treaties, 
 Of his own covenant, the tyrant now 
 Has broke his oath who knows but then he fail 
 To spare the captives, and thou sow'st the wind 
 Only to reap the whirlwind ! 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Hold, in mercy ! 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Think, too, my Seaton, we have other children. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 None other half so dear.
 
 230 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 None dearer, sure. The absent and the dead 
 Are ever most delighted in and justly. 
 The heart must seek to compensate itself, 
 When past the power to pour it forth in act, 
 By hoarding larger measures of affection. 
 So let it be with them ! 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Thy solemn words 
 Fall like a requiem ! Hast thou more to move me ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Nought of my own ; but, could I summon others, 
 There are, whose words to second my appeal, 
 Were more prevailing. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Who could be thus gifted ? 
 Say, who ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 The lads themselves ! 
 
 Start not ! 'tis true ! Stood they before us now, 
 Themselves to hold the balance, and their doom 
 The weight depending, confident I am 
 Allan and Duncan are no sons of ours 
 But they would beg thee not to spare their lives
 
 THE WIFE OP SEATON. 231 
 
 At peril of their honor ; would prefer 
 
 To die, the offspring of an honest man, 
 
 Than live a traitor's heirs ! And dost thou shrink 
 
 At the mere name ? Think of the thing, my Seaton ! 
 
 And let it nerve thee to the only course 
 
 By which thou canst avoid it. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Thou hast won me ; 
 
 Hast conquered, Agnes ! Thou hast gained thy husband^ 
 But lost thy sons ! 
 
 [Falls on her neck, when, suddenly catching a glance 
 at the side scene, she screams and sinks back. 
 
 What means that fearful shriek ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 A sudden pang. Within, (pointing to the folding-doors.} 
 
 Send Margaret hither. 
 I shall be better soon, and come to thee. 
 
 [SEATON goes into the inner room. 
 
 (Enter MARGARET.) 
 
 [LADY AGNES, starting up, snatches the hand of MARGARET, and points with it to 
 the view through the side scene. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 'T is there, already. Look ! the fatal tree ! 
 Beneath our walls within our very sight ! 
 I sped my husband hence, ere he beheld 
 What might have blunted all his resolution.
 
 232 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 X 
 
 Barbarian Edward ! could thy savage heart 
 Contrive this aggravation ? Curses on thee ! 
 On thee and thine. Take, ruthless spoiler, take 
 A mother's malison. 0, may it reach thee ! 
 Follow through life and haunt thee at thy death ! 
 And let it cleave the tomb, and pierce beneath, 
 Keen as a falchion, till it find the hell 
 To which thy crimes shall sink thee, and dire Heaven 
 Deaf to thy cries, as thou wert deaf to mine ! 
 
 [Falls exhausted into the arms of MARGARET. Curtain drops. 
 
 END OF THE TH1KD ACT.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 233 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE 1. The grounds belonging to the Governor's house. LADY 
 AGNES, disordered. MARGARET fottoiving. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Follow me not ; I go to seek my sons. 
 Dost hear me, girl ? Let go my hand ! My sons 
 Are in the camp ; no place for such as thee. 
 My errand is a lone one. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Dearest lady, 
 Drive me not from you ! 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Fie on't ! Margaret. 
 
 Wouldst have me trust a decent Scottish lassie 
 With Edward's lawless soldiery ? Thy mistress 
 Is bound to better care of thee, poor Margaret. 
 Wait thou until thy maiden snood be doffed 
 For matron coif. Even such as I, myself, 
 May shudder at the enterprise ; these English 
 Have grown so pitiless ! Thou canst not know 
 How pitiless nor will they let me tell thee 
 The leech forbade it ; did he not ?
 
 234 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Yes, lady ; 
 He bade me keep you quieted. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Most truly. 
 
 Well, we must do his bidding. I'll but whisper 
 These English are so fell they neither spare 
 Mother nor children. Children ! that reminds me 
 My own are waiting me in yonder camp, 
 While I am loit'ring here ; my brightreyed Allan 
 And my dark Duncan. Ha ! in yonder camp ? 
 What do they there ? Art tampering with the foe ? 
 I tell thee, Margaret, if the lads are traitors 
 Then they are none of mine. 'Tis some mistake ! 
 Mine were true men. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 The Friar will soon return, 
 And tell us, lady, all concerning them. 
 (Aside.) (I am content her wanderings take this turn ; 
 It may beguile her to repose awhile, 
 Which she so greatly needs for restoration 
 To wonted sanity.) The pious father 
 Will shortly bring us tidings from the camp, 
 Upon whose word we know you can rely.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATOK 235 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Truly, so can I ; thou sayest well, my Margaret 
 No more discreet an handmaid can attend 
 On any dame. 'T is fittest we await 
 The Friar's return, to ascertain this matter, 
 Ere we depart on an uncertain quest. 
 Meantime, let me betake me to my couch, 
 And tell my beads. Lend me thy arm, my girl. 
 
 SCENE 2. The armory of the castle. D UNBAR and the FRIAB 
 conversing. 
 
 FEIAE. 
 
 I did fear me this. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Yes, she sustained the task appointed her 
 
 Unfaltering to the end ; but, that accomplished, 
 
 The copious tide of nature, long pent up, 
 
 Burst forth at once, and overwhelmed the reason. 
 
 Like as, when pierced to death, the dauntless Theban 
 
 Kept in the javelin till the day was won 
 
 Then life gushed with it !
 
 236 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FEIAK. 
 
 Thus it ever is. 
 
 Ah, that it should be thus with poor mortality, 
 Even at the highest ! The weak frame gives way, 
 Though the firm purpose fail not ; but hereafter 
 The spirits of the saints, we may believe, 
 (Freed from a world scarce worthy of their stay,) 
 Shall gam befitting forms, with a duration 
 Eternal, as the souls inspiring them. 
 
 DUNBAR, 
 
 Our Lady grant it. 
 
 FRIAE. 
 
 Yes, the shrinking nerve. 
 Not then, as now, perchance, shall counteract 
 " Th' unconquerable will ; " that the strong man, 
 Armed at all points against a foreign foe, 
 Shah 1 start aghast to see himself subdued 
 By his own flesh and blood ! the pilgrim faints 
 Beneath the penance he must yet perform 
 At peril of his soul, and the rough soldier 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Aye, father, has thy moralizing creed 
 A saving plea for cowards ? for, if so, 
 Son of the church, and duteous as I may be,
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 237 
 
 I hardly shall respond to it ; the less 
 
 At such a time of need for dauntless hearts 
 
 In our beleaguered realm. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 I had foreseen 
 
 Thy soldierly protest, heroic Dunbar, 
 Nor would it suit, in this emergency, 
 To preach such doctrine to the famished troops 
 Of either garrison thy castle's charge, 
 Or hapless Seaton's but, in calmer moments, 
 I ask it of the conscience of that chieftain 
 Who ever closely communed with himself 
 Whether he have not found a subtle something 
 That strove to curb his mettle, and anon 
 Cried " craven " to his prowess ? that, repressed, 
 Returned with powers repaired, e'en as the reptile, 
 Though once dissevered, rallies yet again 
 With fangs renewed ? or rather, like the fiend, 
 (If such may now be suffered to possess us, 
 As sacred records teach they did of old,) 
 Who, once expelled, came back with seven-fold powers 
 Confederate with himself, to wreak his will ?
 
 238 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAB. 
 
 I bow me to thy holy record, father, 
 Howe'er, as commandment of Berwick castle, 
 Strenuous to disallow the application 
 That shelters timorous natures ; all too many 
 Of such our bastion doth enclose already, 
 Fled here, perforce, for safety from the foe. 
 The anxious matron and the trembling maid ; 
 The worn-out veteran, whose encumb'ring limb 
 (As if in mockery of its former strength) 
 Hangs withered now a dead and useless weight ; 
 And the poor child, whose utmost stretch of height 
 Scarce gains his grandsire's knee ; whose height of hope 
 Already reaches what his grandsire was ! 
 But the effective force that guardeth these 
 Is all too small, in view of Edward's numbers, 
 To need enfeebling dogmas ; yet I grant 
 There's weight within your words ; and these wars over, 
 When I have leisure to look o'er my conscience, 
 If the survey disclose to me such lurkers 
 As those whose ambush you so well denote, 
 Lowly at thy confessional, good father, 
 Will I my breast unbare till thou absolve me.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 239 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Tis frankly said, and I accept the pledge 
 
 Freely as given. Meanwhile, mistake me not. 
 
 Neither the frost of age, nor cloister's chill, 
 
 Hath frozen yet the blood within these veins 
 
 That once hath burned upon the battle-field, 
 
 Alas ! too hotly ! But the helm and corslet 
 
 Possessed the man before the cowl and gown. 
 
 My breath, while lent, shall fan, and not extinguish 
 
 The fire of action ; but, that action done, 
 
 Should strive to temper the delirious pulse 
 
 Of human exultation, in the hour 
 
 Of its wild triumph, by recalling, then, 
 
 The conscious thought to tranquilize its throbs ; 
 
 And silently impart that touch of humbleness 
 
 That lends a grace to honor. 
 
 (Enter ATTENDANT.) 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Reverend father, 
 
 The Lady Agnes Seaton, so far healed, 
 The saints be praised ! of her late malady, 
 Took note of thy return, directing me 
 To crave thy presence.
 
 240 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Bear my blessing to her, 
 And tell the noble lady she confirmeth 
 My previous purpose of a conference 
 Soon as her strength allowed. 
 
 [Exit ATTENDANT. 
 
 (To DUNDAR.) 
 
 I have good hope 
 
 That my narration of the constancy 
 With which her youthful martyrs met their fate, 
 How sad soe'er, may yet be salutary 
 To the condition of the noble mourner ; 
 Healing the broken heart-strings that had snapped 
 From over tension. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Sights like these, good father, 
 Have lessened my repining at my portion, 
 When as a lonely man, beholding none 
 My name may rest upon when I resign it 
 Tempted to discontent, in those brief hours 
 A soldier steals from warfare. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Yes, my son, 
 
 Though selfish be the thought, and subject after 
 For mortifying penance, I have found, 
 In my own case, the sworn celibacy
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 241 
 
 Enjoined our sect a rule less burdensome, 
 When called to witness those domestic sorrows 
 My duty bids me comfort. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Even so. 
 
 And I as well may magnify my lot, 
 Lauding it as the choice of knights and saints, 
 Pilgrim and priest ; and if, at times, the thought 
 Still prick me like a thorn within the flesh, 
 That in reserve no progeny of prattlers 
 Shall cheer my dotage 'tis a far-off day ! 
 And, thanks to Edward and his minion Baliol, 
 Few of us may be left to fill the seats 
 Of reverend eldership. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Till when, and ever, 
 In all conditions, lenedwtte ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 (Enter SEATON.) 
 SEATON. 
 
 My worthy Dunbar will not think it strange 
 If late his comrade, borne down with the weight 
 Of individual burden, lacked the power 
 To hold discourse upon the common interest.
 
 242 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 That common interest who so well had cared for 
 As thy much-injured self, my suffering friend ? 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 But now I would be aided by thy judgment. 
 What saith it to this aspect of affairs ? 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 That they have reached their crisis ; or, at least* 
 
 Inevitably must, in no long time. 
 
 The mighty forces mustered by the foe 
 
 On sea and land, when brought to bear at once 
 
 Upon our wasted town and shattered fortress, 
 
 Must prove resistless ; neither can I gather 
 
 (More than yourself, I think,) much hope from Douglas. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Grant Heaven his coming be not ominous 
 To all, as to myself ! its doleful consequences 
 To me and mine may cloud, perchance, my judgment. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 No. It has proved, as yet, disastrous merely ; 
 Provoked his foes, and done his friends no good.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 243 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 And yet, one should not willingly prejudge 
 A great and gallant name ; but, in the case 
 Of Archibald Douglas, will it be dispraise 
 To own that I distrust his very virtues, 
 Deeming him over brave ? a quality, 
 (I need not say,) in circumstance like ours, 
 Worse than its abject opposite. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 To this 
 
 Add, that albeit he love his country much, 
 He hates his enemy yet more ; which, paired 
 With that false shame lest he be deemed inert, 
 (Our reverend Friar would call a snare,) may tempt him 
 To peril all, and risk a general battle. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 And lose it, Dunbar ! Yes, my soul forebodes 
 Such for the issue. After all our struggles, 
 Is such the stern decree ? And Bruce has warred 
 And Wallace died for this, and this alone ! 
 Is all in vain, and Scotland doomed to follow 
 In the long funeral of departed nations 
 Whose being ended ere her own began?
 
 244 " POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DUNBAK. 
 
 No, no ! believe it not ! 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Or, if forbade 
 
 By policy not pity to be struck 
 From off the roll of states, is she reserved 
 The more degraded lot to hold existence 
 The feudatory servitor of England, 
 And the rapacious and remorseless wretch 
 That sways her sceptre ? 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Neither fate, I trust, 
 
 Awaits our country. The foe may enter, 
 But can he keep its borders ? Will fair Tweed 
 E'er settle to a tributary stream ? 
 Or Cheviot long look down on any lord 
 Save one of Scotland's rearing ? No, my friend. 
 The native heather, that bent awhile 
 Beneath the pressure of a foreign tread, 
 Shall wave as free as ever. Though the soldier 
 Is not to play the seer, yet may he judge 
 The future from the past ; from what has been 
 Gather what is to be. And if " the days
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 245 
 
 Of open vision " have not dawned on me, 
 As on Donaldus, yet, from boyhood's hour, 
 I ne'er beheld our mountain cataract, 
 In giant-leap from heights the eagle knew not 
 To depths past human ken our island surge, 
 Still roaring to the deafened Hebrides 
 But that my spirit sprang, as if their bold 
 Unearthly voice had sworn to us a freedom 
 Wild as their own. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Would I might share thy faith ! 
 Ah, Dunbar ! 't is the cheerful character 
 Of thy own mind that ever coloreth thus 
 The scenery it surveyed. My darkened spirit 
 From the same sounds would catch the groans of bondage 
 Or the sharp death-cry ! Bear with me, my friend, 
 As the survivor of a recent wreck, 
 The raving tempest clamorous in his ears 
 When calmed to all beside. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Doth Berwick own 
 
 A heart that would not "bear" and bleed with his 
 Whose own has thus been wrung ? 
 
 61
 
 246 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 For thine, at least, 
 
 I ask no guarantee. Now let's away. 
 I must have sight of Agnes. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 And I follow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 3. The apartment of LADY AGNES SEATON. Herself 
 the FRIAR in conversation. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Now, holy father, blessings on thy head, 
 Here and hereafter, for that charity ! 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 In aught to comfort thee hath more than paid me. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 I did not think ever to weep again, 
 But thou hast touched the spring within the rock, 
 And healing waters flow.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 247 
 
 (Enter DUNBAR and SEATON.) 
 SEATON. 
 
 How fares my Agnes ? 
 How is it with thee now ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Better, my lord ; 
 
 And not unmindful of the kind solicitude 
 That prompts the asking. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 I could not rely 
 
 On the reports they of the household brought, 
 But stole a moment from the cares of office, 
 (Though at the heaviest now,) to satisfy me. 
 
 DUNBAB. 
 
 I, too, a respite snatch from the like duties, 
 To hail my precious cousin's restoration ; 
 And, in the name of Berwick and of Scotland, 
 To thank that pair to whom all thanks are due. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Pay them to her. None to myself are owing. 
 To Agnes, only, doth that debt belong.
 
 248 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 (To SEATON.) Nay, prithee, nay! (to DUNBAR) and if it 
 
 [were so, kinsman, 
 
 Thou know'st it chanceth for the fragile skiff 
 Sometimes to bear itself above the waves 
 From very lightness when the braver bark, 
 Borne down by its rich freight and pressed with sail, 
 Had well-nigh parted. 
 
 DUNBAR. 
 
 Such lowly estimate of thy own merits 
 
 Does but enhance the worth it seeks to lower. 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Forbear ! my friend, thy plaudits overpower me. 
 Even with the duty done, so highly rated, 
 Mingled enough to shame the sense of pride ! 
 A dark and stormy interval has left 
 Its clouds between me and my memory, 
 Spreading o'er much a dreamy indistinctness ; 
 Yet I recall albeit confusedly 
 I do remember, in my agony, 
 (That cast me, as a prey, to frantic impulse,) 
 Venting strange words of fearful imprecation.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 249 
 
 I would they were unsaid ! 'Tis not for me, 
 0, not for me, a weak and tempted woman, 
 (Daughter of dust, which every breath is bearing 
 Back to its source,) to teach the steadfast Heavens 
 Where to direct their thunders ! 0, forbid it ! 
 If, in my frenzy, I have cursed King Edward, 
 I do revoke 
 
 (DON ALDUS, entering, speaks.) 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 In vain ! 'tis registered ! 
 Eternal retribution is concerned 
 It should be so, howe'er thy generous nature 
 Eelenteth thus toward so fell a foe. 
 The righteous wrath of man hath sometimes proved 
 Prompting of Providence ; the cry of anguish 
 Forced from the tortured spirit (like the groan 
 Wrung from the writhing martyr on the rack) 
 Is heard of Heaven ; aye, heard and answered, too ! 
 Thy curse shall fasten, yet, on him and his, 
 Sharp as the eagle's talons ! and I go 
 
 To warn him of it. 
 
 [Exit DONALDUS. 
 
 62
 
 250 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 Did I hear aright ? 
 
 And dares he front that merciless destroyer 
 In his own place ? 
 
 DUNBAB. 
 
 Donaldus is not one 
 
 To fear the face of man of guilty man 
 The least of any since to such his tidings 
 Of solemn import may be most effectual 
 To probe past crimes, or to preserve from future. 
 But time has sped, and I must leave you, cousin, 
 And seek a ruder presence. 
 
 SEATON. 
 
 True, my Agnes ; 
 
 Yes, our short furlough has expired already. 
 I do commend thee to thy own best caution, 
 And leave thee, dearest, to the care of Heaven, 
 And this, its holy minister. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Her comfort, 
 
 My son, shall be my care. The saints direct you, 
 (To S. and D.) Giving to each good fortune, or the grace 
 That draws the sting from bad !
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 251 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 Amen ; so be it ! 
 Husband and kinsman, all good go with you ! 
 
 [Exit SEATON and DUNBAR. 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Daughter, thine ancient harper had produced 
 
 His wonted tribute of a brief lament 
 
 To suit thy circumstance ; but did reserve it 
 
 Until the season of bewilderment 
 
 Had passed away, and left thee to thyself. 
 
 But now, wilt please thee listen to his lay, 
 
 Whene'er the mood shall favor ? 
 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 It will soothe me, 
 
 To hear the strain whose burden is to be 
 Of what I loved and lost. Within the oratory 
 We wiU await it. ysxitMk. 
 
 {Scene changes to the oratory. LADY AGNES, FRIAR, HARPER.) 
 LADY AGNES. 
 
 (To HARPER.) Mine ancient follower, I am now prepared 
 
 To lend the funeral chant thy zeal hath ofiered 
 
 A renovated ear. The holy father 
 
 Made known to me this proof of fealty, 
 
 My good old Gildus ! that my heart has answered, 
 
 And thanks thee, for the living and the dead !
 
 252 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 HARPEE. 
 
 My noble mistress will permit the purpose 
 
 To hide the faultiness of the performance. 
 
 For the poor minstrel felt his wonted fires 
 
 Quenched by his tears. The broken voice of age 
 
 Hath little melody at best but less 
 
 When grief would choke its utterance. Yet the strains, 
 
 Such as they are, shall wake them at thy bidding. 
 
 (Sings, accompanied by the harp. During the strain LADY AGNES covers her face 
 with her hand. 
 
 They are gone ; they are gone from the hearth and the home ; 
 To the hall of their fathers no more can they come ; 
 In the bloom of their youth, in the light of their prime, 
 Ere the tempests of life or the shadows of tune, 
 
 They are gone ! 
 
 No more shall the hind hear their call at the morn, 
 Nor the stag start, when echo their bugle hath borne ; 
 Not again wave the plumes that in battle they wore, 
 Nor then- arm bears the banner their forefathers bore. 
 
 No more, no more ! 
 
 Yet their names shall be lofty as Scotia's high pine, 
 Live as long as the oak, and as green as the vine ; 
 In their lives they were lovely, nor death would dissever 
 Not divided, as wont, but united them ever ! 
 
 Forever !
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 253 
 
 {The FRIAR now rises and Joins the chant of the HARPER.) 
 
 By all the blood the martyrs shed, 
 By relics of the sainted dead, 
 By pilgrim's penitential tear, 
 By knighthood's consecrated bier, 
 Be their frailties here forgiven ! 
 Let their spirits rest in heaven ! 
 
 [ Curtain falls. 
 
 EXD OF THE FOURTH ACT.
 
 254 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1. The English camp before Berwick. A distant vieiv 
 
 of the town, castle, river, ivith its vessels of ivar, &c. 
 
 Tent of EDWARD III. 
 
 (Enter DOXALDUS, advancing, and speaks.) 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Why ever thus, when called to exercise 
 My awful function, feel I such reluctance ? 
 The dread decrees I utter are not mine, 
 And I believe them fully merited 
 And equitably ordered. Spite of this, 
 The weakness lingers still. Would that the prophet 
 Had mastered more the man ! A Voice, they call me ; 
 Would I were but a voice ! I should not then 
 Appointed to confront this throned transgressor 
 Just reeking from the gory spectacle 
 To angels and to men his wrath had raised 
 Be conscious to aught other than his crimes, 
 Nor reck their threatened penal expiation. 
 Yes, let me think on the unnumbered wrongs 
 His mad career of conquest hath inflicted
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 255 
 
 Already on the land the many more 
 He meditates till it shall rouse to rage 
 The spirit of the North, and raise within me 
 All the avenger. 
 
 \_Goes to the entrance of the tent. 
 
 Edward of England ! 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Who art thou, bold one ? 
 
 DONALDUS. ' 
 
 Edward of England ! 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Ha ! what rash intruder 
 Invades our presence thus ? Where are my guards ? 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Thy guards are vigilant ; but they shrank back 
 When they regarded me. 
 
 (NEVILLE enters to them and speaks.) 
 NEVILLE. 
 
 My liege, 'tis he ; 
 That awful One I spake of. (To the king.} 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 In Heaven's name ! 
 What art thou, man ?
 
 256 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 I am the voice of one 
 
 To thee, king, sent from the King of kings, 
 To speak thy doom. And I, too, am a monarch, 
 And wield a sceptre ; though no outward ensigns 
 Blazon it forth. The Future is my kingdom ! 
 I stretch my sceptre o'er its darkling realm, 
 Which none can wrest from me ; the arm that seeks it 
 Must borrow weapons from archangel's armory 
 Michael, or Gabriel ! 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 To the proof, vain boaster ! 
 I dare the utmost that the Prince of Darkness 
 Speaks by that lying tongue. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Blasphemer! pause; 
 
 'Tis truth, as sure as thine adulterous mother 
 Murdered thy recreant father ! 
 
 EDWARD. 
 Seize the caitiff! (To guards.) 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 They dare not cannot ! This is not my hour. 
 Its features have been shown me with the rest, 
 That when it comes I know, and bid it welcome.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 257 
 
 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Better it had come ere now nay, better yet, 
 That thou hadst ne'er been born, than live to slander 
 The head of England's chivalry. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 I meant, 
 
 As him on whom the prophet stole had fallen, 
 But to deliver that I have received 
 To thee, king, with prophet passiveness. 
 But, as one born of Caledonian blood, 
 Can I stand face to face with thee, thou spoiler, 
 Nor feel it boiling to be cooled in thine ? 
 But thou art spared to be the scorpion scourge 
 Of neighboring nations round, till come the end ; 
 When, like that ruthless reptile thou resemblest, 
 Thy sting shall turn, at last, against thyself. 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Now, by St. George and Christendom's seven champions ! 
 Half of thy prophecy contents me well ; 
 What warrior but must wish to prove a scourge 
 Unto his enemies ? Thine other augury, 
 Sir Soothsayer, we'll withhold our credence from 
 Till some more special revelation force it. 
 
 DONALDUS. 
 
 Sir King, but late thou didst command me dumb ; 
 
 Now, wouldst hear on, though hearing should appall thee.
 
 258 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 (Fixed, like the bird, by fatal fascination.) 
 Know, then and this shall be to thee a sign 
 Thy son, thy first-born and thy best beloved, 
 In war thy buckler, and in peace thy star, 
 Shall die before thine eyes ! Nor in the field, 
 Girt by his glittering host, and cheered to conquest ; 
 (As sets the sun upon the Solway's bed, 
 With rays of glory round ;) the sable prince, 
 Like fiery comet, whose portentous train 
 Still terminates in gloom shall meet his fate. 
 Low on th' ignoble couch, no more to rise, 
 'Mid countless pangs, and every pang a deathj 
 Yet death delaying heart-wrung, drop by drop, 
 Shall Edward and Phillippa's boast depart ! 
 Yet for her sake, erewhile thy better angel, 
 Whose interposing pity saved from death 
 The burghers of Calais,* (and, present here, 
 Had surely saved those unoffending striplings!) 
 For this the vials of the wrath to come 
 Shall not be all poured out upon thy person, 
 But part on thy posterity. Yet, know 
 
 * I am aware that the conquest of Calais did not occur till twelve or fifteen years after the 
 date of this piece, at the invasion of Scotland by Edward III. ; but the temptation to commemo- 
 rate an illustrious woman, to whom literature no less than humanity is so much indebted, (the 
 foundress of Queen's College, and the patroness of Chaucer,) prevailed with me to hazard the 
 anachronism ; which, however, is hardly such in the mouth of one to whom the future was as the 
 past.
 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON. 259 
 
 Full surely that it shall be thus outpoured, 
 
 Even to its bitterest dregs. In token of it, 
 
 The conquests thou hast gained thou shalt restore 
 
 Ere thy career be closed. Thy very blessings 
 
 Shall prove thy bane. A numerous progeny, 
 
 The joy of other men, shall be to thee 
 
 And to thy realm the rankest seed of strife ; 
 
 Like to those horrid teeth once sown in earth, 
 
 Whence sprang up armed men. Not Scotland, then, 
 
 But thy own England be the seat of war. 
 
 The feuds once fostered between Scot and Scot, 
 
 Clansman and chieftain, prince and people here, 
 
 By arts of thine and of thine emissaries, 
 
 Shall tenfold be returned on English heads. 
 
 I look ! thy sworn successor dies by piecemeal, 
 
 The ling'ring death of famine ! at the hands 
 
 Of his own brutal subjects, trained by thee 
 
 To direst deeds. I see that ancient tower, 
 
 Reared by the noblest Caesar of the twelve, 
 
 What time he conquered Britain, though he failed 
 
 To conquer Caledon. That tower in ward 
 
 The sacred majesty of England holds, 
 
 And o'er him stands the crooked Plantagenet, 
 
 (Monstrous at once in body and in soul,) 
 
 His coward weapon in his captive's heart. 
 
 Again that tower ! the same foul shape appears,
 
 260 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Searching new victims ; and the princely boys 
 Are 'reft of crown and life ! But what of these ? 
 Kings, princes, people, all are whelmed alike 
 In one vast tide of war. The crime of Cain 
 Renewed in each, ungraced with the remorse 
 Of the first man-slayer. Bosworth ! Tewksbury ! 
 Your fields are full before me. In mine ears 
 The clash of armor and the tramp of steeds, 
 And the fierce shout of triumph, strangely mingled 
 With the death-shriek, are there ! The paler rose 
 Is bathed in blood, the while its sanguine sister 
 Glares with a deeper dye. This shall befall, 
 Tyrant, the latest limit of thy line ; 
 Until, at length, athwart to England's sky, 
 Our northern light, our Stuart star shall gleam ! 
 A hundred years of havoc shall avenge 
 THE WIFE OF SEATON AND THE SIEGE OF BERWICK! 
 
 END OF THE TBAGEDT.
 
 CONSIDER ATIOXS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 261 
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY 
 MACBETH. 
 
 THE universality and antiquity of any opinion afford an 
 argument so potent in favor of its truth, that to attack it 
 is an attempt at once difficult and thankless. Those matters 
 which the wise among mankind have passed upon, are generally 
 considered as put at rest, and endeavors at reversing a decision 
 of the judges are accounted presumptuous and irreverent. 
 This acquiescence in those who have gone before us is suited 
 to the nature of a being like man, so mentally as well as 
 physically dependent. It is analogous to his nature in another 
 point of view, as proceeding from the same associations which 
 attach sacredness to the groves of antiquity and the sepulchres 
 of our fathers. If the ashes of sages deserve and receive our 
 veneration, surely opinions, the immortal part of those sages, 
 which once informed and now survive those ashes, are doubly 
 deserving to be owned and hallowed. All this appears but 
 fitting and commendable; yet that such deference may be 
 carried too far must be acknowledged on the recollection that 
 without some departure from it, no reformation could ever 
 have been effected either in literature or religion a reflection
 
 262 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 which it is hoped will secure the ensuing remarks from the 
 imputation of disrespect or temerity. 
 
 The tragedy of " Macbeth/' besides the individual who 
 gives a name to the play, presents to our view another as the 
 accomplice, or as some have it, the instigator of his guilt. This 
 personage is no other than his wife. She is considered by 
 many as the principal figure in the piece, and by a remarkable 
 concurrence of opinion, all commentators on this author repre- 
 sent her as a combination of cruelty a species of female 
 demon a monster* of the poet's own creation. So far has 
 this proceeded, that Macbeth, all bloody as he is, excites in us 
 something like compassion; while his lady has to bear the 
 double detestation due to her own sins and those of her lord. 
 It may be well to endeavor at discovering the cause of this 
 procedure, apparently so unchivalrous, not to say unjust. It 
 may perhaps be found where we should least expect it even 
 in the natural excess of those romantic and poetical concep- 
 tions of the female character; whence a far less degree of 
 guilt, where we expected only impeccable purity, will excite 
 more odium than the most flagrant wickedness in the other 
 gex. The fall of angels is a matter of record and faith ; yet 
 the fall of that better half of a race " a little lower than the 
 angels," startles us as unexpected, and revolts us as unnatural 
 In the representation of dramatic poetry especially, where the 
 wonderful agencies of sight and sound, and scenic decoration 
 
 * Steevens.
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 263 
 
 are all employed to heighten the effect, which we come to 
 witness with minds preoccupied with those visionary notions of 
 female perfectibility, it is no wonder if the rage of disappoint- 
 ment prevents our holding the balance with a steady hand. 
 But in the closet, where the judgment is less subject to the 
 senses, and where woman is calmly looked on as sharing the 
 same mortal nature liable to like tempations, and sometimes 
 gifted with similar passions as man ; where her character, thus 
 appreciated, if it lose in some respects, gains in others, receiving 
 neither exaggerated encomium on the one hand, nor hyper- 
 bolical denunciation on the other ; but in short, is considered 
 merely as a human being, deserving no more reproach than 
 would attach to the same crimes in the stronger sex; where 
 this is the case, the decision of critics on the character of Lady 
 Macbeth appears to us utterly unaccountable. 
 
 That this decision does not conform to the intention of the 
 author, seems to be inferred from the general plan of his 
 tragedy, as well as from particular passages. He would else 
 have represented Lady Macbeth as a leader, rather than an 
 associate in wickedness. Had this been the design, it had also 
 been fitting that those weird sisters, who are supposed gifted 
 with a portion of omniscience to penetrate the purpose and 
 ascertain the character, would have made her the first object 
 of their mystic salutation ; instead of which they selected 
 Macbeth, whose conduct indeed throughout the piece abun- 
 dantly justified their choice. She appears wholly unacquainted
 
 264 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 with the daring destiny of her husband, till apprised of it by 
 his letter. This letter naturally brings on the soliloquy, in 
 which the deed requisite for fulfilling the prophecy, and the 
 nature of her husband for attempting such a deed, are subjects 
 of speculation. The dialogue between them immediately 
 preceding the arrival and death of Duncan, might at a first 
 glance indeed seem to imply that she was the mover of the 
 act. 
 
 " Macbeth. My dearest love, 
 Duncan comes here to-night ! 
 Lady M. And when goes hence ? 
 Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 
 Lady M. Never shall sun that morrow see." 
 
 But on a more deliberate perusal, and especially to ah 1 who 
 recollect the acting of the late Mr. Cooke in the part of 
 Macbeth, the words 
 
 " Duncan comes here to-night I" 
 
 seemed a sort of emphatic demand from her of an inference 
 which himself had already pondered, but dared not give utter- 
 ance to. It appeared almost an interrogation, and was spoken 
 by Mr. Cooke precisely as it would have been had the inter- 
 rogative been prefixed thus : 
 
 What if "Duncan comes here to night?" 
 
 She accordingly, familiar with the workings of his mind, and 
 seeing them now in exact conformity to what her meditations
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 265 
 
 had previously augured, interprets his half-expressed meaning, 
 and gives his thoughts a tongue." This is perfectly coinci- 
 dent with his whole conduct through the drama. He ponders 
 his crimes ; fears to disclose them ; when disclosed, hesitates 
 letting I dare not, wait upon I would ;" finally, his ambition 
 masters his fear, and he proceeds to action. Lady Macbeth 
 appears to have possessed, together with equally ambitious 
 views, a stronger intellect, a steadier purpose and more intre- 
 pidity of execution. In fact her whole character, both of mind 
 and heart, seems to have been made of sterner stuff; and from 
 this very circumstance her guilt, according to Professor Rich- 
 ardson's own hypothesis,* ought to be considered less aggra- 
 vated than that of her husband; since such as are endued 
 with naturally amiable propensities, and either pervert them to 
 their purpose, or act in their despite, have much to answer for 
 beyond those, who in sinning do no violence to nature, but 
 rather accord with it. The same original conformation which 
 makes her less amiable as a woman, makes her also less crim- 
 inal as an assassin. When the ingenious professor attributed 
 to this lady a character invariably savage, he must surely have 
 forgotten that remarkable relenting which withheld her from 
 the murder of the sleeping monarch : 
 
 " Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, / had done it." 
 
 * See his Analysis of the Characters of Shakespeare.
 
 266 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Bearing in mind our previous ideas of Lady Macbeth's collect- 
 edness of nature, and this trait alone is sufficient to redeem her 
 from utter, unmitigated reprobation. Considering her ardent 
 aspirations for the crown ; her previous vaunts of her own 
 courage; the opportunity that now offered to gain the one and 
 to prove the other ; and at a moment so dreadfully propitious, 
 that a similitude, a shadow, which memory conjured up and 
 compared with the slumbering monarch, should wrest from her 
 the victim, at the risk of losing him forever, at the mercy of 
 accident or discovery, and dependent solely on her husband, 
 whose infirmity of purpose she had before deprecated, and 
 whose retorts she might well expect when convicted of similar 
 "brain sickness " with himself; this, we repeat, exempts her 
 from a total destitution of the human charities, by showing her 
 accessible to filial, though not to loyal feeling. 
 
 "We have observed thus much on the murder of Duncan 
 the only crime in which Lady Macbeth had any direct partici- 
 pation. If any palh'ative for this crime, let it not be forgotten 
 that in its perpetration conjugal affection concurred with ambi- 
 tion.* It was not that she loved Duncan less, but Macbeth 
 
 * We are at a loss for the ground of Mr. Steevens's suggestion that she was deficient in this 
 particular. To us, she appears to have returned, after her manner, all her lord's expressions of 
 endearment: " my thane," " my husband." 
 
 " Gentle, my lord! 
 
 Sleek o'er your rugged looks, be bright and jovial 
 Among your guests to-night 
 
 Macbeth. I shall, my love, 
 And so, I pray, be you," &c.
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 267 
 
 more. At that period of their history the notions of loyalty 
 among the Scots, as well as of every other moral obligation, 
 appear to have been very loose. Add to this that the char- 
 acter of Duncan, though eulogized by Macbeth as possessing 
 virtues that would plead like angels trumpektongued, was 
 virtuous, like that of too many of his species, only when com- 
 pared with those worse than themselves. His treachery to the 
 Danes during a recent truce, in which he first inebriated, then 
 murdered them (a circumstance to which Ban quo alludes) was 
 the very counterpart of the scene in which he was himself 
 doomed to be a sufferer. From the perverted ingenuity of 
 Lady Macbeth's reasoning powers, of which many examples 
 occur in the piece, it is not improbable she might have con- 
 sidered herself an avenger rather than an assassin * an 
 appointed minister of that " wild justice," which Lord Bacon 
 has so finely denominated revenge. For the commission of 
 this crime, however, prompted as it was by the united force of 
 ambition, conjugal regard, and retaliation, she was not com- 
 petent, it seems, without the aid of artificial stimulants : 
 
 " That which has made them drunk, has made me bold," 
 
 is her exclamation after having drugged the potions of the 
 grooms. 
 
 The surprisal of Macduff s castle, and the massacre of all 
 his race, by far the most savage deed in the play, was the act 
 
 . 
 
 * So too the Clytemnestra of Eurypides.
 
 268 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 of Macbeth alone. The murder of Banquo, also, was the spon- 
 taneous suggestion of Macbeth's mind ; and when his lady 
 inquires respecting his meditated object, his reply seems to 
 indicate that, in her husband's opinion, at least, she was not 
 callous to the inflictions of remorse : 
 
 " Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
 Till thou applaud the deed." 
 
 But if her husband's opinion were insufficient, we have 
 ample evidence of her susceptibility to the agonies of self- 
 reproach, in the subsequent scene, which represents her as their 
 martyr ; in that bewildered reason, those midnight walks, and 
 perturbed ejaculations, which, who that has witnessed, can ever 
 forget? Marmontel has somewhere invested misfortune with 
 the sacred right of purifying her victims from their offence, and 
 the man whom Heaven has punished, should become innocent 
 in our sight. The furies which Lady Macbeth had once let 
 forth upon others, turned back upon their owner and destroyed 
 her. Whatever were her crimes, her fate was their avenger. 
 The same sensibility which detests the one, should commiserate 
 the other. Had she been the greatest of offenders, this would 
 be but just to her ; that she was not the greatest, we have 
 humbly attempted to establish. 
 
 That critics, so respectable as those employed on this play, 
 the Johnsons, Steevenses, Richardsons, c., should have exer- 
 cised so little of their wonted discrimination in regard to this
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 269 
 
 part, we have before noted as, in our apprehension, extraor- 
 dinary. That Lord Kaimes, especially, whose penetration as 
 a philosopher enabled him to investigate principles and con- 
 sequences, and whose profession as a lawyer accustomed him to 
 compare evidence, and decide .between contending claims 
 that his lordship should have pronounced Lady Macbeth a 
 " character too bad to be conformable to human nature," is at 
 once too flattering to that nature in general, and too merciless 
 to this individual instance. Lady Macbeth participates with 
 her lord in the murder of their sovereign; its recollection 
 haunts her repose, and finally drives her to madness and to 
 death. Macbeth, to whom the assassination of Duncan was but 
 a noviciate in guilt, proceeds from crime to crime, undeterred 
 by those compunctious visitings which his better sense continued 
 to him ; and finishes his career with full possession of his reason, 
 with a bold defiance of his fate. Which of these individuals 
 should seem the most culpable ? Yet the former has been the 
 object of anathema, and the latter of comparative condolence. 
 It is grateful to the philanthropist to diminish the number 
 of atrocious offenders, and something is also gained for poor 
 human nature by endeavors to lessen the enormity of offence. 
 "Who would wantonly add weight to the stone of Sisyphus?" 
 Whatever items we can fairly deduct from individual guilt, we 
 so far diminish that aggregate which weighs so heavily on our 
 common race. Should the preceding reflections promote in 
 any degree so salutary a purpose, they will scarcely be classed
 
 270 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 with idle reveries. They refer to a character which, considered 
 either as an historic instance or a poetic fiction, is certainly 
 entitled to justice; and those to whom this claim would be 
 unavailing, who feel not Lady Macbeth's interests, may yet 
 take some heed to their own ; since it is probable few exercises 
 of the human mind are more pernicious, than that which con- 
 sists in the contemplation of consummate, unmingled depra- 
 vity. From this, the intellect in its healthy state revolts 
 with loathing ; it is only when diseased and morbid that it 
 discovers an appetite for poison. We are far from contending 
 that the character of Lady Macbeth, with every allowance, 
 does not exhibit deplorable deficiency ; but not that desperate 
 criminality which, independent of the disgust it occasions, loses 
 its moral effect, since its excess generates incredulity. "We 
 have merely endeavored that she should not be consigned to 
 entire and unequalled infamy; not be considered a "monster" 
 beyond parallel ; not be ranked with the Tullias and Clytem- 
 nestras of antiquity; or the Catherines of Medicis and of 
 Muscovy in more recent times. We all sympathize with the 
 faithful follower of " de Montfort," in that simple exclamation 
 over the body of his master : 
 
 " Thou wert too good to do a cruel deed, 
 And so it killed thee !" 
 
 Yet de Montfort was the murderer of his fellow. Does not 
 the character of Lady Macbeth authorize the same conclusion,
 
 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH. 271 
 
 since her offence received the same awful expiation ? Let this 
 reflection recommend her memory to our mercy, and spare her 
 in future from proving that bitterest imprecation of the sacred 
 writings : " Thine eye shall not pity her !" 
 
 To educe good from evil is the high prerogative only of 
 Divine Providence. But it is even here within the province of 
 the moral alchymist to attempt something like humble imita- 
 tion. He can decompose, combine, or transmute ; and if in the 
 process any latent good should be elicited, or any superficial 
 evil obliterated, the labor will not have been in vain.
 
 272 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD.* 
 
 THE dislike which we entertained towards the productions 
 of this writer, and the personal disgust which he excited by 
 his unmanly behavior to employ the mildest term towards 
 his wife, have hitherto prevented us from noticing any of his 
 productions. But the cause of sound morals and good taste 
 requires that we should suppress our own feelings, when the 
 republic is in danger; and we do think it is like to sustain great 
 harm, when one of its most conspicuous personages is detected 
 in the act of sapping the foundations of virtue by the per- 
 version of the attributes of genius. 
 
 That portion of the British public which is styled the 
 nobility and gentry, indignant at being stigmatised as a mob of 
 gentlemen who wrote with ease, in the time of the Stuarts, 
 avenged itself for a long time, by not writing at all. Since the 
 Hanoverian succession, the catalogue of royal and noble authors 
 has received few additions, until within a few years, when Lord 
 Holland, Lord Strangford, and the writer of the production 
 before us, appeared the most conspicuous among those of their 
 
 *Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. A Romaunt. Canto III. By Lord Byron. New York, 
 reprinted.
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 273 
 
 rank who have cultivated polite literature with assiduity and 
 success. The last nobleman, it is well known, first distinguished 
 himself in a poetical satire, written with all the personality, 
 though not the party spirit of Churchill, and combining equal 
 vigor with accumulated bitterness. For this publication, its 
 author has since expressed his regret; and the expression would 
 be honorable to him if regret had been followed by reforma- 
 tion. But the tone of his subsequent productions affords 
 melancholy evidence, that the evil spirit which breathed those 
 numbers, has never been finally exorcised, nor even laid for a 
 season. Next in order to the satire to which we have alluded, 
 was the poem of which the present canto is a continuation. 
 On its first appearance, opinions of its merit were, as usual, 
 various and contradictory. Its very title was not without 
 allurement ; and awakening one of those associations, by which 
 a world of thought may be connected with a word, the name of 
 a pilgrimage recalled the days of romance and achievement, of 
 knights and princes, of Bruce, St. Louis, and Kichard Coeur de 
 Lion ; when a pilgrimage was undertaken to encounter peril, 
 or to expiate offence. It was, indeed, found on proceeding, 
 that the fashion of pilgrimages, as of every thing else, had 
 partaken the mutations of this mutable world ; but the name 
 continued, and has doubtless attracted many an ear, which 
 might have revolted at the ordinary denomination of travels or 
 adventures. The heaviness of the Spenser-stanza, so unsuited
 
 274 POEMS AXD MISCELLANIES. 
 
 to our language, however congenial to that of Italy, deterred 
 some from accompanying the " Childe" in his peregrinations. 
 Others persevered, and though confined to the society of a 
 most frigid churl, found some relief to its melancholy monot- 
 ony from those occasional descriptions of natural scenery which 
 diversify what otherwise were a dreary waste. Misanthropy, 
 when resulting from the contact of ardent feelings with the 
 chill atmosphere of the world, from the milk of human kind- 
 ness soured by ingratitude, or the visions of fancy dispelled and 
 disappointed by the realities of experience; misanthropy 
 from any cause, indeed, where the sufferer is more "sinned 
 against than sinning," is a character of mind than which few 
 excite deeper interest, and on the stage or in the closet, it has 
 exercised a most powerful fascination. Very different from all 
 this is the misanthropy of Childe Harold. It is a display of 
 sullen and proud, and morbid selfishness ; an elaborate and 
 repulsive exhibition of the worst feelings of our nature, as seen 
 through the deforming medium of a distempered imagination. 
 If this be, indeed, our nature, which we take leave to doubt 
 since though there may occasionally be monsters in the moral 
 as in the physical world, they are not in the usual order of 
 nature, but out of it, and who cares to see them? but, if 
 such were our nature, we are not obliged by the unhallowed 
 curiosity which would force it on our inspection. 
 
 " Heaven's sovereign spares all beings but himself, 
 That hideous sight, a naked human heart,"
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 275 
 
 and the veil that we owe to the mercy of heaven, should not 
 rashly be rent asunder by the malice of man. 
 
 Lord Byron has been at some pains to disclaim all identity 
 with his hero, and we are willing to take him at his word ; 
 but the striking resemblance between the features of what 
 he advances in propria persona, and what he expresses by his 
 characters, somewhat impeaches his credit. Be this as it may, 
 we believe the effect of the " Childe" was, to leave on its 
 readers, friends as well as foes, a feeling of dissatisfaction with 
 the hero, the author, and themselves. Of the gross impieties 
 of that work, we say nothing, as they have been sufficiently 
 exposed in the journals of the noble author's own nation ; nor 
 have the impurities of his later productions escaped the public 
 justice, that should ever fall on offences of which genius, instead 
 of being a palliative, is an aggravation. Of Childe Harold we 
 expected to see no more, but he now reappears, and we are 
 sorry to say, utterly unchanged by time or circumstance since 
 we last met him. Far from advancing, he seems to have 
 retrograded in interest; and spite of the dexterous inter- 
 weaving of matters personal to the writer with the musings 
 of his Harold, we are but little moved. Perhaps the very 
 frequency with which this occurs has defeated its own designs. 
 Sorrow, like piety, we know to be a sacred and secluded thing; 
 it shuns, rather than solicits, notice, and seems eager to recall 
 even its inadvertent complainings. Even bodily privations 
 the most affecting of all calamities, because obvious to all,
 
 276 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 might repel our pity if the subject of perpetual lamentation ; 
 and Milton's allusion to his blindness, and that of Cowper to 
 his awful mental malady, would, by too constant repetition, 
 harden rather than excite our sympathies. The example of 
 his favorite, Jean Jacques, might have taught this lesson to the 
 noble author. Under a sense of real or supposed injury, to 
 renounce his kind, and hide his miseries with himself from 
 society, was natural and therefore touching. Far be it from us 
 to judge lightly of such suffering, because possibly visionary. 
 Whether actual or imaginary in its cause, it was real in its 
 effect on the individual, and as such commands our commisera- 
 tion. All we would remark is, that he did not raise the spectre 
 of his griefs in every page, like the author before us, till we 
 most heartily exclaim with Denmark's heir, 
 
 " Rest, rest, poor ghost ! " 
 
 Enough, and perhaps the reader may think, too much, of 
 character; let us come now to diction. The radical and 
 reigning defects of Lord Byron's style are its inflation and 
 obscurity the latter being, in some degree, a necessary con- 
 sequence of the former ; and both together forming more than 
 a match for any ordinary reader. Nothing can supply the 
 want of perspicuity in prose or verse ; but the absence of this 
 quality is more severely felt in the latter style of composition, 
 where we are unwilling that a recreation should be converted 
 into a task. In no department of the muse is this a pardonable
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 277 
 
 fault, except the lyric and dramatic, and there only because 
 the instrument in the one case and the action in the other 
 may supply the defect of the bard. In all .other instances, 
 obscurity is a defect, and one of which this canto affords so 
 many specimens that we select the following only because 
 among the earliest, to gratify the amateurs of the. occult. 
 
 " "Tis to create, and in creating live 
 
 A being more intense, that we endow 
 
 With form one fancy, gaining as we give, 
 
 The life we image, even as I do now. 
 
 What am I ! Nothing ; but not so art thou, 
 
 Soul of my thought ! with whom I treasure earth, 
 
 Invisible but gazing as I glow, 
 
 Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, 
 
 And feeling still with thee in my crushed feelings dearth." 
 
 And again : 
 
 " What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
 The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear, 
 That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
 With their own hopes, and have been vanquished, bear 
 Silence, but not submission ; in his lair, 
 Fixed passion holds his breath, until the hour 
 Which shall atone for years ! none need despair : 
 It came, it cometh, and will come, the power 
 To punish or forgive in one we shall be slower." 
 
 Slower than what? We do not assert that these stanzas, 
 and many such as these, have absolutely no meaning; we say
 
 278 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 only, it is not sufficiently apparent for the purposes of poetry, 
 and that those who readily, and without much reflection, 
 divine it, may venture with encouraging anticipations among 
 the mysticisms of Jacob Bemen. 
 
 On the whole, however, we suspect Lord Byron has found 
 it for his interest to adopt this manner. Opinions and senti- 
 ments but half revealed may serve as a test of public taste ; 
 and according to the reception of these " ambiguous givings 
 out," may their future development be pursued or renounced. 
 Hid under the hieroglyphic of an inuendo, much may safely be 
 hazarded, which it were indiscreet to divulge ; and hence we 
 may account for what else might be unaccountable how 
 misses can read to their mammas, and quote to their admirers, 
 the Turkish tales of the writer without hesitation, and how 
 grave matrons to whose offspring the works of Goethe, Godwin, 
 or Rousseau are sealed books, can introduce and recommend 
 to their acquaintance a far more pernicious companion. But 
 danger, it will be remembered, is not the less danger for being 
 concealed. The mine to which a match has been laid, will 
 inevitably explode under the tread of a passenger, though he 
 may have ventured on it once and again without injury. Lord 
 Byron is sufficiently intimate with human nature to know that 
 the equivoques in which he deals, will accomplish his purpose 
 surely, however slowly. If the writer draw but the outline, 
 the reader will ultimately fill it up. Let a meaning be hinted, 
 and there is always a powerful ally within, to intepret the
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 279 
 
 whispering of the tempter without. The asp once applied, 
 there is no necessity of renewing the application ; the venom 
 may confidently be trusted to work its own way. 
 
 We mentioned as another characteristic of his lordship, a 
 destitution, perhaps disdain of the grace of simplicity. All is 
 inflated, extravagant, and hyperbolical. There is no resting- 
 place for the feelings, where one may stop and take breath 
 before he proceeds. The author breathes only in an atmos- 
 phere of exaggeration, and you must go on and faint not, 
 respiring as he does if you can. Now this is evidently arti- 
 ficial, and therefore, repels sympathy. It cannot be natural. 
 No man can exist long in a perpetual fever ; or, if an illustration 
 drawn from disease befits not our poet, the sea itself no 
 unworthy emblem of his impetuous genius, is not always " at 
 the flood." One example may suffice in support of the charge 
 it is where his lordship is about to describe the impressions 
 common to all who have ever visited the summits of a lofty 
 mountain ; the unuttered, unutterable reflections, or rather the 
 suspension of all reflection, when, as has been finely observed, 
 " we rather feel than think." Behold how this natural and 
 simple emotion is bloated into bombast in the following 
 stanza : 
 
 " Could I embody and unbosom now 
 That which is most within me, could I wreak 
 My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
 Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,
 
 280 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 
 
 Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into one word, 
 
 And that one word were lightning, I would speak ; 
 
 But as it is, I live and die unheard, 
 
 With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword." 
 
 The flaming sword of Angantyr himself, as it figures in 
 Runic mythology, never had more pomp and circumstance 
 attending its interment, than has this shadowy brand of lord 
 Byron ! Perhaps there is no modern writer of similar dimen- 
 sions so worthy a place in the next edition of Scriblerus. 
 Poetical enthusiasm must be kept within the bounds of nature ; 
 at any rate we do not think Lord Byron is one of the eagle- 
 pinioned tribe who can 
 
 Soar through the trackless bounds of space 
 
 and indulge in those fine phrenzies which are impervious to 
 ordinary capacities. 
 
 The ensuing lines are in far better taste, and explicit, and 
 we think, in our author's happiest manner, both in the deline- 
 ation of a tranquil and of a troubled scene. 
 
 " Clear, placid Leman, thy contrasted lake, 
 
 "With the wide world I dwell in, is a thing 
 
 Which warns me with its stillness to forsake 
 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 
 To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
 
 Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
 
 That I, with stern delights should e're have been so moved."
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 281 
 
 And now, 
 
 " The sky is changed ! and such a change ! Oh night, 
 And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along 
 From peak to peak the rattling crags among 
 Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Gura answers from her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud." 
 
 The illustrations that follow, though their force is, perhaps, 
 weakened by extension, are strikingly appropriate, and possess 
 great poetical beauty. 
 
 " They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smiling, mourn ; 
 
 The tree will wither, long before it fall ; 
 
 The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; 
 
 The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the wall 
 
 In massy hoariness ; the ruined wall 
 
 Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone ; 
 
 The bars survive the captive they enthrall ; 
 
 The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun ; 
 
 And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on." 
 
 Among his descriptions of Alpine scenery, Lord Byron has 
 paid a just tribute to the memory of that Julia, who gave to 
 a former age an example of self-devotedness, similar to that 
 which the French revolution has afforded in our own time, and 
 whose filial piety recalls to our remembrance the memorable
 
 282 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 words of the daughter of Malesherbes to her more fortunate 
 companion : " you have the glory of saving your father, and 
 I have the consolation to die with mine !" 
 
 We passed over the stanzas relating to Waterloo ; for Scott 
 and Southey have traversed the ground before, and the public 
 by this time have " supped full with horrors." A more unre- 
 proved banquet as well as unexpected, is furnished in the 
 57th and 58th pages. The sketches of Rousseau, Voltaire, and 
 Gibbon, are given with much discrimination and strength of 
 outline, so as to excite in us the fervent wish that Lord Byron 
 might no longer employ his pencil in carricaturing ideal 
 Harolds, but rather exercise its skill on a gallery of portraits 
 from real characters. 
 
 Of the minor faults in this canto, may be mentioned a more 
 frequent ruggedness of versification than we recollect to have 
 before witnessed in its author. Examples are not wanting of 
 that petty play or fancy, which, for want of a more definite 
 term, is styled conceit ; and the thing signified, together with its 
 sign, would agree better with a structure of verse formed, like 
 that of Leigh Hunt, on the Italian model. There are in- 
 stances of tautology, as, " wld-bewldered " of expletive, where 
 " Brunswick did hear ; and of the obsolete, like " sheen" " blent" 
 &c., which are neither useful nor ornamental. These, indeed, 
 are trifles ; if any thing can justly be so classed in a writer of 
 celebrity, whose blemishes are far more easily imitated than 
 his beauties. That the works of Lord Byron contain beauties,
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 283 
 
 both of thought and expression, is not denied. They certainly 
 do ; but unless finer and more frequent than those of any 
 other which they certainly do not their evil is more than a 
 counterpoise to their good, and leaves them little claim to rank 
 with their less exceptionable cotemporaries. Fortunately for 
 the lovers of English poetry, the present, beyond any preced- 
 ing era, has adorned the United Kingdom with a cluster of 
 poets, whose lives and writings reflect mutual lustre on each 
 other. In the north, beside the lofty strains of their dramatic 
 muse, we have the bold and beautiful imagination of Campbell, 
 with the elevation of an angel and the tenderness of a man ; 
 and Scott, whose varied and mellifluous versification is glowing 
 with the prismatic colors, and like the mists of the Highlands, 
 embodying a spirit. In England ; the claimants crowd upon 
 our memory Montgomery, whose lips seem to be purified by 
 a living spark from the altar, like those of the bard whom 
 he most resembles in his fervors of piety and patriotism; 
 "Wordsworth the philosophy of whose rural reveries, if not 
 always intelligible is often affecting ; and Southey, w^hose 
 protean genius through all its transformations, whether as a 
 British druid, or a Spanish chronicler, an Arabian Dervise, or 
 an Indian Bramin, is constantly followed with delight and 
 admiration ! 
 
 Visions of glory spare the aching sight ! 
 
 We have considered Lord Byron as a poet only ; as such 
 only we should wish to regard him; but he has chosen to
 
 284 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 obtrude himself upon us by combining the memoirs of the man 
 with the minstrelsy of the writer. It has been usual for 
 matrimonial dissension to confine itself to the family hearth, 
 for the sole edification and amusement of children and domes- 
 tics, and the world without was never the wiser. But such 
 guarded decorums were only for plebeians ; and the quarrels of 
 lords and ladies, like those of Olympian deities, are to agitate 
 a universe. The names of Lord and Lady Byron have been 
 " hung on high" by the gazettes of Europe, and, thanks to 
 the invention of letters and the facilities of commerce, they 
 seem to be destined to attain similar " bad eminence," in our 
 own distant republic. We should have passed them by, how- 
 ever, with mingled feelings of pity, contempt, and indignation, 
 did not the present production contain references and confes- 
 sions that call for more decided animadversion. That Lord 
 Byron should avow his contempt for a church links," and his 
 preference of " unwed " love, excites no surprise ; being perfect- 
 ly in accordance with all his former writings, in which love is 
 constantly represented as an instinct rather than a sentiment, 
 and where we discover not even one instance of any other 
 than an illicit connection. Love, to his Lordship's taste, must 
 be lawless as his Corsair, or licentious as his Giaour ; and, to 
 do him justice, he seems as incapable of feigning as of feeling 
 the comforts of a legitimate attachment. Here, then, in itself 
 considered, was no matter for astonishment. The wonder is, 
 only, how a poem containing such sentiments should be pre-
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 285 
 
 h 
 
 faced and concluded with a direct address to his daughter 
 
 an infant daughter! Should the passage in question ever 
 meet her eye, surely it will be obliterated by her tears ! Those 
 whom the majesty of heaven could not arrest, have sometimes 
 been awed by the innocence of infancy. But we grow solemn. 
 Cumberland dedicated his works to his daughter, Sir Phillip 
 Sydney, to his sister ; Mr. Eoscoe, to his wife : for they were 
 calculated to excite no glow but that of grateful exultation. 
 Even Wilkes, in his poetic trifles that have a similar designa- 
 tion, breathes nothing but refinement. Should Lord Byron 
 ever address another poem to his child, may it be such as she 
 can read without a blush for her unworthy parent. 
 
 The minor poems attached to this volume had not been 
 published when these remarks were written, and we have 
 already occupied so many pages that we shall not trespass any 
 longer on the reader, than to acknowledge that this canto 
 contains some just reflections, and much moralizing truth. But 
 these expressions, from so polluted a source, are to us, we 
 confess, only less disgusting than the effrontery with which 
 their opposites are as frequently avowed, and forcibly remind 
 us of De la Borders prophecy concerning Rousseau : 
 
 "And in those days there shall come a philosopher, preaching from 
 the borders of a lake. And when he talks about virtue and morality, 
 no one shall le able to discover ivhat is either virtue or morality."
 
 286 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ROKEBY.* 
 
 To assert the instability of popular opinion, would be to 
 urge a truth so trite, it is obvious to all ; but the consequent 
 variations of taste being less apparent, do not engage so much 
 of our attention. To follow this fluctuating faculty in its pro- 
 gress through the several ages since the revival of letters, and 
 amid all the material and mental objects it embraces, might be 
 u curious philosophical disquisition, but unsuited to the length 
 of the present article, and the nature of this journal.^ Such 
 disquisition) however, would be far from mere idle speculation 
 or amusiiag reverie. This salutary lesson, among others, might 
 be drawn from it ; that if writers possess the high privilege of 
 ruling public opinion, there is always a sort of re-action in that 
 public, which gives law, in its turn, to its former sovereigns. 
 Hence those who have been led by a love of novelty, or turn 
 for paradox, to introduce strange systems, either of sentiment 
 or style, have been compelled to continue from necessity what 
 they commenced from caprice. The public was pleased with 
 the peculiarity, and its author obliged perhaps against his 
 
 * Robeky : a Poem, by Walter Scott. Boston; published by Bradford and Reed. 1813. 
 t The Portfolio.
 
 ROKEBY. 287 
 
 recovered sense to persevere, or forfeit his popularity. The 
 ' coarse conceits and licentious jestings of the mob of gentlemen 
 in King Charles's days, might have originated in the momentary 
 wish of pleasing the monarch or amusing the circle. Effusions 
 of the moment, they were intended, perhaps, with the moment 
 to terminate. At least there appears to have been nothing like 
 settled systematic design upon the interests of society. But 
 given to the world, and become the order of the day, the public 
 taste once regaled with the stimulating banquet, would be 
 satisfied with no other. This appetite, first injudiciously excited, 
 maybe said to have afterward "made the meat it fed on;" 
 since its demands were such, that we must in charity suppose 
 the original caterers had reason to regret their imperious popu- 
 larity. In our own time, indeed, we have little reason to 
 apprehend any inroads on social morals. Such attempts would 
 be frowned into extinction, not only by the mass of mankind, 
 but by those portions of it who are emphatically the " makers 
 of manners." The fashion, fortunately for us, is usually on the 
 side of virtue. But from perversions of our literature we have 
 more to dread, because from these we are far less secure ; and 
 these, though secondary, will not be deemed of trivial import, 
 by any who consider the close affinity of justness of action, 
 with propriety of expression the delicate but indissoluble tie 
 which connects refinement of taste with correctness of char- 
 acter. Let it not be forgotten that the same elegant essayist 
 who first successfully inculcated purity of morals, had also the
 
 288 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 glory of rescuing the poems of Milton from their partial 
 oblivion, and recommending them to the notice of his country. 
 These remarks will not, it is hoped, be considered a digres- 
 sion from the head of this article. Nothing, surely, which 
 treats of variety, popularity, or novelty, can be irrelative to the 
 subject of Mr. Scott. This gentleman is generally styled the 
 founder of a new school of poetry, but the title is not strictly 
 applicable. The works of Mr. Scott are, in fact, a revival of 
 the early English poems commonly called ballads ; a collection 
 of the best specimens from which was published some years 
 since by the late Dr. Percy ; who on this account is by Mr. 
 Scott somewhere acknowledged " the father of this species of 
 poetry." To one kind of originality, however, the author of 
 " The Lay" appears fairly entitled. We know of no other poet 
 who, writing in his own person, and for his own time, ever 
 entertained the strange conceit of collecting and localizing in 
 his works, all the colloquial barbarisms and provincial phrases, 
 which were scattered amongst the wildest class of the wild- 
 est people, at a distant and even disgusting period of their 
 national history. The works of Macpherson, and the wonder- 
 ful fragments of Chatterton, it is true, were written in an 
 ancient dialect ; but they were designed to pass for antiques, 
 and the diction was hence perfectly suitable to the date of their 
 supposed authors. Both Chatterton and Macpherson would 
 have ridiculed the project of publishing in their own name 
 works of this kind, as equal in absurdity to that of stamping
 
 ROKEBY. 289 
 
 our present coin with the impression which was current three 
 hundred years back. This absurdity is so palpable, that while 
 we admit, as high proof of Mr. Scott's powers, his being able to 
 make the public forget it, we cannot look on this forgetfulness 
 as equally honorable to that public. We have no dislike to 
 the ancient ballad-writing. It was perfect in its season ; and 
 had it no other merit, would be of inestimable value for the 
 evidence it affords, that poetry, in some form or other, is natural 
 to man. But the lullaby that charmed us in our cradle, would 
 be childish and harsh to our maturer ear, and after so much 
 talent and labor have been employed in bringing forward and 
 perfecting our language, to retrograde in this way is to treat 
 our benefactors with ingratitude by rejecting their toils as 
 unnecessary. 
 
 An apologist for Mr. Scott's manner, has lately considered 
 all wishes at altering it to be quite as unreasonable as to exact 
 " our exchanging the weapons to which we have been trained, 
 and which we prefer, for the cumbrous armor of our ancestors." 
 The metaphor, however ingenious, is applicable only in illus- 
 trating the opposite opinion to that intended by the author. 
 It is this exchange of our accustomed weapons for the cum- 
 brous armor of our ancestors, which is the very fault alleged 
 against Mr. Scott. "We have warriors introduced to us in 
 the nineteenth century who are gauntleted and glaived after 
 the fashion of their predecessors in the age of chivalry. All 
 this in the literal sense is very proper. We must not be under-
 
 290 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 stood to express any doubt of the propriety of adapting the 
 costume of personages in poems, as in paintings, to the tune of 
 their supposed existence, not to that of the publication. But 
 though this may with propriety be allowed to drapery, it is not 
 as to language, for the best of all reasons, because it would be 
 unintelligible. We can recognize James V. to be king of 
 Scotland, notwithstanding his bonnet and doublet should be 
 very unlike those his present majesty of both kingdoms might 
 probably wear, if he chanced to visit Holyrood. But we cannot 
 so readily recognize the character of such terms as " stalwort," 
 " gramarge," &c., without reference to a glossary, an act which 
 changes a poetic entertainment to the drudgery of a school 
 exercise. Had Gray incorporated with his " Descent of Odin," 
 particular phrases from the Norse tongue, the description might 
 have been very grand, but to most readers very mysterious ; or 
 had the narrator of Madoc's enterprises celebrated his hero in 
 the Welsh idiom, our admiration had hardly been retained at 
 hearing hur was born in Gwyneth, hur was voyaged to Aztlaii, but 
 the sublime must have yielded to the ludicrous. 
 
 In the last poem of Mr. Scott, we are happy to see less of 
 the obsolete, we think, than in its predecessors. The period it 
 represents is also nearer to our own times, being that of the 
 civil wars between Charles I. and Cromwell. We had intended 
 a sketch of the plot, but relinquished it as superfluous, since the 
 public curiosity will have anticipated any analysis. In both the 
 plan and execution of the poem, its readers will perceive many
 
 ROKEBY. 291 
 
 of the characteristic beauties and defects of its author. The 
 old objection which was urged against his former works, of 
 a sameness of characters amongst them all, applies with still 
 greater force to the present, with the single exception of Wil- 
 frid. In Bertrand, the real hero of the piece, we discover every 
 trait of Rhoderic Dhu, but his love. Redmond reminds us of 
 the Graeme ; Matilda is the transcript of Ellen. Of these latter, 
 not only the natures, but the situations are similar. Both are 
 forced to the alternative, either of sacrificing the life of a 
 father, or, renouncing the lover they prefer for a marriage with 
 the one to whom they are adverse. De Wilton, in "Marmion," 
 is left for dead on the field of battle, and his end so undoubted, 
 that when met upon the heath he is supposed an apparition ; 
 and the horror of the encounter completely unnerves his potent 
 adversary. In this poem, the assassin of Mortham considered 
 he had " made all sure" 
 
 " 'Twas then I fired my petronel, 
 " And Mortham, steed and rider fell ; 
 " One dying look he upward cast, 
 " Of wrath and anguish 'twas his last." 
 
 Yet is this chieftain afterward resuscitated, and his appear- 
 ance excites the same ghostly apprehensions which had before 
 been so effectual in the case of Marmion. Here, indeed, the vis- 
 itation is even more opportune, as it interposes in the very last 
 event of things, like Mr. Lewis's castle-spectre, for the pious 
 purpose of preventing bloodshed. The heroes have not only
 
 292 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 the same general resemblance in character, but in person. "We 
 see a family likeness in their forms and features. Mr. Scott 
 seems to have no idea of a warrior who is not broad-shouldered, 
 high-chested, dark-browed, with mighty arms, and gigantic 
 stature ; and did we use no other measure but his for heroes, we 
 must be tempted to disbelieve there ever was such a being as 
 Alexander the Great, or William of Orange, or Bonaparte. 
 
 If invention, either in character, situation, or incident, be 
 essential to form the perfect poet, it will not be too much to 
 say that Mr. Scott has not yet attained this point of consum- 
 mation. His scenery and events have little diversity; his 
 dramatic personae never change. Knights, barons, minstrels, 
 pages, warders these he has made our old acquaintance, and 
 while we acknowledge their claim, on that account, to our 
 friendship, we should be glad of a chance to exercise hos- 
 pitality, by an introduction, now and then, to accomplished 
 strangers. Inanimate nature has also reason to prefer a like 
 complaint. Of her thousand protean forms she is sketched in 
 only a few ; and these few are continually recurring. It has 
 been said of Shakspeare's characters, that not only are pre- 
 served the stronger contrasts, those of the good and the bad ; 
 but that the numerous personages in each of these classes 
 are greatly diversified. Hamlet is not only unlike Richard III., 
 but Horatio is unlike Hamlet. Mercutio differs from Benedick, 
 and Falstaff from both. Nothing can be more dissimilar than 
 is the description of circumstances, individuals, and countries,
 
 ROKEBY. 293 
 
 in the poem of Madoc," to the whole system of Thalaba," and 
 again, to that of Kehama." The tranquil loveliness of land- 
 scape presented us in Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming," is 
 contrasted, in all but sweetness of versification, with the noble 
 animation of the " Pleasures of Hope." But to Mr. Scott, a 
 succession of his wonted images and heroes seems indispensable 
 to success. The only attempt made to forsake this track for 
 a foreign tour, has been too little flattering to be speedily 
 renewed. "We presume there are few readers who would not 
 rather peruse for the thousandth time, the description of Loch 
 Ners, and Loch Katrine, and Teviot, and Tweed than fol- 
 low our minstrel through his Spencer-stanza and his Spanish 
 " Vision." He is there no longer the mighty magician, but the 
 magician deprived of his wand. 
 
 The poem of Eokeby abounds with delineations of pictur- 
 esque and awful scenery. Some of these are merely sketched 
 in a bold outline, others are filled up with circumstantial 
 minuteness. Among the most attractive passages is the one at 
 the beginning of the work. That which describes the firing 
 of Kokeby Castle would have excited more of our admiration, 
 but for an unlucky association with the burning of Old Drury, 
 in a recent laughable volume. The most elaborate in detail 
 but worst in taste, of any of these specimens, is that of the 
 fourteenth stanza of the second canto, where near forty lines 
 are employed in recounting the process of climbing a moun- 
 tain. Mr. Collins a name which no lover of poetry can pro- 
 is
 
 294 POEMS AM) MISCELLANIES. 
 
 nounce without reverence in giving his personification of 
 Danger, has thrown him 
 
 " On the ridgy steep 
 Of some loose, hanging rock, to sleep." 
 
 We believe there are few readers who do not feel that the 
 simple sublimity of this single image, would only have been 
 weakened by any effort to extend or multiply its power. 
 
 Mr. Scott has seemed determined to compensate for amplify- 
 ing on trivial events in the first of his poem by the little space 
 he allots to important ones, at the last. To nothing indeed but 
 the hurry incident to an author, whose printer has completed 
 one half of the work before his employer has composed the 
 other, can we impute the confusion arising from events which 
 crowd so unceremoniously on each other, and on the reader, 
 that each following page jostles the preceding one from his 
 memory. We marvel much at this in an author whom rumor 
 has represented 
 
 " As born to write, converse, and live at ease." 
 
 One who, pressed neither by want nor sorrow, must have 
 described the spoiled and wayward child of fancy, from obser- 
 vation rather than experience. The exquisite portrait of Wil- 
 frid had been a general likeness in those days which drove 
 Gray to disgust, and Chatterton to despair. But Mr. Scott's 
 popularity is not only gratifying, but profitable. His laurels
 
 ROKEBY. 295 
 
 are of gold. No wavering Parnassian garland, but solid Brit- 
 ish metal. By such a writer, the goad of necessity can be no 
 cause of inaccuracy or haste. Yet to haste alone can we 
 impute many instances of obscurity in this volume, which we 
 have not time to enumerate. One, indeed, is so remarkable, 
 that it appears the effect of design. Who is the real cause of 
 Mortham's wrongs, we are never informed ; and though proba- 
 bilities concur to fix the charge on Wycliffe, yet it is by no 
 means clearly ascertained. 
 
 The same passion for obscurity appears in the history of 
 Redmond ; and has in one instance betrayed the author into 
 great improbability. Why the grandfather should have sent 
 this child to England, to his relations, without disclosing his 
 relationship ; why so earnestly entreat for him protection, on 
 the comparatively feeble claims of gratitude and hospitality, 
 and omit the resistless ones of nature and blood, appears 
 to us wholly unaccountable. But we recollect that it is 
 poetic ground on which we tread, and that poetry is the prov- 
 ince of fancy rather than fact. The same allowance we regret 
 cannot be made for a most revolting passage at the conclusion. 
 The martyr Wilfrid . the most original, tender, and really mag- 
 nanimous character in the piece, who lived to promote the 
 happiness of Matilda, and died to secure it the interesting 
 Wilfrid has no sooner breathed his last, but we are shocked 
 by an instantaneous transition to the merry-making of nuptial 
 festivities. The surviving rival avails himself of the fortunate 
 moment ;
 
 296 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 " Steps in with his receipt for making smiles, 
 And blanching sables into bridal bloom." 
 
 This may be very natural in Redmond, but suits ill with 
 the " soft " and " pensive " Matilda. The Roman ladies, though 
 made of sterner stuff, consecrated a year of mourning to 
 Brutus, to whom they were bound by no tie but the general 
 one of grateful patriotism. Surely, to the memory of a lover, 
 a kinsman, a friend from infancy, something more than two 
 little months might have been allowed ; even apart from the 
 important considerations of his having rescued her life, and lost 
 his own from her unconscionable command, by wounds received 
 in the assistance of her favorite ! It had been sufficient to 
 have left us looking forward to the union of Redmond and 
 Matilda. Such a termination had been more soothing to the 
 reader, more honorable to the feelings of the parties, and we 
 trust more conformable to human nature. Instead of that we 
 are summarily told, 
 
 " This chanced upon a summer morn, 
 When yellow waned the ripened corn. 
 But when brown August o'er the land 
 Called forth the reaper's busy hand, 
 'Twas then the maid of Rokeby gave 
 Her plighted faith to Redmond brave." 
 
 We can only, in charity to Mr. Scott, attribute, as before, 
 this instance of hurry to the demands of his printer, which 
 would not allow time for the obsequies of Wilfrid ; and the
 
 ROKEBY. 297 
 
 public impatience may thus share with him the censure of 
 leaving his heroine deficient in the decencies of common 
 feeling. 
 
 We have thus hazarded some desultory observations on Mr. 
 Scott's poem. The proof of their justice or injustice is in the 
 hands of every one. If it should seem that we have been 
 more studious of his blemishes than beauties, it was not because 
 the latter are not seen, but because they are seen too plainly. 
 The beauties of this writer's poetry are of the most striking and 
 dazzling kind ; and their glare extends over his defects. In 
 literature, as in life, we find the more showy and ostentatious 
 characters attract general admiration, before refined and retired 
 ones. The success that has attended this writer is as seductive 
 as the nature of his poetry ; and both, we apprehend, are 
 injurious to the interests of pure taste and classical verse, espe- 
 cially in this country. In Great Britain there are enough 
 established models of the noblest form of poetry to oppose any 
 recent peculiarities of the Muse. And while it is there recol- 
 lected that the poems of Waller were universally read, while 
 those of Milton were as universally neglected ; and the dramas 
 of Shakspeare superseded by the ribaldry of Settle and his 
 contemporaries ; present popularity will scarcely be considered 
 an infallible criterion of permanent renown. But in a nation 
 like our own, where the public taste is yet immatured ; and 
 destined, as we probably are some croakings to the contrary 
 notwithstanding to produce one day, poems which shall be
 
 298 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 candidates for endurance, it is of no small consequence that 
 the eyes of our future bards should not be attracted by 
 any " Cynthias of the minute," any wandering stars of litera- 
 ture, but rather fix on those permanent luminaries which, 
 though alas ! suns to other worlds, have yet beamed on us some 
 portion of their brightness. Our countrymen will be sensible 
 that if respectable critics, as Dr. Beattie, Mrs. Montagu, Lord 
 Lyttleton, &c., apprehended at the close of the last century, 
 there were indications of the English language being on the 
 decline, the publication of a series of poems which may tend 
 to accelerate that event, is no inconsiderable evil. We shall 
 remember that to extend the empire of this admirable lan- 
 guage, was one of the warmest wishes of patriots and scholars, 
 in the scheme of our colonization. If this language is to know 
 corruption or change, let it at least be in favor of the sonorous 
 dignity of the Greek, the polished elegance of the Latin the 
 lively French, or melodious Italian ; not for the mutterings 
 of Highland nurses, and the jargon of Border outlaws. If our 
 poets should not dare delineate a cavalier on the old plan of 
 being as much sans reproche as sans peur, but must comply with 
 the reigning taste for heroes in whom boldness supplies the 
 want of every other qualification ; there is at least no necessity 
 of recurring to Scotch marauders, equally ignorant and fero- 
 cious with our own aboriginals, whilst we have a model so 
 conveniently near us.
 
 ROKEBY. 299 
 
 The length to which these remarks have been protracted, 
 will be pardoned by those whose sympathies are alive to the 
 importance of the subject ; who wish well to society in general 
 to their own country in particular and consider the inter- 
 ests of both as materially affected by the state of moral feeling 
 and polite literature.
 
 300 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. * 
 
 ME. MONTGOMERY appears before the public with many 
 claims on our interest and sympathy. A tendency to melan- 
 choly, predominant in his writings, and, perhaps, the original 
 characteristic of his genius, has been deepened and rendered 
 permanent by the sufferings of his life. In common with 
 his great predecessor in sacred epic, the illustrious Milton, his 
 ingenuous discussion of political and religious subjects, has 
 exposed him to rigorous persecution ; and much is it to be 
 deplored that two individuals of the purest morals, the most 
 exalted piety, and the most disinterested patriotism, should 
 thus have 
 
 Fallen on evil days, 
 
 On evil tongues !" 
 
 With these impressions we can never open a volume from 
 this writer with indifference, and if these may be supposed to 
 interfere with our singleness of judgment, we must admit the 
 
 * The World before the Flood, a Poem in ten Cantos ; with other occasional Pieces. By James 
 Montgomery.
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 301 
 
 fact. Our respect for the man certainly mingles with our esti- 
 mation of the author, and we class this among those wholesome 
 prejudices which none but stoics in criticism would disallow. 
 "We are far from approving that parade of ideal misery and 
 elegant distress, with which some writers appear before the 
 public. This may be considered a sort of stage effect, and like 
 that, has seldom any power in the pathetic. The imagination 
 only is addressed, and it is the imagination only that answers. 
 The heart preserves a becoming silence. The querulous fasti- 
 diousness of Gray, and the caustic misanthropy of Lord Byron, 
 may not always command our sympathy; but the loss of health, 
 and friends, and liberty, are among those awful, actual evils, at 
 which the sternest shudder, and the most obdurate relent. 
 
 The reader of a poem like the one now under consideration, 
 owes it both to himself and his author, to bring to its perusal 
 suitable and distinct ideas of the kind of excellence he expects. 
 Simple and natural as is this requisition, we fear a compliance 
 with it is by no means universal. How many rash judgments 
 might this mental preparation have averted ? How much of 
 the unpopularity of certain productions at particular periods, 
 may be traced to a disregard of this rule ? Some of the warm- 
 est admirers of " The Pleasures of Hope" have been offended 
 with the " Gertrude," for not answering the expectations which 
 the very title might have informed them could not be gratified 
 without every sacrifice of truth and nature. Instead of con- 
 sidering the work as a new and beautiful proof of its writer's
 
 302 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 versatility of talent, they have summarily professed themselves 
 disappointed ! In like manner, those who paid willing homage 
 to the regular beauties of Southey's " Madoc," have been fright- 
 ened from their allegiance by the erratic wonders of "Thalaba," 
 and the " Curse of Kehama. " "We reiterate, therefore, our 
 former injunction that no reader should content himself with 
 a vague indefinite expectation of excellence, he knows not how 
 or what, but rather endeavor to form accurate anticipations of 
 the species of entertainment which is suited to the nature of 
 the subject proposed. As this particular species, when ascer- 
 tained, shall be more or less agreeable to his previous tastes, he 
 can persevere or not, at his pleasure ; but at any rate, his can- 
 dor will not cast all the blame on the writer, which is equally 
 to be shared with the reader. This duty, a paramount one to 
 all authors, ought more especially to be observed towards such 
 as write on themes not analogous to the popular literature of 
 the day. Whoever should come with a fancy stored only from 
 the romances of the Troubadours, or a memory filled from the 
 more recent minstrelsy of Mr. Scott, with visions of barons and 
 squires, and camps and tournaments, and the long et ccdem of 
 chivalric garniture, will find nothing of all this in the present 
 production. 
 
 If such and so exclusive be his ideas, we would recommend 
 a total abstinence ; as his sensations would else resemble, pro- 
 bably, those of a poor Neapolitan, who with all his poetical 
 notions associated with the ballads of his native improvisatori,
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 303 
 
 should be sentenced, by way of penance, to compass the pages 
 of Paradise Lost." 
 
 There are those, however, who entertain more liberal con- 
 ceptions respecting the nature and extent of the empire of 
 poetry ; and such we may invite to the perusal of this poem. 
 Its scene is principally laid at an imaginary spot eastward of 
 Eden, inhabited by the younger and more virtuous descendants 
 of Adam ; and the time chosen for its commencement is the 
 period when their elder brethren, the giant posterity of Cain, 
 are about invading this little tract, which is represented as the 
 only remaining residence of faith and freedom, even in those 
 early times. The detail of this invasion forms the subject of 
 the poem, intermixed with episodes, describing the race of 
 giants, the characters of their monarch and his wizard 
 instructor, the several events of scripture history anterior to 
 that time, and those future dispensations which formed the 
 vision of inspired prophecy. To give a particular interest to 
 these events, an individual is introduced, who becomes the 
 principal object of our sympathy and solicitude, during the 
 whole action. Javan, a lover and a minstrel, ambitious of 
 renown, becomes a fugitive from the place, and an apostate 
 from the religion of his ancestors. 
 
 He fled and sojourned in the land of Cain. 
 
 There, when he heard the voice of Jubal's lyre, 
 Instinctive genius caught the ethereal fire ; 
 And soon, with sweetly modulating skill, 
 He learned to wind the passions at hia will ;
 
 304 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 To rule the chords with such mysterious art, 
 They seemed the life-strings of the hearer's heart ! 
 Then glory's opening field he proudly trod, 
 Forsook the -worship and the ways of God. 
 Round the vain world pursued the phantom Fame, 
 And cast away his birthright for a name. 
 
 Yet no delight the minstrel's bosom knew, 
 
 None save the tones that from his harp he drew, 
 And the warm visions of a wayward mind, 
 Whose transient splendor left a gloom behind, 
 Frail as the clouds of sunset, and as fair, 
 Pageants of light resolving into air. 
 
 The fame he followed and the fame he found, 
 
 Healed not his heart's immedicable wound ; 
 
 Admired, applauded, crowned, where'er he roved, 
 
 The bard was homeless, friendless, unbeloved ; 
 
 All else that breathed below the circling sky 
 
 "Were linked to life by some endearing tie ; 
 
 He only, like the ocean weed uptorn, 
 
 And loose along the world of waters borne, 
 
 Was cast companionless from wave to wave 
 
 On life's rough sea and there was none to save." 
 
 After an absence of ten years, recoiling at the thought of 
 assisting the arms of the giants against the land of his nativity, 
 he yields to the impulses of remorse and affection, and returns 
 to Eden. He obtains an interview with Zillah, who was the 
 object of his early passion ; and his reception by her ven- 
 erable father, the prophet Enoch, is not less affecting, from its 
 recalling to our minds the beautiful apologue of the repentant 
 prodigal. We are too sensible how much the effect of scenes
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 305 
 
 of emotion depends on their being taken in connexion with 
 the rest of the piece, to mar it by quotation. 
 
 Perhaps we are singular ; but the following simple coup- 
 lets have to us something far more touching than is contained 
 in many recent elaborate descriptions of female loveliness. 
 The poet refers to the loneliness of the father of mankind, 
 until the Almighty, who " willed not man to dwell alone," 
 
 " Created woman with a smile of grace, 
 And left the smile that made Tier on her face. 
 The patriarch's eyelids opened on his bride, 
 The morn of beauty risen from his side !" 
 
 And again, when Javan is contemplating Zillah, after his 
 long exile 
 
 " Time had but touched her form to finer grace, 
 Years had but shed their favors on her face, 
 While secret love, and unregarded truth, 
 Like cold clear dew upon the rose of youth, 
 Gave to the springing flower a chastened bloom, 
 And shut from rifling winds its coy perfume." 
 
 The ensuing extract displays Mr. M.'s descriptive talents on a 
 different subject that of Cain under the malediction: 
 
 Grim before him lay 
 
 Crouched like a lion watching for his prey, 
 With blood-red eye of fascinating fire 
 Fixed, like the gazing serpent, on the lyre, 
 An awful form that through the gloom appeared, 
 Half brute, half human ; whose terrific beard
 
 306 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 And hoary flakes of long dishevelled hair, 
 
 Like eagle's plumage, ruffled by the air, 
 
 Veiled a sad wreck of grandeur and of grace, 
 
 Limbs torn and wounded, a majestic face, 
 
 Deep ploughed by time, and ghastly pale, with woes 
 
 That goaded till remorse to madness rose ; 
 
 Haunted by phantoms, he had fled his home, 
 
 With savage beasts in solitude to roam ; 
 
 Wild as the waves, and wandering as the wind, 
 
 No art could tame him, and no chains could bind ; 
 
 Already seven disastrous years had shed 
 
 Mildew and blast on his unsheltered head ; 
 
 His brain was smitten by the sun at noon, 
 
 His heart was withered by the cold night moon." 
 
 He is introduced to elicit the musical powers of Javan, by 
 whose melody he is gradually soothed into peace. 
 
 " The lyre of Jubal, with divinest art, 
 
 Repelled the demon, and revived his heart. 
 
 Thus song, the breath of heaven, had power to bind, 
 
 In chains of harmony, the mightiest mind ; 
 
 Thus music's empire in the soul began, 
 
 The first born poet ruled the first born man." 
 
 "We have mentioned this writer as inclined to melancholy. 
 It is, however, by no means a moody melancholy, but has more 
 of tenderness than gloom. The lines on the burial-place of 
 the patriarchs will illustrate our meaning. 
 
 " A scene sequestered from the haunts of men, 
 The loneliest nook of all that lonely glen,
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 307 
 
 With walks between by friends and kindred trod, 
 
 Who dressed with duteous hands each hallowed sod ; 
 
 No sculptured monument was taught to breathe 
 
 His praises whom the worm devoured beneath ; 
 
 The high, the low, the mighty, and the fair, 
 
 Equal in death, were undistinguished there ; 
 
 Yet not a hillock mouldered near that spot, 
 
 By one dishonored, or by all forgot ; 
 
 To some warm heart the poorest dust was dear, 
 
 From some kind eye the meanest claimed a tear ; 
 
 And oft the living by affection led, 
 
 Were wont to walk in spirit with their dead ; 
 
 Where no dark cypress cast a doleful gloom, 
 
 No blighting yew shed poison o'er the tomb, 
 
 But white and red with intermingling flowers, 
 
 The graves looked beautiful in sun and showers, 
 
 Green myrtles fenced it, and beyond their bound 
 
 Ran the clear rill with ever murmuring sound ; 
 
 'Twas not a scene for grief to nourish care, 
 
 It breathed of hope, and moved the heart to prayer." 
 
 We could with pleasure indulge ourselves farther, but our 
 limits confine us, at present, to two more selections. The first 
 is the energetic expression of passion, and furnishes an appro- 
 priate example of the distinction first made by Lord Kaimes, 
 between the actual imitation of the passions, and the mere 
 description of them. 
 
 " A reprobate by birth, 
 
 To heaven rebellious, unallied on earth, 
 Whither, O whither shall the outcast flee ? 
 There is no home, no peace, no hope for me.
 
 308 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 I hate the worldling's vanity and noise, 
 
 I have no fellow-feeling in his joys ; 
 
 The saint's serener bliss I cannot share, 
 
 My soul, alas ! hath no communion there. 
 
 This is the portion of my cup below, 
 
 Silent, unmingled, solitary woe ; 
 
 To bear from clime to clime the curse of Cain, 
 
 Sin with remorse, yet find repentance vain ; 
 
 And cling in blank despair, from breath to breath, 
 
 To nought in life, except the fear of death." 
 
 The sentiments of the next passage must meet a powerful 
 echo from every voice, were it only from association with exist- 
 ing circumstances. 
 
 " His heart exulting whispered ' All is mine,' 
 And heard a voice from all things answer ' Thine.' 
 Such was the matchless chief whose name of yore 
 Filled the wide world his name is known no more ; 
 O that forever from the rolls of fame 
 Like his had perished every conqueror's name ! 
 Then had mankind been spared, in after times, 
 Their greatest sufferings and their greatest crimes. 
 The hero scourges not his age alone, 
 His curse to late posterity is known 5 
 He slays his thousands with his living breath, 
 His tens of thousands by his fame in death. 
 Achilles quenched not all his wrath on Greece, 
 Through Homer's song its miseries never cease ; 
 Like Phoebus' shafts, the bright contagion brings 
 Plagues on the people for the feuds of kings. 
 'Twas not in vain the son of Philip sighed 
 For worlds to conquer ; o'er the western tide,
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 309 
 
 His spirit, in the Spaniard's form, o'erthrew 
 Realms that the Macedonian never knew. 
 The steel of Brutus struck not Csesar dead ; 
 Czesar in other lands hath reared his head, 
 And fought, of friends and foes, on many a plain, 
 His millions captured, fugitive, and slain ; 
 Yet seldom suffered, where his country died, 
 A Roman vengeance for the parricide." 
 
 Sufficient has now been quoted to enable the reader to 
 judge of the nature and versification of this poem. The pas- 
 sages have been taken nearly at random, and are not superior 
 to many others that offered themselves to our attention ; 
 particularly those relating to the battle between these antedi- 
 luvian warriors the giant king the translation of Enoch 
 and the death and character of the first man. To those whose 
 interest may have been excited by this imperfect sketch, we add 
 only, that the work concludes with the expulsion of the giants, 
 and the union of Javan with Zillah. 
 
 Of the minor pieces in this volume, they are, with few excep- 
 tions, worthy of the author of The Mole Hill," and The 
 Common Lot," two of the most original poems, for their kind, 
 to be found in the compass of cotemporary literature. The 
 moral poetry of Mr. Montgomery is, indeed, always of the 
 noblest kind. He presents us with no train of truisms no 
 frigid dissertations on abstract fitness none of the common- 
 places of ethics ; but has the merit of enlivening our attention 
 to trite truths and familiar rules of conduct, by throwing round
 
 310 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 them the lights of a rich imagination through the softening 
 medium of a feeling heart. In this respect he reminds us of 
 the writings of Chateaubriand, making due allowance for the 
 superiority of the latter in that onction which is an advantage 
 the French language possesses over our own. 
 
 Notwithstanding the satisfaction we have derived from the 
 examination of this production, we shall not be surprised if it 
 should not attain immediate or general popularity. The dic- 
 tion may not always, perhaps, be found sufficiently dignified ; 
 and the writer may have been led into this error by a laudable 
 desire, pushed to an extreme, of imitating the simplicity of the 
 sacred writings. This, however, is not frequent ; and there are 
 abundantly more instances where vigor of thought has been 
 accompanied with correspondent force of expression. From 
 the evils incidental to the nature of the subject, the author has 
 more to apprehend ; but these he shares only in common 
 with all his predecessors who drew their materials from the 
 scriptures, Milton and Klopstock not excepted. The golden 
 compasses with which the Creator is described by the former 
 as measuring the universe, excited the surprise of Gibbon,* who 
 calls it " puerile in him, though such an image had been truly 
 sublime in Homer. Our philosophical ideas of the deity are 
 injurious to the poet. The same attributes debase our divinity 
 which would have exalted the Jupiter of the Greeks. The 
 sublime genius of Milton was cramped by the system of our 
 
 * Essai sur les Belles Lettres.
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 311 
 
 religion, and never appeared to so great an advantage as when 
 he shook it a little off; while, on the contrary, Propertius, a 
 cold and insipid declaimer, owes all his reputation to the agree- 
 able pictures of his mythology." This critic may, indeed, justly 
 be considered as no unprejudiced witness, since his infidelity may 
 have influenced his taste ; but similar opinions are entertained 
 by many whose intellectual integrity is liable to no suspicion. 
 But, waiving all discussion of a topic which would be sufficient 
 of itself to fill an article far less circumscribed than the present, 
 another cause of fear for the success of this poem is in its 
 length. It has been observed with some plausibility that the 
 age of epics has past a remark equally applicable to all long 
 poems, whatever be their nature, in an age when literary mer- 
 chandise is judged by the weight, and the value of a book is 
 inversely as its matter. Former critics would deny the claim 
 of a rhymer to the title of poet, because he had not written 
 enough. * At present, a similar conclusion is drawn from 
 premises precisely the reverse, and a man shall cease to be 
 applauded as a poet if he have written too much. Alas for the 
 mutability of human tastes ! On the other hand, a writer may 
 derive consolation from these fluctuations, since they afford 
 ground for probable calculation, that if the age of epics have 
 gone by, it has not gone forever ; the very existence of oppo- 
 site opinions in ourselves, is an argument in favor of the revival 
 of other ones in the generation that succeeds us a reflection 
 
 * Cumberland, &c., on Gray.
 
 312 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 as well calculated to moderate the exultation of the popular, as 
 to diminish the despondence of the unsuccessful. After an age 
 of bigots, said Ganganelli, comes an age of freethinkers; and so 
 long as the world we inhabit is proverbially a changing world, 
 the historian of the human mind may trace alike on all subjects 
 continual alternation. 
 
 We cannot better conclude this article than with the lines 
 on the power of poetry, in which Mr. Montgomery has so well 
 asserted the dignity of his art. 
 
 " There is a living spirit in the lyre, 
 
 A breath of music, and a soul of fire ; 
 
 It speaks a language to the world unknown, 
 
 It speaks that language to the bard alone ; 
 
 While warbled symphonies entrance his ears, 
 
 That spirit's voice in every tone he hears ; 
 
 'Tis his the mystic meaning to rehearse, 
 
 To utter oracles in glowing verse, 
 
 Heroic themes from age to age prolong, 
 
 And make the dead in nature live in song. 
 
 Though graven rocks the warrior's deeds proclaim, 
 
 And mountains hewn to statues wear his name ; 
 
 Though shrined in adamant his relics lie 
 
 Beneath a pyramid that scales the sky ; 
 
 All that the eye admires shall pass away ; 
 
 All that the hand hath fashioned shall decay ; 
 
 The mouldering rocks the hero's hope shall fail, 
 
 Earthquakes shall heave the mountains to the vale, 
 
 The shrine of adamant betray its trust, 
 
 And the proud pyramid resolve to dust ;
 
 MONTGOMERY'S POEMS. 313 
 
 The lyre alone immortal fame secures, 
 For song alone through nature's change endures ; 
 Transfused like life, from breast to breast it glows, 
 From sire to son by sure succession flows ; 
 Speeds its unceasing flight from clime to clime, 
 Outstripping death upon the wings of time."
 
 314 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 WAVEKLY.* 
 
 MR. OLDSCHOOL : 
 
 OF those fashionable articles of modern manufacture, 
 yclep'd Reviews, there are three kinds in demand. The first, 
 which is vended chiefly by those wholesale dealers, the North 
 Britons, has the name of some author, indeed, at the head of 
 the piece, but nothing more ; for both warp and woof are exclu- 
 sively their own. To drop our homespun metaphor, the pro- 
 duction of this class of critics may be called anything more 
 properly than reviews. The next sort are from those who 
 justify their sentence of acquittal or condemnation, by evidence 
 extracted from the work itself, and thus judge the writer out 
 of his own mouth ; and the last by those who, relying on the 
 notoriety of their subject, content themselves with a general 
 discussion of its merits, without selecting any particular spec- 
 imens. 
 
 Of these varieties, the second appears, on the whole, the 
 most equitable ; and especially where a work is little known, 
 
 * Waverly: or, 'tis Sixty Years since. A Novel. Attributed to Walter Scott.
 
 WAYERLT. 315 
 
 may be instrumental, by means of its extracts, in attracting 
 toward it the attention it deserves. But when public curiosity 
 has already anticipated the recommendation of the reviewer, 
 this method is no longer obligatory, and may become officious. 
 This is emphatically true in the instance before us, since a 
 novel attributed to Mr. Scott must have been in the hands of 
 every one, and will exonerate us from the imputation of disre- 
 spect in omitting to exhaust time and patience in quoting what 
 every one previously know^s a labor as superfluous as the 
 form of introduction after the parties have become familiar. 
 
 It is one of the many incongruities of our nature, which 
 we leave to be accounted for by the analysis of the metaphy- 
 sician, that the very scenes which most agonize us, whether on 
 the stage or in the closet, are those over which we hang with 
 the highest ecstacy of interest and delight, like the terrible 
 fascination ascribed to the serpent, which fastens, while it con- 
 vulses its object. Of such a nature were the scenes exhibited 
 at the memorable era to which these pages refer ; and if they 
 might be relied on as an impartial and accurate copy of those 
 times, they would be an acceptable acquisition to the moral 
 antiquarian. But of this accuracy, the only qualified witnesses 
 the surviving livers and actors in those days, must necessa- 
 rily be few, and those few fast passing away ; so that, after all, 
 this period, eventful and interesting as it is, must submit to be 
 judged like all others, not from the dubious narrative of the 
 novelist, but from the less exceptionable, though less attractive
 
 316 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 records of temporary journals, letters and memoirs. Wherever 
 these authorities are in union with a work of fiction it may 
 with confidence be received ; and the reader of the volumes 
 under consideration will be gratified with several such coinci- 
 dences. 
 
 The Col. G , for example, of our author, will readily be 
 
 recognized as a faithful copy of a famous original, that Col. Gar- 
 diner, of religious memory, who fell in battle against the rebels, 
 and whose remarkable conversion from the most sceptical levi- 
 ty, to the utmost austerity of faith and practice, has found " an 
 honest chronicler," in Dr. Doddridge. The same may be said 
 of the Duke of Cumberland's character, at least those features 
 of it that are presented to us, have a likeness to the life, and 
 would answer with some additional touches for William the 
 Third. That of Prince Charles Edward, however, is the most 
 conspicuous for its historical conformity. His intrepidity, his 
 elegance, his enthusiasm in a word, his chivalry that rare 
 combination of dignity with delicacy, the hardy heroism of the 
 Scottish chieftain with the courteous refinement of the French 
 cavalier ; these were the traits of that illustrious, though ill- 
 fated adventurer, and these are carefully preserved. That 
 irresistible influence of his personal deportment, particularly in 
 winning to his cause even the most unwilling, which is here 
 illustrated in the interview with " Waverly," will recall to the 
 mind of the reader the real interview, with its similar effect, as 
 detailed by Mr. Campbell in a note to those lines, in which the
 
 WAYERLY. 317 
 
 poet has discharged the debt of gratitude to the patriot and 
 immortalized the memory of Cameron, of Lochiel. The Baron 
 of Bradwardine reminds us of a similar mixture of bravery and 
 pedantry, to be found, if we mistake not, in the chief of the De 
 Lancasters, in Cumberland's novel under that name ; and for 
 the sketches from lower life the faithful foster-brother and 
 the cunning page we cannot give our author higher praise 
 than that of successfully imitating what he proposed as his 
 model, the delineations of Miss Edgeworth, that peerless por- 
 trayer of Irish characteristics. But his Scots are evidently his 
 chef tfceuvres. His English personages are by no means equally 
 fortunate, and, perhaps, one of the least interesting individuals 
 of the work is he who gives it a name. 
 
 The Fergus and Flora, the Highland Colonel and his sister 
 are, after all, the principal characters who command a passionate 
 and continued interest, and, as was said of Shakspeare's Queen 
 Katharine, " the genius of the piece comes in and goes out with 
 them." We feel under high obligation to the author for the 
 space he has allotted and the force he has ascribed to the holy, 
 undivided, undying affection which distingiu'shed this unfortu- 
 nate pair; so different from the ordinary run of romances, 
 where no attachment is admitted but la belle passion, which is 
 continually recurred to as the one thing needful, and the sacred 
 ties which nature formed for us, are wholly superseded by those 
 we form for ourselves. Our author seems, indeed, to have had 
 a strange sort of jealousy lest the former of these should engross
 
 318 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 too much of regard, and is perpetually obtruding disparaging 
 insinuations that the purity of his public feeling was alloyed 
 by the intermixture of worldly motives, (as whose is not ?) and 
 appears actuated by a prophetic boding that this rebel high- 
 lander would usurp that allegiance from the redoubtable hero 
 of the work which was his high and sole prerogative. 
 
 And here we must beg leave to enter our serious protest 
 against a certain levity of manner which costs the author 
 constant efforts to preserve, and which is not unfrequently 
 overstrained and out of place. We notice this with more sur- 
 prise, as it is contrary to his own convictions of propriety, as 
 expressed in regard to Flora, whose pensiveness of mind he 
 naturally refers to her habitual expectation of political events, 
 " not to be accomplished without bloodshed, and, therefore, not 
 to be thought of with levity." Yet, in relating these same 
 events, is he reckless of outraging our feelings by an assumed 
 giddiness of style, (if we may so term it,) difficult to describe 
 and impossible to participate ; of which a remakable instance is 
 afforded by a sudden transition, in which none of his readers 
 will care to follow him, from the bloody scaffold of the gallant 
 Fergus to the vulgar balderdash of a highland hostess. 
 
 Obnoxious to the same criticism, is the heartlessness with 
 which, here as in " Rokeby," the lovers set about the merry- 
 making of their own wedding, so speedily after the loss of their 
 friends. Few men, we believe, even without any pretension to 
 the vaunted sensibility of Waverly, could have indulged hi
 
 WAVERLY. 319 
 
 selfish speculations, or pursued their plans of personal felicity, 
 while the life and fortunes of a friend, who might have been a 
 brother, and of another, "than brother nearer," remained in such 
 awful uncertainty. In real life such conduct would not escape 
 animadversion, and the writer whose vocation is to paint the 
 " living manners as they rise," should be cautious not to violate 
 the decorums of those manners. On the cruel policy to which 
 the chief of M'lvor was the victim, our author bestows some 
 deserved reprehension, " but it was the reasoning of those 
 times," we are told, " adopted even by brave and humane men 
 toward a vanquished enemy ;" and he apparently congratulates 
 himself that we shall never again hear the sentiments or 
 witness the scenes that were then general in Britain. 
 
 We are sorry to see so little ground for such gratulations ; 
 since we have a distinct recollection of similar " scenes," and 
 similar "sentiments" toward more than one of the British 
 dependencies, which were prevalent in that country not quite 
 " sixty years since." In the mysterious appointments of provi- 
 dence, the last of the Stuarts, it is true, have failed from the 
 face of the earth, and expiated their mistakes by their misfor- 
 tunes. But the sanguinary penal code that slaughtered their 
 adherents still remains in all its ancient rigor ; unmitigated 
 unless by the royal prerogative of mercy, which has been but 
 sparingly exercised in cases of high treason. It is, indeed, mel- 
 ancholy that even Great Britain, which has so long enjoyed the 
 lights of Christianity and the comforts of civilization, should
 
 320 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 furnish, in some instances, so humiliating a check to our the- 
 ories of progressive improvement; that the lot of Kilmar- 
 nack and Balmerino in 1746, should be that of Emmett and 
 Fitzgerald in 1798, and the fate of Wallace in the reign of 
 Edward I, had been that of Washington under George in, 
 had the fortune of the war been reversed, and the conqueror 
 become a captive. 
 
 We disclaim any special animosity toward England, and 
 respect what is really respectable in that nation, as much as 
 any one, but as one impression only has generally circulated, it 
 may not be without use to have the reverse of the medal exhi- 
 bited occasionally ; and the rather, as it comes, not from the 
 suspicious source of a Jacobin journalist, or member of the 
 opposition, but genuine from the hands of a court-bard and 
 devoted ministerialist 
 
 The work is dedicated, in some sentences of extreme modes- 
 ty, to the late Henry Mackenzie, Esq., in whose praises we cor- 
 dially acquiesce, though we marvel much at his being hailed by 
 the appellation of "the Scottish Addison," frankly confessing 
 we know of scarce any two writers of equal eminence who are 
 more dissimilar. Mr. Addison's writings are celebrated chiefly 
 for their ease and elegance, and the character, like that of the 
 man himself, is refined but calm. Mr. Mackenzie, on the con- 
 trary, is tender and glowing ; and his forte is decidedly in the 
 pathetic. The influence Mr. Addison exerted on society was 
 through the medium of the taste and imagination, rather than
 
 WAYERLY. 321 
 
 of the feelings, with which he prudently forbore to intermed- 
 dle ; and hence his manner, though correct and regular, is, in 
 order to be appropriate, 
 
 " Correctly cold, and regularly low." 
 
 The reverse is the case with Mr. Mackenzie, whose animated 
 pathos is such as often to elude expression, and is indicated 
 only by the frequent breaks in his sentences. Indeed, we know 
 no writer (except Sterne, whom he most resembles in all but 
 in delicacy) that abounds more in those pauses, u where more 
 is meant than meets the ear." 
 
 It is no reproach to Mr. Addison that he has not attained 
 the sublime or impassioned, for he never attempted it, and 
 there can be no disgrace from not reaching a mark at which 
 one has not aimed. If it be true also that he could have pro- 
 duced a " Julie de RouUgne" or a " Man of Feeling," still less 
 could the other have been capable to produce that revolution 
 in composition which Mr. Addison had the honor of effecting. 
 
 The peculiarities incidental to the style of Mr. Mackenzie 
 are obviously such, as in the hands of the unskillful, might be 
 easily perverted to excess, and liable to carricature. It is, 
 therefore, unfit for general use, and better suited to form one 
 of the varieties of style, at a period when taste has acquired a 
 fastidiousness that desires something new, than for an earlier 
 era, when it needed only a safe and simple model.
 
 322 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 In justice, then, to the respective claims of both these writ- 
 ers, to whom literature and morals have a debt of gratitude 
 " still owing, still to owe," we dismiss them with the award of 
 King Lear : 
 
 " The coronet part between you !" 
 
 In the assignment of " Waverly " to Mr. Scott, we are on 
 the whole disposed to concur, and think there is much inter- 
 nal evidence, in some of the poetry especially, to countenance 
 this opinion. Those who object that they find an occasional 
 tediousness in many parts of these volumes, which they never 
 experienced from the verses of Mr. Scott, only afford another 
 proof of the witchery of numbers in beguiling the attention to 
 passages which would fatigue it if in prose. The scenery is 
 certainly that which the Muse of this gentleman most delights 
 to sketch, and there is the same minute description of the 
 " pride, pomp and circumstance " of Highland warfare.
 
 MADAME NECKER. 323 
 
 MADAME NECKEK. 
 
 [1820.] 
 
 THE biographer of Mr. Addison considered it sufficient 
 evidence of his merits, " that amidst the storms of faction, in 
 which his life was passed, the character given him by his 
 friends was never contradicted by his enemies." A similar 
 conclusion might be formed respecting the distinguished lady 
 whose name gives a title to the present article, since, though 
 excluded by her sex from political stations, yet, as the devoted 
 wife and confidential friend of a minister who sustained an 
 office more important, and at a period far more turbulent than 
 that of Addison, she might be supposed to come in for her full 
 share of factious misrepresentation. But among the various 
 journalists devoted to the cabals of that period, none are recol- 
 lected by whom the talents or virtues of this lady were ever 
 subjects of depreciation. 
 
 It remained for a certain writer of our own, in a certain 
 periodical work of late, to question, for the first time, these long 
 established claims on public respect ; and if one is tempted to 
 exult unduly in the facilities afforded to literature by the age 
 of printing and the liberty of the press, it may operate as a 
 salutary humiliation to observe how the venerated names oi
 
 324 POEMS AM) MISCELLANIES. 
 
 the excellent and the eminent are thus taken in vain by any 
 one of yesterday, who is presumptuous enough to start up their 
 self-constituted reviewer. The subject of Madame de Stael her- 
 self afforded materials for consideration sufficiently copious, it 
 might have been supposed, to engross the limits of a single 
 critique; but, in the present instance, her parents are first 
 glanced at by way of preliminary, and we give this passage as 
 an example of the superficial and summary mode in which this 
 attack is levied, after the manner of the North British masters 
 in the art of war : u Her father, M. Necker, was unquestionably 
 a man of more than ordinary powers, but their extent was 
 exceedingly disproportionate to his influence on France, and 
 on the world. Of humble birth, a Protestant, and a foreigner, 
 he overcame the obstacles which his religion and his country 
 interposed between him and the loftiest station to which a 
 French subject could aspire. He became the Prime Minister 
 of Louis XVI, and the effective ruler of the French monarchy, 
 but was wholly unable to wield the power which he had 
 acquired, and his incapacity and ignorance did more, perhaps, 
 than any other single cause, to hasten the revolution." 
 
 " Madame Necker, in point of talent a very ordinary woman, 
 was ambitious of literary fame both for her daughter and her- 
 self. She published some books and pamphlets, which were 
 little read then, and are wholly forgotten now, but it shows 
 some intellectual resource that she was able to make her home 
 the common and favorite resort of the most celebrated men of
 
 MADAME NECKER. 325 
 
 the day." Of Mons. Necker's abilities it is quite unnecessary 
 to speak ; they are before the world, and must be tried by his 
 peers political economists ; nor need reference be had to the 
 well-known fact of his having been invited by several sovereigns 
 of Europe, after his fall from power, to accept a post in their 
 respective dominions, similar to the one he had occupied in 
 France, and this, too, in spite of a revolution which our saga- 
 cious diviner of causes considered as hastened by his " ignorance 
 and incapacity." The more unchivalrous assault on Madame 
 Necker, it may be as well to notice, not for her sake since it 
 may safely be presumed in this case, as in that of her lord, their 
 united reputations will yet continue, the wounds inflicted in 
 those two paragraphs to the contrary notwithstanding nor 
 for the sake of those who read and think for themselves, but 
 for such only, if such there be, "who humbly sip their learning 
 from reviews." 
 
 This lady, as Susan Curchod, the daughter of a Swiss clergy- 
 man, early secured, by her virtues and talents, the admiration 
 of Gibbon, the historian, then resident abroad. Her union was 
 prevented only by the opposition of the elder Mr. Gibbon, on ac- 
 count of the lady's want of fortune, and she was happily reserved 
 for one who, equally appreciating her other excellences, could 
 also sympathize in her devout sensibility and religious hope. 
 After the death of her father, we find her nobly and success- 
 fully exerting her abilities for the support of herself and her 
 surviving parent, by educating others. The next era of her
 
 326 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 life was her marriage with M. Necker, and commencing a more 
 splendid career in Paris. The contemptuous mention of "some 
 books and pamphlets she published," which are said to have 
 been " little read and soon totally forgotten," might, probably, 
 have been repressed, if any prescience had aroused a fellow 
 feeling, but it is not the first time that the historian of the fate 
 of others has become unwittingly the prophet of his own. The 
 publications of Madame Necker had an object far more hal- 
 lowed than that of merely gratifying literary ambition. They 
 were devoted, almost exclusively, to the subjects of education, 
 and of the poor. If, as asserted, they were "little read" at the 
 time, the same may be said of the most undoubted productions 
 of human genius ; and to have since been " totally forgotten," 
 would furnish no new proof of popular insensibility. That they 
 proved highly successful and acceptable, followed up as they 
 were by her personal exertions in attaining their philanthropic 
 end, may be gathered from the remarkable circumstance of 
 their being specially acknowledged by the pastors of those 
 parishes which were the scenes of their influence, in the public 
 services, and the divine blessing invoked on their authoress 
 heretic as she was not omitting a prayer for her conversion ! 
 "We know of no higher use of talent ; none, certainly, more 
 felicitous to its possessor or the community. 
 
 The very success of these books, then, may inform us why 
 they are no longer read for the best and most flattering 
 of reasons because their object was immediate, and they
 
 MADAME NECKER. 327 
 
 attained it, and because other individuals have since followed 
 where this enlightened and benevolent woman was content to 
 lead the way. It was in this manner she aided the efforts of 
 her husband, by the quiet, efficient exercise of her powers on 
 subjects of practical utility within their reach, and not by going 
 out of her sphere to publish theories on government, or specu- 
 lations concerning society. She proved herself the worthy 
 associate of one who was confessedly, by all parties, a consci- 
 entious statesman, and who had the happiness of being able to 
 boast, with Mr. Burke, " that during the darkest periods of his 
 political life, every care vanished on entering his own house." 
 Her letters to Gibbon, preserved in Lord Sheffield's recent 
 collection, are, of themselves, sufficient testimony of her fine 
 talents, did no other exist, while they are curious, as presenting 
 perhaps an unique record of the pure and ardent interest that 
 may be cherished by a married woman for the fame and hap- 
 piness of a ci devant lover. Her anxiety for his concerns was 
 never remitted, even during the arduous period when her own 
 were in peril, and, to do him justice, he was, with all his charac- 
 teristic cold-heartedness, so far sensible of her worth as never 
 to replace her in his regards by any other connexion. Why 
 she did not publish more and oftener, a singular anecdote may 
 account, which is related in a late biography of her daughter. * 
 It tells us that M. Necker objected to his lady's indulging habits 
 of composition, from a dread that he might disturb her when- 
 
 * By Madame de Saussure.
 
 328 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ever he entered her apartment, and that Mademoiselle herself 
 was obliged to write standing, and by stealth, lest she should 
 also come under a similar interdict. 
 
 Without commenting on the whimsical peculiarities often 
 discernible in great men, or conjecturing what distempered 
 state of the nervous system, under the excitement of public 
 anxiety, might have prompted so selfish a prohibition, one 
 thing may justly be inferred : that if Madame Necker did 
 indeed possess the " literary ambition " ascribed to her by our 
 reviewer, and yet submitted in deference to the above request, 
 its suppression was more honorable than could have been its 
 brightest exertion, and gave her reason to say, like Mrs. Grant, 
 that she was less proud of what she had, than of what she had 
 not written. In the same sentence which speaks of Mad. N. " as 
 very ordinary in point of talent," it is conceded, with no great 
 heed to consistency, that she must have had " some intellectual 
 resource," since she was able to make her house the u common 
 and favorite resort of the most celebrated men." Candor 
 would have admitted the fact as evincing the greatest intellect- 
 ual resource ; when it considered how many circles of this sort 
 were already established in Paris at the time of her arrival, 
 and by native and celebrated French women, who are allowed 
 beyond ah 1 others to excel in this mode of entertainment. 
 When, too, the extreme difficulty of getting up and managing 
 coversazione is taken into view, and how often it has been inef- 
 fectually attempted in England, (even with all the advantages
 
 MADAME NECKER. 329 
 
 of the late Mrs. Montague, for instance,) we may consider it 
 unequivocal evidence of distinguished powers in Mad. N., a 
 stranger and foreigner, to have succeeded in harmonizing the 
 jarring interests of so many literati, and making heterogeneous 
 materials amalgamate so as to produce a union of the useful 
 with the agreeable. All this was accomplished without any 
 aid from gallantry and intrigue, the usual bane of such coteries. 
 After glancing at the L'Espinasses, the Geoffrins, the du Def- 
 fands names which form an almost unbroken association in the 
 mind between the ideas of female literature and licentiousness 
 it is a relief to let it rest on the phenomenon of at least one wo- 
 man, who combined the refinements of a Parisian lei esprit with 
 the moral energies of a Swiss mountaineer. Without becom- 
 ing the censor of her age, or indulging eloquent declamations 
 on its abuses, she was solicitous to afford herself an exception 
 to them ; and while lenient to the follies and vices of others, 
 her own principles were unperverted, her own practice unsul- 
 lied. Among sceptics, she preserved her Christianity ; among 
 Catholics, her Protestantism ; among libertines, her purity. Her 
 domestic and social affections were proof against the cere- 
 mony and selfishness of a court life j and having been rendered 
 neither giddy with power, nor intoxicated with pleasure, she 
 met as might have been expected, the reverses of fortune 
 without dismay. Her faculties were not bewildered in the 
 shock of a revolution, which, convulsing alike every part of 
 society, threatened private as well as public security, and she
 
 330 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 became the solace of her husband's retirement, as she had been 
 the ornament of his elevation carrying with her the con- 
 sciousness of having endured her ordeal triumphantly, fulfilled 
 all the relations of life with the same duteous fidelity, and in 
 the privacies of Lausanne, or the exposures of Paris, kept her- 
 self equally unspotted from the world. Like her daughter, she 
 appears to have possessed a profound sensibility ; but in her 
 own case better disciplined less imaginative less brilliant 
 certainly but for that reason less paradoxical. She appears 
 to have excelled in the soundness of an understanding, more 
 sober in its researches, more practical in its results, and not so 
 liable alternately to mislead or be misled by its own sophistries 
 or those of others. This difference of intellect, drawn out into 
 action, produced a corresponding difference of conduct ; and 
 made the course of the one white as the light and as steady 
 also a far safer object of emulation than the eccentric orbit, 
 the meteoric and ominous splendors which characterize her 
 descendant. Enough has probably been advanced in these 
 statements to establish the point, that the subject of them was 
 the reverse of " a very ordinary woman ;" and perhaps nothing 
 better can be wished for France, than- that her daughters, 
 whether by descent or adoption, may resemble in all respects 
 the ivife of Necker.
 
 MADAME DE MAINTENON. 331 
 
 MADAME DE MAINTENON. 
 
 I observed with pain, in some recent paper, a superficial and 
 summary attack on the character of Mad. de Maintenon, ground- 
 ed on such gossipings as those in the Recollections of Mad. 
 de Caylus, and other French writers, whose national pride could 
 never pass over the unprecedented elevation which placed a 
 plebeian " so near the throne !" Their Grand Monarque might 
 have had his many mistresses with impunity, but could not be 
 pardoned this one ivife. 
 
 But, though an illustrious woman has, on that account, been 
 obnoxious to the prejudices of an aristocratic people, scrupu- 
 lously jealous of any infringement of C'aucia regime, yet, in 
 republican America such objection is entitled to little weight. 
 
 Mad. de M. is charged, by these cavillers, with having been 
 ambitious, intriguing, and a devotee. If ambitious, it is surely to 
 her credit that she scorned to gratify the aspiring propensity 
 by any but virtuous means ; that loving Lewis much, she loved 
 honor more ; for, as respects intriguing to procure her advance- 
 ment, (beside that the very idea of such advancement had 
 been chimerical,) what intrigue could be carried on by one
 
 332 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 without fortune, family, or friends, and whose very name had 
 become a by-word to awaken associations of the burlesque and 
 ridiculous ? That she was devout is willingly conceded, since 
 even Protestants will not esteem her the less, that, being a 
 Catholic, she should be a conscientious and devoted one. And 
 this being the case, it followed but naturally, that she should 
 be desirous of influencing the man she loved, and the sovereign 
 she served, to be, in deed and in truth, a favorer of that faith 
 which had proved her own solace through all the vicissitudes of 
 her eventful career, and which, if he had not formerly denied, 
 he had too often practically disregarded. 
 
 Had she not done this we might justly have suspected the 
 sincerity of her attachment either to her heavenly or her 
 earthly master. But the credit of this conversion, and the 
 consequent rendering the Court of Louis XIV. devotional, and 
 therefore dull, for which certain writers are so bitter toward Mad. 
 de M., is not exclusively chargeable to that lady, however her 
 principles must have been in favor of such an instrumentality. 
 
 It is to be remembered that those "dull days" were the 
 latter days of Lewis, when, according to the course of nature, 
 man becomes serious, if ever so ; that they were the season of 
 calamity, of reverse of fortune, public and private ; when the 
 successes of Marlboro' and Eugene had taught the proud 
 and hitherto prosperous monarch that he held no "bond of 
 fate ;" and when the sudden death, in rapid succession, of the 
 Dauphin, his son and intended successor, the peerless Duke of
 
 MADAME DE MAIXTEXOX. 333 
 
 Burgundy, and the accomplished Adelaide de Savoy, with their 
 infant son, had blasted the best hopes of the sovereign and the 
 nation, and inspired the awful apprehension that the vials of 
 Almighty wrath had been withheld, only to be poured in all 
 their accumulated bitterness ! 
 
 If adversity, then, ever made man religious, we may admit 
 that circumstances became here powerfully auxiliary to the 
 wishes of Mad. de Maintenon. 
 
 The King fled to religion as a refuge when all else seemed 
 failing, and if, in the first period of his change, he was disposed 
 to go to the other extreme, and multiply unnecessary observ- 
 ances and formalities, it was no more than the history of the 
 human mind, under such misfortunes and mutations, might lead 
 us to expect. 
 
 Sectarianism, indeed, which made the torment of Mad. de 
 M.'s life, has not ceased to molest her memory. 
 
 It was her fate to live at a period of highest party spirit, 
 religious not less than political, and the moderation and impar- 
 tiality she endeavored to extend toward all, of course could 
 never satisfy the zealots of any. She displaced Mad. Guyon 
 and her adherents by the vigilance which counteracted their 
 efforts to spread mysticism and mischief among her Sieves at Su 
 Cyr ; and, on the other hand, she jeopardized her credit with 
 the Jesuits, and her favor with the King, by her attempts to 
 avert his anger from the Archbishop of Cambray (the more 
 honorable as she disapproved his bias in favor of Quietism,
 
 334 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 which had already caused her so much vexation.) The 
 Huguenots, suffering under the revocation of the edict of 
 Nantz, and the Port Royalists, from the suppression of their 
 establishment, were not satisfied with her attempts at mitigat- 
 ing those evils, but demanded that she should have averted 
 them ; not considering that, though the King's heart was in 
 her keeping, his conscience was otherwise. That was under the 
 guardianship of his confessor, Father de Tillins, a ferocious and 
 bigoted Jesuit, whose fiery zeal prompted him to sing the Nunc 
 Dimittis, while his palsied hand was signing the order for rasing 
 the foundations of that asylum, so long hallowed as the abode 
 of recluses, so celebrated for their learning and their piety ! 
 The equity w r hich had guided the public conduct of Mad. de M. 
 was alike conspicuous in her more domestic concerns. She 
 refused to gratify the rapacity of her relations, by elevating 
 them to places for which they were unfitted ; nor would suffer 
 even her sisterly regard for the Chevalier D'Aubigne to favor 
 his pretensions beyond the sphere where they could really be 
 of service to his king and country. Her own superiority to sor- 
 did considerations should have been a lesson for their imitation, 
 since her total disregard of herself in this particular, left her 
 pension unrecorded at the death of Louis, and it was remitted 
 to her by the Regent Duke of Orleans, with the remarkable 
 comment "that her disinterestedness had rendered it neces- 
 sary." No slight homage, extorted as it were from a political
 
 MADAME DE MAIXTEXON. 335 
 
 enemy, and the most dissolute of men, of whose principles and 
 practice her whole life had been a tacit reprobation. 
 
 These dissatisfactions and discussions, though they could 
 not prevail to change her conduct, yet disturbed her tran- 
 quillity ; so that it may be doubted if the happiest days, on the 
 whole, of her thirty years' preferment, were not those she passed 
 at her flourishing establishment of St. Cyr ; when, after having 
 seen, as she said, the " King die like a Christian," she remained 
 in tranquil retirement ; and, surrounded by the grateful pro- 
 teges of her wisdom and her beneficence, could indulge the 
 solacing reflection that she had not lived in vain !
 
 336 POEMS AXD MISCELLANIES. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON MILTON. 
 
 THE combination of the different talents in the same indi- 
 vidual, for successful composition in poetry and prose, has been 
 familiarized to us in so many instances among later English 
 authors, especially in certain of our distinguished cotempora- 
 ries, that we may claim it as a characteristic of our own times. 
 It is certainly one of comparatively recent exhibition. We 
 find it apparent in none of earlier date than Dryden and Pope. 
 They exemplified alike both styles of writing, and still retain 
 in both their original rank ; while, among their immediate 
 predecessors, the Essays of Cpwley have long survived his 
 lyrics; and the epic of Milton has been read by multitudes, 
 who have suffered "his treatises, tractates, and tenures," to 
 remain undisturbed among " literary sods." From this decent 
 burial, however, there have not been wanting disposition to 
 disinter them ; and once and again the spirit of party, civil and 
 religious, has attempted their revival. According to the oppo- 
 site creeds of the respective critics, as Churchmen or Dissenters, 
 Royalists, or Republicans, have their writings alternately been 
 lauded or lampooned ; but as neither friendship nor enmity 
 which sometimes accomplishes the same end by different means
 
 THOUGHTS ON MILTON. 337 
 
 has ever succeeded in rendering them popular, we are war- 
 ranted in suspecting some inherent disqualification. For the 
 third time the experiment is renewed, in consequence of the 
 newly discovered "Treatise on Christian Doctrine," and the 
 number of elaborate disquisitions it has occasioned reminds us 
 of a curiosity preserved in the archives of one of our anti- 
 quarian societies, consisting of half a score of MS. books 
 of commentary upon the single Book of Revelations. All 
 admit that the " Treatise" of Milton is of little moment, either 
 to the memory of its author, or the edification of the commu- 
 nity ; yet, as they all unite also in making it the occasion of 
 announcing their own sentiments on his life and opinions, we, 
 too, may follow the fashion of the day. There is no paradox 
 in asserting that the poetic genius of Milton, even had it been 
 acknowledged alike eminent at the first, as ever after, would 
 have been considered rather a hindrance than a help to his pre- 
 tensions as a political economist. The province of each, indeed, 
 seems as far asunder as the heavens and the earth. St. John, 
 in the Isle of Patmos, fresh from the visions of that apocalypse 
 to which we have referred, might as fitly have been summoned 
 to control the dissensions of his native Judea, as the poet of 
 Paradise Lost to direct the factions that divided England. As 
 a guide he was too elevated to be useful, too splendid to be 
 safe. Indeed, the sober decision of the public to regard genius 
 of any kind with a vigilant and suspicious eye, appears just ill CM! 
 by any consideration of its nature. That intellectual attribute,
 
 338 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 to which we assign this high appellation, and which, confiding in 
 its own resources, is originating and uncontrollable, is justly 
 disturbed in political science, in favor of wisdom, which refers 
 with more deference to experience and observation. Genius is 
 proverbially restless ; and men have felt that the balance on 
 which their destiny was suspended, might not be poised by an 
 unsteady hand. 
 
 The prevalence of imagination, the aspiration after a lean 
 ideal, however conducive to success in the fine arts, becomes 
 pernicious in that, when the aim as the Roman Cato was 
 reminded should be not so much at what ivas perfect, as ivhat 
 was practicable. If the bard might destroy his poem, or the 
 sculptor his statue, in the hope of transcending it at some hap- 
 pier moment, it was his own creation, over which he exercised 
 but an owner's right, and the world, at the worst, might lose 
 only an elegant addition to its unessential ornaments. But the 
 same fastidiousness employed upon government endangers a 
 machine which many hands have combined to form ; which the 
 consent of many minds is requisite to alter. The reckless 
 assailant who would risk its demolition, in the vague desire of 
 remodeling its fragments, with some fancied improvement, 
 might whelm beneath the ruins the lives and liberties of con- 
 temporary and coming generations. After all, it is not denied 
 that wherever sagacious statesmen have been found in men 
 of genius, it was where this quality was associated, in its 
 operations, with the amplest knowledge of human nature, a
 
 THOUGHTS ON MILTON. 339 
 
 combination not frequently discoverable, and assuredly not in 
 Milton. 
 
 His men and women, or rather his man and woman, are like 
 none other. His acquaintance was rather among books than 
 mankind ; or among mankind chiefly with literati like himself; 
 Hence, too, his unfitness for the drama, to which he once seems 
 to have aspired ; but which he prudently relinquished in time 
 to avoid going beyond the titles of his contemplated plays. In 
 that wide range of observation which takes the gauge of uni- 
 versal character, from the prince to the peasant, from the phi- 
 losopher to the clown, he was singularly deficient ; his Comus, 
 the most admired of his attempts in this line, is dramatic chief- 
 ly in its form ; and the harangues of his supernatural interlo- 
 cutors have not much in common with mortal colloquy. 
 
 That the poem of Paradise Lost should have been con- 
 temed at its publication, and at a period and among a people 
 of no unenlightened character, is among the marvels of literary 
 history. In recalling to its pages the truant attention of his 
 countrymen, the lettered secretary of George I enjoyed at tri- 
 umph far more congenial with his character than any of the 
 honors attendant on his official station. The fine taste of a 
 critic may thus be to an author what a fine light is to a 
 painting; not indeed creating, but developing those beautiful 
 touches which else might have been forever latent, and conse- 
 quently lost to society. 
 
 In the department of sacred epic, the work of Milton was
 
 340 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 alone, at least in English. That of Dante was known only 
 through the dim medium of translation ; or that scarcely less 
 dim insight which is said to be, at the utmost, after all, which 
 any man can acquire in any language but his own. 
 
 The Italians, we believe, claim for their author a prece. 
 dence in merit as in time. In one particular the claim must be 
 allowed. From the era of Elizabeth, the Briton found in the 
 perfect phraseology of Bacon, every expression he could desire, 
 either for use or ornament. The Florentine was the inventor 
 not only of his poem, but of the words of his language in 
 which it was conveyed, the dream and the interpretation there- 
 of; and Italy received beside a song the gift of a tongue. 
 Considering, too, the remoteness and barbarity of that age and 
 the numerous occupations of the author, as soldier, magistrate, 
 ambassador ; not merely a political writer, but an efficient 
 actor in its political commotions ; and if the impediments which 
 intellect has to overcome, should be taken into the account when 
 estimating its achievements, candor, perhaps, would assign the 
 pre-eminence to the author of the Divine Comcdia. 
 
 Of the merits of Milton's epic, after so much has been told 
 us by such authorities as Barrow, Addison, Johnson and War- 
 ton, any thing additional were superfluous, if not presump- 
 tuous. Its defects received less consideration at first, and with 
 obvious reason, since, while even the former remained unheed- 
 ed, it would have been impolitic and ill-timed to designate the 
 latter. To those internal advantages was united, as we have
 
 THOUGHTS ON MILTON. 341 
 
 seen, the adventitious recommendation of being without any 
 object of comparison ; whether it distanced all competition, or 
 whether the public had wearied of two works of similar extent 
 on like subjects ; which, perhaps, may help to account for the 
 cold reception of Paradise Regained, exclusive of its intrinsic 
 inferiority. And if such were the case then, how much more 
 so now ? 
 
 The age of epics, we have been truly told, has gone by. 
 With the multiplication of claimants for notice in every depart- 
 ment of literature, the notice to each must necessarily be cir- 
 cumscribed ; and length becomes a defect for which no excel- 
 lence can atone ; unless human life could be lengthened in 
 proportion. 
 
 The subject of this poem, moreover, formerly procured for 
 it audience with those who considered poetry in general but 
 an unhallowed pastime. The stern Puritan, who eschewed the 
 whole art and mystery of verse-making, yet allowed himself to 
 follow the flights of Milton, if not as a great, yet as a godly 
 poet ; and among their New England descendants, instances 
 are not wanting, perhaps within the recollection of some, when 
 the Paradise Lost, with the Night Thoughts, the Pilgrim's Pro- 
 gress, and the odd volumes of the interminable series of Clar- 
 rissa Harlowe, composed the whole authorized circle of profane 
 literature. 
 
 We confess ourselves in agreement with those who consider 
 the admiration inspired by the character of Satan, as of inju-
 
 342 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 rious moral tendency. Let him who doubts this tendency, com- 
 pare his own emotions after reading the sermon on the Mount, 
 with an effort to enter into its spirit, with those experienced 
 while attending to the description or declamation of Satan, 
 with a like surrender of soul to its influence, and judge by 
 the result. 
 
 The heroes of the Uliad have been liable to some excep- 
 tion on this ground, but with less reason, for Achilles and Aga- 
 memnon were human beings, the story of whose excesses might 
 serve as beacons to men of like passions ; and they were limit- 
 ed in their career of evil, by the scantiness of human intelli- 
 gence, and the brevity of human life. 
 
 But the supreme source of evil, with power indefinite, and 
 exerted only to injure ; nor only such in himself, but its 
 instigator to all others, without any good ; or in the strong lan- 
 guage of his delineator, with evil become his good, and with- 
 out a wish or possibility of reform such a being should never 
 have excited aught but unmingled detestation. 
 
 If it be objected that such a feeling is unhealthy to the 
 soul, it is granted ; and this is a reason why a devout mind 
 ought not to have selected a character which could in justice 
 and truth excite none other. He should have emulated the 
 guarded silence of the Scriptures on this head. While copious 
 in descriptions of the Deity, and employing alternately on 
 his majesty and mercy all the magnificence and tenderness of 
 oriental imagery, they are sparing in their reference to Satan,
 
 THOUGHTS ON MILTON. 343 
 
 representing him as an adversary to be dreaded for his power, 
 or distrusted for his duplicity, but never dilating on his attri- 
 butes to fire the fancy or command the admiration. Let us 
 not deceive ourselves in a matter of such moral import, let not 
 the sonorous language of the poet, how sublime soever, beguile 
 us of our rectitude of judgment. The " unconquerable will," 
 the spirit never to submit or yield, is one of the worst features 
 of the worst men. It is the spirit which makes our rabble at 
 an execution look with contempt on the penitent, and with 
 respect on the ruffian who dies game. It is the spirit most hos- 
 tile to Christianity, and most the reverse of that embodied in 
 its Founder. 
 
 But at present, fashion has felt an increasing dread of con- 
 founding the pioneers of Fancy and Faith ; the time for Scrip- 
 tural subjects has now also passed away ; and they are now as 
 reverently avoided, as they once were reverently sought. 
 
 The " Paradise Lost " is now more admired than read, we 
 suspect, and we content ourselves with paying to its author, as 
 the devotees of Thibet to their grand Lama, a distant and 
 unseen adoration. We suspect this from having known men 
 of the highest abilities and reputation, who could not relish 
 
 Milton. 
 
 After having paid our willing tribute to the grandeur and 
 loftiness of his Muse, we feel something wanting in the tender 
 and pathetic. We do not experience that mastery over our 
 feelings, which some other bards exert to a degree nearly over-
 
 344 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 powering. The forfeiture of Eden for a single transgression, 
 one would think an event sufficiently piteous, yet who ever 
 wept over the strain that records it ? 
 
 The coarseness and roughness of his portraitures of the 
 affections, strike us more in contrast with the exquisite repre- 
 sentations we have been furnished in an age so prolific in poet- 
 ry as our own, and are not likely to be more tolerated as that 
 refinement advances ; this has been noticed, we remember, by 
 one of the most approved among modern tourists, whose re- 
 marks, had we his volume near us, we should willingly substi- 
 tute for ours. And the origin of this defect lay deep in the 
 man, in those illiberal and ignoble views of the female charac- 
 ter, which affected both his temper and his understanding. He 
 is scarcely a step in advance of a patriarch of the Pentateuch, or 
 the modern Mahomedan.
 
 GEORGE IV. AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 345 
 
 ON MRS. GRANT'S LETTER RELATIVE TO GEORGE IV 
 AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 
 
 [1821.] 
 
 SIR Thomas Brown wrote a book, if we remember, under 
 the title of " Vulgar Errors ;" and from his time to our own, 
 various have been the efforts of ingenious men to prove cer- 
 tain current opinions of their respective communities deserving 
 only the same appellation. Much effort has been wasted, for 
 instance, to convince us the Italian statesman, Machiavel, after 
 being so long proverbial for subtlety and dissimulation as to 
 have his name become synonymous with that of those qualities, 
 was, in reality, a very upright, candid sort of man ; and my 
 Lord Oxford has expended much erudition in contending that 
 Richard III, instead of a crook-back tyrant, murderer, and so 
 on, was, strange as it may be, a handsome personage, and a 
 mild, merciful sovereign. 
 
 To these popular mistakes may now, it seems, be added one 
 as to the character of his present majesty George IV, who, 
 according to the recent letters, said to be directed by himself 
 to his people, and Mrs. Grant's duplicate thereof, is tout au con- 
 traire to what has been imagined. The world had been wont 
 to think of him as corrupt in principle and dissolute in prac- 
 tice, deficient in every relation of life a bad husband a
 
 346 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 bad father disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy ; with- 
 out sufficient probity to prevent his involving himself, for the 
 second time, in debts he could not pay ; base enough to marry 
 a woman he hated, for the sole purpose of discharging those 
 debts, and ingrate enough, (by his own confession,) to cast her 
 off the moment this purpose was accomplished. But this, we 
 are told, is viewing the matter altogether in a wrong light. 
 George IY ought, in fact, to be considered a truly magnani- 
 mous Prince, whose life has been a life of sacrifices. In his 
 first public transactions as Regent, he renounced the political 
 friends who had been his chosen associates, and calculated on 
 remaining such ; an act for which he was accused of instabil- 
 ity and perfidy. No such thing. It really proceeded say 
 the King and Mrs. Grant from the refined motive of securing 
 his royal father, if, peradventure, his reason had returned, from 
 seeing himself surrounded with unaccustomed counsellors. In 
 the private career of the Prince, the same spirit of " self-sacri- 
 fice may be discerned." He not only immolated himself to 
 satisfy the claims of justice, but also immolated her, who, 
 according to the Church, had become part of himself, his kins- 
 woman and consort, a victim to his creditors. His abandon- 
 ment of her immediately afterward, appears, indeed, even to 
 his apologist, an act of somewhat equivocal rectitude, it being 
 rather inconsistent to deny a husband's protection and yet 
 exact a wife's fidelity ; but even this is referred to a feeling of 
 delicacy, which led him to revolt at remaining with a woman
 
 GEORGE IV. AND QUEEEN CAROLINE. 347 
 
 whose manners and habits are alleged to be coarse and dis- 
 agreeable a cogent reason, certainly, however uncommon, for 
 annulling a marriage. One might except to the suddenness 
 of the act, as scarcely allowing time to ascertain what the man- 
 ners and habits of a partner really were ; but such objectors do 
 not allow for the extreme sensitiveness of the Prince's feelings. 
 It may be matter of surprise, too, how such attenuated feelings 
 could be attained and preserved amid a succession of casual 
 connexions, "joyless, loneless, and unendeared," but we know 
 that delicate flowers spring up in unpromising soil ; so long as 
 he had these feelings we would not speculate as to how he came 
 by them. Mrs. Grant suggests one source, from which we 
 should hardly expect her to derive them living for ten years 
 in matrimonial habits with a " lady distinguished for elegance 
 of deportment." His royal brother of Clarence, it will be 
 remembered, lived in the like "matrimonial habits," with a 
 lady of " equal elegance," who, after being long accustomed to 
 do and receive the honors of his princely mansion at Busby 
 Park, was at last abandoned, to die in penury, and be indebted 
 to the charity of strangers for her burial ! Seriously for 
 our irony is overpowered by the stronger emotion which such 
 recollections excite seriously, it is a subject of shame, not 
 less than surprise, to see this old lady of Laggan, (and we use 
 the word, not in ridicule, but as indicating that age should do 
 better,) this old lady, this widow of a clergyman, with a judg- 
 ment so perverted as to suffer her to write thus ! Surely it is
 
 348 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 not among the least evils attendant on a regal government, 
 that it can warp even good and pious minds, such as those of 
 Mrs. Grant and Mr. Wilberforce, to forget there is but one code 
 of commandments for the high and the low ; the first, as we have 
 seen, losing the sinner in the sovereign ; and the second, dedi- 
 cating a work on vital Christianity to a " Sabbath duellist," 
 because he filled the office of Prime Minister. 
 
 Let it not be supposed, however, from this specimen, that 
 Mrs. Grant is a woman of lax notions of morality. It is only 
 wickedness in highest places a location that, with others, en- 
 hances its criminality, but, to her, diminishes it. Toward 
 breaches of the decalogue, when they occur in a subject, she 
 is sufficiently inexorable, and the vial of wrath, from which 
 the sacred person of the King was secure, is poured without 
 mercy on the head of his Queen. Things are here called by 
 their right names with a vengeance, nor does the righteous 
 anger allow itself to be tempered by any compassion for a 
 fallen sister if fallen she was by any considerations of sex 
 or situation the one so weak, the other so forlorn that 
 might mitigate its penalty. 
 
 At this distance from Europe, and seeing through our only 
 medium, the partial representations of both parties, we could 
 not agitate the question of the guilt or innocence of Queen 
 Caroline. But, if guilty, no offender had ever more to urge in 
 point of extenuation. Brought from her own country, against 
 her will, to a strange land, and disgraced to be the instrument
 
 GEORGE IV. AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 349 
 
 of freeing the heir apparent from the pecuniary embarrass- 
 ments of his profligate minority ; outraged by having their 
 connexion sundered as soon as formed ; a wife forsaken by her 
 husband ; a mother separated from her child ; a Princess, tan- 
 talized with the title, without the honors of the station, losing 
 one by one the attendance of those minions of power who took 
 their cue from their master, and thought it not politic to notice 
 whom he disregarded ; let any one of her sex revolve these 
 unprecedented circumstances in her mind, and we will ven- 
 ture to say, that she who reflects most deeply and most pain- 
 fully on the passions and weaknesses of a common nature, and 
 then calculates how these are fostered and influenced by the 
 false education of a court and the corrupt society of courtiers, 
 will not be the first to cast a stone. 
 
 Mrs. Grant has some remarks to account for the late prev- 
 alent disaffection amongst her countrymen ; but, if her state- 
 ments regarding the British public are not better founded than 
 they once were of the American, (vide her History of an Amer- 
 ican Lady,) we may be excused from placing any strong reliance 
 on their accuracy. She summarily refers the revolutionary 
 spirit of the English to the example of the French, as these, in 
 turn, impute theirs to our own ; a common and compendious 
 method with nations, as with individuals, of shifting the bur- 
 then from their own shoulders to those of their neighbors ; in 
 accordance with which the youthful excesses of his Majesty are 
 charged (as Prince Hal's were to his hoary Falstaff) upon those
 
 350 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 " dangerous associates," Sheridan and Fox. But, let every one 
 bear his own burthen, and as the French nation, it would 
 readily be allowed, have native enormities in plenty to account 
 for, the less should they be rendered answerable for any that 
 are foreign. Besides, what Mrs. G. calls " going back to the 
 beginning," is an era much too recent to be justly so called. It 
 is no new thing for the English to evince traits of insubordi- 
 nation. Such a spirit has exhibited itself from time to time, 
 under every period of their history, sometimes with more, 
 sometimes with less violence, long before the existence of what 
 is styled the French Eevolution. All that can be said is, that 
 similar causes, when arising in either nation, have produced 
 corresponding results. The evils of popular ignorance, for exam- 
 ple, so ably set forth in a late eloquent essay, were common to 
 both countries; and the bewildering effect of a few rays of 
 light, darted suddenly on minds unprepared by previous edu- 
 cation to receive it, may in some degree be imagined, when 
 they were told for the first time of their rights, without posses- 
 sing the cultivated judgment that could have directed to the 
 true method of asserting them. 
 
 But, of the French Eevolution itself, few at present suppose 
 that it started into life, the full-grown hydra of a day or a year, 
 and dating its birth from the 10th of August, or 2nd of Sep- 
 tember, 1792. It were attributing too much to any sect of 
 encyclopedists, however able or willing to forward such a
 
 GEORGE IV. AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 351 
 
 prodigy, to suppose they did more than aid a work, the 
 causes of which had been long and gradually accumulating. 
 
 Among these various causes, politicians have been obliged 
 to enumerate, together with the oppressive forms of govern- 
 ment, the vices of those by whom it was administered. The 
 protracted and ruinous wars occasioned by the ambition of 
 Louis XIV ; and the degradation, through the long minority of 
 his successor, of all morality, in the person of the Regent Duke 
 of Orleans and of all religion in that of his preceptor, the 
 infamous Cardinal Dubois ; the continued exhibition of a disso- 
 lute nobility, and a worldly-minded priesthood, during the reign 
 of the imbecile voluptuary who next filled the throne ; the 
 frequency of " matrimonial habits" without matrimonial sanc- 
 tions, and of superstitious ceremonies and observances, without 
 an upright practice : all this depravity had accumulated before 
 the eyes of the people, from year to year, until it became too 
 universal, at the accession of the late unfortunate Louis XVI, 
 for the solitary example of that conscientious and decorous 
 monarch to counteract. Where abuses had been so long and 
 so flagrant amongst the high, can we wonder there should be 
 at last a reaction amongst the low ? And, so far as such cor- 
 ruptions have prevailed in Great Britain, (for that they have 
 prevailed in some degree, who, that knows aught of its history, 
 for the last score of years, will deny ?) they have been followed 
 by the like consequences. It is hazarding little to predict 
 such will continue to be the case, and that an oppressive and
 
 352 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 vicious aristocracy will produce a riotous, disaffected populace ; 
 though Mrs. G. is too prudent or too loyal to deduce any such 
 conclusion, but rather comforts herself that all will be set 
 right again, through the chivalry of some " young wits," who 
 have sprung up in Clydesdale, and who range themselves on 
 the side of the " Altar and the Throne." 
 
 But it is not in the power of knights like these, even 
 registered, as we suppose their achievements to be, in the 
 columns of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, to lend any 
 external support to the throne and the altar, which shall be a 
 substitute for the virtues that should fill the one and minister 
 at the other. Shakspeare, a wiser than Mrs. Grant or her 
 champions, has told "THE GREAT" they were the "MAKERS OF 
 MANNERS." Let them look to their own work. For ourselves, the 
 moral to be drawn from these things is obvious : to heighten 
 our gratitude for the salutary tendency of our own simple 
 institutions, and our resolve to cherish that rectitude of char- 
 acter which, beneficial to all forms of government, is essential 
 to the very existence of that which is republican.
 
 OBITUARY. 353 
 
 OBITUARY. 
 
 [March, 182 2. ] 
 
 DIED suddenly, on the tenth of this month, Lydia, wife of 
 Win. Deane, of Salem, and daughter of Wm. Rotch, Sen., of 
 New Bedford a martyr, it is supposed, to fatigue of mind and 
 body, from her strenuous endeavors to heal the late alarming 
 dissensions in the Society of Friends, of which she was so 
 distinguished a member. Deplorable as the sacrifice is, if it 
 shall have the effect to restore peace, where there is no peace 
 at present, not in vain will it have been offered ! And if any 
 thing could have power to allay animosities, and compose dis- 
 turbances, it must be the overwhelming regret, that they have 
 thus conspired to wound the spirit and break the heart of one 
 in the meridian of her course, who was the centre of so wide a 
 circle ; and in whom the power and the will to be useful, were, 
 by a rare felicity, so proportionably combined, that from a 
 series of exertions, unremitting, though unobtrusive, we were 
 justified in expecting a large aggregate of good, throughout 
 the length of days which we fondly hoped remained for her.
 
 354 POEMS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 To the blameless simplicity of deportment which usually 
 characterizes her sect, Mrs. Dean added a liberality of under- 
 standing, and an enlightened estimate of human nature, derived 
 from the peculiar opportunities she had enjoyed for extensive 
 surveys of it, both here and in Europe. Blending thus the 
 wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove, she 
 became so eminently qualified for the judicious exercise of the 
 great influence her situation afforded, that when we dwell on 
 her death, and its consequent privations to the weak, whom she 
 fortified by her energy ; the wayward, whom she restrained by 
 her tenderness and discretion ; the sorrowful, who looked to 
 her for consolation ; the perplexed, who were directed by her 
 unclouded judgment; and the destitute, who were relieved by 
 her unsparing charity, when we think of these things, we 
 feel how difficult the lesson of submission and acquiescence, 
 which our friend would have been the first to inculcate and to 
 exemplify. 
 
 We are grateful, however, that such a character has exist- 
 ed, and that we have known her, believing few were ever privi- 
 leged to be in her presence, who would not concur with us, that 
 there was something hallowing in its influences. 
 
 The elevation and purity of her sentiments imparted a dig- 
 nity to her figure, and a noble serenity to her aspect, of which 
 every one was conscious, except their possessor ; but the awe 
 they might else have imposed was softened into affection, upon 
 witnessing the genuine and touching humility with which she
 
 OBITUARY. 355 
 
 communicated the result of her abilities and acquirements ; 
 while the cordiality that gave a value to her most trivial cour- 
 tesy, and the benignity that shone over her whole manner, made 
 her altogether appear like a being from a better state than 
 ours; so that an enthusiast in the faith of a pre-existence, 
 might have found confirmation of his opinion in a cultivation 
 of her society. 
 
 But with this impress of a higher world, Mrs. D. was not 
 abstracted from the labors or the interests of this ; but rational 
 in her practice, as devout in her aspirations, no scheme how- 
 ever humble, no details however minute, whose object was 
 probable utility, but she would patiently analyze and generous- 
 ly encourage. Thus consecrating her high powers to the pur- 
 poses for which they were bestowed, she fulfilled her trust ; 
 having loved her own ivhich were in the ivorld, she loved them unto the 
 ewJ,.and, consistent to the last, died as she had lived, in meek 
 and reverential imitation of the Author of her faith, for the 
 cause of peace on earth, and good will amongst men. 
 
 " Her flight Narissa took her upward flight, 
 " If ever soul ascended !"
 
 L UUB 4U^ t> Jt>