liMaHM^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 p
 
 x^ 
 
 \
 
 '//. ■ / i^ 
 
 .0^1 -^ ^ ^ ^ <^^:^^ ^<^y^ ^ 
 
 P A N T H E A, 
 
 a <^xtt\ Cale, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 Blanche Shakefpere de Trepka. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Imprinted at the GRESHAM PRESS, 
 
 By J..UNWIN. 
 
 185b.
 
 6L11 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. LADY DINORBEN, 
 
 AS A 
 
 TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM AND AFFECTION, 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 

 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 r 
 
 H. R. H. Prince of Capua. 
 
 H. R. H. Princess of Capua. 
 
 H. R. H. Prince Francesco. 
 
 H. R. H. Princess Victoria. 
 
 Prince Schinas. 
 
 The Right Hon. Lady Dinorben. 
 
 The Hon. Miss Hughes. 
 
 Mil's Smyth. 
 
 Mrs. Henniker Wilson. 
 
 Mrs. Lenox Conynghame. 
 
 Mrs. Phaire. 
 
 Lady Brooke. 
 
 Lady Dunally. 
 
 Mrs. Parker. 
 
 Mifs Catherine White. 
 
 J. H. KoE, Es(^ 
 
 Mrs. J. H. KoE. 
 
 Mils Georgina Koe. 
 
 Mrs. Ralph Pemberton.
 
 vi LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Mrs. Lowndes. " 
 Mrs. CooTES. 
 Dr. Saml. Dickson. 
 Mrs. Dickson. 
 MiiFes C. Johnstone. 
 Mrs. QuiNTAS Vivian. 
 Cte. Clericetti. 
 
 Mrs. PUGET. 
 
 Mr. & Mrs. Webber. 
 Mrs. F. Cramp.
 
 Sl^^ 
 
 Preface of the Author. 
 
 HO EVER ventures to lay before the 
 public the refult of his meditations^ 
 be it in profe or verfe, has incurred a moral 
 refponfibility — that of having fown a feed for 
 good or for evil, that may reach the uttermojl 
 ends of the earth. 
 
 So boundlefs is the field the invention of 
 printing has beftowed on thofe who would
 
 VIU 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 influence the mirJs of others, that when we look 
 into its immenflty one feels awed lefl an idle 
 word might give rife to a falfe idea, and thus 
 defeat the end that all who write ought to 
 have in view, viz., either to confirm or to 
 awaken thofe elevated thoughts which diftinguiJJi 
 man, and alone raife him to his proper rank in 
 the fc ale of creation. 
 
 With a deepfenfe of this truth, the Author 
 of the prefent work has undertaken its impref- 
 fion, cheriflding the idea, with a fine ere though 
 humble truft, that the fentiments Jlie has en- 
 deavoured to exprefs are among thofe moft 
 calculated to form our happinefs in this world, 
 and prepare us for that other and better world 
 to come. 
 
 Tet, if there is fomething almoft fearful in
 
 PREFACE. ix 
 
 the -power offending a thought^ which has been 
 the companion of your clofet, from one eiid of 
 the habitable globe to the other ^ there is, on 
 the other handy fomething intenfely frothing in 
 the feeling of being able to recal yourfelfto the 
 remembrance of perfons whom you have known 
 and loved long ago, but who are now far removed 
 from you by the various vicifjitudes in life. 
 
 The prefent pages will be for thefe a re- 
 membrance — perhaps, a farewell ; for many 
 reafrns make it probable that their Author 
 may quit thofe countries termed by general 
 confent the moft civilized nations of the world, 
 for another and a lefs cultivated foil, in the 
 intelleBual acceptation of the term. 
 
 If with the remembrance of a friend, thofe 
 few to whom the Author is perfonally known
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 Jhould receive amufement from, and feel an 
 interejl in her PoemSy one of her objeBs in 
 having them printed will have been anfwered ; 
 andjhe has only to return thanks to thofe who, 
 by patronizing her enterprije, have given her 
 the power of accomplijhing it.
 
 Contents. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 Introduflion 
 Canto I. 
 Canto II. 
 Canto III. 
 Canto IV. 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 »3 
 
 37 
 
 8i 
 
 107 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 What is Glory ?- - - - - -i33 
 
 To the Memory of Ada Borch - - . _ 14.2 
 
 Faith ------_ J4.5 
 
 The Poor Poet - - - - - - 148 
 
 The Gambling Table - - - - - 152 
 
 Friendfhip - - - - - - '59 
 
 To C. R. Leflie, Esq., R.A., on the Receipt of his valuable 
 
 Work on Painting - - - - - 162 
 
 Elegy to Augufta - - - - - 166 
 
 To His R. H. the Prince of Capua, on his Birthday - 172
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 - 
 
 179 
 
 - 
 
 18s 
 
 - 
 
 193 
 
 - 
 
 200 
 
 - 
 
 203 
 
 - 
 
 208 
 
 - 
 
 ZII 
 
 - 
 
 213 
 
 - 
 
 215 
 
 xii • CONTENTS. 
 
 Toaft to His R. H. Prince Charles of Bourbon 
 
 To the Princefs of C : The Minftrel and the Angel 
 
 On the Birth of the Firft-born Son of Napoleon III. 
 Epistle to the Lady Gerti-ude Dinorben 
 To my Sifter Mary . . . _ 
 
 A Mother's Laft Prayer - - - - 
 
 Sebaftopol _ _ . _ _ 
 
 The Withered Leaf _ - _ - 
 
 An Adieu to the Prince de Schinas 
 
 LTRICS. 
 
 The Old Englifti Lady - - - - - 219 
 
 The Cottage Roof - - - - - 221 
 
 The Voice of the Tempeft - - - - 223 
 
 There is no Voice the Dead can waken - - - 224. 
 
 Thou fitteft alone in thy lofty Tower - - - 225 
 
 What is the World ? - - - - - 225 
 
 Oh ! give me in Dreams ----- 226 
 
 Is there no Fairy Land of Joy ? - - - - 227 
 
 Cold is the Night- Wind - - - - - 228 
 
 Bid me not leave Thee - - _ - _ 229 
 
 I've gazed oft with Thee ----- 230 
 
 I would I were a Drop of Dew - - . - aji 
 Anacreontic - - - - - -232 
 
 The Fairy Fifteen - - - - -^33 
 
 To Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe - - - - 236 
 
 To Agnes --.... 2^9 
 
 On Friends departed - - - . . 243 
 
 Notes .-.-... 247
 
 Panthea : 
 
 A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 B
 
 Introduction. 
 
 /^H thou, the earheft daughter of the mind, 
 
 That firft ennobled worth, and blefled mankind. 
 To be immortal bid my foul afpire. 
 Quell in my bofom every vain defire ! 
 
 Dear, beft-loved Poefy ! by thee infpired, 
 Th' immortal foul to virtuous deeds is fired ; 
 The word of Wifdom t'was thy voice began, 
 And thine, alone, the favage turns to man. 
 The warm, deep feelings that within us move, 
 Joy, hope, ambition, grief, or heavenly love, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thy powerful language can alone explain, 
 
 Nor Heaven itfelf difdains t'awake thy ftrain ! 
 
 For, in that volume, traced by Love Divine, 
 
 Thy voice is heard in every facred line ; 
 
 Each thrill that vv^arms the heart there owns thy fway. 
 
 By thee Religion fpeaks, and we obey ! 
 
 Breathe on me, facred fpirit, whene'er I fmg. 
 From my full heart, the varying thoughts that fpring ; 
 Thofe would I move to whom this heart is dear. 
 Awake their fmile, or fteal the trembling tear ! 
 — Oh, tafk too eafy ! 'tis already fhed, 
 The tear of forrow leaves its filken bed, 
 And all are weeping! — Tuneful fifters, tell. 
 Why burft the fighs that in your bofom fwell ? 
 
 " The ftar of genius from our land is gone, 
 
 " And Poefy has loft her faireft fon ! 
 
 " Byron is dead ! alas ! fo fudden dies 
 
 " All that on earth we cherifh, love, or prize ! " 
 
 Why, tell me why fo deeply forrow felt ; 
 Why thofe who faw him not, in tears fhould melt ? 
 — This is of Poefy the magic fpell ; 
 We faw him not, and yet we knew him well.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 His thoughts we read, at his emotions moved ; 
 He touched our hearts, and thus he was beloved ; 
 And as a brother he became endeared, 
 Whofe griefs we pitied, and whofe joys we fhared. 
 
 How oft my bofom felt the fond defire 
 To meet the bard who could my foul infpire ! 
 
 For he was as a light that fhone afar. 
 The halo of his genius beaming round him ; 
 
 At his command was Fancy's brighteft car. 
 And oft in dreams my wandering fpirit found him. 
 
 Vain hope ! vain wifti ! like others are ye flown, 
 For Heaven, who gives to man, refumes its own : 
 And thus we learn to place our treafure where 
 Nor forrow reaches, nor corroding care ; 
 While England mourned fo early to have loft 
 Her bard fo gifted, and the Mufes' boaft. 
 Freedom, arife ! Go tell the mourning band, 
 England and Greece, while weeping hand in hand. 
 Tears fhed for him may yet a ftream impart, 
 T'awaken noble feelings in the heart. 
 Oh may his genius bear that wondrous fpell. 
 That did Elifha's mantle as it fell,
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And with its virtue fired a prophet's breaft ! 
 — So in each heart may Byron's fpirit reft, 
 And by that fpirit Greece again become 
 The Poet's temple, and of Arts the home ! 
 Filled with his ardour, when each Briton's hand 
 In Juftice' caufe fhall wield the generous brand — 
 When, as the tears that mingled at his death, 
 They join, attentive to his lateft breath. 
 In thofe immortal deeds he would have done — 
 Then fhall their Poet's glory be their own ! 
 
 When fall the mighty, fuddenly from fight, [height. 
 When finks fome cloud-wreathed mountain's awful 
 Whofe waving pines the blafting lightnings ftiiver. 
 Bright for a moment, and then loft for ever ! 
 We gaze, we tremble, whilft how oft unknown. 
 Or elfe unheeded, falls the time-worn ftone, 
 Remorfelefs ruin fteals from cottage wall. 
 From ftately palace, and from courtly hall. 
 Though flow, yet furely, for deftru6lion lies 
 In wait for all that is beneath the fkies : 
 — So thoufands die, while we remark it not. 
 Until fome dear one falls ; then, in that fpot. 
 Once bright with love, now lorn and defolate. 
 We read our own, the univerfal fate !
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 As the fierce torrent when the ftorm fubfides, 
 Lulled into peace, a gentle river glides, 
 Whence filver ftreams the plains meander round, 
 So Grief would wander o'er the facred ground 
 Still moiftened by her tears ; there, where in peace 
 Thy heroes fleep, ftill dear, though fallen Greece, 
 With England's bard, fweet had it been to trace 
 Each record left of thy immortal race ! 
 With him to thee our grateful bofom fprings, 
 Oh, Greece ! the birth-place of all lovely things ! 
 By thy bright genius taught to bear a part 
 In all the nobler feelings of the heart ; 
 Each claflic art, with pleafing rapture fraught, 
 Awaked in thee, to the young world was taught. 
 Nor art alone thy children learned to prize. 
 Though crime was mixed with pagan facrifice ; 
 'Mid prieftly rites at which our hearts recoil. 
 Some truths they taught which yet redeemed the foil. 
 From whence, like trembling ftars that darkly fhine, 
 The foul beams forth, immortal and divine ! 
 As through a mift the fun of light we fee, 
 That ftar fublime — man's immortality ! 
 
 Why, tell me why one figh of difcontent 
 Breathes o'er the imperifhable monument
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Of Byron's tomb ? One theme he left unfung, 
 
 That theme for which the foul of man was ftrung. 
 
 Oh ! had the genius of the child of fong 
 
 But led devotion's facred ftrains along, 
 
 In all the luxury of heavenly thought, 
 
 How had the liftenlng foul his rapture caught ! 
 
 Be ftill, my foul ! and in thy depths inquire. 
 What are the feelings which his lays infpire ? 
 A troubled joy, by which the mind's led on 
 To high-wrought paflion in poetic tone. 
 Till, like the ocean in its mighty bed. 
 When finks beneath its foam the mountain's head, 
 O'er the wild raging waves we feek in vain 
 For the calm furface to return again ; 
 We feek in vain that pureft joy we find 
 While here on earth — a heavenly peace of mind ! 
 
 Woman's deep love, her terror, oft her tears, 
 With her devotion through the lapfe of years. 
 Her foft and glowing beauty, thefe are there ; 
 But there is yet a type on earth more fair ! 
 Sublime, yet gentle — grand, and yet ferene, 
 An angel-fpirit man hath rarely feen,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 That fpeaks the language of the fkies, and bears 
 The afped: that a humble Chriftian wears ! 
 Emmanuel's ftar was wanting, clear and bright, 
 Or ere Jehovah faid, " Let there be light." 
 
 This had he fung, my foul had been content. 
 Nor breathed one figh o'er Byron's monument. 
 Save that fad figh that heaved within my heart. 
 To fee his genius from the world depart ! 
 
 Thrice bleft is he, who in his God confiding. 
 Holds faith and hope, deep in his breaft refiding ; 
 Hope, boundlefs hope, in Heaven's eternal love, 
 But the faint image of his blifs above ! 
 Each heartfelt facrifice that he fhall pay. 
 But gilds the radiant crown that bounds his way ! 
 As with a glory, round his nightly bed, 
 The golden beams of that bright crown are fpread ; 
 For as the fun finks calmly in the weft, 
 So finks the Chriftian to his heavenly reft ! 
 
 Now, all is ended, hope, and joy, and fear. 
 Champion of Greece, in the dark fepulchre 
 Shall fleep thy errors ; there the voice muft ceafe 
 That roufed to liberty the fons of Greece j
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thy thoughts, thy feehngs, will we ceafe to fcan, 
 To weep thee Poet, pity thee as man ! 
 
 Sifters ! without whofe love my voice were ftill, 
 As Heaven's pure rain fupplies the mountain rill, 
 'Tis friendfliip feeds my fong, for you I fmg, 
 To you the offering of my fong I bring ! 
 And, it may be, the tale of ages by 
 Has power to raife a fmile, or caufe a figh ; 
 For legends tell that man is ftill the fame, 
 His hopes, his pleafures, although changed in name. 
 For what are ages but the gradual flight 
 Of yefterdays ? — morn treads the fteps of night, 
 Night flies from morn, and morn from night recedes ; 
 Who fills that time, alone its progrefs heeds. 
 
 Thus is Panthea's ftory mine to fing, 
 When ye are drawn around in friendftiip's ring j 
 A tale of yefterday ; we'll bear a part 
 In all the woes that wrung her fpotlefs heart. 
 In virtue's fphere, dear to a woman's breaft, 
 In faith connubial crowning all the reft, • 
 
 My loved Panthea dwelt ; and in her mind 
 Each fair endowment of her fex we find.
 
 INTRODUCTION. ii 
 
 For thee, my mother ! in whofe fmile was more 
 Than Fame could yield, though winged from (hore to 
 
 fhore ! 
 Oh ! when the flighteft fpark of joy I've traced. 
 Or from thy brow one anxious thought effaced, 
 I've afked no more ; there is beneath the fky 
 No fairer guerdon for my minftrelfy ! 
 For thou hadft all : yes, thy endearing name 
 Bounded my hopes of earthly joy, or fame ; 
 To thee my foul, the giving of thy love. 
 With grateful breath (hall never ceafe to move. 
 And joy in gratitude ; for thou haft given 
 My life, my love, afpiring to Heaven : 
 Next to the one great foul of Love Divine, 
 All, all I have, of love, of life, is thine !
 
 Panthea. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 Panthea. 
 
 T^ARK was the hour that bore in arms away 
 
 The bride of Abradates, gay and young, 
 And tender as the opening myrtle fpray, 
 
 That withers far away from whence it fprung ! 
 
 Nurfed in the lap of Love, Joy fmiled around. 
 And blefled the hour that young Panthea crowned ; 
 Fairer than fancy was her bridal bower. 
 And Sufa's fmiling land her maiden dower. 
 With thefe, ah! needed Ihe the Delphic lore 
 To promife years of happinefs in ftore ?
 
 i6 PANTHEA. 
 
 Hope feemed to fleep, for every wifli was bleft, 
 
 And all was lovely in that land of reft, 
 
 Till the dark womb of Fate gave Sorrow birth, 
 
 And into mourning turned the voice of mirth ! 
 
 How often, like the cloud-born thunder-ftroke. 
 
 That fpares the herb to rend the lofty oak, 
 
 Fate bares her arm, with treble weight to fall 
 
 On the wild mirth of Pleafure's laughing hall ! 
 
 Look back on ages paft, and we may fee 
 
 What has been ever, and ftiall ever be ; 
 
 Vain man no fooner boafts that he is bleft 
 
 Above his kind, than from his halcyon neft 
 
 He falls, " whofe throne of blifs feemed fixed on high," 
 
 And treads the thorny path of mifery ! 
 
 Who but remembers — none fhall e'er forget. 
 For that fad day is Hiftory tearful yet — 
 When with one wifti the hearts of Albion ftilled, 
 In anxious paufe, to fee their wifti fulfilled ? 
 Lo ! ftead of blifs, they drank the cup of woe, 
 And felt a pang that mocked the mother's throe ! 
 By anguifti was the mourning garment fpun. 
 That wrapped at once the mother and the fon ; 
 At one fell ftroke the hopes of Albion fell. 
 And left a deeper woe than tongue can tell !
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 On Sufa's fhore, wafhed by the Perfian tide, 
 Thus fortune fmiled on Abradates' bride ; 
 Beloved and loving, whilft a nation's choice 
 With hers united, and the general voice 
 Of an adoring people rofe to blefs 
 Their youthful Queen's unenvied happinefs. 
 
 Say, ftiall we paufe a moment to relate 
 How like a goddefs fair Panthea fate, 
 When fmiling nymphs their meet obeifance made, 
 And at her feet their fragrant offerings laid ? 
 
 It was the hour of rapture and of pride, 
 When Abradates claimed his lovely bride, 
 The Queen of Sufa, hope of every heart, 
 Whofe dazzling beauty was the fmalleft part 
 Of her attra£live lovelinefs, — fo far 
 The foul excelled of Sufa's morning ftar ! 
 
 All fmiled on her, who fweetly fmiled 
 On all, for every moment fhe beguiled 
 With deeds of goodnefs from a generous hand. 
 Encircling all within her happy land. 
 From her all foothing confolations flow, 
 Friend to the wronged — of him who wronged, a foe ! 
 
 c 
 
 17
 
 i8 PANTHEA. 
 
 No idle flattery fwelled the fong that graced 
 Her nuptial hour, for love of her was placed 
 In every grateful breaft ; and vi^hile its notes 
 O'er the blue hills in joyous cadence float, 
 Triumphant echoes to that heartfelt fong 
 Through Sufa's valleys did the ftrain prolong ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh, Sufa ! when bloflLms are blown to the fun, [run ; 
 And the light-fparkling ftreams through thy gay valleys 
 When the flowers of Spring o'er the rivulets fhine. 
 Oh, Sufa, the lovelieft bloflx)m is thine ! 
 
 Rejoice ! Abradates 
 Has welcomed his bride. 
 And the land Ihall rejoice 
 In the day of his pride ; 
 For the chief among heroes 
 Panthea fhall guard, 
 And the love of the faireft 
 Shall be his reward. 
 
 Soft as the filver lamp of night. 
 And as the golden funbeam bright.
 
 CANTO I. 19 
 
 Sufa's lovely Queen, appear! 
 And every eye and bofom cheer. 
 
 Oh I bleffed, Panthea, 
 Thou ever fhalt be, 
 And the land 
 Where thou dwelleft 
 Be blefled in thee ! 
 While the great Orofmanes* 
 Shall guard thee with care, 
 For he owned thee his child. 
 When he made thee fo fair. 
 
 'Twas thus they fang the fong of pure delight. 
 And how was blefled the Qiieen of all fo bright. 
 The young Panthea, idolized by all, 
 By him adored — deemed worthieft to call 
 Her lovelinefs his own. Oh that the wings 
 Of Time were ftill, whene'er fuch blifsful things. 
 Such lovely ones, are lent a little fpace, 
 To make on earth their heavenly refting-place ! 
 
 As the cloud gathering from behind the hill, 
 Where all is tranquil, all is funfliine ftill, 
 
 >;= The God of Perfia. 
 C 2
 
 20 PANTHEA. 
 
 Silent colleds within its mighty womb 
 The infant lightnings of the ftorm to come, 
 To burft, when leaft its awful ftroke is feared. 
 On what is moft beloved and moft revered j 
 So in that land, the home of every blifs — 
 The land of love, that pleafure feemed to kifs — 
 While yet the thrilling voice of rapture rung. 
 O'er Sufa's Queen the growing tempeft hung ! 
 
 Yet, did ftie heed thofe threatening founds of dread. 
 Like midnight winds that murmured round her bed ? 
 Could warring powers to fearful combat fly, 
 And yet no tear bedew her radiant eye ? 
 Yes ! for the heart that has not felt a pang. 
 Heeds not the clouds of gloom that o'er it hang ; 
 And, ah ! her heaven of love was all too bright 
 To let the pafling fhadow dim the light ! 
 
 Dread Mars arofe, with his all-thundering voice. 
 Yet did not Sufa's Queen the lefs rejoice : 
 When on the bofom of her lord fhe flept. 
 As infant cherifhed, how might fhe have wept ? 
 Or how her trufting foul know aught of fear, 
 When he was nigh was danger ever near ?
 
 CANTO I. 21 
 
 Prince of her foul, brave Abradates ! thou, 
 More than her Gods had virtue to beftow — 
 Thou ftill wert there ; fhe faw no coming ill : 
 Hers was love's dream, the dream that round her ftill, 
 Like thofe foft looks that watched her infancy, 
 Still feemed to promife fweet fecurity. 
 
 Her earth was Heaven — her Gods their love approve. 
 For heathen oracles had blelTed their love. 
 Perfidious Deities ! who only fmile 
 The votaries of pleafure to beguile, 
 Vain was your art to eafe the wounded foul, 
 And impotent the paflions to control ! 
 Unlike the holier creed of after-time. 
 When Faith imbued the foul with ftrength fublime, 
 That raifed our hopes, from dreams of rapture here, 
 To look for glory in a loftier fphere ! 
 
 'Twas not the battle's pomp, with fierce array. 
 That feemed the prefage of fome dreadful day ; 
 'Twas not the trumpet's call with fpeed to arm, 
 That to Panthea gave the firft alarm. 
 To her unknown. Death and his ghaftly train. 
 With all his brooding horrors, frowned in vain.
 
 22 PANTHEA. 
 
 Myfterious death ! too horrible to find 
 A place in thoughtlefs youth's untroubled mind ; 
 Till thy dread fhaft has found a nearer aim, 
 Diftant thou feemeft, or but as a name — 
 A name that never can have power to rend 
 Whate'er the foul has learned with felf to blend. 
 
 It was the parting hour her vifion broke, 
 'Twas in that hour the haplefs Queen awoke ; 
 And all the v/oes that followed that farewell, 
 At once upon her heart prefaging fell ! 
 
 "Where is the voice that owns the mournful power 
 To tell of youth its firft fad parting hour — 
 That murky hour, to love fo full of dread. 
 When the laft word, " farewell," is yet unfaid j 
 When the heart beats with agitation fi:rong. 
 And we the lingering moments would prolong. 
 Though every inftant were an age of pain, 
 'Twere agony to fuffer o'er again ? 
 When all is gone our pulfes fcarcely beat. 
 And all is dreary, wafte, and defolate ; 
 As from a tumult in the cheerlefs mind, 
 A filent, death-like void is left behind!
 
 CANTO I. 23 
 
 Far in a land to Sufa's Queen unknown, 
 Her foul's beloved, her Abradates gone ! 
 'Twas hers to reft — ah ! woe the day betide ! 
 The warrior's Queen, his lone and lovely bride, 
 Muft reft in Croefus' court, and there remain, 
 The faireft flower of its refplendent train ! 
 
 Vainly for her its regal fplendours fhone, 
 And vain its pleafures, for ftie dwelt alone ; 
 'Mid crowds flie held herfelf in folitude. 
 Surrounded by a countlefs multitude, 
 A cheerlefs, folitary wafte it were, 
 Without her one beloved had minded there. 
 
 'tj' 
 
 Warriors of Sufa ! better your fair child 
 With Abradates roam through Ba6lria's wild. 
 Than ftay with Perfia's foe ; for they who meet 
 Her warlike fons fhall wander defolate. 
 The conqueror's fcorn, and though the mighty boaft 
 They guard Panthea with a numerous hoft, 
 Lo ! doomed Aflyria to the Mede fliall fall. 
 And your fair Queen be left in captive thrall ! 
 
 And who is he, the Prince into whofe care 
 A captive fell, the Queen of beauty rare ?
 
 24 PANTHEA. 
 
 The Perfian Cyrus, in whofe noble face, 
 
 Nor fierce nor warlike attributes we trace. 
 
 There was a mild yet animated glow 
 
 That marked the Prince, and dwelt upon his brow ; 
 
 A dignity majeftic, yet fo kind. 
 
 The ripened genius of his mighty mind. 
 
 Too full of goodnefs to import a fear. 
 
 Softened whate'er of majefty was there. 
 
 Oh ye who love by man to be obeyed, 
 Like Cyrus live within the luftre made 
 By every virtue. Virtue Cyrus taught. 
 And Perfian exercife that virtue brought 
 To its perfection — as a God he moved, 
 For all his anions every heart approved. 
 
 He was the Lydian's foe, whofe glowing fl:ar 
 Rofe fwift and mighty ! Cyrus, from afar 
 High blazed thy rifing glory — yet the bough 
 Of new-plucked laurel on thy conquering brow. 
 That bade thy mother's heart with rapture glow, 
 Was deftined to infli6t the pangs of woe 
 In fair Panthea's bofom. Thus are twined 
 The links of Fate, that feem by Chance combined !
 
 CANTO I. 25 
 
 Ere yet the Perfian hero onward led 
 His troops to combat — ere before him fled 
 The pride of nations, when Aflyria joined 
 With Babylon, and Lydia's force, combined 
 With Lydia's wealth half Afia's kings, they deemed 
 So vaft a force fufficed (and thus it feemed) 
 To crufh a rifing world — yet Fate, 
 That o'er the encountering armies brooding fate. 
 Gave by one arm the heaven-dire6led blow. 
 Of Babylon her deftined overthrow ! 
 
 Then boaft not, Albion, thy ftrength of old, 
 What numerous fleets thy numerous ports may hold — 
 Boafl not of thefe, for in a moment lofl, 
 A wind, a wave deflroys thy proudeft boaft ! 
 What fight more grand, fwift failing o'er the main, 
 Behold when riding on the liquid plain 
 The white-winged citadel, whofe lofty prow 
 Bends as an Emperor o'er the waves below ? 
 Let but from ocean's caves the winds arife. 
 Call the dread lightning from the lowering fkies, 
 And the proud fovereign of the tranquil deep, 
 O'erwhelmed by elements, in death fhall fleep. 
 Thus Heaven avenges man's prefumptuous boaft — 
 Thus, in an inftant, is his glory loft !
 
 26 PANTHEA. 
 
 Towering thou ftood'ft, oh virgin Babylon I 
 In thy rich plains unrivalled and alone. 
 By proud Euphrates thou v/ert girt around, 
 By towers immenfe thy fpacious ftreets were bound ; 
 Yet through thy brazen gates, thy walls of fteel, 
 The avenging hand of Heaven didft thou feel. 
 Dried was the great Euphrates' noble ftore, 
 And drenched thy fifty fpacious ftreets with gore ; 
 Thy myriads fell before the Lord of Hofts, 
 And Defolation ftalked along thy coafts ! 
 
 Ere to the world the infant Cyrus woke, 
 Prophetic words the God of Nations fpoke ; 
 For thy iniquities He bade thee fall. 
 And the dread warning given He gave for all. 
 
 He warns the unfeeling Lord, when Juftice cries 
 In favour of his vidtims to the fkies ; 
 He warns the nations, drunk with ftrangers' blood. 
 Who flay, imprifon : — Mark, how proudly ftood 
 The virgin Babylon — how low fhe fell. 
 The fearful records of her hiftory tell ! 
 Who wields the fword, fhall by the fword be ftricken j 
 And he whofe cruelty has wearied Heaven, 
 
 i
 
 CANTO I. 27 
 
 May feek for fafety in the fartheft cave, 
 Or live the flave of him he made his Have ! 
 
 Mayft thou, my country, never be furpafled 
 In virtue, precious, fterling to the laft ! 
 Mayft thou preferve thy children from the fate 
 That thofe who break Love's facred laws await ! 
 With patriot zeal may all thy ftatefmen glow, 
 And generous feelings never ceafe to flow ; 
 And may thy fons, fo brave, fo long untamed 
 By foftening luxury, ftill for valour famed, 
 Preferve thee ever with undaunted fway ! 
 Then fhall high Heaven for aye prolong thy day, 
 Encircling all within the facred ties 
 Of pure Religion, beaming from the fkies! 
 This, only this may avert a nation's fall. 
 The words the Prophet fpoke, he fpake to all ! 
 
 To bards of higher flight be left to ling 
 The wondrous deeds, beyond imagining. 
 Of that famed day, when Afia's myriads ftood. 
 While Perfia's fons poured o'er them like a flood. 
 What mutual vows were given to emulate 
 Cyrus, their hero, or to Ihare his fate.
 
 28 PANTHEA. 
 
 Glowing with pride, their foe the Lydians meet, 
 And fhameful flight proclaims their King's defeat ! 
 
 The day was won ! Cyaxarus content, 
 Caroufmg drunkenly within his tent. 
 Thought of the field no more ; yet, 'twas not done, 
 And the proud bofom of Cambyfes' fon 
 Chafed at the vain delay. Awhile he viewed 
 The Lydians fly, yet flying unpurfued ;* 
 With horfe unfurniftied for awhile he gazed. 
 And in his eye the fire of conqueft blazed ; 
 He mocked the floth that barred his glorious way, 
 He banned th' inglorious fpirit of delay. 
 And at his voice that rang as from on high, 
 Burft the loud fhouting and the war-horfe cry. 
 Like thunder, from the Median cavalry! 
 
 'Twas Cyrus led them to purfue the flight 
 Of flying Croefus on that awful night ; 
 With fearful fpeed the impurpled plains they fweep. 
 Swift bearing on they mount the arduous fteep ; 
 Shouting to Cyrus' praife, they fwear to die. 
 Or to complete the hero's vi6lory ! 
 
 * Cyrus not pofleffing any cavalry was unable to purfue the 
 enemy.
 
 CANTO I. 29 
 
 All, all they meet, doomed by the fword to fall. 
 Or fuffer worfe than death, the captive's thrall ! 
 
 Oh Heaven ! on what an aw^ful fcene to dwell — 
 How gaunt Deftru6lion worked his work of hell ! 
 Shuddering, Panthea viewed that field of blood, 
 She faw the carnage as (he gafping flood ; 
 She marked them fly, like clouds before the wind — 
 They pafs, they're gone — Panthea's left behind ! 
 
 'Twas then brave Abradates' fondeft care 
 Fell captive — fell, and was adjudged the {hare 
 To Cyrus only due. 'Twas his to claim 
 Sufa's loved flower to deck his laurelled fame. 
 Her guards had fled, or dying ftrewed the foil. 
 And Sufa's Queen became the vidlor's fpoil ! 
 
 The captive Queen the young Arafpes found, 
 All veiled in grief her maidens flood around. 
 A Median lord, Arafpes — Cyrus' friend, 
 Whom Cyrus loved. Arafpes, who would fpend 
 With joy his life for Cyrus — fo adored. 
 So loved the youthful Mede his Perfian lord !
 
 30 PANTHEA. 
 
 Ardent, impetuous, every nerve on fire, 
 Did love or glory fill him w^ith defire ; 
 Too warm in everything — vv^hen Pleafure finiled, 
 Arafpes followed, Pleafiire's favourite child. 
 He loved to revel in the flickering light 
 That leads aftray, and dazzles but to blight ; 
 He loved to dance upon the treacherous fhore, 
 Whofe waves infidious rifing cover o'er 
 The feeds of virtue fhed in richeft foil. 
 Yet, when the moft he feemed in Pleafure's toil. 
 Bewitched, entangled, Cyrus had the power 
 To draw him from the dangers of the hour : 
 E'en then, did he but meet th' all-powerful glance. 
 So formed his ardent nature to entrance, 
 Arafpes would the foft fedu6lion fly, 
 Rebuke his own impetuofity, 
 And like a mift before the fun's bright ray. 
 All but his thirft for glory died away ! 
 
 It was to him, the graces of whofe voice 
 Ne'er failed to pleafe, to captivate, rejoice — 
 His fparkling gaiety whofe movements tell — 
 To whom the care of fair Panthea fell.
 
 CANTO I. 31 
 
 'Twas then in grief all veiled, and on the ground, 
 The captive Queen the young Arafpes found ; 
 And yet, though veiled, w^ith courage not her own, 
 Diftinsuifhed from her train Panthea fhone. 
 And well became that lofty air and mien 
 The warrior's bride, fair Sufa's youthful Queen ! 
 
 As liquid fires of different hues combine, 
 And in one mingling tint their colours join. 
 So fouls unite. By Abradates taught, 
 Panthea's gentlenefs, with firmnefs fraught. 
 Gave of its foftnefs to the fiery foul, 
 That haply needed fome fuch foft control. 
 
 In rifing clouds of dark myfterious hue. 
 That float o'er Heaven's tranfparent vault of blue. 
 Oft have I feen fair Luna, of the night 
 Chafte emprefs, veil her foft and filver light ; 
 Yet round thofe clouds her rays all peerlefs fhone. 
 And marked her Emprefs of the Night alone. 
 So hid in grief, fo veiled in deep defpair. 
 Still fpoke the Queen, nor did one movement there, 
 One fob of weaknefs from her bofom tell 
 The trembling feelings which that bofom fv/ell !
 
 32 PANTHEA. 
 
 Robed as her maidens — veiled, yet not unknown, 
 The Queen of all around Panthea fhone ! 
 So felt Arafpes, in whofe youthful foul. 
 Where every feeling ruled v/ithout control, 
 Each pafling fcene, with glowing colours drefled, 
 By warm imagination was imprefTed ! 
 Thus, as he gazed upon the captive band. 
 That motionlefs and breathlefs feemed to ftand. 
 He deemed the habit of a flave was given. 
 To veil an exiled habitant of heaven ! 
 
 In deep refpedl the gayeft voice was hufhed, 
 And from the brightefl eye the tear-drop gufhed ; 
 In hafte it came, in hafte he dafhed afide 
 Th' unwonted tear that fhamed his youthful pride. 
 Deep-felt emotion in his bofom rolled. 
 As that fair form he viewed of heavenly mould ; 
 While his fealed Hps feemed as they feared to tell 
 The foftened feelings which his bofom fwell. 
 To Atabaze, the eldeft of his train. 
 He gave his miflion, while with ftifled pain 
 He for a moment turned his moiftened eye. 
 And for Panthea heaved a fir ft and deep-drawn
 
 CANTO I. 33 
 
 Alas, fair captive ! thou, unbidden yet 
 By mortal voice, muft now perchance forget 
 Thy throne, thy crown ; yet fain thy bofom tries 
 To quell its throbs ! By ftrangers bid to rife, 
 Panthea rofe, — and all her maidens ftand. 
 To hear from Artabaze the King's command. 
 
 Had that command with fettering irons bound 
 Panthea's arm and graceful ankle round — 
 Or in the dungeon's walls condemned had been. 
 To midnight darknefs, Sufa's trembling Queen — 
 The iron fetter had been foft to meet. 
 The dungeon's walls had been a bleft retreat. 
 Compared to the foft words and foothing tone 
 Of one, to whom a woman's faith 's unknown, 
 (Oh madd'ning confolation his!) who ftrove 
 To footh her conftant heart with other love ! 
 
 Ye who have loved the moft and beft can tell 
 What outraged feelings muft her bofom fwell. 
 When told, in Abradates' place, a new, 
 A loftier lover at her feet might fue ! 
 
 Cold in her widowed bofom ftruck the name 
 Of Cyrus, arbiter of her fair fame ! 
 
 D
 
 34 PANTHEA. 
 
 But when, with an eulogium proud and true, 
 The ftranger gave to Abradates due ; 
 When from his lips fhe heard her hero's praife, 
 And heard it given a rival's fame to raife, 
 O 'twas too much — her heart could ftand no more ! 
 From her fad brow its covering veil fhe tore, 
 And in that eye, whofe filken lafh was wet. 
 And on the quivering lip that fcarcely yet — 
 So young in grief — had loft the radiant fmile. 
 That once from forrow's felf could grief beguile — 
 Terror and indignation ftruggling there. 
 Contended with the anguifh of defpair ! 
 
 Ah ! why has beaut}^, when with grief oppreiTed, 
 Such power o'er man — to charm, to intereft ? 
 Though fleeting, frail, as Nature's feebleft flower. 
 Such had Panthea in that painful hour ; 
 E'en Artabaze as mute as night became. 
 Nor dare repeat brave Abradates' name. 
 One look from her of heavenly innocence. 
 One look repelled the unhallowed fon of fenfe ; 
 Before that eye, by Chaftity infpired. 
 He, old in daring deeds, ab'afhed retired — 
 Retired in awe, nor dare his lips again 
 Breathe in Panthea's ear one thought profane !
 
 CANTO I. 35 
 
 And when, at length, Panthea's purple throne 
 Received its Queen, though helplefs and alone, 
 Unwatched and unprotedled, who would dare 
 To trefpafs in the fancStuary of defpair ? 
 
 Filled with refpedl, the conquering train withdrew. 
 Yet once again, ere clofed the interview. 
 The Medians proffered every foothing care 
 That could alleviate the Queen's defpair. 
 
 D 2
 
 Panthea. 
 
 r 
 
 CANTO IL
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Night after the Battle — Converfation between Cyrus and 
 Arafpes relative to Panthea — Arafpes, contrary to the advice 
 of Cyrus, fpends the greater part of his time with the Queen of 
 Sufa — The Song of Panthea — Its effeft on Arafpes — His de- 
 claration of love — Negleft of duty — His difgrace — His fecond 
 converfation with Cyrus — His departure in confequence.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Tn\ ARK evening had clofed the blue portals of heaven, 
 And there Ihone not a ray, but the filver ones given 
 From the tremulous ftars, in their veftures of light. 
 As in filence they glide through the dead of the night. 
 
 Hovvr much had been done in the laft fleeting hour, 
 When Aflyria fled before Perfia's dread power ? 
 How^ many at reft fhall yet flumber to-morrow ? 
 How many would fhare in that refting from forrow ? 
 But unknown, or unheeded, the mourners who wept, 
 And the war- wearied foldiers unconfcioufly flept ! 
 
 *Tis the curfe of all power, to be ever unbleft 
 By the balm of repofe in the feafon of reft j
 
 40 PANTHEA. 
 
 And the ftill-wakeful eye of the conqueror flione 
 Like a ftar in the night when it fhineth alone ; 
 O'er-excited emotion ftill heaved in his breaft, 
 As the wave of the ftorm when the wind is at reft ! 
 
 Yet he waked not alone. Friendfhip's vigilant eye, 
 That beams ever moft bright when no other is nigh, 
 Now fell on the hero, as pure as the ray 
 When cloudlefs it fhines from the fountain of day ; 
 O'erglad when eve clofed on the turmoil of power, 
 To repofe in the dew of the moon-lighted hour ; 
 For the breathing of friendfhip his foul could relume, 
 As the rofe to the night yields her fweeteft perfume. 
 
 Though the Court was difmilTed, Cyrus refts not alone. 
 For Arafpes ftill lingered when others were gone. 
 Far, far other the thoughts his young fancy's poiTeflion 
 Than Lydia's proud wealth, or the tyrant's oppreflion. 
 It was Beauty's fair flower, 'twas Panthea that ftione, 
 In her oft-varied form, while on each lovelieft one 
 His young fancy enchanted delightedly dwelt, 
 Whilft he longed to impart the emotions he felt ; 
 Still he dared not intrude thofe wild thoughts to the ear. 
 Till the frown from the brow of his lord difappear.
 
 CANTO II. 41^ 
 
 In filence he waited, till he witnefled the fmile 
 Gently fmooth the ftern brow — his tiara, the while. 
 The prompt hand of the youthful attendant unbound. 
 And with it the trace of each thought too profound 
 Like a fpell feemed to vanifh, for Cyrus well knew 
 With a fmile the full converfe of foul to renew ; 
 To repel heavy cares, with their gloom, far away, 
 And to friendfhip to yield all its happieft fway. 
 Thus he began : — 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 '' Arafpes, thou haft feen 
 Our Sufan captive, Abradates' Queen; 
 How haft thou found her ? — Is ftie fair and young ? — 
 Bears flie, in form, what fabling fame hath fung ? 
 Then is ftie fairer than the rainbow ftiower. 
 And lovelier far than Spring's firft opening flower." 
 
 How quick the heart of the young Median beat 
 When this was uttered ; 'twas a feeling fweet. 
 Inexplicable, and his beaming eye 
 Spoke more than volumes — more than his reply, 
 Though love's own colouring tinged the words that ran, 
 While thus of Sufa's Queen the youth began : —
 
 42 PANTHEA. 
 
 ARASPES. 
 
 " Ah ! never, Cyrus, did Latona's fon, 
 When from the eaft, all glorious and alone. 
 He pours his fplendour on the opening fkies. 
 On fuch tranfcendent lovelinefs arife ! 
 When fwift before the folar ftream of light, 
 Darknefs and myftery wing their fombre flight — 
 When rofy tints the breathing flowers adorn, 
 And bright Aurora opes the gates of morn, 
 Veiled in a dewy robe of dazzling light. 
 Sparkling with gems, and fpringing from the night, 
 Lefs lovely, bright Aurora's dewy mien — 
 But thou wilt fee her, Susa's captive Oueen ?" 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 " Never ! No, dear Arafpes, Cyrus' eye 
 Shall never tempt his heart's integrity !" 
 Anfwered the Perfian, o'er whofe manly face 
 The rifmg blufh diffufed a double grace ; 
 Ere yet he fpoke it mantled o'er his cheek, 
 As though the thought unbidden yet would fpeak. 
 *' Thine own enthufiafm, warm and bright 
 As golden funbeam from the fount of light, 
 Has thrown around fair Sufa's captive Oueen 
 Love's brilliant halo, whence Panthea feen,
 
 CANTO II. 43 
 
 Like Luna beams, more lovely, more divine. 
 
 Though aye of ftorms fuch rings portentous fhine ! 
 
 Thou giveft me motives, had I w^anted one. 
 
 Beauty's foft hemifphere of light to fliun. 
 
 What ! fliall I rifk in filken canopy 
 
 To loofe my bow, and lay my quiver by — 
 
 Bafely to ruin, at the fhrine of Love, 
 
 That fate which e'en the Gods have deigned to prove ? 
 
 How oft, as if a heavenly influence ftole, 
 
 I feel a power deep thrilling through my foul. 
 
 To be the proud avenger of the opprefl^ed. 
 
 To fuccour man by pain or want diftrefl'ed ! 
 
 It bids me fly ; ftiould I then dare to ftay, 
 
 Or captive fall to Love's triumphant fway ? 
 
 Once fliould I fee her, fay, would once fuffice ? 
 
 I fee her once again, then know the price ! 
 
 Then afk, Arafpes, for thy friend, and where, 
 
 Behold the lion crouching to the fair ! 
 
 Panthea's fuppliant might I bafely prove 
 
 To Glory traitor, and a slave to Love !" 
 
 Thus fpoke the Prince, whom holy feers of old 
 To be the avenger of the Jews foretold,* 
 
 * Ifaiah xlv. 4.
 
 44 PANTHEA. 
 
 Doomed from his birth to work the Eternal's will ; 
 That power by Cyrus felt, though unknown ftill, 
 Infpired his bofom with the word of truth, 
 His manhood perfected, and formed his youth. 
 
 ARASPES. 
 
 " And why to fee Panthea's charms deny ?" 
 
 Was the young Mede's furprifed, abrupt reply. 
 
 " Fear'ft thou the witchery of a woman's eye ? 
 
 Can it be given to woman's power to blind 
 
 The nobleft feelings of the godlike mind ? 
 
 Cyrus, believeft thou a mortal's foul 
 
 So little fubjed to his will's control. 
 
 That, fpite of truth, and fpite of reafon's fway, 
 
 When paflion fpeaks, think'ft thou we muft obey ? 
 
 Ah ! if to man the Fates a foul have given. 
 
 To be by every wind of paflion driven. 
 
 Then let them take their prefent to the fhades. 
 
 Where all that's bright and all that's glorious fades ! 
 
 And thine, dear Cyrus, which my heart explores 
 
 To find the model the whole world adores, 
 
 'Twere fin to think that virtues fuch as thine, 
 
 E'en now repaid by honours half divine, 
 
 Were not thy glorious right, and thine alone, 
 
 For is the foil that grew them not thine own ?
 
 CANTO II. 45 
 
 Perchance thou haft not yet forgotten her 
 
 For whom a thoufand lives were not too dear ! 
 
 Yet, though the bride of Timagene was fair,^ 
 
 Didft thou not yield her to a huft)and's care ? 
 
 She, who when every eye beheld thy fame, 
 
 When every valley echoed with thy name. 
 
 Saw but the lover through her fparkling tears. 
 
 Who with a thoufand lives had refcued hers ! 
 
 Where Heaven, where Honour has forbade to love. 
 
 How vain the winged fhafts of Cupid prove ! 
 
 Yet did the law forbid to laugh, to weep. 
 
 Or one continual faft and vigil keep. 
 
 Bid us infenfate be to heat or pain. 
 
 To cold or hunger, or to thirft remain, 
 
 Nature, indignant, would refume her fway, 
 
 And bid the fenfe-revolting law give way ! 
 
 O ! 'tis a proof we are triumphant ftill 
 
 O'er our own hearts, and love but when we will." 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 *' Why, then, was fabled the young God of Love, 
 If thus his ftiafts at will innocuous prove ? 
 And why do lovers figh, when unrepaid 
 Their foft emotions by fome chofen maid ?
 
 46 PANTHEA. 
 
 Did not oft-times the captive heart remain 
 Bound, fpite of will, within fome powerful chain ? 
 Arafpes, if at will the cords were tied. 
 Would not the captive caft his bonds afide, 
 And Love no longer bear the winged dart. 
 Speeding delicious poifon to the heart ?" 
 
 ARASPES. 
 
 " Believe it not, dear Cyrus, 'twere a heart 
 Unworthy thine that feared a ftripling's dart ! 
 It is the glory of a noble foul 
 To bend its paflions to its own control. 
 Slave to no power, nor war nor love to fear. 
 And proudly refting on itfelf appear !" 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 " Arafpes, oh ! Arafpes ! guard thy heart. 
 Nor boaft a flrength the Gods refufe t' impart ! 
 Think not, my friend, within thy breaft alone 
 To find an adamant j to thee I own. 
 To thee alone fhall Perfia's lord confefs — 
 Whilfl others think, him finlefs, paffionlefs — 
 His fureft fafeguard is in time to fhun 
 The foft feducing flream, which once upon,
 
 CANTO II. 47 
 
 Say, who may ftem the tide ? Drawn down the fteep 
 
 Of flowery pleafure, onward to the deep, 
 
 How fwift is the defcent ! O ! who can tell, 
 
 From the firft ripple to the boiling fwell 
 
 Of tyrant paflion, every feverifh rife. 
 
 Which the firft gentle warmth with heat fupplies ? 
 
 Not on myfelf I reft ; it is from Heaven 
 
 I alk that ftrength which to my prayer is given. 
 
 Ye Gods, aflift me in the coming hour. 
 
 When moft a mortal needs immortal power ! 
 
 Watch thou Panthea, every care be paid, 
 
 Let her captivity be gentle made ; 
 
 But wouldft thou foremoft in the camp be feen, 
 
 See not too oft, my boy, the captive Queen. 
 
 Arafpes, O my brother, court no more 
 
 The favourite flower of Sufa's fertile fhore !" 
 
 Dear is the name of brother! 'twas a name 
 That Cyrus from Arafpes oft would claim. 
 When given by friendfhip, cold referve to chafe, 
 How wide an empire does it not embrace ! 
 Each thought, each feeling of Arafpes' foul, 
 Thus open to his monarch's loved control. 
 Was as a garden, where the eye might trace 
 The rifmg weed, mixed with the budding grace,
 
 48 PANTHEA. 
 
 As each developed ; thus the Summer's fun 
 
 Unfolds the early leaves he fhines upon. 
 
 Thus love, all-powerful love, can bend, unbind. 
 
 Draw from the moft impenetrable mind 
 
 The heart unveiled. Oh, no ! he dares not wrong, 
 
 Whofe words, whofe looks, whofe very thoughts belong 
 
 To a loved brother, cherifhed and revered. 
 
 By every tie from infancy endeared ! 
 
 Arafpes, whofe bright eye each feeling told. 
 
 His heart, a word, a figh, would oft unfold, 
 
 That heart became the monarch's fondeft care. 
 
 And well repaid his love the virtues there. 
 
 ****** 
 
 See, from the arena ftart the prancing train, 
 Lo, the fwift courfer bounds acrofs the plain ! 
 How pants his breaft ! what ardour fills his foul ! 
 While every nerve is ftrained to reach the goal ! 
 His full eye fixed, whilft to one point it tends. 
 Wrapt in one fmgle thought, nor fwerves, nor bends ; 
 O'er the receding earth he fwiftly flies. 
 As the winged arrow cleaves the liquid fkies ! 
 
 Thus in the path of glory Cyrus prefled. 
 Thus fpake th' Eternal Power within his breaft : —
 
 CANTO II. 49 
 
 cc 
 
 One lofty motive fhall infpire thy mind, 
 One generous thought fhall leave the reft behind ; 
 Surmount each obftacle with effort ftrong, 
 Perform the nobleft deeds yet found in fong. 
 Man's life fo fhort — its haftening moments tell 
 How fwift it flies ! — if, then, thou wouldft excel. 
 Give all thy heart to one great enterprife. 
 Thy force propel, o'er mountains thou fhalt rife ! 
 Fixed to one point be every effort tried. 
 Nor bend to pleasure's call, nor turn afide 
 From thy bright path, till ripening fates unfold 
 Thy lofty miffion, by the Jews foretold. 
 Thy courfe is fixed, and mighty Babylon 
 To future davs fhall tell the ffoal was won !"^ 
 
 Thus willed that Power unfeen, omnipotent. 
 Who rolled into the heavenly firmament 
 The golden ftars, and bade them circling fly 
 In concert to celeftial harmony. 
 Lo ! whilft a God prepares the filver found 
 Of his young fame, to gather nations round, 
 A hand on earth unfeen directs with care 
 His rapid courfe — unfeen, yet ever there j 
 
 E
 
 50 PANTHEA. 
 
 The God of armies was the hero's guide, 
 His foul with energy and ftrength fupplied ! 
 While Heaven dire6led, and by Heaven infpired, 
 His voice a noble emulation fired 
 In every bofom ; 'twas their Monarch's will 
 With love, devotion, who might beft fulfil. 
 
 Behold, where ftreams Padlolus' golden tide 
 Shall come the proofs by which that love is tried ; 
 A countlefs hoft advance, on Thymbra's plain 
 The voice is heard that ne'er fhall fpeak again ! 
 O ceafe, prophetic Mufe ! nor let thy breaft 
 With heaving fighs betray the mournful reft ! 
 Alas ! who dies ? or is it father, fon ? 
 All, all are loved and dear, and in each one 
 The murderous chance of war has given to death. 
 There lies fome heart-loved favourite robbed of breath I 
 Hufhed is the voice that once of love could tell, 
 Cold is the breaft ere now would fondly fwell 
 With warm affeclion ; and, oh ! fadder yet. 
 Some one ftill lives, who never can forget 
 Thofe whofe laft breath exhaled in agony. 
 When none was near to catch the parting figh.
 
 CANTO II. 51 
 
 Thus woman fpeaks. How different war appears, 
 When pictured by her gentle, tender fears, 
 Than drawn by one who bravely dares to die, 
 And e'en expiring calls on victory ! 
 Whofe foul exulting bids the world farewell. 
 If Heaven but blefs the caufe for which he fell ! 
 Then hallowed are they through the lapfe of years. 
 And foftly fall upon them love's warm tears ! 
 For bleft the dead — how foothed are thofe who 
 
 weep ! 
 Spirits of honour in the grave that fleep ! 
 Thus fell Britannia's pride ; thofe tear-drops, fhed 
 On him whofe fpirit o'er his country fled, 
 Call back paft ages, and together tie 
 Man's fhort exiftence with eternity ! 
 
 For they were fhed, as thofe on Thymbra's plain, 
 On all who fell, no more to rife again ! 
 And yet the glory round a brother's tomb, 
 Of war's dark terrors lightens half the gloom j 
 And thus fo brightly beamed the radiant f}ar 
 That blazed our Nelfon's glory from afar j 
 The foul in love with honour, and with fame, 
 Bids every tear that dewed the patriot's name, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 PANTHEA. 
 
 War's terrors, half forgotten, leave the grave, 
 And form a brilliant circle round the brave ! 
 
 Give but example to the youthful mind, 
 Nor fhall the future leave the paft behind 
 In deeds of glory, wafted to the fkies 
 On Fame's broad banner. Lo ! a hero dies ; 
 Yet, vi^ith his life, fhall his beft deeds expire ? 
 No ! at his name the kindling foul takes fire, 
 And emulation at the found fhall fwell. 
 " I fwear, by thofe at Marathon that fell," 
 Filled w^ith the thought, a Grecian patriot cried, 
 *' By the blefl fhades of thofe who bravely died. 
 Brothers ! I fwear that we have rightly done. 
 Though we have lofl what happier they have won !"* 
 
 'Twas with fuch themes that he, who befl could tell 
 The different feelings which each bofom fwell, 
 Could warmefl paflions into virtue turn. 
 And make the coldefl heart with fervour burn. 
 
 It is the hour ere that of fiery heat, 
 When life's pure flreams with quicker pulfes beat ; 
 
 * Demofthenes, in his Philippics.
 
 CANTO II. 53 
 
 It is the hour, the chiefs are called around, 
 
 The troops afTemble at the welcome found ; 
 
 And in that moment hearts are beating high, 
 
 Their new-felt ftrength and unjcnown courfe to try ; 
 
 While he, whofe valour once the palm has won. 
 
 Beats with frefh ardour left it be outdone. 
 
 And can it be ? or is it fhame, or fear, 
 That he who once was foremoft is not there ? 
 He whofe young fpirit once excelled by far 
 Heroes long tried in all the arts of war ; 
 The Monarch's friend, the brother of his heart, 
 In warlike fcenes no longer bears a part ? 
 Hears he the voice that calls the chiefs around ? 
 Arafpes once was foremoft at the found. 
 Why, then, at Cyrus' fide appears he not ? 
 Shame ! at Panthea's feet is all forgot ? 
 
 Return, return in grief, fad Mufe, to tell 
 The fteps by which the Mede from honour fell ! 
 Oh ! fay what charm, in this momentous hour. 
 Has bound the youth, as with a magic power ? 
 Ah ! why was Abradates' Queen fo fair. 
 Or why Panthea young Arafpes' care ?
 
 54 PANTHEA. 
 
 Was it the captive's eye, fo dark, intenfe, 
 Now foft with feeling, fparkling now with fenfe ? 
 Was it the filken ringlets of her hair, 
 That parting fhow a front than pearl more fair ? 
 Was it her beauty, though feraphic quite. 
 That filled the heart with fuch fupreme delight ? 
 Oh, no ! it was her foul-felt tendernefs. 
 So formed to love, and, loving, formed to blefs ; 
 'Twas grief the love of angels might infpire. 
 That feemed each foft attention to require. 
 
 Ah ! how Arafpes wooed the fair pretence, 
 How, in the guife of pure benevolence, 
 Love prompted cares that formed his happinefs. 
 His cares to fair Panthea would addrefs. 
 
 Say, what deception in the human mind, — 
 Tell me, philofophers, what thus could blind 
 The unwary foul ? — -and why Arafpes felt. 
 And yet owned not, what fires his bofom melt ? 
 And thou, Arafpes, when thy foothing voice 
 Bade the fweet mourner's heart again rejoice, 
 Didft thou not mark, in that too dangerous hour, 
 When Sufa's Queen beheld thee in her bower,
 
 CANTO II. 55 
 
 How foft a thrill through all thy fenfes ftole, 
 When firft thou faweft, as it were, the foul 
 That from thofe long dark lafhes feemed to fhine, 
 When her foft eye was raifed and fixed on thine ? 
 
 He marked it not, for each returning dawn 
 Of the fun rifing viewed the youth's return ; 
 His rapid footfteps haftening onward tread. 
 Ere yet the ling'ring hours of night are fled ; 
 As yet undrawn their fhadows from the fky. 
 When from his couch Aurora marks him fly, 
 To linger hours before the captive's tent ! 
 Was it in queft of danger that he went ? 
 Was't to unveil her foft fweet myftery, 
 Or footh the captive in captivity ? 
 Or was it only done that he might prove 
 How in his bofom he could conquer love ? 
 See Beauty's felf in her moft dangerous hour. 
 When youth and lovelinefs have moft of power — 
 And, more than this, fee her abforbed in grief, 
 Pour in her heart the balfam of relief — 
 Could he do this, yet be untouched, unmoved. 
 Or more or lefs than mortal he had proved ? 
 Yet 'twas not fenfelefs ingenuity. 
 The ftrength of his impaflioned foul to try j
 
 56 PANTHEA. 
 
 To learn how Pity, heavenly maid above. 
 On earth defcending foftens into Love ; 
 It was compaflion prompted his firft care 
 For one who proved for him, alas ! too fair. 
 
 Panthea ! to thy foul 'twas fweet to hear 
 The fympathetic figh, to mark the tear 
 Stealing unbidden down Arafpes' cheek — 
 More than a thoufand words that figh could fpeak ! 
 And O ! how much within one cryllal tear 
 It told of fympathy, to grief fo dear ! 
 It foothed a heart fo long with care opprefled ; 
 It faid, " At leaft v/ithin one generous breaft. 
 Thy bofom, that till now fcarce dares to figh 
 Thy heart's deep throbs, meets tears for its reply !" 
 
 'Twas then thou gaveft whate'er a grateful glow, 
 In graceful courtefy might bid to flow ; 
 Nor didft thou chide the prefliire of a hand 
 That feemed to covet but a Queen's command. 
 A brother fpoke ; it was a brother's heart. 
 In all her forrows bore a tender part ; 
 With foft attention every wifli fupplied, 
 Attention unremitted, multiplied ;
 
 CANTO II. 57 
 
 How, unperceived, each day, each hour it grew, 
 Unmarked, unfelt ; nor yet Arafpes knew 
 Why every care he to the captive bore, 
 Yielded him fweeter pleafure than before. 
 Nor knew he how her image in his breaft, 
 By Love implanted, every hour impreft 
 And rivetted afreih, while deepening there 
 It gave a dangerous fweetnefs to the air ! 
 How, robed by Love in colouring from heaven, 
 His kindnefs, in the name of friendfhip given, 
 Was but the charm the wily Cupid ftole. 
 To throw his net o'er his unconfcious foul. 
 
 The captive all that's lovelieft poffefTed 
 Of fair, of chafle, to charm, to intereft ; 
 Sweet hope was hers (her foul's dear lord's return). 
 Nor feared flie him, who ne'er had fought to learn 
 If fhe, whofe heart was fixed on one alone. 
 Could give up all it proudly called its own ! 
 And when hope, fmiling from her late defpair, 
 Sparkling as Spring, with radiance frefh and fair, 
 Once more around the winning Princefs fhone. 
 And gave her touching voice that playful tone 
 On which the enraptured foul might ever hang, 
 No wonder that Arafpes felt a pang,
 
 58 PANTHEA. 
 
 That charms, to which himfelf had given rife, 
 (As daylight's beaming luftre in the fkies 
 Calls forth the fweets of nature and of fong,) 
 
 —■'—-'■ y 
 
 O ! blind fatuity ! by Love poflefled, ~ 
 
 His foul enchained, vv^hilft in his tortured breaft 
 Tumultuous and contending paffions roll 
 In -wWd diforder, dark'ning in his foul 
 The luftre that once fhone fo calm, fo fair. 
 When Honour, Friendfhip, planted Glory there j 
 While deep emotions fatal paffions prove, 
 Yet owns he not his bofom harboured love. 
 
 Though ever, as the Queen of Sufa's voice 
 That name repeats, fo grateful to her foul, 
 The name of Abradates loved, her choice, 
 A chilling pang through all his fenfes ftole. 
 
 As the fond tear o'er the loved nurfling fhed. 
 By her who fees its opening beauties fpread, 
 Who loves, and cherifhes the infant charms, 
 She fofters only for its mother's arms. 
 So in Arafpes' bofom was that pang ; 
 Yet on the loved illufion would he hang,
 
 CANTO II. 59 
 
 Mlfnamed the feelings which pofTefled his foul, 
 'Twas Pity, Friendfhip, 'twas not Love that ftole 
 That deep-drawn iigh. O ! call it what you will, 
 To Love belonged thofe flrong emotions ftiil ! 
 Love, that it aye behoved him to reprefs ; 
 And yet he loved to madnefs, to exceis, 
 Her who alone, in truth and lovelinefs, 
 'Twas Abradates only to poflefs ! 
 
 Yet never, even to himfelf, would own 
 The Mede his love, till once, when all alone, 
 Heedlefs of Phoebus' beams that from on high 
 Darted the fplendours of a mid-day fky. 
 As wont he wandered near Panthea's tent ; 
 No zephyr ftirred the fultry path he went. 
 But nearer as he drew, the palm-tree's fhade 
 Around the captive's tent a grateful twilight made. 
 
 Soft from the fhade a filver found he heard 
 Of gentleft mufic, like the evening bird. 
 That from fome covert fpray oft tunes the fong 
 That charms the willing wanderer along. 
 
 The captive's thoughts were far away — far, far 
 Beyond the mift that greets the morning ftar,
 
 6o PANTHEA. 
 
 When thus fhe fung ; yet, in thofe founds fo fweet, 
 His daring fancy deemed his blifs complete. 
 Vain man ! who ne'er had known fidelity, 
 And deemed a foul like hers could change for thee ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Bright and pure is the morning dew, 
 
 When it fills the flowers with fparkling gems, 
 
 When the rofy buds their draught renew. 
 
 And the lilies have flraightened their bending ftems. 
 
 But fweeter than dew to the thirfty flowers, 
 When its gems flow over their fcented bowers. 
 If the ftorms of affli6lion the bofom rend. 
 To the forrowing heart is the tear of a friend. 
 
 Dear to the land are the breezes that blow. 
 Renewing with health the fultry hour, 
 When the mid-day fun, with its fervent glow. 
 Makes the wanderer feek for a fhady bower.
 
 CANTO 11. 6i 
 
 But O how dear, when the fnowy fail 
 The billows of the ocean bear, 
 How dear to the heart is the Summer's gale. 
 If the words of a friend are wafted there ! 
 
 Glorious and bright are the planets that roll, 
 And the world they fhine on is green and fair, 
 But the eye of a friend is the light of the foul, 
 And O what a world is centered there ! 
 
 I had rather be thrown on a defert ftrand. 
 With one faithful heart I could call my own, 
 Than dwell in a world of fairy land, 
 If my fate were to live in that land alone ! 
 
 The mufic ceafed, but from that fatal hour 
 Seemed the fair flave within Arafpes' power ; 
 All to himfelf he took its gentle tone. 
 And from that hour he deemed her heart his own. 
 More oft he faw her ; oftener as he came 
 More welcome feemed he, till at length the name, 
 Once feared, of Abradates feemed to be 
 That of a phantom he might never fee.
 
 62 PANTHEA. 
 
 Ah, then, how oft unheeded went and came 
 The blufh that rofe at the forgotten name ! 
 As the light cloud that tinged with rofy hue 
 Flits near the fetting fun, o'er the foft blue 
 Of evening's bright horizon, fo would fpread 
 O'er fair Panthea's cheek Love's kindling red 
 At his loved name, and would her bofom fwell 
 As of his virtues fhe would fondly tell — 
 Yet Love is blind, Arafpes marked it not. 
 Or like the pafling cloud 'twas foon forgot ! 
 
 Thus on the precipice of ill he ftood. 
 Like thofe who wandered near the fabled flood. 
 He heard beneath the fyren mufic play, 
 And all the tenor of his foul gave way ! 
 
 A word, a figh, alas ! what trifles prove 
 To him who hears, who feels, who dreams but love ! 
 The captive wept — Arafpes' hope reftored ; 
 Panthea fmiled — he thought himfelf adored ! 
 'Twas then her voice, refponding to his care, 
 Of foft affe6lion wore the flattering air; 
 'Twas then bold thoughts arofe within his breaft. 
 That had fhe known, not all his fair beheft,
 
 CANTO II. 63 
 
 Not Eloquence herfelf, with honied power, 
 Had gained him entrance to the captive's bower ! 
 
 Pure and unconfcious, as when funk to reft 
 The infant flumbers on its mother's breaft, 
 So his fair-fpeaking friendfhip had ihe fought, 
 While every change in her foft voice he wrought ; 
 From trembling lips that filence fcarcely broke, 
 To fervent gratitude that warmly fpoke. 
 
 He heard, he loved — the foul-feducing found 
 Thrilled in his heart, and all his fenfes bound ; 
 He wildly yielded to the power he felt, 
 A fuppliant at Panthea's feet he knelt ! 
 With movement rapid as the lightning's flame. 
 The warm avowal of his paffion came ; 
 Nor ftayed he there — as though fhe were his own, 
 Round the young Queen his daring arms were thrown, 
 And with his impious lips a kifs he prefTed 
 Upon his trembling captive's Ihrinking breaft ! 
 
 As with a load of agonizing woe. 
 Deep in that bofom fairer than the fnow. 
 So fell that kifs, and with a burft of tears, 
 And fobs of anguifti, all renewed her fears !
 
 64 PANTHEA. 
 
 She gazed upon him for a moment's fpace, 
 With hands tight clafped, and then her burning face. 
 Bent o'er her trembling hands, fhe fought to hide ; 
 Indignant virtue and offended pride 
 Impeded utterance, and her lowly feat 
 Once more fhe took at her oppreflbr's feet. 
 Where e'en her form, her air, her very place, 
 Told him her mifery — her foul's difgrace ! 
 
 Difgrace ! — ah no, that bofom, chafte as fair, 
 Difgrace could never ftain the w^hitenefs there ! 
 Yet in the foul of woman, pure as light. 
 That through the ether wings its radiant flight, 
 'Twere vain to paint its woe, though but a figh 
 Were breathed in aught againft its purity ! 
 
 A demon he, or with a heart of ftone, 
 Or malice more peculiarly man's own. 
 Who could behold the timid captive's tears. 
 Could give the balm that foothed her woman's fears. 
 And then with withering infult could deftroy 
 Within that gentle breaft the fpring of joy ! 
 
 Where was thine own Panthea's intereft, 
 When thou, Arafpes, planted in a breaft
 
 CANTO 11. 65 
 
 That hung its every hope on thee to cheer, 
 
 Whofe happinefs more than thine own was dear, 
 
 Worfe than the ferpent's fting ? — Say, canft thou hrook 
 
 On thy fair captive once again to look ? 
 
 She ftarted, flirank, as from a fcorpion's touch — 
 
 Arafpes would have owned himfelf as fuch. 
 
 And her forgiveness humbly have invoked ; 
 
 But fhame, repentance, in his bofom choked 
 
 His utterance ! Go, return and weep ! 
 
 Go, o'er thy foul a watchful vigil keep. 
 
 Thou, who haft broken Honour's facred tie, 
 
 O'erwhelmed the fufFerer with indignity, 
 
 Tarnifhed the glory of thy youthful name. 
 
 Murdered thy peace, and lulled to fleep thy fame, — 
 
 Go, leaving her thou madly wouldft adore, 
 
 A prey to greater forrow than before ! 
 
 'Twas mifery to witnefs in that eye. 
 So foft, fo fweet, reproach and agony ; 
 And yet he faw it not, that eye was hid. 
 While in his foul its mournful glances chid 
 His cruelty. Yes, he had bafely done. 
 He felt, of all on earth, the only one. 
 The only culpable ; and well he might ! 
 Worfe than the pale aflaflin of the night, 
 
 F
 
 66 PANTHEA. 
 
 Hireling of vengeance ! — Yes, his love's offence 
 Was worfe than this ; who'd murder Innocence, 
 Bears not the cold affaffin's hireling fword, 
 But he 's the murderer of his heart's adored ! 
 
 The lips of her he loved unclofed to blefs 
 The bafe betrayer, till he fought to prefs 
 His impious fuit on her, vv^hofe chaftity 
 (O in that thought vv^as madnefs !) dare rely 
 On his fair friendftiip ! He had w^itnefled there 
 A form fo heavenly fweet, fo chaftely fair, 
 That he had deemed it Virtue's facred feat. 
 How had he dreamed, when proftrate at her feet. 
 With matchlefs cruelty he dared to fling 
 In her pure heart worfe than the ferpent's fting — 
 That heart whofe purity had formed his blifs — 
 Is there a thought of woe that equals this ? 
 
 Yes, there is one ! It is again to meet 
 The eye of him 'twas pleafure once to greet. 
 When in the pride of Innocence and Truth, 
 Glory and Honour fparkled round his youth. 
 In that loved eye to meet a judge fevere. 
 Before that one, difgraced, abafhed appear !
 
 CANTO II. 67 
 
 Such was the woe the wrath of Heaven could melt, 
 For fuch the pang that our firft father felt, 
 At that eternal, that all-feeing eye, 
 From which in dread he vainly fought to fly ! 
 With deathlike pang that awful eye he met. 
 And Heaven in mercy cancelled half the debt ; 
 It faw his weaknefs, faw his mifery too. 
 And, pitying, half his punifhment withdrew. 
 
 O Thou ! beneath whofe awful power I fmg, 
 Witnefs each thought, each feeling that may fpring 
 Within my breaft ! Oh never let my foul 
 Shrink fearful, left it meet thy loved control ! 
 God of my bofom ! never let thine eye 
 Be to my foul a fource of mifery I 
 
 Let not man's fpirit, ever too proudly blind. 
 Contemn the inward workings of the mind. 
 Soft is the approach to ill, repulfe it ere 
 The ftruggle brings thee torture or defpair ; 
 Crufh in thy bofom every rifing figh. 
 That tenders aught againft thy probity ; 
 Turn, turn in time the rippling ftream afide, 
 Nor wait till it becomes a rapid tide — 
 
 F 2
 
 68 PANTHEA. 
 
 A torrent which no hand, no force can ftay, 
 Which madly flows and bears within its way 
 Rocks, trees, and towers — what can its force reflrrain, 
 When all that's fair is 'whelmed upon the plain ? 
 Thus in man's foul the fpark of ill awakes, 
 Thus like a rapid flame its courfe it takes ; 
 So, unreprefl'ed, fwell Crime's unlawful fires, 
 Till in the flame each virtuous thought expires. 
 
 Who that when firft the voice of Freedom fpake. 
 Saw, touched by Genius, Liberty awake. 
 That heard thofe godlike fentiments exprefl^ed. 
 That warmed a Grecian or a Roman breaft. 
 Who would have thought, that ftruggling to be free, 
 Man fhould have learned crime, horror, mifery ? 
 Yet thus it was ; the foul of Freedom ftrayed 
 Beyond her bounds, and was feduced, betrayed 
 From crime to crime, till mid her horrid deeds, 
 (When the foul fliuddering turns from what flie reads,)^ 
 Mercy half breathed a wifli unbreathed before. 
 The wifh that Freedom flept to wake no more ! 
 
 How changed the ftep that once fo firm, fo light. 
 Was ever buoyant with fome new delight !
 
 CANTO II. 69 
 
 How changed the fparkling eye, that once fo gay 
 
 With Hope and Pleafure ever feemed to play ! 
 
 Languid and flow Arafpes' flep appears, 
 
 And palpitates his heart with new-felt fears ; 
 
 The eye of him 'twas pleafure once to greet, 
 
 His Monarch's awful gaze he fears to meet. 
 
 Once fluflied his cheek with joy his Monarch's name, 
 
 Now, e'en in very thought, a burning fhame — 
 
 Shame, to the generous heart more hard to bear 
 
 Than death or torture, prefled her fignet there, 
 
 And heavy weighed upon that youthful brow, 
 
 That ne'er a fhade of forrow prefled till now j 
 
 Self-dignity, that held eredl his head. 
 
 The pride of worth and all its joys are fled ! 
 
 Who would not climb fair Virtue's arduous fl:eep. 
 Though pointed briars in his footpath keep. 
 When Guilt conceals his face with fearful care. 
 And foft-eyed Innocence, with forehead fair, 
 Eredl, and fearlefs, meets the gaze of Heaven, 
 And confcious fmiles at praife by angels given ? 
 Yes ! Virtue fees, in that pure azure plain. 
 Friends of her youth fhe yearns to join again, 
 Angels of light, who watch with guardian care 
 Earth's fiflier-fpirits, foon tranfplanted there !
 
 70 PANTHEA. 
 
 Worlds would Arafpes give could he undo, 
 Could he call back — O were it but a few 
 Of time's fhort hours ; yet no, thofe hours are fled, 
 For ever loft in the unmeafured bed 
 Of ages gone ! Why lingers thought behind ? 
 Like airy plumage fcattered by the wind. 
 Like infedls flitting in the fummer breeze, 
 Like leaves of autumn ruftling through the trees. 
 Or raindrop in the ocean, driven by. 
 While mingling with its billows, hours fly ! 
 Look not behind — 'twere madnefs to look on. 
 To watch them fly, and mourn them when they're gone ! 
 The paft is fled — far, far beyond thy power, 
 'Tis Wifdom's hand to catch the coming hour ; 
 Seize on it fwiftly while it flies fo faft, 
 And by the future be redeemed the paft ! 
 
 So felt not the young Mede, with terror, fcorn, 
 Forbade Panthea's tent, alone, forlorn, 
 The curfe of difobedience he had borne. 
 He felt as if the weight his heart opprefl'ed 
 Might never leave his wearied fpirit reft ; 
 He felt as though the captive's forrowing eye 
 Bid Mifery weave his future deftiny I
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 The look of terror Sufa's Queen had caft, 
 Haunted each fpot, and brings him back the paft ; 
 While in the future, as a flaming fword, 
 He fees the wrath of his offended lord! 
 
 For this at Cyrus' fide they found him not : 
 How may he tell him that his word forgot, 
 Forgotten all in honour bound to do, 
 Moft hateful to himfelf, as to himfelf untrue. 
 Nothing he deemed might e'er his crime atone, 
 Though Sufa's anguifti equalled not his own ! 
 
 Thus by the weight of his remorfe oppreffed, 
 Liftlefs of life, he gave to Fate the reft ; 
 While, changed by care, the gall of bitternefs 
 On his pale brow betrayed his foul's diftrefs. 
 Yes, friend of Cyrus, by the world forgot. 
 How many faw that recognifed thee not ? 
 Nor voice befpoke thee, but the voice of Pride, 
 That came difgrace and folly to deride ! 
 Stung to the quick, in bitternefs of heart. 
 From his fad couch he bade the world depart ; 
 Nor duty's call, nor honour feemed to move 
 The foul enervated by lawlefs love ! 
 
 n
 
 72 PANTHEA. 
 
 Yet in his mifery one word was fraught 
 With power to roufe Arafpes — quick as thought 
 His agitated heart drank in the found, 
 Though in the voice were death and tortures bound j 
 For if each word had been a word of fire, 
 He felt no change could greater grief infpire. 
 Had it the power to make him more unblefled ? 
 No ! 'twas the herald of his lord appeared. 
 To bid him come before that form revered ; 
 'Twas light upon the chaos of his breaft. 
 And he, with mingling thrill of joy and pain. 
 Prepared to meet his injured Prince again. 
 
 To Cyrus' tent with hurried ftep he pafTed, 
 Nor dared look up he who, when there the laft. 
 How oft with Friendfhip's fmile had fought his eye. 
 And proudly fhared his hours of privacy. 
 'Tis the fame Cyrus the young Mede is near. 
 And yet Arafpes ftarts to find him there ! 
 
 With beating heart and burning cheek he flood. 
 As he were in the prefence of a God ; 
 Each former mark of love recalled with pain. 
 He pidlures to himfelf his cold difdain.
 
 CANTO II. 73 
 
 And dreads the awful vengeance of his eye. 
 
 His own, now bent with painful agony, 
 
 He with an effort raifed, in Cyrus' face 
 
 To read, to bear his cenfure, his difgrace. 
 
 What has he read ? Already has the tear. 
 
 At his changed afpedt, changed the judge fevere 
 
 Into his brother — nobleft of thy kind ! 
 
 Thou who waft bleffed with an infpired mind, 
 
 By Heaven endowed with intellectual ken. 
 
 Who couldft unfold the varying thoughts of men. 
 
 Thou faw'ft repentance in that face of woe, 
 
 And gave the balm that Pity might beftow ; 
 
 Harfh for thyfelf, with mercy thou couldft melt. 
 
 Nor probe too deep the wound another felt. 
 
 Anger no longer darkened Cyrus' brow. 
 
 Where dwelt deep thought, where Virtue's pureft 
 
 glow. 
 That joyed for others' joys, and wept for others' woe. 
 Beamed but to fmile, and fmiled but to beftow ! 
 
 Breathlefs on Cyrus' voice Arafpes hung. 
 Yet knew not fcarcely if it foothed or ftung 
 The friendfliip which his forrow feemed to grieve, 
 Doubling perchance the woe it would relieve.
 
 74 PANTHEA. 
 
 " And why, Arafpes, haft thou fhunned to tell 
 Thy thoughts to one who knows thy heart fo well ? 
 Haft thou a friend fo gladly would reftore 
 Thine altered foul to what it was before ? 
 Have I not faid how Love in chains can bind, 
 My friend, (thine was the term,) the godlike mind? 
 When Gods and men alike have felt his power. 
 Say, who may boaft of freedom for an hour ? 
 I told thee once, and thou wilt own it now. 
 He who in battle fees the pointed bow, 
 And fmiles at danger, from Love's witching eye 
 And fyren mufic deems it beft to fly. 
 While War's dark frown calls forth the warrior's fmile, 
 He dreads of Love the ambufli and the wile ; 
 And eafier it may be to win, control 
 Rebellious armies, than the human foul. 
 Too well he knows, whoe'er has had to fly 
 From Love, retreat alone is victory ! 
 Shall I condemn, beyond reprieve, as thine. 
 Defeat, when, no ! not e'en the Gods divine 
 Can dare the ftripling's dart, and ftill be free ? 
 No, dear Arafpes, I have injured thee ! 
 'Twas I who left Panthea in thy care. 
 And thee temptation it was mine to fpare !"
 
 CANTO II. 75 
 
 Arafpes heard ; the word was fcarcely fpoken, 
 That filled with balm a fpirit almoft broken, 
 With grateful wonder all his pulfes beat, 
 And the young Mede is at his Sovereign's feet ! 
 
 " And is it thou, my Prince ? When bid to fly. 
 When watched and fneered at by malignity, 
 When friends affrighted bid me fhun thy face. 
 When enemies rejoice at my difgrace — 
 Can it be thou, my Prince, to footh, confole. 
 And call back peace to thy Arafpes' foul ? 
 O, Cyrus ! ever to thyfelf the fame. 
 As noble in thy friendftiip as thy fame. 
 Indulgent to the faults thou fhareft not. 
 By thee alone are others' fins forgot ! 
 Of bright perfection thou haft formed the plan. 
 Yet thou canft pardon, for thou knoweft man !" 
 
 He faid — his friend, his Sovereign bade him rife. 
 And to the Mede repentant thus replies : — 
 
 *' Give me thy hand, Arafpes ; whilft the train 
 Rejoice to fee our friendfhip in the wane, 
 I love thee ftill ; moreover, thou canft now 
 Unbind the weight of fhame that clouds thy brow.
 
 76 PANTHEA. 
 
 Virtue's pure breath fhall to thy foul reflore 
 
 The love of Glory that it felt before. 
 
 Like fea-bird's wing, when mounting to the fkies, 
 
 Waflied from its ftain, thy flumb'ring fame ftiall rife j 
 
 Shall feel the breath of heaven, and, purely bright, 
 
 Float in the azure air a dazzling white. 
 
 Hear me, Arafpes ! 'tis within thy power 
 
 To blot from memory's page that hateful hour, 
 
 When paflion's impulfe led thy mind aftray. 
 
 Go, while the paft forgotten Aides away, 
 
 Thou (halt retrieve, perchance, what thou haft done, 
 
 Thou fhalt return with honour frefhly won. 
 
 Danger and fecrecy thy courfe attend. 
 
 Yet go J I know thee — know that, for thy friend. 
 
 All that may rife thy faithful foul to try. 
 
 Shall nerve thy heart with greater energy ! 
 
 Go, then, my boy, and hafte to leave behind 
 
 All that may call thy former fault to mind." 
 
 " Cyrus, my life, my foul, my all is thine ! 
 I go — far, far too bleft ; that look divine, 
 Thofe words of mercy — O ! may every hour 
 That life or foul is in Arafpes' power, 
 May every hour, may every adlion prove 
 To thee, my Sire, my gratitude and love !"
 
 CANTO II. 77 
 
 " Tell me," the Monarch faid, as, in reply, 
 While, as Arafpes knelt, his fpeaking eye 
 On the young Mede with deep attention dwelt. 
 As he would read there every thought he felt — 
 '' Tell me, Arafpes, haft thou ftrength to fly 
 From the fair captive's foft feducing eye ?" 
 
 *' Nay, Cyrus, fpare me. No, I could not brook — 
 Ye Gods ! I dare not even backward look 
 On what I fuftered. Still there is — I feel — 
 Yet no, I feel it not. Arafpes' zeal 
 For thee, and for his country's caufe, fhall tell 
 He can reprefs his bofom's burning fwell ! 
 Cyrus, we have two fouls, for good or ill,* 
 Too well I know they are contending ftill 
 Within my bofom. Yes, I feel it now ; 
 And thou alone, my brother, only thou 
 Art bleft with powers of virtue to reftore 
 My wand'ring foul to what it was before ! 
 By the bleft friendftiip of our early days. 
 By the bleft joy which, at my Prince's praife. 
 Thrilled in my foul when pleafed his eye I met, 
 I (wear I go with nothing to regret 
 
 • The creed of Orofmanes.
 
 78 PANTHEA. 
 
 But my own folly ! Yet, before I go, 
 Perchance for aye, where I may never know — 
 Nay, fmile not, Cyrus — tell me what will be 
 Of her, of Sufa's Queen, the deftiny ?" 
 
 He faid, and with deep blufti and downcaft eye 
 In filence waited for his lord's reply. 
 Nor waited long ; fixed was the captive's fate, 
 The King of Men watched o'er the defolate. 
 
 cc 
 
 To Abradates," with grave warmth he cried, 
 *' Shall be reftored his loved, his lovely bride ! 
 It were a crime to leave fo fair a flower 
 To perifh in the fpoiler's power. 
 No ; were (he fairer than the ftar of even, 
 That ftar fo bright to Abradates given. 
 Was given (not vainly) on his path to fliine, 
 To light his gallant foul to deeds divine ! 
 Were I the cords that bind them to untie, 
 His flower would wither, and its luftre fly ! 
 Loud is the voice of Abradates' fame. 
 Pure and unfuUied is the hero's name ; 
 Long has he, with unconquered bravery, 
 From Afia's defpot thirfted to be free,
 
 CANTO II. 79 
 
 Brave and unfettered, from th' Aflyrian line — 
 One word he waits to join his force to mine. 
 That word is faid : Panthea's breaft of fnow 
 Once more the fparlding ray of joy fhall know. 
 Now for Aflyria, brother ; fare thee well ! 
 Thou goeft, thy fame fhall future ages tell !" 
 
 He grafped his hand — 'twas feverifh ; like his heart, 
 'Twas hot and cold by turns ; yet, ere they part. 
 The Monarch's hand the youthful Median wrung 
 With warmeft fervour, then to horfe he fprung ; 
 " The future 's Heaven's," he cried, and far behind 
 His parting words were borne upon the wind !
 
 t
 
 Panthea. 
 
 r 
 
 CANTO IIL
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 ^f* 
 
 The return of Abradates — His converfation with Panthea — H!s 
 interview with Cyrus, in which he pledges himfelf to join the 
 latter in the enfuing battle — Night before the battle — Grief of 
 the Queen at their fecond feparation.
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 r 
 
 "T X /"AKE, Bard, awake ! behold, the morning beam 
 Burfts with a trembling light, that, like a ftream 
 Of radiant hope, plays round yon mighty zone. 
 Where earth and heaven are mingled into one ! 
 So Hope illumes Panthea's forrowing night. 
 For, lo ! her fun appears, and all is bright ! 
 
 O ! what on earth is fo intensely fweet 
 As that bleft moment, when again we greet 
 That ftar, to which all other ftars are none. 
 The foul's bleft treafure — loved, adored, alone ! 
 
 G 2
 
 84 PANTHEA. 
 
 The dawn fcarce flitted o'er the dufky hill, 
 All, fave Panthea's beating heart, was ftill ; 
 Ere rifing day her reftlefs, joyful cries 
 Bade from their couch her flumb'ring maids arife, 
 
 '* Awake, my nymphs ! can ye not lift awhile ? 
 Why come ye not to wait my Prince's fmile ? 
 Do ye not long to meet his eagle eye ? 
 Oh ! for one glance I'd be content to die ! 
 Poor maids ! leap not your hearts, once more to fee 
 Him all to you, and more than all to me ?" 
 
 'Twas thus, at times, Panthea's earneft eye. 
 In ardent gaze feemed fixed eternally ; 
 And then, with reftlefs eagernefs again. 
 She'd turn to bid them watch acrofs the plain. 
 
 As on the verge of fome more happy clime. 
 When the winged fpirit quits the realms of time, 
 And trembles to be free, new hopes arife, 
 Joy thrills the heart, and fparkles in the eyes, 
 Of her who waits her long-loft love to fee ! 
 
 She ftood, more buoyant than the liquid air — 
 She fcarcely ftood, ftie feemed to hover there —
 
 CANTO III. 85 
 
 And, like a glorious angel of the light, 
 So fair, fo blefled, fo beautifully bright, 
 With finger pointed to the realms of reft. 
 She might have formed an image of the bleft, 
 As thus fhe watched to hail the rifing ftar. 
 That brought her love and glory from afar ! 
 He comes, he comes, her home of heavenly reft, 
 Panthea fank on Abradates' breaft ! 
 
 'Tis fweet, when ftormy winds are bounding high. 
 When low'ring clouds hang black'ning o'er the fky, 
 'Tis fweet returning beams of light to fee. 
 To watch the fun blaze forth refplendently 
 With gladdening beams, while calmer gales arife 
 To back receding ftorms, and clear the fkies ! 
 When Winter binds in chains the ftricken plain. 
 When leaflefs trees, when withered flirubs remain. 
 To bear the nipping froft, 'tis fair, 'tis fweet. 
 Returning Spring, with opening buds, to greet. 
 But oh ! how pafling fweet, how richly dear. 
 When thofe who're loved, and loft, again appear ; 
 A thrilling kifs on the warm cheek to prefs. 
 And fondly to return Love's wild carefs ! 
 This made the chieftain o'er the mountains fly. 
 Who loved as few have loved ; more tenderly
 
 86 PANTHEA. 
 
 Than fancy, warmed by feeling, may exprefs. 
 The heart that only knew his tendernefs ! 
 
 One ftep, and her — his foul's beloved — he fees, 
 His panting bofom courts the far-off breeze ; 
 So fwift his plumed helmet cleaved the air, 
 The glittering armour feemed a meteor there ! 
 Light as the mountain roe he gained the fteep, 
 Rifmg in airy height mid forefts deep. 
 An inftant rooted there he breathlefs flood ; 
 With eagle glance he pierced the envious wood, 
 Whofe thick'ning foliage his beloved conceals. 
 It is her breath embalms the gale he feels ! 
 No other voice refts on his lift'ning ear. 
 Save that foft voice Love, Love alone might hear ! 
 No other objedl: meets his piercing fight. 
 Till his Panthea's form propels his flight. 
 Then, as the light-winged lark high o'er his neft. 
 That feeks his home near fome foft-plumaged breaft. 
 An inftant hovers, fwifter ftill to dart. 
 Where love repofes on her downy heart,' 
 So near, and nearer, on the chieftain came, 
 Rich in the glowing light of Love and Fame ; 
 Swifter and fwifter Abradates preffed 
 His home, his haven, his Panthea's breaft I
 
 CANTO III. 87 
 
 Ah ! who may paint the rapture that he felt, 
 As in devotion to his Queen he knelt ; 
 And fondly, warmly to his heart he drew 
 His bride, as angel pure, and lovely too ! 
 When in his arms he felt her bofom glow, 
 And the foft prefTure of that hand of fnow! 
 Panthea's hand, the chieftain bending low. 
 Unbound the helmet from her warrior's brow ; 
 The fun-burnt locks that o'er his forehead hung, 
 By Sufa's gentle Queen were backward flung. 
 And oft, in fpeechlefs joy, her thrilling eye 
 Was fixed on Abradates tenderly. 
 Yet, when the chief's on his Panthea's fell. 
 Some fad remembrance feemed that eye to tell ; 
 Though at his glance with joy her bofom glowed. 
 And at his voice a thrilling rapture flowed. 
 That warmed her cheek, and fparkled in her eye. 
 There was that told a paft of mifery. 
 That warmth, as fleeting as the evening ray 
 Tinging the diftant hill at clofing day, 
 Was but the blufti his kindling glance infpired, 
 Lived in his voice, and with his voice expired j 
 And left upon her cheek a ray fo fair, 
 As marked unwonted grief had wreflled there ! 
 There was —
 
 88 PANTHEA. 
 
 Oh ! it was torture thus to trace 
 The weight of fufFering on an angel's face ! 
 He wift not why, he afked not whence it were, 
 But gazed, and gazed, till from that brow fo fair, 
 And cheek fo pale, an univerfal glow 
 Chafed every veftige of its former fnow ! 
 It was as though, fwift from Apollo's throne, 
 A glowing beam of radiant luftre fhone, 
 Redd'ning with funny and celeftial light 
 The fnowy bofom of th' Olympian height. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 " Why doft thou look as if thine eye would trace 
 All the fad paft in thy Panthea's face ? 
 Grief once was mine — it boots not now to tell — 
 On which I fhudder even yet to dwell ! 
 Yet bend not thus on me that awful brow. 
 That reads my very foul, and think that now 
 There is a rapture in Panthea's heart. 
 From which for worlds her bofom would not part ! 
 A bliss that hallows even forrow's tears. 
 And all her former fuffering endears !" 
 
 ABRADATES. 
 
 " Soul of my foul ! Panthea, I would know 
 The fource, the author of thy tears, thy woe ;
 
 CANTO III. 89 
 
 Is it not meet Sufa's fair Queen fliould own 
 To the fole guardian her young heart has known, 
 The guilty caufe from whence her forrows sprang, 
 That he may be th' avenger of her wrong ?" 
 
 He faid, while glowed his cheek, and under his dark 
 brow, 
 As from an angry cloud, the lightning glow 
 Of fiery vengeance burft ; and, though reprefled, 
 Enough remained to fright the gentle breaft 
 Of his young Queen, albeit unufed to fee 
 Her lord in aught fave gentleft courtefv ; 
 Half angry, and half fmiling, while afraid, 
 Her varying cheek each varying thought betrayed ; 
 Thus, as though truth in all her nature fpoke 
 At every thought or feeling that awoke. 
 On her fair cheek a warm tranfparent glow 
 Betrayed her feelings ere in words they flow. 
 
 Yet ne'er Panthea loft that air ferene 
 Of native dignity ; ftill was fhe Queen, 
 As when, in childhood, nations learned to bow 
 The knee before her, was Panthea now. 
 Nature's fweet eloquence infpired her tongue, 
 And on her lips a bland perfuafion hung ;
 
 90 PANTHEA. 
 
 Unknowing why, her filvery accents fwayed- 
 Panthea only fpolce to be obeyed. 
 
 Thus, when ftie prayed her foul's loved lord to lend 
 A lift'ning ear, and on her tale attend, 
 As though her fmile could bid the tempeft ceafe, 
 And ftormy paflion whifper into peace. 
 With mute attention on her voice he hung. 
 As all his foul within that found were ftrung. 
 Yet, whilft in liftening mood the hero fat, 
 With fome new fear he could not penetrate. 
 Round his young Queen his guardian arm was thrown. 
 As though he loved to feel her ftill his own. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 " 'Twas when I loft thee, Abradates — no. 
 Till thou waft gone, my Prince, I did not know 
 How great a portion of my foul went with thee ! 
 Again thou fhalt not leave me, never more. 
 How wide foe'er the paths thou wand'reft o'er ! 
 Still will I follow, e'en to that ftrange land 
 Where the departed wander on the ftrand ! 
 I will be with thee near that fearful tide, 
 Where none but ftiades in awful filence glide j
 
 CANTO III. 91 
 
 Still will I claim prote6lion at thy fide, 
 Nor fhall my prayer to follow be denied ! 
 For I have watched at morn the rifmg day, 
 And tremblingly have marked the noon-tide ray ; 
 I faw thee faint beneath the parching beam, 
 And I have wept at vivid fancy's dream ; 
 Whilft I have chid at eve the foft'ning light. 
 That could look lovely, abfent from thy fight. 
 No hour could pleafe, not e'en thy favourite hour, 
 When Dian trembled o'er thy facred bower ; 
 Thou waft not there ; fhe might again have flept i 
 I watched alone, and when I watched I wept 1 
 Yet I retard my tale, and in thine eye 
 I fee impatience rifing — " 
 
 ABRADATES. 
 
 " No, fay on ; 
 All that thou fayeft I love 5 yet, if there's one 
 That made thee fuffer — by Heaven ! he fhall not creep 
 His poifonous path, till he hath learned to weep 
 His matchlefs cruelty." 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 " My Prince, not now ; 
 Think'ft thou, had aught remained for thee to know,
 
 92 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 I had not told thee ? Oh ! I love too well 
 
 My hufband's fame, his honour, and would tell, 
 
 Whatever were the terror of my tale, 
 
 My tongue Ihould fpeak, nor fhould my cheek turn pale. 
 
 Yet now it were not well to trample on 
 
 One who, ere this, has the juft judgment borne 
 
 For all his wrongs ; far from the camp he fled, 
 
 Where now he bears upon his guilty head 
 
 His Monarch's frown, who revelled in his fmile ! 
 
 Is't not enough ?" Panthea paufed awhile, 
 
 Ere her warm heart found language to exprefs 
 
 Her grateful fenfe of Cyrus' noblenefs ! 
 
 Her bofom heaved, whilft in her fparkling eye 
 
 Stood the pure tribute of her ecftacy, 
 
 A glift'ning tear ; and in her rifing breaft 
 
 Heaved the warm thanks her words but half exprefled ! 
 
 In her recital fhe had wandered round 
 Like one who, treading near enchanted ground, 
 Dreads e'en the fhade of things that there have been, 
 Nor dares recount the horrors he has feen ! 
 Thus flit before us, though awake we feem, 
 The fearful fpeftres of a midnight dream. 
 Thus to her memory rofe that name of dread. 
 The name of young Arafpes ; he had fled,
 
 CANTO III. 93 
 
 Yet was his name a name fhe could not brook 
 To hear again, nor durft {he backward look 
 On what fhe fuiFered ! yet guilt was not there 
 To add his fting, but fhe was heavenly fair, 
 And proud as chafle, and flill the kifs he prefTed 
 Like venom rankled in the captive's breafl ! 
 
 Panthea's grateful heart had loved to dwell 
 On Perfia's monarch, and her tongue to tell 
 All that of forrow fhe had felt and tried. 
 When lonely left, her Prince's captive bride. 
 Twas blifs, 'twas rapture to recall the pain, 
 The pangs of abfence, now that once again 
 The heart was near to whom her own was given. 
 The voice fhe heard whofe very found was heaven! 
 Yet mufl fhe think, and mufl fhe tell of one — 
 And her tongue faltered as the tale went on — 
 One who in grief, and loneliness, and fear, 
 (Panthea fuffering,) foothed her foul's defpair ! 
 One whofe fair form an angel might have worn, 
 But whofe bafe foul, by fiendifh paflion torn. 
 Wore but that form to bear an angel's fway. 
 And, demon-like, who foothed but to betray I 
 
 Shepaufed and blufhed, and then, with trembling hafle. 
 Through all that gave her pain Panthea pafTed j
 
 94 PANTHEA. 
 
 Till to her fancy's eye, remembrance ftrong 
 Of her own fufFering, and Arafpes' wrong, 
 Choked her recital — on her lips expired 
 The name her liftening lord in vain required. 
 Her fearful tale, though yet untold, he read 
 In the bright gufhing tears Panthea fhed. 
 And the flufhed cheek, with fudden feeling prelTed 
 To his protecting bofom, told the reft ! 
 
 He afked no more ; it was enough to trace 
 Grief in the trembling tears that dewed her face. 
 He fpake not, moved not, fave to kifs the tear. 
 The gliftening token of a love fmcere. 
 And, with that filent kifs, to blefs the charms 
 That fought their fanftuary in his arms ! 
 
 Not fwifter, winged by fear, the mountain roe 
 Darts through the ftream, whofe dark and rapid flow 
 He ne'er had crofted, but that the flowery glen. 
 Its home of fweets, unknown to mortal ken. 
 Lies on the far-off" ftiore ; not fwifter preffed 
 The panting trembler to its home of reft. 
 Than through the paft of woe Panthea flew. 
 The ftream of fad remembrance darting through !
 
 CANTO III. 95 
 
 And not more fweetly feels protection's power 
 The mountain wanderer in its lonely bower, 
 Than fhe who felt the powerful fympathy 
 That beamed protection from her lover's eye. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 " My Abradates, had not Cyrus been, 
 Worfe, worfe than death had fufFered Sufa's Queen ! 
 Vainly hadft thou inquired for thy bride. 
 In vain a nation for its monarch cried ; 
 This hand my own deftruCtion would have dealt. 
 And in my blood have fteeped the fhame I'd felt ! 
 Go, blefs the care that o'er thy confort hung, 
 Go, tell him how his praifes we have fung ; 
 Tell him, the rifmg fun receives our prayer. 
 To make the glory of the juft his care ! 
 Tell him, my fimple maidens breathe his name 
 With tears of gratitude ! Love, Glory, Fame, 
 He has them all — if more the Gods can fend, 
 Go, tell him Abradates is his friend !" 
 
 ABRADATES. 
 
 " My life, my foul, hid in the filent deep, 
 The reftlefs winds may in their caverns fleep. 
 To wake no more, ere in my breaft expire 
 One Ipark of gratitude thy words infpire !
 
 96 PANTHEA. 
 
 And Heaven's vengeance burfl: upon my head, 
 
 Ere be forgot the tear Panthea fhed, 
 
 When thy vi^arm heart fpoke in thy beaming eye, 
 
 And thrilled thy lover's foul vi^ith ecftacy ! 
 
 A firmer friend thy guardian doft not know, 
 
 Nor, for his foes, fhall find a nobler foe !" 
 
 He faid, nor idle was the warrior's word. 
 For with his hand he gave his heart and fword ; 
 And by her love, and his, himfelf he bound. 
 As on her lips he fealed the awful found. 
 That henceforth Cyrus might for aye command 
 A lover's gratitude, a warrior's hand ! 
 
 Such was the Prince ; with heart of manly glow. 
 Of lofty mien, truth ftamped upon his brow 
 A noble independence ; yet his eye 
 Perchance was haughty, fave when fhe was nigh 
 He loved with fervour — then, not fweeter fmiled 
 The youthful mother on her firft-born child 
 Than he on his Panthea ; nor to meet, 
 Could infant's fmile be more ferenely fweet 
 Than that fo oft her noble features graced, 
 When Love the fofter feelings in them traced !
 
 CANTO III. 97 
 
 And when by his Panthea winged to fly- 
 To him, the author of his bofom's joy, 
 As 'twere a beam of light, a grateful glow, 
 A godlike feeling funned the warrior's brow ! 
 His forehead fair a fairy's hand had graced. 
 When her he loved his helmet had unlaced. 
 'Twas thus before the Perfian Monarch's throne 
 The graceful chief appeared ; and when alone, 
 Abforbed by feelings gentle as fublime, 
 And pure as Nature in her earlieft prime. 
 He came to him, from whom but now he drew 
 The heartfelt blifs his grateful bofom knew — 
 And but for whom he ne'er had known again — 
 His bounding tread fcarce feemed to touch the plain ; 
 And Cyrus hailed him as the fpring of joy. 
 Herald of hope and future vi6lory ? 
 
 To Sufa's chief, to his foul-piercing eye. 
 It needed not the hemifphere of joy 
 Around him floating, to defcribe how fair. 
 How brightly fhone his princely welcomer ! 
 In lovelier tints joy made the mountains glow, 
 And clearer cryftals in the valleys flow ; 
 But what could lend a lufl:re to the ftar. 
 That calls its circling planets from afar, 
 
 H
 
 98 PANTHEA. 
 
 That rolling on its heavenly-deftined courfe, 
 
 With unabated, unrefifted force, 
 
 Surpafling all things, with all-powerful blaze. 
 
 Bids nations flourifli, warmed beneath its rays ! 
 
 Miflioned from Heaven, and by Heaven infpired. 
 
 In glorious, fun- bright majefty attired. 
 
 Thus ftione the Perfian King, and godlike bore. 
 
 Within himfelf, the dignity he wore ! 
 
 Around, in many a martial circle, ftand 
 The chiefs who own their Monarch's high command, 
 The glow his glory cafts upon them flione : 
 Thus, on the lofty height of Lebanon, 
 The topmoft boughs catch from the fun's bright rays 
 His beams of light, and gliften in the blaze. 
 Till heavenly oft becomes the brilliant hue 
 That doth in dazzling light their leaves imbue. 
 So did the fame of him they love infpire 
 Within each breaft a more than mortal fire ; 
 It warmed each heart, it filled each ardent eye. 
 It was the exulting pledge of victory 1 
 
 As thick and varied as the foreft fhade. 
 And frefh as when by early Spring arrayed.
 
 CANTO III. 99 
 
 Warm and devoted to their chief, around 
 The ranks of warriors filled the adjacent ground : 
 So blooms the foreft on the mountain's fide, 
 Forming at once its ornament and pride ! 
 
 I may not paufe to fay, though I might tell 
 Of many who had ferved their country well, 
 Of many a martial feat in martial ftory. 
 Of many a noble trait and deed of glory ! 
 
 'Mong thofe who neareft to their Monarch flood 
 Was young Arafpes, not as once arrayed 
 In Median luxury, yet Median grace 
 Still marked the youth, and ftill his youthful face 
 Wore the gay fmile, though oft in his dark eye, 
 As 'twere a cloud, a penfive fhade pafled by ; 
 'Twas tranfient, and the Perfian garb he wore. 
 Marked that at leafi: in deed, whate'er he fwore 
 Of paflion conquered, or of love fubdued, 
 His heart refolved and all his foul purfued ! 
 
 He knew not yet, too late returned to know, 
 What known had lent once more that youthful glow 
 Unholy love, with grief and fhame, had driven 
 From his now pallid cheek. Though he had ftriven 
 
 H 2
 
 100 PANTHEA. 
 
 With manlleft energy in Glory's road, 
 Though he had won his Monarch's juft reward, 
 Within his mind deep memories took their place. 
 That banifhed from his heart the balfam peace ! 
 Thus, when the name of Sufa's chief they fpeak, 
 The glowing crimfon mounted to his cheek ; 
 But when the faultlefs form he viewed, 
 That now before the Monarch flood, 
 A weight departed from his breaft. 
 He felt that Sufa's Queen was bleft ! 
 
 Yet Love may tell, for Love alone may know. 
 While on his cheek the deepening blufhes glow, 
 Why with convulfive ftrain, as if to feel 
 The high-wrought ftrength of its Damafcan fteel. 
 He grafped, and doubly grafped, the glittering fpear 
 On which he leant, when firft he faw appear 
 Panthea's lord — her loved, her foul's adored ! 
 In vain the youthful warrior tried his fword, 
 The fteel refumed its form, while he the fame 
 Still trembled with emotion, o'er him came 
 As 'twere a flood of overwhelming thought, 
 A tide of memory with anguifh fraught !
 
 CANTO III. loi 
 
 With heartfelt gratitude, and eye infpired 
 With all the light his grateful love had fired, 
 He faw the noble chieftain bend his knee 
 In fign to Cyrus of his fealty ; 
 And with a brother's warmth he faw him clafp 
 The Monarch's hand within his fervent grafp — 
 He faw no more, and turned to hide the woe 
 His joy-infpired language caufed to flow. 
 
 ABRADATES. 
 
 ** Sire ! for what my foul holds fondefl, deareft. 
 For her the Gods have given me, chaftefl, faireft. 
 By thee preferved, what may a foldier do, 
 That fhall not fail of what he owes to you ? 
 Small is my force, yet warm in manly zeal. 
 What feels their chieftain fhall my warriors feel, 
 And every heart and every fteely brand 
 In my brave troop fhall for thy welfare fland." 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 " Welcome ! thrice welcome be thy proffered hand, 
 Brave Prince ! our friends are thine, and here they fland. 
 To greet thee with the love that warriors feel. 
 Warm as their courage, conflant as their fleel!"
 
 102 PANTHEA. 
 
 So friendfhip fprung, like that communion fweet 
 Where holy men with holier angels meet ; 
 So friendfhip fprung, pure as the holy fire 
 Whofe flames from Perfia's mount to Heaven afpire ! 
 Thus friendfhip fprings from that blefl fource fublime, 
 Where warmth of feeling does the work of time ! 
 
 O moments bleft, of boundlefs ecftacy, 
 Why do ye come fo rare, fo fwiftly fly ? 
 Why, at the inflant Abradates prefixed 
 Panthea blufhing to a grateful breafl. 
 Did ye prepare anew the parting hour, 
 That tore the warrior from his bridal bower ? 
 Was friendfhip planted but to tear away 
 The flower of love that flourifhed but to-day ? 
 Or is it Fate, to human blifs a foe. 
 Mingles in every cup the draught of woe ? 
 
 When with a grateful vow the hero bound 
 Himfelf for Cyrus fhould be foremofl found. 
 Fate darkly pledged to-morrow's rifing fun 
 Should prove the warrior's word j the word of one 
 By Love ne'er tempted, as by Fear ne'er driven 
 From pofls of danger when by Honour given.
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 The poft he fued, by envious chiefs denied, 
 Was by the hand of Fate too foon fupplied ! 
 
 One hallowed hour to love, to blifs, and then 
 The dreaded parting-hour returns again ! 
 
 V *fr yf! ^ ^ tT 
 
 One hallow^ed hour to love — 'tw^as that ftill hour. 
 Ere foftly ftealing to her evening bower. 
 The bird of night ftill lingers on the fpray, 
 To fing when other notes have died away ; 
 There, while but fpirits in the woodlands move. 
 She tunes the laft, the fweeteft notes of love. 
 Yet fainter ftill becomes that evening fong, 
 As the foft dufky hours fteal along. 
 When Philomela feeks her downy neft. 
 And e'en the voice of Love is huftied to reft. 
 
 Panthea flumbered, fweetly, and profound, 
 As fleeps the wearied child. Above, around. 
 To Heaven propitiating rites arife, 
 The prayers of priefts, the fires of facrifice ; 
 In turn thofe rites are o'er, and on the hill 
 No found is heard, and all that moves is ftill. 
 Save here and there, extinguiftied one by one. 
 The blazing fires that rofe with fet of fun. 
 
 103
 
 104 PANTHEA. 
 
 The warrior's eye clofed not ; he watched her fleep, 
 Wept o'er her charms, albeit unufed to weep. 
 So young, Co lovely — if he fought and fell, 
 O ! who will comfort thee ! he dared not tell — 
 He dared not number all the fears he felt, 
 He dared not own a warrior's heart could melt ! 
 But if in gazing on her while fhe flept 
 His eye grew dim, and if at eve he wept. 
 When in the eaft the morning beams appear 
 Far from his eye was dafhed the half-fhamed tear, 
 And calm and movelefs as the untroubled lake. 
 His tranquil gaze watched the young morn awake. 
 
 That morn fhall wake on Thymbra's fertile plain. 
 And eve fhall clofe upon her heaps of flain ! 
 In its dark breaft fhall fleep, to wake no more, 
 Thofe who in blazing armour vengeance bore 
 With eye of fire, and who with parting breath, 
 Scorning difhonour, fought the ranks of death ! 
 
 " Is it for this that man's beft hopes were given, 
 And is it thus we murder joy's bright heaven ? 
 For more than earthly blifs it were to be. 
 My life, my foul's enchantrefs, loved by thee ! "
 
 CANTO III. 105 
 
 *Twas thus he mufed, when fudden from her fleep, 
 Bright as the morn, and full as prone to weep 
 When dark clouds threat'ning o'er the azure fpread, 
 Faft, in his fond embrace, prophetic tears fhe fhed. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 " Why beats with fear, why throbs with pain my 
 My Prince, fo late to meet, fo foon to part ! [heart ? 
 Envy the Gods my happinefs in thee ? 
 Or is it Fate, that weaves incefTantly 
 An ebon ftiadow with the filver thread 
 The hand of Love has o'er each hour fpread ? " 
 
 Thus fpoke, in all her troubled tendernefs, 
 The fears a warrior vainly would reprefs ; 
 Yet from the magic of his voice they flew, 
 As birds of night before the morning dew ! 
 
 ABRADATES. 
 
 " Light of my foul ! does not Panthea's eye 
 Pour its foft luftre o'er my deftiny ? 
 O, flied no tear ! one filver chord fhall twine 
 In its bright union Sufa's fate with mine ; 
 And Love before me, as a cryftal fhield, 
 Shall blunt each dart the foeman's arm may wield ! "
 
 Panthea. 
 
 CANTO IF,
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Addrefs to Hope — Morning of the battle — The offering of 
 Panthea to Abradates, a suit of armour, ornamented with jewels 
 and precious ftones from her diadem — Parting words of Abra- 
 dates and the Queen — Death of the former — Evening after the 
 Battle — Vifit of Cyrus to Panthea — The Cataftrophe— The 
 Bard's lamentation — Song of a Spirit — The Bard's anfwer.
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 r 
 
 T INKED in a myftic chain the moments run, 
 
 Circling the fate of all beneath the fun ; 
 Thus, hand in hand, one angel-hour will lead 
 Some dark-eyed fury on with equal fpeed, 
 Nor can we mark in joy's faft-fleeting hour 
 The funbeam dancing on its radiant wing, 
 Ere we have felt the dark-eyed monfter's power. 
 And, ftarting, fmk beneath its withering fting ! 
 Why then, Hope, pointing towards fome golden bower. 
 Bid mortals feek a blifs beyond their power ?
 
 110 PANTHEA. 
 
 Yet art thou bleft — thou art like the filver found 
 
 Of ftealing mufic, from the depths profound 
 
 Of dark defpair canft win the wounded foul, 
 
 And bid her fmiling hear the tempeft roll ! 
 
 Do we then blame thee ? No ! we love the glow 
 
 Thou fliedd'ft around — love e'en the treacherous flow 
 
 Of all thou profFereft, though before us fly 
 
 The gifts we coveted from infancy ; 
 
 Still in thy bright horizon we are blefl:, 
 
 And turn to Heaven when Nature finks to refl ! 
 
 Hark ! from the Thymbrian plain what hoftile found 
 Troubles the filence that pervades around ? 
 Wild rings the din that marks the land of war, 
 And Abradates mounts the warrior's car ! 
 
 Soft, foft — an inflant, and the found is ftill. 
 The murmuring found, that like the troubled thrill 
 Of many waters babbling, feemed to fhake. 
 The echoing land is hufhed, 
 
 And not a brake. 
 
 And not a found. 
 Echo the lift'ning hills around !
 
 CANTO IV. Ill 
 
 Whence comes this filence, when embattled ftand 
 Myriads of warriors armed with fpear and brand ? 
 Is it a Goddefs on the fcene appears ? 
 'Tis Sufa's Queen — Panthea, not in tears, 
 For with majeftic ftep and eye ferene 
 She might have rivalled even Sparta's Queen ! 
 Upon her arm a radiant fhield (he wore, 
 Glittering with fparkling gems, which had before. 
 Ere yet the hand of Love tranfplanted them, 
 Clafped her fair neck, or graced her diadem ! 
 Deftined far other office now to yield. 
 To meet the foe upon the battle-field. 
 That each rare gem a gifted charm might prove, 
 A charm from danger, on the fhield of Love ! 
 
 Such was that foul, to Abradates true. 
 That with his breath, his every thought fhe drew ; 
 And, felf-forgotten, lived but for the fame 
 In which he gloried ! Who fhall find a name ♦ 
 For love like this ? or who may dare to tell, 
 When from her brow its fimple covering fell, 
 How innocence in that fair forehead fhone 
 With beautiful fimplicity, whilfl all alone, 
 Unheeding in the bofom of alarm, 
 She placed the fhield upon her warrior's arm ?
 
 112 PANTHEA. 
 
 The Prince was moved — moved till the ftruggling 
 Gufhed from his eye, that, late fo bright, Co clear, [tear 
 Nov/ fondly watched her, till in its dark blue 
 It feemed the burfting foul was rufhing through! 
 In fdent wonder he beheld his bride. 
 For him he faw her caft each fear afide ; 
 He, he alone could judge the facrifice. 
 For of her love he only knew the price ! 
 What could not Love, warm from a foul like hers. 
 That checked her fobs, that quelled her darkeft fears — 
 Nay more, that gave her trembling lips the power 
 To cheer with pairing fmile the parting hour ? 
 
 In her dark eye hke fummer lightning played 
 The fmile that fweetly fhone, while it betrayed 
 The coming torrent, with the ftorm of woe 
 That waits for funfet ere it dares to flow. 
 Thus, when fhe rofe her parting lord to blefs. 
 With voice made touching by its tendernefs. 
 Forgetful of herfelf, fhe bade him fly, 
 Led on by Fame, to deathlefs Vidory ! 
 
 " Go, my beloved ! and ah, forget thee not — 
 For whom thy fword 's unfheathed, forget thee not !
 
 CANTO IV. 113 
 
 I was his captive, trembling and opprefled, 
 
 Infulted, tortured — thou haft known the reft ; 
 
 How with a brother's hand he turned afide 
 
 Each threatening ill, and led thy grateful bride 
 
 From hope to hope, till all her foul's alarms 
 
 Fled in the loved protection of thine arms ! 
 
 Go, then — forget not her who is before thee. 
 
 Who lives to love thee — her, whofe foul adores thee ! 
 
 Thine own beloved would rather feek with thee 
 
 The unknown bofom of eternity. 
 
 Than thou, ungrateful to thy caufe, fhould'ft fhame 
 
 The brilliant promife of a hero's name!" 
 
 She ceafed ; for worlds fhe could have faid no more. 
 All that fuftained her fainting foul before 
 Was in one throb of burfting anguifh loft. 
 And in the fudden pang her arms flie crofted 
 Upon the bofom that with anguifli wrung. 
 And o'er her eye its long dark lafhes hung. 
 As though the foul they fhaded would not dare 
 That Abradates fliould read the weaknefs there ! 
 
 *Twas all in vain — yet he, who only knew 
 Thy foul's affedion, ftiared thy weaknefs too ! 
 
 X
 
 114 PANTHEA. 
 
 O how he longed, in one wild, warm embrace 
 To tell thee all he felt — yet was the place 
 Unfit for burfts of woe ; and all to thee, 
 Thy foul's fweet power, his parting agony, 
 Whate'er he felt — the prefent and the paft — 
 Was in one look, the fondeft and the laft ! 
 Still of thy angel-voice he heard the found. 
 Mingling its fweetnefs with his grief profound. 
 Thy forehead fair with fervent kifles prelTed, 
 And thus his vows to Heaven the chief addrelTed. 
 
 " O ! grant me worthy of an angel's fire. 
 With more than mortal ftrength my foul infpire ! 
 Grant, O ye Gods ! the friend of Cyrus prove 
 Peerlefs in glory as in boundlefs love ! " 
 
 He faid, — and lightly bounding in his car, 
 The warrior mingled in the ranks of war. 
 
 Say, the fair Queen did young Arafpes fee. 
 When like the Goddefs of fidelity. 
 Her fairy foot ftill graced the hallowed fpot ? 
 He faw, but, all abforbed, he all forgot; 
 Forgot the cuirafs or the cafque to don. 
 Nor fpoke, nor moved again, till all were gone !
 
 CANTO IV. 115 
 
 Till to their Queen her fad attendants flew, 
 And from the unhallowed gaze of men withdrew. 
 
 She parted from his fight, as 'twere a dream 
 Of fomething heavenly — a golden beam 
 Of funny brightnefs in the depths of night, 
 Far, far beyond all hope ! — a fudden light 
 To his young heart, that Ihone fo wondrous fair. 
 That all it left was utter darknefs there ! 
 
 Starting, he turned, as from fome painful trance, 
 And crimfoned as he met the piercing glance 
 Of Cyrus' eye. " 'Twas not in vain," he cried, 
 " 'Twas not in vain I faw the hero's bride ! 
 My prayer to Heaven was not in all denied. 
 I saw her fmile — yes, I have feen her bleft, 
 'Twas all I afked, and thine ihall be the reft ! " 
 
 He faid, eager as one who hopes to die 
 The hero's death, fo 'twere with vi6tory ; 
 He faid, and ruftied to join the expe6ling band. 
 Impatient waiting their young chief's command. 
 
 What have I done ? Whence is my daring fong. 
 By SuHi's lovely miftrefs led along ? 
 
 I 2
 
 ii6 PANTHEA. 
 
 Why tell the tale ? I fcarce know why, or how — - 
 It is above my power, methinks ; and now. 
 Sudden I feel me on fome mountain's brow ! 
 
 Oh ! I have wandered, like fome heedlefs child, 
 Led on by fancy into Nature's wild 
 Of fweet and bitter thought ; or rather wooed 
 By faith and lovelinefs in womanhood, 
 My raptured fancy knew nor paufe, nor fear. 
 Till her wild parting fliriek broke on my ear ! 
 
 Tell me, what power henceforth fhall bear along 
 The bold adventures of my daring fong ? 
 How tune my harp upon the battle-field, 
 Who never learned the glittering fpear to wield ? 
 O for a warrior's ftrength to guide my pen ! 
 Then would I bear ye onward — then, O then. 
 In fancy fhould ye fee the Thymbrian plain. 
 Where ftruggled thoufands ! He who fees the main 
 TofTed into billows, or the tempeft cloud 
 Hurl through the rending rocks its thunders loud. 
 Feels not the horrors of that dreadful fea. 
 Where all is rife with human butchery ! 
 Where man to man, warm in the tide of life, 
 Like billows meet, to perifh in the ft rife !
 
 CANTO IV. 117 
 
 Come with me now ; look on yon moving plain ; 
 As gallant bark upon the troubled main, 
 Proud in its glory, fee the warrior's car 
 Bear, with an eagle's fpeed, its courfe afar. 
 Now, now he feems as 'twere upon the fteep 
 Of fome wild torrent ruftiing to the deep ! 
 Below the chief a thoufand deaths are feen. 
 Yet ftill he moves — the foul of Sufa's Queen ! 
 All, all that fancy to the heart endears. 
 Of great, of noble, his brave form appears ! 
 'Tis he, 'tis Abradates — fee him now — 
 See Vidlory's banner fan his noble brow ; 
 Alone — abandoned — fee him, all in all. 
 The foremoft ftill. Great God ! I fee him fall ! 
 The light, the fpring that led my fong is o'er ; 
 My heart is burfting, and — I can no more ! 
 
 'Tis funfet. Round their King the chiefs are met. 
 Yet there are thofe he loves who come not yet! 
 Well with our modern chief* might Cyrus fay. 
 When fadly numb'ring thofe who were away — 
 " Of every evil rife beneath the fun, 
 Defeat alone exceeds a battle won." 
 
 * The Duke of Wellington.
 
 ii8 PANTHEA. 
 
 What though the laurel wreath their temples bound, 
 And Fame fhouts " Vi6lory ! " — all, all around. 
 The loved, the brave, the tears of forrow fteep. 
 But ah ! they cannot raife the dead they weep ! 
 
 *' And where is Abradates ? " " Sire, he fleeps. 
 And by his fide the youthful widow keeps 
 Her mournful watch. It was at her command 
 They bore the warrior to the golden ftrand. 
 Where her own hand prepares the hero's tomb." 
 
 " And is this all ? Is this the warrior's doom ? 
 O his poor bride ! Panthea, is it thou 
 To bind the laurel on his lifelefs brow ? 
 Ye Gods ! how will this tide of forrow break 
 The heart that loved, and lived for his dear fake ! " 
 
 The Monarch wept, unchecked his forrows fell ; 
 The brother of a day, he loved him well. 
 And well might weep ; but if a tear could fall 
 From his Panthea's eye, that tear were worth them all ! 
 
 Where was the Chriftian voice to footh, to quell 
 The tortures of that deathlike found — farewell ?
 
 CANTO IV. 119 
 
 Farewell to love, that from her childhood grew, 
 That from each frnile a frefhened impulfe knew ; 
 Farewell her foul's repofe — when at his fide 
 She every danger, every care defied ! 
 Farewell ! Alas ! Panthea's joys are o'er, 
 And never fhall her foul have lightnefs more ! 
 
 At Cyrus' bidding, through the evening gloom. 
 The viftims deftined for the warrior's tomb — 
 An hundred oxen — wind along the glen. 
 Had that fad hecatomb been all of men, 
 'Twere vain ; a thoufand might have fhared his doom, 
 But who fhall call the wandering fpirit home. 
 Or bid him rife who flumbers in the tomb ? 
 
 His orders given, that mournful troop before. 
 The Perfian fought, upon the lonely fhore, 
 Sufa's fair Queen. What fad emotions grew 
 Within his bofom as he nearer drew ! 
 Say, why that bofom beats, as 'twere with fear. 
 When to the mourner's tent the King drew near ? 
 Why trembles Cyrus ? Does he fear to tread 
 The filent precindls of the hallowed dead ?
 
 120 PANTHEA. 
 
 There is an awful charafter in grief, 
 That awes the mightieft — when no relief 
 Is in our power — when earthly hope is flown. 
 How feeble is the monarch of a throne ! 
 
 Onward with rapid ftep Cyrus advanced, 
 While through the mift the evening fhadows glanced; 
 Now gone, and now appearing to his fight. 
 Like fpirits wandering in the fhades of night! 
 
 So true it is, the bofom's feelings cafl 
 Their fhade o'er all ; that what had lightly pafled 
 Perchance unfeen in joy, in grief's dark hour 
 Seemed to reveal fome fpirit's awful power! 
 
 'Twas then pale Luna rofe, and on a fcene 
 So foft, fo lovely, that had Cyrus been 
 Free from fad thought, delighted he might rove. 
 Till earthly beauty warmed to heav'nly love. 
 
 'Twas on the fhore where fparkling ftreamlets run, 
 And each foft ripple glitters in the fun, 
 Where laves Pa6lolus' ftream her fhining fand, 
 Panthea's purple tent rofe on the golden flrand.
 
 CANTO IV. 121 
 
 Whofe tears for its fad inmate would not flow ? 
 And he, who deeply felt for others' woe. 
 Saw in the beauty of that fcene around 
 A deeper gloom — a forrow more profound ! 
 
 Cyrus advanced, ftruck with a namelefs awe, 
 With trembling hand the curtain moved, and fav/ 
 The brave, the lifelefs warrior, and his bride 
 Like heav'nly fpirit feated by his fide ! 
 
 For the firft time he faw fair Sufa's Queen, 
 Nor till that hour had Cyrus ever feen 
 A fight fo fad, fo fair — the burfting woe 
 That filled his heart forbade his voice to flow. 
 And all feemed mifty to his aching fight ! 
 
 Thick, faft, and filent as the dews of night 
 Tears fell around her. Sufa's Qiieen alone, 
 'Mid thofe who wept, fhe was the only one 
 From whofe bright eye no trickling tear-drop fell, 
 The flirength of her impaffioned grief to tell. 
 A burning fever crimfoned her fair cheek. 
 And deeper woe than floods of tears might fpeak. 
 Her heart's convulfive throbs the bofom told 
 That heaved beneath her mantle's filken fold !
 
 122 PANTHEA. 
 
 From her dark eye a heav'nly luftre flione, 
 As 'twere the laft bright ray of fetting fun 
 On fleeping warrior — full and foft it fell, 
 And feemed to hallow one (he loved fo well ! 
 
 None fpoke of confolation — none had dared 
 To utter aught, and all had been unheard ; 
 Till to her ear the oft-repeated name 
 Of Cvrus brought a fliuddering o'er her frame. 
 She looked not up, but from her lips there broke 
 A murmuring found, — it was her grief that fpoke ; 
 For that flight petulance — thofe founds of woe — 
 Were all unlike the lips from whence they flow. 
 
 " Why comeft thou hither ? doft thou come to fee 
 Sufa's fad Queen purfued by mifery ? 
 It was for me, it was for you he fell ; 
 I bid him on, and oh ! too well, too well, 
 The infenfate mandate Abradates obeyed ! 
 When had he need of his Panthea's aid, 
 To warm his foul to glory ? — Oh ! he flew. 
 And more than mortal deeds he dared to do. 
 Nay, tell me not I was a hero's bride. 
 In Glory's bofom Abradates died —
 
 CANTO IV. 123 
 
 I know it all ; but ah ! my warrior fell, 
 
 And I have lived to breathe my laft farewell ! " 
 
 She ceafed to fpeak, and her voice o'er them pafTed, 
 Like the fad moaning of a mournful blaft. 
 Cyrus ne'er felt before what now he felt, 
 When by the chieftain's fide the Monarch knelt. 
 Too full of grief to fpeak, and all unmann'd. 
 He bathed with tears the cold, the lifelefs hand. 
 That fought fo bravely ere the bofom bled, 
 And the proud fpirit nurtured there had fled. 
 
 'Twas a long paufe — like that, when on the hill 
 The ftorm has burft, ere yet another, ftill 
 More deep, more drear, that awful paufe fhould break — 
 A calmnefs, falfe, unnatural, that fpake 
 To the fad hearts around that this muft be 
 The meed, the full of mortal agony ! 
 
 Eafed by the gufti of tears, that freely fell. 
 The Monarch firft found utterance, — the fpell 
 That feemed to bind his lips, his foul, now broke. 
 Yet ill-afsured the voice of him who fpoke. 
 As leaves that tremble on autumnal trees. 
 When the ftorm finks into the midnight breeze.
 
 124 PANTHEA. 
 
 And flitting clouds, in the cold cheerlefs light, 
 Float darkly round the mournful ftar of night ! 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 " If aught can footh the bitternefs of grief. 
 If aught can bring Panthea's foul relief. 
 It is the light that crowns her warrior's name, 
 A life of glory, and a death, that Fame 
 To ages yet unborn fhall proudly tell I 
 All that can make the heart of kindred fwell, 
 All that is rich to grace thy warrior's bier, 
 With all that beft befeems his fepulchre. 
 Bright and unfading as the veftal's fhrine. 
 To grace his obfequies, fair Queen, are thine ! 
 My power, my will, are ftill at thy command j 
 Whate'er thou wouldft, into whatever land 
 It is Panthea's wifh to be conveyed. 
 Speak but thy wifh, and it fhall be obeyed ! " 
 
 He faid, while in the Queen's flill downcafl eye 
 It feemed a tear had palTed its brightnefs by. 
 As though her gentle heart atonement made, 
 For aught of bitternefs fhe might have faid.
 
 CANTO IV. 125 
 
 Acrofs her brow a trembling hand flie pafled, 
 "And o'er the dead her fnow-white veil fhe caft, 
 As if 'twere thus alone fhe might refrain 
 Mingling with bitternefs her words again. 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 *' Cyrus, my foul is tortured with its grief, 
 Or I had thanked thee ; for the fole relief. 
 The firft fad joy my forrowing heart has known, 
 Is in this honour to his memory (hown ! 
 Go : when each rite to my loft lord is paid, 
 When the laft vi<5lim on his tomb is laid. 
 When all Panthea has to do, is done j 
 Then mayft thou feek his widowed, lonely one. 
 Thou, to his father's tomb my warrior bear, 
 'Tis all I ask, my laft, my only prayer ! " 
 
 She faid, and flowly raifed her mournful eye, 
 That gazed till now on her own mifery ; 
 For the firft time ftie turned her from the flain, 
 And looked — Oh ! who could bear that look again ? 
 For the firft time her foft, dark eye fhe fixed 
 On Cyrus' face ; it was fo fweet, fo mixed — 
 So fadly mixed — with woe, Panthea's eye. 
 It was the very foul of mifery !
 
 126 PANTHEA. 
 
 Opprefsed beyond himfelf, the gufliing tide 
 Of painful forrow fain would Cyrus hide ; 
 Silent and fad, to the lone Queen he bowed, 
 And went his way to weep her griefs aloud. 
 But fcarcely from that fcene, as 'twere the laft 
 Sad threfhold of defpair, had Cyrus pafled, 
 When from the tent a loud and fearful cry 
 Betrayed a new, an awful mifery ! 
 Shuddering, he turned him to the tent again — 
 O God ! the bride of Abradates flain ! 
 In bittereft anguifh had her fpirit fled. 
 And her laft figh was heaved upon the dead ! 
 O Thou ! that gaveft the meafure of her woe, 
 Forgive the deed, — Panthea ftruck the blow ! 
 
 Pale, pale as moonlight on the lonely fhore, 
 Where the white furges o'er the dark waves roar, 
 All cold in death, her dying head fhe prelTed, 
 As on its pillow, her loved warrior's breaft j 
 And faft her lifelefs hand the hero's bound. 
 And clofely prefled her gentle arms around 
 The manly bofom, in whofe generous glow 
 Was all of blifs Panthea fought to know. 
 'Twas all (he afked, to blefs the warrior's doom. 
 And in her death to fhare the hero's tomb !
 
 CANTO IV. 127 
 
 Sufa, farewell ! Thy mournful talk is o'er, 
 And thou to forrow canft awake no more ; 
 Yet ill my trembling hand has felt the power 
 To trace the anguifh of thy clofmg hour ! 
 
 Vain, vain were life, if all that makes life dear, 
 If all that's beft, and all that's brighteft here. 
 Like thee muft perifh ! Vain were memory, too, 
 That can but faded hopes and joys renew ! 
 
 A heavy fadnefs ftills my beating heart, 
 A numbnefs fteals through every throbbing vein ; 
 
 I fee the fhades of all that's fair depart. 
 And never ftiall my fong have light again ! 
 
 SONG OF A SPIRIT. 
 
 Young Bard of the Mountain, has Hope then no power 
 
 To lighten the forrows that fteal o'er thy breaft ? 
 O ! haft thou forgotten the fweet, promifed hour. 
 
 When a Sun fhall arife on the fleep of the bleft ? 
 The woodlands may fmile in the. day-fpring of morn. 
 
 And Nature's rtveillt awaken their bloom j 
 But the glory of Heaven the grave fhall adorn. 
 
 And a fpirit awakened fhall fmile on the tomb !
 
 128 PANTHEA. 
 
 Hope, Hope can illumine the darkeft of weather, 
 
 Though the proud fwelling thunderbolt fhoot from 
 on high ; 
 The lightning and tempeft will pafs off together, 
 
 And ftill, flill above them they leave the blue fky. 
 Thou ! God of my bofom, the Sun of all glory. 
 
 Say, who (hall dare murmur at forrow like this, 
 When Time and his torments alone fhall grow hoary, 
 
 And Joy is ftill young in thy manfions of blifs ! 
 
 THE BARD'S ANSWER. 
 
 Yet weep for Panthea, fhe knew not the token. 
 
 That turns from the Chriftian the page of defpair ; 
 And O ! 'twas no wonder the young heart was broken. 
 
 Who faw but the darknefs that compafled it there ! 
 Panthea had loved with a love, pure and tender. 
 
 As the dews that firft fell on the garden of blifs. 
 When the glad fun arofe on its bofom in fplendour. 
 
 Exhaled in his fervour — her love was like this ! 
 
 For he was her all ! to her young heart more dear, 
 Than rain-drops from heaven on Araby's land ;
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 129 
 
 And fweeter than breezes that come from afar, 
 
 When the ifles of the fouth by the weft winds are 
 fanned. 
 
 Still warm in her heart, as its firft wild emotion. 
 His love in her bofom feemed fondly to play ; 
 
 But, ah ! he has pafTed like the light from the ocean. 
 And Ihe like its fhadow has melted away.
 
 Mifcellaneous Poems. 
 
 K 2
 
 Mifcellaneous Poems. 
 
 r 
 
 WHAT IS GLORT? 
 
 I. 
 
 TX7HAT is Glory ? Is it made 
 
 By the dead in battle laid ? 
 Can it be, can Glory lie 
 In the orphan's bitter cry, 
 In the widow's wild defpair ? 
 Oh no — Glory is not there ! 
 
 What bring'ft thou hither, all pale and wan ? 
 I bring the tale of a battle won I
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The battle is won, for the foemen are fled. 
 
 But I come with the news of the dying and dead! 
 
 I come with a burthen of woman's fighs, 
 
 I come with the wail of the orphan's cries, 
 
 And I bid thee bewail a battle won. 
 
 For a fearful deed hath the foeman done ! 
 
 Our Chief was the firft in manhood's prime. 
 His brow was unclouded by forrow or crime ; 
 His bride was the faireft amid the fair, 
 And he was the gallantefl chieftain there ! 
 He was brave and beautiful yefternight. 
 But he fell in the thickeft of the fight ; 
 And mute is the grief of his marble bride. 
 And the mother flill fhrieks by her warrior's fide ! 
 
 This is the Conqueror's Glory, then — 
 Breathe not the name of it again ! 
 
 IL 
 
 A NAME. 
 
 Is Glory in the world's renown ? 
 No ; for the brow that wears a crown 
 May wear it with a load of care, 
 But cannot (lamp a Glory there.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 
 
 For many a King hath pafTed away, 
 And none hath blefled his natal day ; 
 And many a hand the fceptre bore, 
 Is honoured by the world no more. 
 
 Look on the land of burning fkies, 
 Where the Pyramids arife ; 
 Kings whofe thoughts were once intent 
 On thefe, their earthly monument — 
 Their tombs, on which to leave a name 
 Immortal in the rolls of Fame, 
 Are vanifhed, as the countlefs hands 
 Which have reared them on the fands ! 
 — Or, if fome names be vaguely guefled, 
 By deep refearch and learned zeft, 
 They're mingled with a hundred more, 
 Still as uncertain as before ; 
 And thefe alone of all remain 
 To fhow that earthly Glory 's vain ! 
 
 What is Glory ? It is to be 
 Imbued with Immortality : 
 It is with trembling wings to rife 
 Beyond the world, beyond the fkies —
 
 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 To tread the paths by angels trod, 
 From Nature up to Nature's God, 
 And raife our humbled hearts to Him, 
 Before whofe light the ftars are dim. 
 
 m. 
 
 THE MARTYR. 
 
 " What feeks the youth with fiery eye 
 And haughty mien — Abdallah, fpeak ! 
 Who has offended — when, or why ? " 
 
 " Stranger, afk you what I feek ? — 
 The life of Sabat. Yet, I fwear. 
 The air I breathe is not more dear 
 Than was, and is, that man to me ! 
 And yet in bonds I wifh to fee 
 My own true friend — but not his life j 
 Allah forbid the unnatural ftrife 
 Thus end, though Sabat has denied 
 The faith in which his father died ! " 
 
 We parted, and we met no more 
 Till that fad tragedy was o'er ; 
 Abdallah then again I met — 
 How changed I never {hall forget !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 
 
 Down his pale, furrowed cheek fad tears 
 Had courfed their way for long, long years ; 
 His eye was dim, and flow his pace. 
 And when he raifed to me his face, 
 Tears that drew mine, in torrents fhed. 
 Told me his anguifh for the dead ! 
 
 *' Stranger, we found him whom we fought, 
 And he was to the judgment brought. 
 Now, even now, before me ftands. 
 With his upraifed, befeeching hands. 
 That murdered man ! ' Abdallah, fpare 
 My life,' he cried ; 'and fave, oh ! fave thine own defpair ! 
 To change my faith 'twere vain to try, 
 Mine is no blind apoftacy ; 
 For by thy means fhould Sabat ftand 
 Before the judges of our land, 
 Torture may threaten him in vain. 
 He ftill a Chriftian muft remain ! 
 The fword, the rack — nay, if it need, 
 Worfe, rather than deny my creed. 
 If worfe there be — the burning brand 
 I dare, impelled by God's command. 
 Spare thy own heart,' my Sabat cried, 
 But oh, his prayer his friend denied !
 
 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " And yet his life I did not feck, 
 I thought that Nature's voice would fpeak ; 
 I thought that death before him placed, 
 His rebel path had been retraced ; 
 I thought — how vain the thoughts of men ! 
 Oh would that I had heard him then ! 
 I heard him not, but Sabat bore 
 The dread tribunal ; there, before, 
 Clofe to his judges Sabat ftood ; 
 They poured upon him, like a flood. 
 Reproaches, yet he heaved no breath 
 The quicker ; inftruments of death 
 Were by command before him ranged, 
 But oh, he never, never changed ! 
 On Heaven he fixed his eyes fublime, 
 And nothing of the world or time 
 Their holy vifion feemed to fliare, 
 But what compaffion planted there ! 
 One glance on Heaven, that made him free. 
 One pitying glance he turned on me ; 
 And oh, that glance will hold its power 
 Until Abdallah's lateft hour ! 
 
 " I faw them fever his right hand. 
 And life-blood ebbing like the fand
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 
 
 From his dear arm, that powerlefs hung, 
 And yet no change this torture wrung ! 
 Yet ftill I hoped, though hope was vain. 
 His other hand — ah, not again — 
 Again I dare not ; if I fpealc 
 Of all, my burfting heart will break; 
 For Sabat was a martyr made, 
 And I my Sabat's life betrayed ! 
 
 " Stranger! if ever Glory's crown 
 Was given to man, 'twas Sabat's own. 
 By looks that memory ftill can trace. 
 By light ftied o'er his heavenly face. 
 And by his fmile, that haunts me yet. 
 And by thofe figns we ne'er forget. 
 By all I marked around him then, 
 I know, immortal is that man ; 
 For I beheld the angels wait. 
 That bore his foul to Heaven's gate ! 
 
 " And now, the reft I have to fpend 
 Of life on earth, to God I lend. 
 This manufcript my Sabat made. 
 And fecretly to me conveyed ;
 
 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The facred pages of that book 
 
 Into the wildernefs I took, 
 
 And there, with bitter fighs and prayers, 
 
 Accompanied by many tears, 
 
 My earth's fole treafure to my breaft, 
 
 My Sabat's gift, Abdallah prefled, 
 
 I learned the wifdom Sabat knew. 
 
 And I became a Chriftian too !" 
 
 SONG OF THE ANGELS. 
 
 Happy Spirits ! ye who dwell 
 Amid the plains of Afphodel, 
 On high your choral mufic rang, 
 And thus in glorious ftrains ye fang. 
 
 Pilgrim, rejoice ! whate'er thy grief. 
 Heaven fhall bring thy foul relief. 
 Rejoice, rejoice ! go place thy care. 
 Where angels fhall the guardfhip ftiare ! 
 
 Friends long loft thou'lt meet again. 
 Into joy be turned thy pain ; 
 There thy bofom's throbs fhall ceafe. 
 There thy foul fhall be at peace !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 
 
 Pilgrim, rejoice ! whate'er thy grief, 
 Heaven fhall bring thy foul relief. 
 Rejoice, rejoice ! go place thy care. 
 Where angels fhall the guardfliip fhare ! 
 
 Tears that o'er the dead we weep. 
 In the wells of life they keep, 
 Where the fparkling rivers flow, 
 O'er flowers that but in Eden blow. 
 
 Pilgrim, rejoice ! whate'er thy grief, 
 Heaven fhall bring thy foul relief. 
 Rejoice, rejoice ! thy fpirit free. 
 The crown of Glory is for thee !
 
 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ©D m mtmovp of atra ^ovth 
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE COUNTESS EMMA BORCH, 
 ff^Ao died in her Se'venteentkyear, on jth Jan., 1856. 
 
 PRIEZ POUR ELLE !" 
 
 Ada, fair child ! 'twas robed in pureft white, 
 Tranfparent rolls of muflin round thee fell, 
 When once I faw thee, and the heaven's light 
 
 Fell full upon thee. I remember well. 
 Thou fatteft for thy portrait j who could dream. 
 So blooming then, thou wert but as a beam. 
 So foon to vanifh from the funny path, 
 Late the bright pidure of thy guilelefs mirth ! 
 Now, ftrewed with cyprefs, in myfterious gloom, 
 Pale forms are weeping o'er a fifter's tomb ! 
 
 Dear, gentle Ada, oft we faw thee ftray 
 With thy fweet fifters through the flowery way.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 Mid rocks and woods, courfed by a thoufand rills, 
 
 That water Spa, embofomed in the hills ! 
 
 And we have watched thee, as a growing flower, 
 
 Expanding into beauty hour by hour ; 
 
 While fweet intelligence in thy blue eyes. 
 
 Clear as the lake, reflecting back the (kies. 
 
 Grew more and more, till Hope delufive fmiled. 
 
 And we beheld the woman in the child ; 
 
 Pureft and lovelieft, ever to be prized, 
 
 And future never to be realized ! 
 
 For with infidious fliaft the archer came, 
 
 And thou, (o fair on earth, wafl but the dream 
 
 That came to fade ; cropped was our favourite flower, 
 
 In the young fpring-time of its beauty's power ! 
 
 In the gay hours of childhood running wild. 
 
 Three fifters grew beneath their mother's care. 
 And knew not forrow, for the heavens fmiled 
 
 With placid funlight on their gambols there ; 
 And two twin rofes feemed, hands linked in one. 
 From twilight morn till evening's fetting fun ! 
 When home returning, as the fun declined. 
 Light as the fawn, with not a trace behind, 
 Till Night her fable mantle o'er them hung, 
 Still were their arms around each other flung !
 
 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Oh, Death ! all tortures which the voice can name 
 In thee concentre. Thou doft break the heart, 
 And wring thofe tears that rend the fturdieft frame ! 
 
 Thofe burning tears no dangers can make ftart, 
 Yet have no foothing in them, for they fall 
 When man's great heart is vanquifhed ! When his all 
 Is wrapped in one fweet bud, one bloflbmed bough, 
 Laid by the ftorm in all its fragrance low ! 
 
 Yet thou, fair mother ! thou, her fifter pale. 
 Lament her not as one who is no more. 
 
 For Ada lives ! her fpirit pierced the vale. 
 By angels borne to that ftill widening fhore. 
 
 Where high and low on earth together prefs. 
 
 Band of redeemed ones, Jefus came to blefs I 
 
 Hafte, Jefus, hafte thy coming, promifed reign, 
 When the dread tyrant Death himfelf fhall die, 
 
 And fall with Sin, no more to rife again. 
 Then time fhall burft into eternity ! 
 
 Then humble mortals may their kindred greet, 
 
 For all who love on earth in heaven fhall meet !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 
 
 FAITH, 
 
 When Love's vaft fpirit o'er the deep waters moved, 
 
 And man was formed, man was by God beloved ! 
 
 And angels fhouted, for they faw afar. 
 
 Dim in the future, the bright Morning Star. 
 
 Our Chrift, our Saviour, — yea, our God was there. 
 
 Who wore the garment humble mortals wear ! 
 
 Hence, vain or fordid motives ! Lives the man 
 Whofe joys increafe by grovelling in the duft ? 
 
 Forms he not one of God's eternal plan. 
 That out of darknefs into glory burft ? 
 
 His noble deftiny by Wifdom laid. 
 
 Before that man, or worlds, or funs were made ! 
 
 Oh ye, my kindred ! fcattered far and wide. 
 From burning Indus to the ice-bound Pole ; 
 
 One bond conneds us all, one mighty tide 
 Is given, wherein to lave each human foul ; 
 
 L
 
 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For from one father every mortal came, 
 And Adam's blood ftill beats in all the fame. 
 
 Away with perfecutions, they're the ftain, 
 
 Foul, unredeemed, 'mid deadly crimes enrolled. 
 
 O'er which the vials of God's wrath fhall rain. 
 
 When Earth fhall pafs and boundlefs Heaven unfold. 
 
 The goodly feed alone fhall fill that land. 
 
 Where ftreams of gladnefs flow on either hand ! 
 
 Run to the diggings, fill your bags with gold, 
 Or line with flocks the fides of every hill, 
 
 A little while, the tale of all is told. 
 
 And the warm pulfes of the heart are flill. 
 
 The hand is loofed that held the gold before. 
 
 And the flocks heed their owner's call no more. 
 
 Are thefe lines mournful ? They are hers, whofe flight 
 Is upward rifing through the flarry fkies. 
 
 Who holds the pafl, the future in her fight, 
 Far, far on high the angelic virtue flies. 
 
 *Tis Faith who lifts the foul on high, 
 'Tis Faith that fprings beyond the fky ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 
 
 She draws a beam from every cloud, 
 She throws her veil o'er pall and fliroud, 
 And dwells in light, whilft thofe beneath. 
 Who look to Earth, fee only Death ! 
 
 How oft, through Life's uncertain road, 
 
 A rough and ftormy path we tread. 
 That leads to fome fecure abode. 
 
 O'er which the rofe and myrtle fhed 
 Their hues and odours, while a fight 
 Burfts on the view, all fair and bright ! 
 So, through a long and tortuous way. 
 The things of Earth fhall pafs away, 
 Till o'er the wafte and defert drear 
 The glorious City fhall appear j 
 War, peft, and famine, all fhall ceafe. 
 And God, our God, fhall reign in peace ! 
 
 L 2
 
 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE POOR POET, 
 
 The Poet, who begins his day 
 
 In d re fling-gown of rich brocade, 
 With coffee ferved in filver tray. 
 
 And Turkey-carpet for his tread. 
 On which the footftep falls fo ftill, 
 Has half Olympus at his will ! 
 His reveries, his richeft dream. 
 May haunt him while he fips his cream ; 
 Nor fear its being torn afunder 
 By rattling brooms and houfehold thunder 
 Of country maids, who work at all. 
 With heavy tread and brooms that fall ! 
 Whilft the well-bred, the filent John, 
 Seen, but not heard, as kites are flown, 
 Steals noifeleflly acrofs the floor. 
 And never raps the ftudy-door. 
 
 This is a Poet at his eafe. 
 And when he writes he well may pleafe,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 
 
 For half the authors on the flielf 
 Pleafe, when the author's pleafed himfelf ! 
 But the poor Bard, whofe lot is caft, 
 As many a Poet's in the paft, 
 Amid the pooreft in the land, 
 Whatever themes his brain has planned ; 
 Whofe fingers, ere they touch the lute, 
 Muft mend his ftocking or his boot — 
 Alas for him ! his caftle wall, 
 His airy fabric's fure to fall ; 
 Diftraded by the work and toil. 
 That all his mental labours fpoil ! 
 
 Yet oft in vain his work's o'erthrown, 
 Who once the Poet's joy has known. 
 Wrapped in his dreams, whene'er they come, 
 Forgotten Mary and her broom ; 
 The rents and taxes, as they were not. 
 E'en duns importunate forgot. 
 Quickly he feizes pen, and writes 
 The fancy which his foul delights ; 
 In fpite of ftorms, in fpite of rain. 
 He raifes up his towers again! 
 He trembles left his vein may end, — 
 More, when the door lets in a friend !
 
 150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For 'tis a truth, I beg to ftate, 
 
 The poor for ever congregate 
 
 Round the poor Poet, whofe rich ftream 
 
 Of vigorous hope makes others dream 
 
 The wealth of Crcefus they may find 
 
 Within the funfhine of his mind ! 
 
 Joking apart, 'tis fad to wander, 
 To fee the millions many fquander. 
 Which if to genius had been given. 
 Had raifed his foul from earth to heaven ; 
 And to his country haply lent 
 Some vaft undying monument. 
 
 There's one, perchance, of Poets laft. 
 Who's yet a fcion of their cafte. 
 For every pain that's baffled others. 
 E'en now within his breaft he fmothers ! 
 The flocking laid upon the ftielf. 
 With darnings longer than itfelf ; 
 And clofe befide the yawning boot. 
 That will not guard from wet his foot ! 
 Yet this were trivial, were the bread 
 Upon his table duly fpread.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 
 
 To feed the indigent who wait 
 At the poor Poet's generous gate. 
 When this is wanting, then his heart, 
 Which in each forrow bears a part. 
 And can no more a welcome give. 
 Big with hot tears muft ceafe to live I 
 His fpeechlefs lyre in vain he tries. 
 And wrapped within his mantle dies !
 
 152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE GAMBLING TABLE. 
 
 Merciful powers ! what a wafte of life 
 Round that infidious table, where is rife 
 That moft ignoble paffion, love of gain ! 
 Not one fweet carol from the fprightly train, 
 Of joyous laughter, or of wit, runs round 
 The gorgeous hall ; but faces, grimly frowned 
 Into ten thoufand wrinkles, mark the fpot 
 Where deadlypaffion lives, but where the heart lives not! 
 
 What fiends hide in that cloth of green ! 
 Remorfe, Defpair ! thefe crouch unfeen j 
 While Avarice opens wide her eyes, 
 Intent to fwallow all that lies 
 In tempting heaps before the view. 
 Moft faddening picture ! ever new ; 
 The victims changing — fearful, ftrange, 
 When ruin refts in every change !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 153 
 
 Yet to that gulf, where thoufands lie, 
 With headlong fury others fly ! 
 Oh! think, before thy gold is flaked, 
 What mifchief in thy heart is waked ; 
 What demons, waiting in difguife, 
 From that infernal region rife. 
 Flanking the crowds on either hand. 
 That round the roulette table ftand ! 
 Behind each chair an imp is peeping. 
 And from it Virtue turns in weeping ! 
 
 Oh ! thou, with hair of filvery grey, 
 From that green table turn away ; 
 Think of thy home, thy fon, who lives 
 By every word his father gives 
 To form in youth his pliant mind ! 
 The boy is young, but is he blind ? 
 And wouldft thou wifti thy child to fee 
 His lather plunged in infamy ? 
 And canft thou caufe thofe eyes to weep, 
 That watched thy children in their fleep ; 
 And her who dreads to fee them all 
 As beggars banifhed from their hall — 
 Their lands all fold, their living loft. 
 Doomed for thy fin to bear the coft ?
 
 154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Shame on the fire years have not taught 
 To guide his offspring as he ought ! 
 Who to paid teachers gives the fway, 
 And by example leads aftray. 
 The lion e'en a leffon gives — 
 The lion, that by rapine lives ; 
 Thofe foreft kings fedately ftalk 
 Where'er the cubs and mother vi^alk, 
 Nor leave them till the fliaggy mane 
 Makes them the terror of the plain, 
 And proves them ready for the ftrife — 
 The virtues of a lion's life. 
 Whilft man too often takes no heed. 
 Or, carelefs, bids the boy good fpeed 
 Away to fchool, unafked the price. 
 And then returns to cards and dice. 
 
 And thou, yon adolefcent pale. 
 
 With furrowed brow — imprudent youth, 
 Think of thy forrowing mother's tale. 
 
 And liften to the words of truth. 
 Thy ruined foul would be the grave 
 Of that fweet lady I fhe who gave 
 To thee thy life, and rifked her own. 
 When to the field thy father gone,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 
 
 Lay wounded mortally, to tend thy fire 
 That faint-like lady left her land — 
 
 She faw him in her arms expire, 
 
 And then with thee, led by the hand, 
 
 Unconfcious infant ! home fhe came 
 
 In mourning weeds. Her hufband's fame 
 
 Her confolation, and her boy. 
 
 In promife rich, her future joy ! 
 
 Oh ! come with me, thou recklefs fon. 
 Nor fhall my arduous tafk be done. 
 Till I have harrowed up thy heart 
 By fcenes in which thou beareft a part. 
 
 Go, fearch the gambling tables round. 
 Where are the nobler feelings found ? 
 Nor fame nor glory canft thou trace 
 Mid thofe who watch the fordid chafe 
 But one intent — if red or black 
 Be turned up from the eternal pack ! 
 
 Go, watch the croupiers in their lair. 
 With viewlefs eyes, unmeaning ftare. 
 Formed to attract the gambling tribe, 
 As flies within a fpider's web !
 
 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Faites vos jeux, Meflieurs," is the fong 
 Which leads their willing flaves along ; 
 " Le jeu eft fait," and all is faid, 
 And then the filence of the dead ; 
 With beating hearts, and hands that grafp 
 Within the poifon of the afp ! 
 
 Is it for this, that early, late, 
 Thy mafter faw thee at his gate, 
 To fearch the ftores of claflic knowledge. 
 And gain the prize at fchool or college ? 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! then turn afide. 
 Nor drink of that ignoble tide. 
 Where all that's good is waflied away. 
 By ftreams that ftiun the light of day ! 
 
 For thee, the demon of the place 
 The curtain draws a little fpace, 
 That I may Ihow thee all that lies 
 Hid from thine inexperienced eyes. 
 Oh ! were the curtain widely drawn, 
 Thou'dft hold the love of play in fcorn ; 
 For all its curfed illufions tell 
 The foul invention came from Hell !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 157 
 
 Hark ! What fearful groan was there ? 
 'Tis the cry of defpair ! 
 'Tis the hand that is raifed 
 To the head which is crazed ; 
 'Tis the murder of felf, 
 For the lofs of the pelf 
 Which he flaked on the black 
 Or the red of the pack ! 
 'Tis the body that's found 
 Without life on the ground, 
 For the brain has been caft, 
 As the rain by the blaft ; 
 With the warning it lends 
 To his fhuddering friends, 
 And the fearful cry 
 Of the paflers-by ! 
 The mother unbleft 
 He has robbed of reft. 
 Who in vain feeks a prayer 
 That may footh her defpair ! 
 For he rufhed from the road 
 Of the evil he trod. 
 Without prayer, and in ftrife, 
 To the Author of life !
 
 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! draw the veil 
 O'er the fearful tale ! 
 Let the curtain be dropped, 
 And the voice be flopped j 
 Let prayers for the dead 
 Be raifed inftead, 
 In the filence of night, 
 To the God of light ; 
 Let us fhrink in difmay 
 From the furnace of play. 
 Where the demons of evil are v^^atching their prey.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 TO DR. BOURKE. 
 
 Say not, Why haft thou known me ? Is 't in vain 
 We feek provifion for a cherifhed home ? 
 
 And think'ft thou not each friendlhip here we gain, 
 Is one to perfedl in the world to come ? 
 
 Say not that friendfhip is a palling flower, 
 
 That blooms to fade, when mourning mortals die j 
 
 It is a portion of the immortal power, 
 
 That fprings from earth to blofTom in the fky ! 
 
 If here we meet not, we may meet again. 
 
 When we before the Lord of Hofts fhall ftand, 
 
 He, who can read the thoughts of erring men, 
 And call the exiled into Holy Land ! 
 
 Well may we tremble — for, what are we worth ? 
 
 The longeft life of labour could not buy 
 One little kingdom of this little earth. 
 
 Nor add one hour when we are doomed to die.
 
 i6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 What are we worth ? with all our faults to dare 
 
 The fearching luftre of eternal day, 
 Save that our Lord himfelf has been our guide, 
 
 Save that the God of Heaven had marked the way! 
 
 Canft thou then afk me, Is one little page 
 Dearer than all that ancient fages taught ? 
 
 It is the record of eternal life, 
 
 That He who loved us from the firft has bought! 
 
 It were as well to afk of him who flies 
 The avenging fword, unto that facred reft. 
 
 The land of refuge, that before him lies, 
 Afk him within it, If he is not bleft ? 
 
 Is he not bleft whofe bofom bears within 
 Sparks of the Holy Spirit from above? 
 
 A refuge from a world of woe and fm, 
 A refuge offered by the God of Love ! 
 
 This is the promife, when this life fhall fail, 
 (And, Heaven be witnefs ! frail its every joy;) 
 
 Then fhall be drawn the impenetrable veil 
 
 That parts us from the God who dwells on high !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. i6i 
 
 Hail, Holy Spirit ! which can penetrate 
 The deepeft cell within the human breaft j 
 
 Can blunt the edges of relentlefs Fate, 
 
 And bid us hope in Heaven's eternal reft ! 
 
 No more, O Death ! is terror on thy brow, 
 
 But I behold thee as a friendly guide ; 
 For what we figh thou only canft beftow. 
 
 The h«me of blifs our mortal coverings hide ! 
 
 How fweet, with thofe we love, to feel e'en here 
 Part in the promifed Heaven, where all is peace, 
 
 Where all is joy, without the deadly fear. 
 The blifs of loving evermore ftiall ceafe ! 
 
 Tell me no more from life that we may borrow 
 More pure, more holy joy than dwells in this ; 
 
 While here on earth, the tear of virtuous forrow 
 Is but the night-dew to the Sun of Blifs ! 
 
 M
 
 i62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO C. R. LESLIE, ES^, R.A. 
 
 ON THE RECEIPT OF THE WELCOME GIFT OF HIS 
 VALUABLE WORK ON PAINTING. 
 
 It is of Art the privilege 
 
 To bind her votaries in one, 
 Whofe names are ftrung, from age to age, 
 As pearls upon the brilliant page 
 
 Of Glory and Renown. 
 
 And as through Heaven the milky way 
 
 Shines on the dariceft night, 
 So o'er life's fcene the golden rays, 
 Where Genius, or where Science ftrays, 
 
 Shed forth their glorious light. 
 
 High o'er the fcenes of blood and crime. 
 
 The fons of Genius ftand, 
 Serene on earth, their path fublime. 
 They touch all hearts, throughout all time. 
 
 With healing in their hand.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 
 
 The changing world's perpetual reel, 
 
 That fills the heart with fear, 
 The tortuous politics that ileal 
 The charters of the people's weal. 
 
 Cloud not their bright career. 
 
 Black tempefts from dread wars may rife, 
 
 Or raging ftorms may ceafe — 
 On high the gifted mortal flies — 
 In ftorms the lightning of the fkies. 
 Sunbeam in hours of peace. 
 
 Thus, from your book — a fweet furprife — 
 
 The fpirit rofe and faid, 
 " A magic virtue from me flows, 
 I feed the facred fire that throws 
 
 A halo round the head ! 
 
 " For mine are themes that may infpire, 
 
 Frefh from the writer's hand, 
 A holy zeal, a warm defire. 
 To wake the embers of the fire. 
 Which lights the artifts' band. 
 M 2
 
 i64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Band of the nobleft natures joined, 
 
 Free-mafonry of worth ; 
 With generous hearts, with natures kind. 
 In one, as brothers, are they twined, 
 
 Heaven's favourites on earth ! " 
 
 Thefe words are not vain words, or light, 
 
 That I addrefs to you — 
 Nor yet, my friend, as every Poet 
 Who rhymes a little, loves to (how it — 
 
 They're from afFedlion true. 
 
 For much delight from Leflie's treafure 
 
 Has flown from him to me j 
 And I would offer in a meafure, 
 With thanks, a token of the pleafure 
 That he has given to me. 
 
 Receive the token, for the flower 
 
 Culled by the heedlefs child. 
 Which is not from the garden bower 
 May have nor brilliancy, nor power, 
 Yet fcents of Nature's wild. 
 
 J
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 
 
 Her glorious face has ever fmiled 
 
 Where Art beams forth divine ; 
 And I, in painting though a child, 
 And who, perchance, in vain have toiled, 
 
 Yet worfhip at her fhrine.
 
 i66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ELEGT TO AUGUSTA 
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE PRINCE SAUTZO, AND THEC 
 BELOVED WIFE OF THE LATE PRINCE SCHINAS. 
 
 Swift falls the fnow, the winds beat high, 
 And dark and low'ring is the fky ; 
 Yet darker are the thoughts that rend 
 The hearts that mourn an angel-friend. 
 
 Driving flakes are falling round, 
 Yet multitudes prefs on the ground. 
 With choking fighs, and eyes in tears, 
 That once were fondly fixed on hers ! 
 
 All proclaims their deep devotion. 
 The uncontrollable emotion 
 Of many hearts j and tears fall faft. 
 And groans are mingling with the blaft.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 167 
 
 She, who on that bier is laid, 
 Gave to all the wretched aid ; 
 She gave to all, by wrongs untired — 
 In giving bleft, by love infpired ! 
 
 In truth, her gentle mercy found 
 A way to bring each culprit round, 
 Like golden ray by funfet thrown. 
 Enlightening all it fliines upon. 
 
 Time may never fill thy place, 
 Faireft flower of noble race ! 
 Dark and fad that fpot muft lie. 
 Till Time itfelf, and earth fhall die. 
 And we are winged beyond the iky, 
 To meet in God's eternity ! 
 
 Once her beauteous form appearing, 
 Robed in filks and jewels, moved. 
 
 Her grace and beauty all endearing, 
 Admired much, yet more beloved. 
 
 Once her words, like mufic ringing, 
 
 Confolation could impart ; 
 Now, alas ! they're memories clinging 
 
 Like ivy round the ruined heart.
 
 i68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Oh, her words for aye fhall reft, 
 Garnered clofely in each breaft ; 
 Even all-deftroying Time 
 Kills not memories fublime ! 
 
 " What is life ? " fhe oft would fay, 
 
 " Fleeting as the winter's day, 
 
 Which the whirlwind, and the ftorm. 
 
 And all earthly ills deform ! 
 
 Son, from fear wouldft thou be free, 
 
 Firft of all a Chriftian be. 
 
 Mary love, a mother's prayer 
 
 Lift ! and with thy brother fhare 
 
 A Chriftian's blefling. Truft in God, 
 
 His hand fhall guide ye on your road. 
 
 " If ye wend the narrow track. 
 Faith fhall draw the portals back, 
 Her light alone may gild the way 
 Opening to eternal day. 
 As glory circles round the fun. 
 When his ufeful day is done. 
 So, by faith, a light is fpread 
 Round the Chriftian's dying bed."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 169 
 
 Prophetic words ! ye were the token 
 Augufta's thread of life was broken ! 
 Confternation filled the land, 
 And Byzantia's claffic ftrand 
 Saw within its ancient gate 
 Myriads of mourners wait. 
 
 Ruthlefs of the driving ftorm, 
 
 High and low are there, and form. 
 
 In thought, but one — for grief profound 
 
 Is the one thought of all around ; 
 
 Sobs of anguifti and defpair 
 
 From every heart are mingling there ! 
 
 Yet, amid the crowd who weep, 
 
 Three hearts are faddeft, for they bear 
 
 Relationfhip to her, and fteep 
 
 Their forrows in the weeds they wear. 
 
 In her hufband you behold 
 
 The wordlefs grief that cannot bear 
 One drop the more. It is infold 
 
 In all the years that, once fo fair,
 
 1 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Made him fo bleft, his life did feem 
 As the creation of a dream ; 
 Now each fcene of joy is drowned 
 By the floods of grief unbound. 
 
 The mourner weeping at his fide 
 Is the fair Mary — her whofe name 
 With Byron's in a breath they name — 
 
 Mavrocordato's gentle bride. 
 Wringing with grief her flender hands, 
 Pale, heart-ftricken, Mary ftands. 
 
 Fair Princefs, thy home may be 
 Still a home of peace for thee ; 
 For thy children ftiall impart 
 Confolation to thy heart. 
 
 But none may fpeak in comfort's tone 
 
 To young Demetrius. Of late 
 His home was Paradife ! Now, lone 
 
 His father's halls, and defolate. 
 He hears him afk for her in vain, 
 Earth never may behold again. 
 Death has marked her with his token, 
 And the filver cord is broken.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 171 
 
 And the fun fhall fet in gloom, 
 Till the angels burft the tomb ! 
 
 " Wake, oh, wake to viilory ! " 
 Thus rejoicing angels cry. 
 Bowers of blifs are bright for thee. 
 And the fouls thou loveft ftiall be — 
 When this little life is o'er — 
 Landed on that fmiling fhore, 
 Where all tears are wiped away, 
 And night abforbed in endlefs day.
 
 172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE PRINCE OF CAPUA, 
 
 ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 1853. 
 
 The light had fcarce begun to glow, 
 
 On Ardenne's loftieft hills of fnow, 
 
 When Liberty's awakening wand, 
 
 Impatient, touched the Poet's hand ! 
 
 " Go forth, my faithful Bard ! " flie cried, 
 
 ** And let thy voice be heard as wide 
 
 As diftant oceans roll their tide ! 
 
 Go forth to-day, and celebrate 
 
 The gallant Charles of Bourbon'sy^/^ ; 
 
 For he is known of all to be 
 
 The nobleft knight of chivalry; 
 
 In gentlefTe, and in courteous bearing. 
 
 As perfeft as in manly daring. 
 
 He wears for years his heavy crofs. 
 
 And rifes brighter from his lofs, 
 
 Than he, whofe heartlefs majefty. 
 
 Would thus his nobler brother try ! "
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 173 
 
 Yet Liberty — a foe to none — 
 Knows that Prince Charles, the Bourbon's fon. 
 Was once companion to his brother — 
 They both, the children of one mother. 
 And all fhe afks for is, that now, 
 Without a cloud to fhade his brow, 
 King Ferdinand once more may blend 
 The brother with the name of friend ! 
 Go forth, ye winds, and let the praife 
 That refts not in the Poet's lays, 
 Tell how more fpreading circles claim 
 The love and reverence of his name j 
 Revered in lands where forced to roam, 
 And cherifhed and adored at home ! 
 Nor in his perfon (union fweet !) 
 Where hufband and where father meet, 
 Afk me if one may more appear; 
 In graceful union, both are there ! 
 
 What though they meet from many lands, 
 Who round the feftive board take hands ; 
 What though they part, difperfed as far 
 As fouthern crofs from polar ftar j 
 , Will they not in their memories bear 
 The funny welcome beaming here ?
 
 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And will they not, as heralds dight, 
 To blame the wrong, to enforce the right, 
 Bid fhame upon the Powers, fo long 
 The cold fpeftators of the wrong ? 
 
 Where is the land he may not claim 
 A kindred to his royal name ? 
 Yet tell me where the Prince has met 
 With one to be his advocate? 
 Is it that their hands are tied, 
 Or that their hearts are petrified ? 
 Or is it, that from difi:ance feen 
 The blot has vanifhed from the fcene ? 
 O ! be aflured that Hiftory's pen 
 Will firmly mark the why and when. 
 And ftamp with ink of deepeft dye, 
 All who could ftand fo coldly by ; 
 When had they given, perchance, one word, 
 How much of forrow they had fpared ! 
 
 Tremble, ye tyrants, for the right 
 Not always refts in fhades of night ! 
 And when the bright and glorious day 
 Of Truth fhall chafe all clouds away
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 175 
 
 From off this rolling world of ours, 
 The part you gave him may be yours ! 
 And poor and exiled you may roam, 
 Without a friend, without a home ! 
 Friendlefs — O no ! the favourite ward 
 Of Liberty fhall be your guard. 
 And he, perchance, the banifhed brother, 
 
 When your barbarous reign is o'er, 
 And tyrants gaze on one another 
 
 In awe, may bid ye fear no more ! 
 
 Yet if, like ear-clofed kings of old. 
 The words of prophecy you brave. 
 Then liften to the language bold 
 Of Liberty, who fpeaks to fave : — 
 '* Never fhall tyranny be bleft 
 By flumber, fweet as infant's reft. 
 But fhe muft bide with open eyes. 
 When Earth repofes ; for the cries 
 Of wretches kept in prifon thrall. 
 Her waking vifions fhall appal ! 
 Never fhall tyrant be at peace. 
 Who bids the voice of Nature ceafe ! 
 Who in his anger and his pride 
 Can caft thofe facred bonds afide,
 
 176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 He fhows the world of living men 
 How hateful Tyranny's dark glen j 
 And foon or late, throughout his plains, 
 His outraged vi£tims break their chains. 
 And ruin only marks the place 
 Of the deftroyer of his race ! " 
 
 Ceafe, the Bard too far is wandering, 
 
 Led by Liberty away ; 
 Bid him now, with joy meandering, 
 
 To a gayer motive play. 
 This is now our fairy time, 
 Banifli fadnefs from our rhyme j 
 Let the pilgrim Sorrow roam. 
 Love and Peace are found at home. 
 In his Princefs's violet eyes. 
 Where the depth of feeling lies. 
 Or if we look for funny fkies. 
 In Prince Francefco's gay replies j 
 Given with a merry glance. 
 That like the lights on waters dance. 
 In the young Princefs Victoria, 
 
 Radiant with her golden hair j 
 In the fair and gentle coufins. 
 
 Beautiful, and good as fair.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 177 
 
 Thefe to love, and thefe to know, 
 Noble Charles ! to thee we owe. 
 
 Strike the harp for yet another, 
 " The friend that's clofer than a brother ! " 
 The fifter, in whofe every thought 
 The work of Providence is wrought ! 
 Gertrude Dinorben need we name ? 
 Our hearts reply, " It is the fame ! " 
 
 Health! now to our Prince, with champagne in the 
 
 glafs ; 
 The moments are precious, and fwiftly they pafs ! 
 We wifh him all hail ! while permitted to ftay, 
 And our hearts ftill fhall pledge it, when far, far away ! 
 Then fend round the toaft that muft live in the heart, 
 For we live but to meet, and we meet but to part ! 
 
 And now, what may we bring to grace 
 Our Prince's birthday ? Flowers, alas 
 In vain with care the pofy's made, 
 The fweeteft flowers foon muft fade ! 
 The diamond from Golconda's mine 
 Would better fuit a love like mine, — 
 
 N
 
 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 That's bright and lafting, but the ftone 
 
 Is fought for by the rich alone. 
 
 No offering, my Prince, have I 
 
 To give thee, but my minftrelfy. 
 
 The minftrel's voice is only moved 
 
 By w^hat is noble or beloved ; 
 
 Take, then, the boon, though poor the giver, 
 
 A Poet's vi^ord may laft for ever ! 
 
 Spa, 1853.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 179 
 
 TOAST 
 
 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE CHARLES OF BOUR- 
 BON, ON HIS FETE OF NOVEMBER 4, 1855. 
 
 Oft I have wiflied to be endowed 
 
 With Homer's rich poetic vein, 
 Or, foaring with a flight lefs proud, 
 
 That Mantua's bard's melHfluous ftrain 
 Were mine, in words that I might drefs 
 The crowding thoughts that on me prefs. 
 
 Once Liberty — 'tis Memory now 
 Has laid her hand upon my brow, 
 
 And told me it was mine to pafs 
 
 The toaft that fparkles with the glafs. 
 
 Circling around 'mid thofe who've met 
 
 Once more the noble Charles's ye^^ 
 
 With mirth and fong to celebrate. 
 
 N 2 '
 
 i8o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Alas, fair Memory ! " I cried, 
 " The time is ftiort — my Mufe denied 
 The fertile genius that creates. 
 She fips, but rarely ever taftes. 
 And vainly refts upon the brink 
 Of the Caftalian fount to drink. 
 For hers is but a mortal's pen. 
 That's dipped in ink and dried again ! 
 
 " Oh think not I can firing my rhymes 
 As monks are vv^ont at evening chimes 
 To firing their beads. I touch my lute, 
 And then for years the chords are mute ; 
 And faint with vigils nightly kept. 
 My wearied minflrel long has flept." 
 ** Then fleep and dream," fair Memory cried, 
 " And I will be thy Mufe's guide!" 
 
 I dreamed, and lo ! the fcene was changed. 
 And Fancy with my fpirit ranged. 
 Again I faw the Prince — no more 
 
 Hidden amidfl the rocks and woods, 
 But flanding proudly on the fhore. 
 
 Watered by Mediterranean floods.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. i8i 
 
 Beaming with joy he prefTed the ftrand, 
 Where azure waves break on the land, 
 From that wide lake which has no tide. 
 The Prince Francefco at his fide. 
 
 Upon the fhore a joyful found 
 Echoed the diftant rocks around ; 
 And on the air a mighty voice 
 Told how a people could rejoice, 
 When Princes loved again appear 
 To take the place they merit there ; 
 When, after toils and troubles paft. 
 Their own is theirs in peace at laft. 
 
 Methought I joined my feeble voice 
 
 To the many voices round, 
 And cried aloud, " Let all rejoice ; 
 
 For he, once loft, again is found ! 
 His love, his honour Ihowed his worth, 
 
 Through the dark paths an exile trod. 
 And his fair fon of royal birth. 
 
 Proclaims the bleflings of his God, 
 That ftill was with him, and ftill fmiled 
 On her, his laft and lovelieft child.
 
 i82 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Ask thefe, and fair Penelope, 
 
 If there's a breaft more brave and free, 
 
 More formed by Nature to impart 
 
 The joy that fills his noble heart, 
 
 And fcatter it by handfuls round, 
 
 Where'er misfortune's thorns are found ? " 
 
 The dream departed — I awoke ; 
 But Truth was near me, and fhe fpoke. 
 
 "The Prince's place is at the fide 
 
 Of one who marks the page 
 With right and juftice, fpreading wide 
 
 The genius of a mighty age j 
 The pivot round whom nations turn, 
 Whofe million man has yet to learn, — 
 Napoleon, Emperor of France, 
 With whom no meafure 's left to chance, 
 No fufFerer meets negledt ; 
 Whofe a6lions generous refle<3: 
 The noble words, which when once faid. 
 Their future deftiny is read. 
 For they are writ in rays of gold, 
 That happier ages fhall unfold.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 183 
 
 'Tis he is deftined to reftore 
 
 Him whom his family rejedled, 
 And Charles of Bourbon, as of yore, 
 
 Shall fhine with rays that are feledted 
 From many fources — from his own. 
 As one who Sorrow's fchool has known, 
 And fo can truly fympathife 
 With all whom pain or forrow tries ; 
 
 And from that fource fprung with the day, 
 When new-born France fpread forth her wings. 
 
 And caft her ancient feuds away. 
 And heard the fong each patriot fings 
 For Freedom to the fuffering world. 
 Her noble banners are unfurled ! 
 Her reins held by a generous hand, 
 Who, with a Genius' mighty wand, 
 In everlafting fympathies 
 The Eagle with the Lion lies." 
 
 Prince ! 'tis thy deftiny to ride, 
 Borne on by this united tide ; 
 'Tis Juftice France and England crown, 
 'Tis Juftice gives thee back thine own. 
 Within a land whofe hearts are thine. 
 The land where Ikies the brighteft ftiine !
 
 i84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Here 's then my toaft, that thou and thine 
 May in this fragile page of mine 
 Find but the pi6lure warm and true, 
 Of all that Fate referves for you ; 
 And may fond memories arife 
 With every circling year that flies, 
 Sweet as the melodies that pafs 
 With ne6bar fparkling in the glafs. 
 
 Paris, Nov. 4, 1855.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 185 
 
 TO THE PRINCESS OF C * * * *. 
 
 THE MINSTREL AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 Far in the unmeafured wilds of thought, 
 
 A youthful minftrel feized his lyre, 
 For, mid the forms by Fancy wrought, 
 
 Was one which filled his foul with fire ! 
 Yet melodies fo ftrangely wild 
 
 He heard around that vifion play, 
 In troubled hafte, with gefture wild. 
 
 His unftrung lyre he threw away ; 
 And cried, " I feek for words in vain, 
 
 To mingle with that fitful ftrain ! 
 
 " 'Tis not the light of beauty rare. 
 Nor yet her heart, fo warm and kind ; 
 
 In thefe may many a fifter fhare, 
 
 For whom Love's myrtle-wreaths are twined.
 
 i86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 But 'tis the fate for ever lending 
 
 Its (hadow to the rofeate hue, 
 The fifter arts are fondly blending 
 
 To pi6lure love, like hers, fo true ! 
 It is the darknefs ever lowering 
 
 Upon a home of love and peace, 
 That tempeft-flood of hatred pouring, 
 
 Whofe bitter waters never ceafe. 
 I fee her crofs the waters o'er, 
 
 And find no welcome on the flrand j 
 But armed refiftance on the fhore. 
 
 That meets her in her bridegroom's land ! 
 The lovelieft paradife on earth. 
 Land where her royal Charles had birth ! 
 
 " 'Tis this that ftays m); indignant fong; 
 Can I on high the ftrains prolong. 
 When e'en my angel folds his wings. 
 
 And tears drop from his azure eyes ? 
 Alas ! in vain her Minftrel fmgs. 
 
 Upon the air the mufic dies ! 
 Penelope muft ever bear 
 
 The hatred every tyrant throws 
 On what is free, or what is fair ; 
 
 From Erin's Ifle, the eternal foes
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 
 
 Of Ocean's Queen, of Freedom's Ifle, 
 Surround her with their ferpent's guile ! 
 
 " Where is the Areopagus now, 
 
 To judge the crimes the great have done ? 
 Can Chriftian ages onward flow. 
 
 Without a thought to eftablifh one ? 
 Were there one now — Oh ! kings of men. 
 
 Did Juftice govern from the throne, 
 How fure your recompence ; for then 
 
 The people's reverence were your own ! 
 The pyramid, which time defies, 
 
 Muft from the bafe of Juftice rife j 
 And firmly rooted be the rock 
 
 That can refift the earthquake's fhock ! 
 All elfe is night ; our fouls defpond, 
 We fee no opening cloud beyond." 
 
 He ceafed ; a light fpread o'er the fky. 
 He felt a breath had pafled him by, 
 As though the breezes would reply — 
 This was the Angel's voice ! It faid, 
 " Art thou by woe fo canopied. 
 Thou haft no faith in Heaven's truth. 
 And feeft no joy in fterling worth ?
 
 1 88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Sicilian Charles, who fought her hand, 
 Has broken no law of ancient rule ; 
 
 Within his generous breaft expand 
 The thoughts that grace a noble foul. 
 
 Which feeks its mate, a fifter fair. 
 
 And Love and Truth are ever there ! 
 
 " Haft thou not, Minftrel, ever feen 
 
 The braveft are the foreft tried ? 
 That darkeft ftorms are bright between. 
 
 When Truth and Love the pilgrims guide ? 
 *Twas thus his home Prince Charles approved. 
 For his Penelope was loved ! 
 Not with the palling love of thofe 
 
 Who fip the fount, then turn afide ; 
 His everlafting, blooming rofe, 
 
 Blooms when all elfe, fwept by the tide. 
 Leaves him bereft of earthly ftore. 
 And caft upon a foreign fhore ! 
 
 " Yet confolation fails them not, 
 E'en here, on this deferted fpot. 
 Woman, as angel ever found 
 When pain or forrow prefles round,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEA-IS. 189 
 
 Plays in their tale her generous part, 
 
 And fhares their griefs and cheers their heart. 
 
 One ever near, of noble mind, 
 
 Gertrude Dinorben, graceful, kind, 
 
 Gives them the aid a filter lends. 
 
 And friend with fifter nobly blends. 
 
 And who the fecond ? Of the blood 
 
 Of royal Capua, Ihe withftood 
 
 The calumnies the envious bore, 
 
 Infidious dropping in her ear, 
 
 And ftill intrepid aids their caufe, 
 
 Whilft Ferdinand contemns all laws. 
 
 Plunging in mifery his brother. 
 
 Child of his father and his mother ; 
 
 Writing, as through time he flies. 
 
 His malediilion in the fkies ! 
 
 " Minftrel! to you and yours 'tis given 
 To learn the fecrets hid in Heaven ; 
 To praife the deeds which fouls adorn. 
 And point the guilty out for fcorn ! 
 
 " Oh ! there are riches which are known 
 To fweet domeftic peace alone !
 
 iQO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 What if falfe pride fees with difdain 
 
 No reo;al tiara adorn 
 Her who with beauty's fimple train 
 
 He made his bride ? She, faireft one, 
 Was yet to him a richer gem 
 Than ever graced the diadem ! 
 Nor would he change that favourite flower, 
 The rofe he plucked from Erin's bower, 
 For the cold glittering ftone which fliines 
 Imbedded deep in regal mines ! 
 
 " Then, Minftrel, go ! thy lyre re-ftring. 
 For thus all guardian angels fmg ; 
 Our tears fall only on the proud. 
 
 Blind moles of earth, who downward mine, 
 Unwiftful of the thunders loud. 
 
 That rend in twain the loftieft pine. 
 Yes ! angels weep for thofe who break 
 The bonds of brotherhood, and fhake 
 The noble branches from that tree 
 Which God has formed for unity. 
 Yet, Minftrel ! guardian angels fmile 
 
 With joy whenever hearts are blefled 
 With gentleft love, without his guile. 
 
 And thus are Capua's children blefled."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 191 
 
 He faid, and lo ! the Angel came, 
 And lighted with his wings of flame 
 Near to the Bard, then brightly fmiled 
 And faid — " The tears of pity mild, 
 Go, fhed for all the errors blind 
 That caufe the woes of humankind ! 
 Weep thou a brother's crimes to trace. 
 In this fad wandering of his race ! 
 But when thy heart again would rife. 
 And meet the funlight in the fkies. 
 Then hover near the facred home 
 From whence fair Truth will never roam 
 Watch thou o'er fair domeftic peace. 
 Till e'en thy tears of pity ceafe ; 
 With thankfulnefs thy foul be fraught. 
 For love is ne'er too dearly bought ! 
 
 " Minftrel ! awake again thy lyre. 
 Renew thy fong with heavenly fire ; 
 Thine is the talk, on every fide. 
 To ban the deeds of hate and pride — 
 To bid the brother welcome home. 
 Him whom his hatred caufed to roam — 
 To fold that brother to his arms. 
 And footh his noble heart's alarms.
 
 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For the vague fate left to his fon, 
 
 His firft-born child, not loved alone, 
 
 But wrapt in one, in clofeft tie. 
 
 With her who ftiares his deftiny, 
 
 Whofe liquid eyes of luftre bright 
 
 Seem to have drawn from Heaven their light !" 
 
 He ceafed ; then mounting on the beam 
 Of funfhine vanifhed, whilft a ftream 
 Of cryftal from the fountain near 
 Rofe as he vanifhed in the air, 
 And, bright with rainbow hues around. 
 Scattered fweet odours on the ground ; 
 The Bard breathed quickly as they fell. 
 Then feized the lyre he loved fo well ; 
 Once more his fong with joy refpired, 
 Then to his cell in peace retired.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 '93 
 
 ON THE BIRTH of the FIRST-BORN 
 SON OF NAPOLEON III 
 
 Welcome, firft-born of France ! the booming found, 
 Spreads the glad tidings to the nations round ! 
 Swift as the lightning darts athwart the fkies. 
 Along the ele6lric cord the miflive flies, 
 Annihilating time and fpace — fublime ! 
 A winged voice to diftant bells that chime, 
 Then home returning, with their mefl^age done. 
 Charged with a blefling for Napoleon's fon ! 
 
 Welcome, young Prince ! of Heaven's love the feal. 
 Towards thy illuftrious fire ; an empire's weal 
 Within thy cradle, wiflied-for infant, lies. 
 And from celeflial fpheres bright angel-eyes 
 Are beaming on thee ! To thy mother's breafl, 
 With joy ineffable thou'rt fondly preffed ! 
 Millions for thee now Hft their voice on high, 
 And call down bleffings on thee from the (ky ! 
 
 o
 
 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How bright the future path before thee fpread ! 
 How tenderly on thy rich couch thou'rt laid ! 
 That precious bark, in which the gems of art 
 Imperifhable bear the largeft part ! 
 Thou fragile cafket of the immortal mind, 
 The gift of God to one who rules mankind ! 
 
 Yes, great Napoleon ! thy prayer is heard 
 By Him who formed the heavens by His word j 
 Who rules all deftinies, and in whofe hand 
 Empires, and worlds, and men are weighed and fpanned. 
 
 How have we longed for this propitious morn, 
 When God fhould pour this bleffing from the urn 
 Whence flow His bounties — bounties without end, 
 From Him, Creator, Father, Brother, Friend! 
 
 Glorious fair child ! this epoch of thy birth. 
 Is the new era which has dawned on earth — 
 Era of promife, when to God fhall rife 
 A grateful fong, a bloodlefs facrifice ! 
 
 How rapidly the leaves are turning now, 
 Of life's great drama! Onward fwiftly flow
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 195 
 
 All ftreams from diftant quarters, till they fall 
 Where Truth fhall reign, and Chrift be all in all ! 
 
 Napoleon ! thou who art deftined to untwine 
 The Gordian knots, to feek the fire divine 
 From burning lamps, that o'er the future caft 
 Light which unveils the myfteries of the paft j 
 Thou, whom the Power-divine has rendered ftrong 
 To bind all nations to redrefs the wrong. 
 By Juftice, who upholds her balance high. 
 That Peace upon the broadeft bafe may lie. 
 Thou, o'er life's troubled waves thrown as a leaf, 
 Till France acclaimed thee as her glorious chief, 
 May all good angels guard thee, and enfhrine 
 Thou and -thy offspring in their love divine. 
 
 And thou, fweet Emprefs ! in whofe eyes a world 
 Of tendernefs is welling, there are pearled 
 Upon thy filken lafhes tears of joy. 
 That fall as brilliants on thy Heaven-fent boy — 
 Thy offspring, round whom great ones of the earth 
 Are met, to hail and gratulate his birth ; 
 May health and ftrength, may earth's beft gifts be thine. 
 With riches drawn from Heaven's exhauftlefs mine ! 
 
 o 2
 
 396 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Whence fpring the emotions burfting every heart ? 
 Why hold we all in this one joy a part ? 
 'Tis that it marks upon the turning page 
 A fign of blefling on a wondrous age ; 
 'Tis that his fire the ftandard holds on high, 
 Whereon is " Juflice!" Angels, bid it fly . 
 From land to land — where'er the flave has trod 
 Let him weep tears of joy and blefs his God. 
 Pray ye, undo all bonds that bind the foul. 
 And fpread the laws of Chrift from pole to pole ! 
 
 Child of Napoleon ! 'tis thy tafk to learn 
 From Time's unerring fource why nations mourn. 
 They mourn, when untaught infants roam around 
 A fordid dwelling and uncultured ground. 
 They mourn, when laws are only for the great, 
 Who grind the poor, and when the labourer's fate, 
 Uncared for by the monarchs of the foil. 
 Is the flave's deftiny, to work and toil, 
 Lefs blefTed than beafl:s of burden, prone to earth, 
 A myftery — a ftigma from their birth ! 
 Not ftigma for themfelves — the ftigma lies 
 On him who wields the power, yet cannot prize 
 The heavenly privilege to break the chains 
 That bind whole millions, — this it is that ftains.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 197 
 
 And burnt for ever on Truth's page fhall be 
 Each deed unjuft, each ail of cruelty ! 
 
 They mourn — the Mufe abhors — that fearful flood 
 Which ftains our earth with warm and generous blood ; 
 They mourn, when War's dark engines are unbound, 
 And cannons boom with fwift deftru6lion round ; 
 They call for peace ! — the Mufe, too, calls for peace. 
 But not a vain, a tranfient cicatrice ; 
 For there's a crimfon, ever-rifmg tide. 
 That ftreams when Mercy's law has been defied. 
 And deadly wounds, whofe venom lies beneath 
 A trembling foil, where all is rife with death ! 
 There is a peace which generates a fear, 
 Worfe, worfe than death ! oh liften, it is here — 
 When nations groan beneath a foreign yoke, 
 Down-crufhed to earth, who burft at every ftroke. 
 Frantic beneath the oppreilive arm that kills. 
 This is the climax of all earthly ills ! 
 
 This ill to cure the firft Napoleon ftrove. 
 But his path failed him — 'twas not his to move 
 This giant incubus from Europe's breaft ; 
 But words prophetic, ere he went to reft.
 
 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 He left behind him on his lonely tomb, 
 And thefe predi6led brighter days to come ! 
 
 Thy fire, young Prince, now holds the magic wand 
 Of power immenfe — each waits at his command, 
 The heavenly promife of a brighter fky, 
 For they have marked his ftandard borne on high, 
 With equal laws, inftead of bonds that break 
 The noble heart, and clog the wheels of ftate. 
 
 Firft-born of France ! for thee thy path's prepared, 
 Throughout the realm thy fire no pains has fpared 
 To teach the ignorant, to relieve the poor, 
 By wealth flill running from a boundlefs flora ! 
 
 All are encouraged — in the hamlets round. 
 As in the city, arts and fcience found ; 
 While each who labours as a man and tries, 
 May in the focial fcale of worth arife ! 
 No ancient feudal laws, like Bramah's, caft 
 A flur that makes him pariah to the laft. 
 In fpite of learning or of arts fubhme. 
 That may outlive the paffing things of time !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 199 
 
 Young Prince ! a welcome from theWeftern Powers, 
 And England's rofe a welcome warmly fhowers ; 
 For thou'rt a fcion from a noble tree, 
 Deep-rooted in the love of France — in thee 
 High hopes concentre ; men attend the fruit. 
 Of which the people's choice has been the root ! 
 
 Mayft thou. Napoleon, ever wifely tread ; 
 From boon to boon, the nations onward lead ; 
 The torch of Truth hold over every land, 
 The book of Science opened in thine hand. 
 May Wifdom guide thy councils, and infpire 
 For man's enfranchifement a facred fire ; 
 And bleft by Heaven, for aye, without a ftain. 
 Thou and thy children's children may they reign. 
 
 Pari 5^ March ibthy 1856.
 
 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 EPISTLE TO MY HIGHLY VALUED FRIEND, 
 
 THE 
 
 LADT GERTRUDE DINORBEN. 
 
 Night's dufky curtain never falls 
 Upon my fpirit, but ftraight it brings 
 
 The vifion which part fcenes recalls, 
 The portraiture of living things. 
 
 'Tis then, when Memory's endlefs train 
 Of bufy thoughts calls up around me 
 
 Friends I ne'er may fneet again, 
 
 Dear Lady Gertrude, thine has found me. 
 
 Yet never does thy portrait beam 
 In fidl effulgence, breathing o'er me, 
 
 Without thy darling, in my dream, 
 
 Stands in her youthful bloom before me.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 201 
 
 Her arms are fondly round thee thrown, 
 
 And deepeft love is in thine eyes, 
 With joy, that mothers well may own 
 
 Their fweeteft treafure from the fkies. 
 
 Though no child has called me mother, 
 
 I poflefs the mother's heart, 
 And love to fee it in another, 
 
 That joy which caufes tears to ftart. 
 
 For never yet a mother fmiled 
 
 On her loved child, but, in the fear 
 
 That aught may check its rapture wild, 
 There fprang from tendernefs a tear. 
 
 Gertrude ! may thine be never fhed; 
 
 Unlefs it be the tear that ftarts 
 Of thankfulnefs for bleflings fpread. 
 
 Thy goodnefs healing other hearts. 
 
 Lady, many a ferious thought 
 Communion with thy mind has brought. 
 With unforgotten words, that breathe 
 Of the rich ore that lies beneath. 
 Within thy heart — that golden ore 
 That is beyond the mifer's ftore.
 
 202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How oft the filent drop diftils 
 
 As clear as cryftal from the rock, 
 Betraying founts, whence flow the rills 
 
 That cheer our flowers, and flake oifl" flocks- 
 So, oft we witnefs in thine eyes 
 
 The ready tear that pity ftarts, 
 Thy fympathy with facred ties. 
 
 And fifter-love, that warms our hearts. 
 
 And oft, by vivid fancy feen. 
 
 In thy Caftle near the water, 
 I have marked thy form ferene. 
 
 Watching from far thy gentle daughter, 
 Now returning from her rambles. 
 
 Bringing ftores of flowers and brambles, 
 Or the tale of cottage fadnefs 
 
 To relieve with childifh gladnefs. 
 
 Long, lady, be it thine to reft. 
 
 Thus loved, and loving, to be blefl: j 
 
 And let a little nook be mine. 
 In that noble heart of thine !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 203 
 
 TO MT SISTER MART. 
 
 Mary, whofe name is clinging round my heart 
 
 Its gentle fetters, daily would I prefs 
 Thee clofer to me, nor will ever part 
 
 From one fweet memory or dear carefs 
 That thou haft left me, for with thefe I feel 
 
 That I could fill a folitary wafte, 
 And in each proof reflective of thy zeal 
 
 The pureft joy from Friendfhip's hand I tafte. 
 
 Mary ! thus named, the mother of our Lord 
 
 Bore in her breaft concentrated our woe ; 
 And Death, man's curfe, ere man was yet reftored, 
 
 Fell on her fon, and damped the Saviour's brow. 
 Oh myftery ! the terrors of the grave 
 
 Three days o'er Mary hung their darkeft night, 
 And then, all changed ! our Saviour rofe to fave 
 
 A groaning world, and all was robed in lig-ht !
 
 204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Again creation brightened — angels fang 
 When blefled Mary on her Saviour fmiled, 
 
 And back through time, and on through time it rang, 
 The immortal fong that feraphims beguiled ! 
 
 Mary ! there's light e'en in thy name, 
 
 Which for our confolation came ; 
 It tells the rifmg from the fliroud. 
 
 And fheds a light on every cloud. 
 For life is but a ftarry race, 
 
 Forming as 'twere a day in fpace ; 
 From morn to eve the glaring day 
 
 Chafes the dew of morn away. 
 With it, perchance, th' poetic ftream 
 
 That mingled with the vapoury beam. 
 Yet thefe imaginations fair. 
 Gave health and fweetnefs to the air. 
 Then fay not, Mary, they are fled. 
 That life's dull profe remains inftead, 
 For there is more of Heaven's truth 
 At eve than in the glow of youth ; 
 And Poefy again returns. 
 When man for joy celeftial burns. 
 Thus, when the effulgent day declines. 
 With lovelier tints the landfcape fhines,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 205 
 
 The diftant line that bounds our view 
 Partakes of every rainbow hue, 
 While angels, floating in the light. 
 On rofeate clouds burfl: on the fight ! 
 
 How oft have I, at even-tide, 
 With Memory to be my guide, 
 In the dark ihade my forrows caft, 
 Drawn from the many-coloured paft 
 The golden petal, and the flower 
 That lent its fragrance to the hour ! 
 
 Mind'ft thou how oft th' invented tale 
 From Mary's lips beguiled the hours. 
 
 With haunted caflles, coats of mail. 
 And ladies in their filken bowers ? 
 
 How, by the rufhes' glimmering light. 
 
 We liftened through the hve-long night. 
 
 And quickly 'neath the covering hid, 
 
 Left fhe fhould chide who rarely chid, 
 
 When, noifelefs as an angel's tread. 
 
 Her fairy foot approached the bed, 
 
 Unwiftful of our vigils kept, 
 
 To learn if all her children flept j
 
 2o6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Her whofe charmed voice and eye fo bright 
 Made all the hearts they fhined on light. 
 Mary, thefe things are not paft 
 While in our memories they laft ! 
 
 Or when the favourite hero died, 
 
 Mind'ft thou what genuine grief was ours, 
 And with what childifti warmth we tried 
 
 To draw long draughts on Mary's powers. 
 To heal the wound or end the ftrife, 
 
 And bring the hero back to life 
 By fairy ftores of balms and cures, 
 
 Culled in the dews, or moon-lit glen. 
 When not a foul the hamlet ftirs. 
 
 And fallen to fleep are beafts and men. 
 
 It was with thee, on glowing wing. 
 My thoughts firft learned to take their fpring ; 
 And well I weet not fmall the boon 
 To ride beyond the inconftant moon, 
 Or delve with Genii to explore 
 Of Dives and Gnomes the enchanted ftore. 
 
 My fifter! ours are facred ties. 
 
 Born with our birth, unriven by death,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 
 
 That each fucceeding year fupplies 
 
 With richer ftreams of vital breath. 
 From childhood, when through woodlands green 
 
 We roamed or ran, and played together. 
 Till robed in Autumn's ruflet fheen 
 
 We leave behind our days of heather j 
 Yet ftill their rofy fragrance lafts, 
 
 When we recall them from the paft ! 
 
 Mary, 'tis true our youth has flown, 
 And the firft grief thy heart has known 
 
 Has cruflied thy after-life ; 
 But, Mary, every ftorm fhall ceafe. 
 And brighter fhines the fun of peace 
 
 That gilds the tempeft's ftrife !
 
 2o8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A MOTHERS LAST PRATER. 
 
 The fpirit of Mary was o'er the bright waters, [her ; 
 
 When her mother left England's green valleys behind 
 And Hours, the gentleft of Time's fleeting daughters. 
 
 Came forth from their ocean-caves hoping to find her. 
 
 No gale, rude and boifterous, lafhed the fea into madnefs. 
 Where, fplalhing and foaming, the prow cuts the 
 fpray ; 
 
 While mid foft fide-long breezes waves rippled in glad- 
 Or parted in circles of light on our way. [nefs, 
 
 Blanche thought of her child, though her heart was 
 repining 
 
 For the loved and the loving, no longer in fight ; 
 She felt on her couch, with clofed eyelids reclining, 
 
 Mary's fpirit was near her, and lived in its light.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 209 
 
 Fare thee well, fare thee well ! may the bleffing of 
 Heaven 
 On thee and on thine be abundantly ftied j 
 And thy pathway through life, may it gentle be given, 
 As the clear fwelling waves which before us are 
 ipread. 
 
 In her laft page of life, for her daughter who loves her, 
 Blanche ftrikes the faint chords of a now trembling 
 lyre. 
 To afk her to think, when fweet Memory moves her. 
 On the words which the thoughts of her Mary 
 infpire ! 
 
 " 'Twas the prayer of my child, now above, now 
 
 around me. 
 
 That breathed in the light winds, and fwelled o'er 
 
 the feas ; 
 
 'Twas the prayer of my Mary on ocean that found me. 
 
 As the lightning of fummer that breaks on the breeze. 
 
 " May the cords that bind me and my Mary together. 
 Be knotted for ever, in Heaven to meet ; 
 
 And my laft figh, when angels are wafting me thither, 
 Be met with the fmile of my Mary fo fweet. 
 
 P
 
 210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " One prayer more I afk her to lift up to Heaven, 
 With the dew of each morning that prayer fhall arife, 
 
 That her love, which the fountain of Mercy has given. 
 Now mine upon earth, may be mine in the fkies ! 
 
 *' Receive, deareft Mary, this page as a token 
 Of the fofteft emotions the bofom can thrill ; 
 
 Let it reft in thy heart with the love that's unbroken. 
 When the hand that now trembles is lifelefs and ftill !"
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 
 
 SEBASTOPOL. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 We came to that fpot where the grey light, juft dawning, 
 The ravage revealed which that eve had begun ; 
 
 'Twas the revel of Death — the wide graves were yawning 
 For the dead and the dying which near them were 
 ftrewn. 
 
 Hark ! Whence is that found ? — Is't the tempeft that's 
 roaring. 
 
 Or thunder in full peal that's yelling around ? 
 Oh no ! — 'tis the booming of mines that are pouring 
 
 Their wild fires over Death's vi£tims around. 
 
 What ruin ftupendous ! — as when Titans of old 
 
 Tore up the huge rocks which they hurled from 
 the earth — 
 The confufion is ghaftly, we fear to behold 
 
 Unredeemed ones from Hell in their horrible mirth. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 My God, fave the wounded ! — the dead they are thine, 
 They are gone to thy glory, we pray for them not ; 
 
 But oh, for the viftims of yon burfting mine, 
 
 Mayft thou bear them in mercy to fome fheltered fpot. 
 
 May thy pity defcend on the friends who are mourning, 
 May it fall on the fevered, and wounded that lie 
 
 On the fick couch, uncertain of ever returning 
 To the home that awaits them of love, and of joy. 
 
 We pray for the weal of the nurfes who tend them — 
 For England's fair daughters, fo far from their land — 
 
 Whofe cares fo well footh, and whofe counfels befriend 
 them. 
 When mingled with mercies received at their hand. 
 
 We pray for the friends in fufpenfe who are tried, 
 While the life that now trembles ftill hangs on a 
 thread ; 
 But if. Lord, in thy judgment our prayer is denied, 
 We implore for bereaved ones who mourn for their 
 dead ! 
 
 Paris^ Sept. J 1855.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 213 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAF, 
 
 * 
 
 Withered leaf, whence comeft thou ? 
 
 Where flitteft thou before the breeze ? 
 I know not where — from topmoft bough 
 
 I came, of oak, the king of trees, 
 My parent tree, that tempeft laid, 
 Is proftrate now in yonder glade. 
 
 Without a fear or look behind 
 I flit before the inconftant wind ; 
 Driven o'er the hills and dales. 
 As the boat that onward fails ; 
 O'er each plain, and down each hill, 
 By the zephyrs carried ftill. 
 
 I flit, where flits the leaf of rofe, 
 
 Each herb that fprings, each flower that blows i 
 
 I go where laurel leaves are borne, 
 
 And fly where all things fly in turn !
 
 214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Now with the hufhed winds I lie. 
 
 '•> 
 
 Refting on the river's brink ; 
 Soon that river, rolling by, 
 
 Shall bear me from this mofly chink, 
 To where majeftic Ocean laves 
 The dark rocks with.her filver waves j 
 For with created things I fly- 
 To Ocean's vaft eternity !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 215 
 
 AN ADIEU 
 TO THE PRINCE DE SCHINAS. 
 
 WRITTEN IN HIS ALBUM. 
 
 " Too late to meet, too foon to part, 
 
 A fleeting joy, a lafting forrow, 
 A deathlefs longing in my heart, 
 
 A longing for a good to-morrow!" 
 
 Thefe are the plaintive words that flow 
 Beneath the pen that writes farewell j 
 
 But ah, how faint are words to fhow 
 The thoufand thoughts we cannot tell ! 
 
 Howe'er this be, one leaf is mine, 
 And whilfl I bid you. Prince, adieu, 
 
 I lay my leaf on Memory's ftirine. 
 
 And claim a pafling thought from you !
 
 Lyrics.
 
 Lyrics. 
 
 r 
 
 THE OLD ENGLISH LADY. 
 
 A CHANT. 
 
 I SING the fong of other days, days now, alas! no more. 
 Of the olden time, when our Englifh dames were 
 
 fkilled in houfehold lore ; 
 I fmg the flower of Englifh dames, the laft, for 
 
 England's weal. 
 Who fwiftly plied her threaded dart, and turned her 
 
 fpinning wheel. 
 Like a fine old Englifh lady, all of the olden time.
 
 220 LYRICS. 
 
 She rofe each day at early dawn to call up Johns, and 
 
 Marys, 
 For {he was bufy in the morn, as were at night the 
 
 fairies ; 
 Of fummer fruits, for winter's ufe, fhe made a goodly 
 
 ftore. 
 No lady in this glorious land had ever pickled more 
 Than this fine old Englifh lady, all of the olden time. 
 
 The myfteries of goofeberry-wine, and fine old ale fhe 
 
 knew; 
 Her Chriftmas puddings, and mince-pies were greatly 
 
 famous too ; 
 In wondrous cures fhe bore the palm, and every day 
 
 her door 
 Was vifited by fick and well, and fought by rich and 
 
 poor. 
 She was a good old Englifh lady, all of the olden time. 
 
 As time drew on, and chilly age had touched her 
 
 brow with fnow, 
 And life's warm current in her veins grew every day 
 
 more flow.
 
 LYRICS. 221 
 
 Still would flie turn her fpinning wheel with dimmed 
 
 and gentle eye, 
 While fons and grandfons loved to hear the tales of 
 
 times gone by, 
 From this fine old Englifli lady, all of the olden time. 
 
 And while they prefled around her chair, near winter's 
 
 cheerful fire, 
 To hear the ftories flie would tell of their long-departed 
 
 fire, 
 The fpirits of the olden time feemed wakened at her 
 
 call. 
 When this good old lady bade good night, and blefled 
 
 them, one and all ! 
 She was a kind old lady, all of the olden time. 
 
 THE COTTAGE ROOF. 
 
 Would that a cot were mine, fupplied 
 With cafement windows, opening wide, 
 On a terrace, high and dry, 
 Bafking in the fouthern fky j
 
 222 LYRICS. 
 
 With pigeons houfed upon my roof, 
 
 And in my field the horfe's hoof 
 
 Scampering gaily round, and round, 
 
 To meet his mafter on the ground ; 
 
 Unfettered by the bit or rein, 
 
 That yet will come, and come again, 
 
 A willing fervant, to the hand, 
 
 Whofe long-tried friendfhip brooks command. 
 
 Sweeteft fcented flowers be there, 
 Blooming in the gay parterre ; 
 With kitchen garden in the rear, 
 And many a fountain fparkling near. 
 Then a lawn, whereon may dance 
 The peafant girls, who blithely prance, 
 With their chaplets formed of rofes. 
 And their many-coloured pofies. 
 Let this be ours, and throw afide 
 All that may flimulate to pride, 
 Pride of riches, pride of power. 
 Things that dazzle for an hour. 
 
 Let others wear the wearying crown. 
 And toil for power, or feek renown :
 
 LYRICS. 223 
 
 The crown is heavy, and the thorn 
 With the crown is often worn ; 
 Renown our peace too often fmothers, 
 Then let us leave that boon for others, 
 Whilft, unfettered, free to change. 
 From Dan to Beerfheba we range, 
 And find a home in every land 
 That can a cottage-roof command, 
 Whofe fpiral wreath of vapour thin 
 Speaks of the cheerful blaze within. 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The voice of the tempeft is gently fubfiding. 
 The hills fmile again in the light of the fun ; 
 
 Yet the wind through the foreft is mournfully chiding. 
 And the white fwoUen ftreams through their dark 
 channels run. 
 
 So, when gladnefs again fills the heart that was mourning, 
 And fond hopes arife in the place of our fears, 
 
 A figh heaves the breaft to which joy is returning. 
 And the ftill penfive eye feeks relief in its tears.
 
 224 LYRICS. 
 
 Yet how fweet is that change from the darknefs of 
 forrow, 
 When rofy light fteals o'er the clofe of the day, 
 And how fearlefs we look for the coming to-morrow^ 
 For we think that each cloud fliall have then pafTed 
 away. 
 
 THERE IS NO VOICE THE DEAD CAN 
 
 WAKEN. 
 
 There is no voice the dead can waken, 
 Yet there is peace and joy above ; 
 
 Oh Thou, who haft thefe dear ones taken. 
 Where is the home of thofe we love ? 
 
 I would I were beyond that river 
 
 Of fhadows dark, which thefe have pafled j 
 
 But earthly griefs laft not for ever. 
 And we Ihall reach their home at laft ! 
 
 There is no voice the dead can waken. 
 Yet there is peace and joy above j 
 
 Oh Thou, who haft thefe dear ones taken. 
 Their home's with Thee, thou God of Love !
 
 LYRICS. 225 
 
 THOU SITTEST ALONE IN THT LOFTY 
 
 TOWER, 
 
 Thou fitteft alone In thy lofty tower, 
 
 And thy dove-like eyes how fweet they fhine ; 
 
 I would thou wert in thy woodbine bower, 
 
 And the rofe in thy beautiful hand were mine ! 
 
 Doft thou remember that fragrant bower. 
 Where the blue-eyed violets kifled thy feet ? 
 
 I marked the fpot, and the trembling flower 
 Is hid in my bofom — I cherifh it yet ! 
 
 Then drop me the rofe from thy lofty tower — 
 
 Thou knoweft not how dear fuch a treafure to me ; 
 
 And remember, fweet lady, thine eye's foft power 
 Gives death, if it fhine not in pity on me ! 
 
 WHAT IS THE WORLD f 
 
 What is the world ? It pafles by. 
 The friends we love they fmile around, 
 
 Like Spring's fweet flowers they once were nigh- 
 Look, look again, they are not found I
 
 226 LYRICS. 
 
 What is the world ? We ftand alone, 
 We afk for help, but there is none, 
 Until we live to God alone. 
 And reft on his eternal throne ! 
 Look on the world — how fwiftly paft : 
 The friends we've loved fhall fmile again. 
 With angels who have watched our birth. 
 And faints who lingered once on earth ! 
 
 Look yet again ! — an angel waits. 
 
 While faints hold back Heaven's glorious gates, 
 
 To bear us from this dreary fpot. 
 
 And land us there, where tears flow not ! 
 
 OH! GIVE ME IN DREAMS. 
 
 Oh ! give me in dreams once again that fweet fmile 
 Which thou gaveft thy child when her hopes were 
 the brighteft ; 
 Though I ceafe not to mourn thee, 'twill footh me the 
 while, 
 'Twill call back the days when our hearts were the 
 lighteft !
 
 LYRICS. 227 
 
 'Twill awaken the hope, and the hope fhall not leave 
 The hope yet to meet with thy fpirit again ; [me, 
 
 'Twill lighten my heart mid the forrows that grieve me, 
 As my rainbow of hope in the darknefs of pain ! 
 
 O'er the light of the fummer, the bloom of the flowers, 
 A cloud muft ftill hover, which hides them from m.e. 
 
 Till that funbeam, thy fmile, fliall have fweetened the 
 hours, 
 Thofe long, long fad hours, when I think upon thee ! 
 
 IS THERE NO FJIRT LAND OF JOT? 
 
 Is there no fairy land of joy. 
 
 Where we may cradle our defires ; 
 
 A land where ftorms may ne'er deftroy 
 The blofToms of our favourite flowers ? 
 
 Oh yes ! — that land, where all muft meet 
 Who once have loved ; that land fhall be, 
 
 Though diftant far, a vifion fweet. 
 The fairy land of joy for thee ! 
 0^2
 
 V 
 
 228 LYRICS. 
 
 Who that e'er watched at fummer eve 
 The gorgeous fun approach the weft, 
 
 When diftant billows fink and heave, 
 That dreamed not of that land of reft ? 
 
 And when at night the moon appears, 
 
 Encircled by her ftarry train, 
 Who does not fmile through grief's fad tears. 
 
 And truft they have not loved in vain ? 
 
 COLD IS THE NIGHT-JVIND. 
 
 Cold, cold is the night-wind 
 
 That murmurs around. 
 But colder within is my defolate home ; 
 
 For they bore away 
 
 To the battle fray 
 My pride and the hope of my days to come ! 
 
 In vain on the hill 
 
 I watch for them ftill. 
 The tidings of thofe who are exiled to learn j 
 
 Till the breeze feems to fay. 
 
 In its dying away. 
 The fons of thy bofom will never return !
 
 LYRICS. 229 
 
 Sad, fad is the dwelling 
 
 Where once, joyous-hearted, 
 I watched their light fteps from my own funny door ; 
 
 They are gone, and the light 
 
 Of my home is departed — 
 Oh fay, will it ever return to me more ? 
 
 BID ME NOT LEAVE THEE. 
 
 Bid me not leave thee. 
 
 While forrow is thine ! 
 'Tis fweeter, far fweeter, to forrow with thee. 
 
 Than with mirth and with fong 
 
 To be hurried along. 
 In the glittering halls of revelry. 
 
 Let me but footh thee — 
 
 From fadnefs and care 
 The foft hand of Friendfhip thy foul fhall releafe ; 
 
 I'll lull thee to reft. 
 
 And thy gentle breaft 
 Shall awake in the haven of peace !
 
 230 LYRICS. 
 
 Then bid me not leave thee, 
 
 While forrow is thine ; 
 'Tis fweeter, far fweeter, to forrow with thee, 
 
 Than with mirth and with fong 
 
 To be hurried along, 
 And thus be forgetful of forrow and thee ! 
 
 I'FE GAZED OFT WITH THEE. 
 
 I've gazed oft with thee 
 
 On that beautiful river, 
 I gaze on it now in the foft evening light ; 
 
 Thou art gone, and its beauty 
 
 Is banifhed for ever. 
 And the funfhine of evening no longer is bright ! 
 
 Yet I call not the waters 
 
 Of Lethe to cover 
 The words we have fpoken, our thoughts that have met ; 
 
 Sweet thoughts of my foul, 
 
 Brighteft joys that are over. 
 Were it mine to forget them, I'd never forget!
 
 LYRICS. 231 
 
 My heart's fweeteft treafure 
 
 At midnight fhall cheer me, 
 And midnight be dearer than morning to me ; 
 
 For in filence and darknefs 
 
 My fpirit is near thee, 
 In filence and darknefs my foul is with thee ! 
 
 / WOULD I fFERE A DROP OF DEW. 
 
 I WOULD I were a drop of dew, 
 
 And thou this fun-fcorched paflion-flower. 
 Mine thy exiftence to renew 
 
 At evening hour. 
 
 I would I were a defert palm. 
 
 And thou fome weary traveller. 
 Who'd find beneath its fhade a charm, 
 
 Nor wander more. 
 
 I would I were the ivy wreath. 
 
 And thou this time-enduring ftone. 
 Like chaplet on the brow of death. 
 
 My reft thy urn.
 
 232 LYRICS. 
 
 Or I would be the deep Egean, 
 
 Wert thou yon moon, which from on high 
 Blends with the wave-like light from Heaven 
 
 Its own pure ray. 
 
 E. Brooke. 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Dost afk me who lies here ? 
 
 The fpirit will anfwer, One 
 Who charmed away life without forrow or fear. 
 With his lute and the love of his miftrefs dear. 
 
 In this fairy Ifle of the Sun ! 
 
 Like a fummer his life pafTed by. 
 
 Unmarked by a fhade of gloom. 
 And his joy was to fing, " If to-morrow we die. 
 Let us not wafte to-day with a tear and a figh. 
 While the myrtle and vine are in bloom 1 " 
 
 To him every hour had its charms. 
 
 From morning to twilight gray 
 He laughed at the tempeft and battle alarms. 
 And he breathed at laft, in his miftrefs' arms. 
 
 His foul with a fmile away I
 
 LYRICS. 233 
 
 No difmal tree of the dead, 
 
 Cyprefs or drooping yew, 
 Encircles the fward of his narrow bed, 
 But a myrtle he loved in life, inftead, 
 
 Attracts the gazer's view : 
 
 Invites, with its odorous breath. 
 
 The ftranger and pafTer-by, 
 To mark where the unfeen fpirit of Death 
 Keeps watch o'er the Poet who fleeps beneath 
 
 In his peaceful panoply ! 
 
 Samuel Dickson, M.D. 
 
 THE FAIRY FIFTEEN, 
 
 As the light of the morning, 
 
 The beam o'er the waters. 
 As Spring's early primrofe 
 
 That perfumes the gale j 
 So at fairy fifteen 
 
 Are earth's beautiful daughters. 
 The joy of all hearts. 
 
 And the zeft of each tale !
 
 234 LYRICS. 
 
 *Tis come, and 'tis gone, 
 
 Yet we muft not lament it. 
 That fweet breath of Spring 
 
 Which endures but a day ; 
 It is bootlefs to mourn it. 
 
 We cannot prevent it, 
 For the moments they pafs 
 
 As the leaves pafs away ! 
 
 'Tis a flower that blooms 
 
 On life's fwift-flowing river. 
 Giving gladnefs when whirled 
 
 In the light-footed dance ; 
 Or like flars through the foliage 
 
 That fparkle and quiver, 
 Or the flames through the cafement 
 
 That cheerfully glance ! 
 
 Old age is renewed 
 
 When her light foot approaches, 
 And her clear ringing voice 
 
 Falls as dew on the foul ;
 
 LYRICS. 
 
 Refreftiing with hope 
 
 That o'er reafon encroaches, 
 For the gray-haired refift not 
 
 Her magic control ! 
 
 Young maidens, the light 
 
 Of the cottage and hall, 
 We carefs and we love ye 
 
 For joy without guile ; 
 When ye flit o'er the plains, 
 
 Or glide round in the ball, 
 Mirth treads in your footfteps, 
 
 Health lives in your fmile ! 
 
 Come hither, then, dear ones, 
 
 Your fun is faft rifmg. 
 Keep innocence yours now 
 
 As pure in your age ; 
 Look forwards, look upwards. 
 
 Holy Virtue fo prizing. 
 That your names may be bright 
 
 On your life's clofing page ! 
 
 235
 
 236 LYRICS. 
 
 TO MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 
 
 Hail, Harriet Beecher Stowe, for pages 
 Deftined to live in future ages ! 
 
 To glorify their God, in lays 
 
 To their loud harps, with mufic glorious, 
 The Prophets Ihouted forth their praife. 
 
 When Mercy's voice was heard viftorious. 
 
 So fhould the bards of modern time. 
 
 In harmonies that ever flow. 
 On her, in Mercy's caufe fublime, 
 
 The chaplets of their praife beftow. 
 
 For each who earneftly has tried 
 One little flower on earth to throw. 
 
 That may refrefh the defert wide 
 That fpreads around of human woe. 
 
 To him our grateful thoughts arife, 
 
 His name is written in the Ikies. 
 
 Nor is it true, as fome have faid. 
 That Poefy from earth is fled.
 
 LYRICS. 237 
 
 For (he can make her laft appeal, 
 
 While hearts and fouls can think and feel. 
 
 And fhe may now, as once of yore, 
 Upon the earth her lightning pour ; 
 And to the moments, as they pafs. 
 
 May fhe not hold Truth's mirror high, 
 Reflefting traitors in her glafs ; 
 
 Or fhowing virtues as they fly. 
 With modeft worth retiring ftill, 
 Their work in fecret to fulfil ? 
 
 And fhe is near when works fublime. 
 Annihilating fpace and time, 
 Are opening wonders to the ken. 
 That never yet were known to men. 
 
 And fhe is near, while round our coaft 
 The ancient boundaries are lofl ; 
 Where cords beneath the waves that lie. 
 The abfent with the prefent tie ; 
 While diflant thoughts and felt emotion 
 Are borne acrofs the billowed ocean. 
 From one vafl country to another. 
 Each fpirit mingling with its brother !
 
 238 LYRICS. 
 
 And nearer yet her joy fhall bear her, 
 When mortal eyes have opened clearer, 
 And when the days are near at hand 
 For Truth to triumph in the land, 
 When many a heart fhall fmile on thee, 
 The advocate of Liberty ! 
 
 'Tis wonderful, this truth, fo clear, 
 
 (That freedom is to man more dear 
 
 Than life itfelf — that, black or white, 
 
 Our fons inherit air and light, 
 
 With right to labour for their weal,) 
 
 Should yet await its fignet feal 
 
 From heartlefs man ; yet come it muft. 
 
 That fignet feal was never lofl ! 
 
 For this we know — it is to be, 
 
 That Chrifl will make his children free ! 
 
 And low to earth the wretch fhall fall. 
 Who turns the honey into gall. 
 And calls his brother-man his flave ; 
 How vain fhall he for mercy crave. 
 Whoe'er has ufed the tyrant's rod. 
 To bruife to earth his flefh and blood, 
 His brother who furvived the flood ?
 
 LYRICS. 239 
 
 A humble pen, fair Harriet Stowe, 
 Is uttering forth thy praifes now ; 
 Yet am I fure thy work of love 
 Shall bring thee bleffings from above ! 
 
 AGNES. 
 
 Agnes ! many a time and oft 
 
 We have roamed for hours together, 
 
 On thofe yellow fands fo foft, 
 
 Spread over by the purple heather ; 
 
 With rofes in their lovelieft bloom 
 
 Breathing richnefs in perfume. 
 
 Darling miniatures of rofes, 
 
 O'er which th' enchanted eye repofes. 
 
 A fairy city. Ocean's Queen,* 
 
 With milk-white walls and taper fpires, 
 Rifmg beyond the waves ferene. 
 
 Like Venus from her fhell refpires — 
 
 * Tenby, in South Wales.
 
 240 LYRICS. 
 
 Venus, whofe fea-nymphs ever lave 
 Their light feet in the filver wave ; 
 'Tis that fair city, where, in footh, 
 We pafled the joyous days of youth. 
 
 Ours was a childhood bleft, and free 
 From rule of fchool, or tyranny ; 
 And blithe as merry birds we were, 
 Beneath a mother's conftant care. 
 From her we learned the hymn to raife. 
 At morn and eve, our God to praife, 
 Th' Invifible, yet ever near, 
 Who liftens to his children's prayer. 
 
 And now 'tis thine, dear girl, to dwell 
 On heavenly themes, and thine to tell 
 (When at thy fide thy children pray) 
 How they may find the better way. 
 Alice, Pauline, thefe too fhall find 
 How Chrift, their God, is true and kind. 
 
 Agnes ! Time's urn is filling high. 
 Since we could call youth's pleafures nigh, 
 And thoughts more grave, and more fublime. 
 Remind us of that morning time.
 
 LYRICS. 241 
 
 Since when, one flower was borne away, 
 Who daily fhared our childhood's play. 
 Many the tears have filled our eyes, 
 For her, now angel in the fkies ; 
 For her, whofe finile and Tallies fhed 
 New joy o'er every hour that fled. 
 
 Ah ! were it poflTible to weigh 
 
 The wearing griefs, from day to day. 
 
 That crufh the foul, and bow the will, 
 
 And bitternefs by drops inftil 
 
 Into the overflowing heart, 
 
 Thofe heavieft were when forced to part 
 
 From one another ; when for years. 
 
 We felt, muft flow our lonely tears. 
 
 And we be as the weed that's lofl 
 
 Upon the ocean, tempeft tofled. 
 
 Since then, dear girl, again we've met, 
 Yet ftill that abfence leaves regret ; 
 For friendly converfe, day by day, 
 Sooths many an anxious thought away ; 
 And there's a chafm in the chain. 
 That we may never link again. 
 
 R
 
 242 LYRICS. 
 
 Like travellers on a dreary road, 
 
 Acrofs a defert we have pafled, 
 Nor wooded hill, nor fair abode. 
 
 Smiled on the plain which we have crofled ; 
 And not a flower, and not a brake. 
 May memory from that landfcape take. 
 For fhe, the fifler of my foul. 
 When abfent, defert left the whole. 
 
 Yet, Agnes, there was yet a tie, 
 
 A chord that linked us in the fky. 
 
 And Ellen's fpirit ftill was nigh ! 
 
 She whom we named " the happy hour,"* 
 
 Of Death and Grief beyond the power, 
 
 With cherubs in celeftial bower — 
 
 In her our thoughts may ever blend. 
 
 Our fifter and our angel-friend. 
 
 * *'Ora Felice,'''' a name given to her in childhood by her fifters.
 
 LYRICS. 243 
 
 ON FRIENDS DEPARTED. 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE RECENT DEATH OF A VERY 
 DEAR FRIEND.* 
 
 Oh, valued gem ! from Love's bright circle gone, 
 
 Thou'ft left us mournful, as the north winds figh 
 Through Winter's groves, when leaflefs and forlorn. 
 
 They echo moan for moan, and give reply- 
 To the deep fighs that fpring from vain regret 
 For him we loved, and never can forget ! 
 
 Friendfhip — Heaven's boon, that has furvived the fall. 
 
 Angels had envied, did they fhare thee not. 
 Yet, ah ! why given ? Who may the dead recall. 
 
 The friends once loved, who were, and now are not ? 
 The brother, fifter, child, we fee them fall, 
 
 And the turf fprings where they now buried lie ! 
 In vain we garner up in Memory's Hall, 
 
 The glowing pidtures of our baniflied joy. 
 
 Ceafe, groaning Nature ! none have loved in vain ; 
 
 Faith's herald brings the wearied foul relief; 
 With thefe angelic words, " JVe meet again" 
 
 She takes the fting from death, the barb from grief. 
 * M. Alexandre Smolikowfki.
 
 244 LYRICS. 
 
 Oh, Son of Man ! no earthly robes array 
 
 The forms of thefe, our dear, our valued friends. 
 
 Who afe but fleeping. Nay, their fpirits ftray 
 Around our dwellings, when foft mufic lends 
 
 A charm myfterious to bright things unfeen ; 
 
 A voice that fpeaks from all which once has been. 
 
 Treafures torn from us ! how the cyprefs throws 
 A deepening fhadow o'er the widowed heart, 
 
 As memory dwells upon ye ! how it grows, 
 The circle of the loved, we've feen depart. 
 
 Prized more and more, fince each fucceeding year, 
 
 Widening the diftance, renders ye more dear ! 
 
 Departed fpirits ! could I withdraw ye now 
 
 From Heaven's bleft bowers, that power in vain 
 were mine ; 
 
 My foul would tremble, left earth's ftorms fhould blow 
 O'er ye, whofe dwelling now's the land divine ; 
 
 Land trod by angels, by Chrift's martyrs trod, 
 
 The land of love, of glory, and of God ! 
 
 Oh ye, our parents ! ye, the child's firft friend. 
 That God in mercy for his children made ; 
 
 Ye, whom from birth each heart has learned to blend 
 With all pure joy, in vain the mournful fhade
 
 LYRICS. 245 
 
 Of Death between us, tempts me to recall 
 Your hallowed fpirits, 'Tis but the curtain's fall ! 
 We muff await God's time — the rifmg day 
 Shall chafe the fearful night, the curfe away. 
 And Death fhall perifh — Time fliall be no more. 
 And ye, dear cherifhed faints, our God reftore ! 
 
 Paris^ April ibth^ 1856.
 
 Notes. 
 
 Nurfed in the lap of Lo-ve, Joy pniled around. 
 
 And blejfed the hour that young Fanthea cro-uuned. — Page 15. 
 
 Panthea was celebrated in ancient hiftoiy for her beauty and 
 conjugal affeftion. 
 
 By anguijh ivas the mourning garment fpun 
 
 That njorapped at once the mother and the f on. — Page 16. 
 
 The Princefs Charlotte and her child, whole fudden and un- 
 expefted death threw fuch a gloom from one end of the United 
 Kingdom to the other. 
 
 Ne^jer ! No, dear Arafpes, Cyrus"" eye 
 
 Shall ne'ver tempt his hearths integrity ! — Page 42. 
 
 Cyrus refufed to fee Panthea left her beauty might tempt him 
 to forget his duty.
 
 248 NOTES. 
 
 Doomed from his birth toivork the Eternal's nvill; 
 
 That foiver by Cyrus felt, though unhno^wn jlilL — Page 44. 
 
 " Thus faith the Lord to his anointed, to Cyiois, whofe right 
 hand I have holden, to subdue nations before him ; and I will 
 loofe the loins of kings, to open before him the two leaved 
 gates j and the gates fhall not be ftiut.'" — Ifaiah xlv. i. 
 
 By the J e^ws foretold. 
 Thy courfe is fixed — and mighty Babylon 
 To future days Jliall tell the goaliAjas ^won. — Page 49. 
 
 " But thefe two things fliall come to thee in a moment in one 
 day, the lofs of children, and widowhood : they fliall come upon 
 thee in their perfeftion for the multitude of thy forceries, and for 
 the great abundance of thine enchantments." — Ifaiah xlvii. 9. 
 
 Who that nvhenfirjl the 'voice of Freedom fpake^ 
 Saiv, touched by Genius, Liberty aivake. — Page 68, 
 
 Few who have read the horrors of the firft French Revolution 
 but will comprehend the feeling here defcribed ; yet never let it 
 be forgotten, that a long fucceflion of tyranny and mifmle had 
 prepared the way for thofe very horrors, by debafing the minds 
 of thofe by whom they were perpetrated. 
 
 That henceforth Cyrus might for aye command 
 A lo'vefs gratitude, a luarriofs hand. — Page 96. 
 
 Abradates joined the caufe of Cynas out of gratitude for his 
 having refpe6led Panthea when fhe became his captive, and for 
 reftoring her to the arms of her hufband.
 
 NOTES. 249 
 
 Shuddering, he turned him to the tent again — 
 God! the bride of Abradates Jlain. — Page 126. 
 
 Panthea killed herfelf on the dead body of her hufband, and 
 Cyrus erefted a tomb to their memory. 
 
 Tor Sabat ivas a martyr made, 
 
 And I my Sabafs life betrayed. — Page 139. 
 
 The hiftory of Sabat and Abdallah is authentic, being found 
 in Bifliop Heber's " Journal in India," where the martyrdom of 
 Sabat is defcribed as it is reprefented in the poem. 
 
 The lion e^en a lejfon gi'ves ; 
 
 The lion, that by rapine li--jes. — Page 1 54. 
 
 In a work, publied in French by Jules Gerard, about to be 
 tranflated into Englifh, there is an interefting account of the 
 habits and life of the lion. It appears from this, that the father 
 lion never leaves his young family till they are able to provide for 
 their own fubfiftence, and fhares with the mother in the care of 
 feeding them for two or three years, during which time he 
 carefully inftrufts them in the manner of hunting and killing 
 their food. 
 
 '7Vj the hand that is raifed 
 
 To the head nuhich is crazed. — Page 157. 
 
 This tragedy took place at one of the watering places in 
 Germany, in which the Author was at the time. But gambling 
 is not confined to rouge et noir, the roulette table, nor even to the 
 turf; its efFecSs are more fatal on the Exchange, on whofe 
 flu(5luations fuch fearful fpeculations are made. At the root of
 
 250 NOTES. 
 
 this evil is cupidity; men will not be content with moderate 
 fortunes or moderate gains, but haften to be rich, and in doing fo 
 frequently leave their children and their wives in abfolute beggary. 
 Society itfelf is an acceflbry to this too eager third for gold, for 
 does it not often confider that njuealth, not charity, covereth a 
 multitude of fins ? Would men but confider that happinefs is 
 not in proportion to the wealth we amafs, but to the ufe we make 
 of it, as refponfible agents of our Father which is in Heaven, then, 
 and then only, the fearful fti-uggle to obtain it by the facrifice of 
 our beft feelings would ceafe. 
 
 T/ie Elegy to Augufta, Princefs Schinas. — Page i66. 
 
 The journals of Conftantinople, at the time of the death of this 
 lady, fo much lamented by her friends and her family, were filled 
 with eulogiums on her goodnefs and her charity, combined with 
 accomplifiiments which made her an ornament in the moft ele- 
 vated ranks of fociety. 
 
 Go forth to-day y and celebrate 
 
 The gallant Charles of Bourbon s fete. — Page 172. 
 
 The hiftory of His Royal Highnefs Charles, brother to King 
 Ferdinand of Naples, is well known ; but thofe only who have the 
 honour of his perfonal acquaintance can appreciate the noble 
 qualities of his mind and heart, and his excellence in the charafters 
 of hulband and father. For more than twenty years he has been 
 an exile, and the viftim of the implacable hatred and perfecution 
 of his king and brother. His crime was his marriage with an 
 accomplifhed and beautiful woman, of an ancient and noble family, 
 who, though not titled, is related to fome of the higheft nobility 
 in the kingdom, and counts among its anceftors the Plantagenets
 
 NOTES. 251 
 
 and other royal families, both in France and Spain, thus entitling 
 it to an alliance with royalty. 
 
 It would be well if thofe who poflefs influence could make this 
 clear to the mind of the King of Naples; for, even on the 
 exclufive principles of the German and Auftrian royalties, this 
 marriage, which has been fo bleffed in its domeftic relations, is not 
 in reality a mesalliance for His Royal Highnefs the Prince of 
 Capua. 
 
 The poems entitled the " Toaft," and the " Minftrel and the 
 Angel," have relation to the fame fubje6l as the preceding poem ; 
 feparate notes, then, are fuperfluous. I will only add, that the 
 circumftance alluded to in the " Minftrel," namely, their Royal 
 Highnefles being driven from the coafts of Italy by an armed 
 force wherever they endeavoured to land after their marriage, is 
 ftri6tly true, forces having been ftationed at every port to prevent 
 their landing on the territory of their brother, the King of 
 Naples. If the reader fhould be defirous of more information in 
 this rtrange hiftory of the King of Naples' behaviour to the 
 Prince, his brother, he will find it in a very clever pamphlet, 
 which has been tranflated into Englifti, entitled " Italy," the laft 
 part of which contains fome particulars of this moft Inexplicable 
 conduft of Ferdinand the Second. 
 
 The two fmall poems, " I would I were a drop of Dew," and 
 the " Anacreontic," were written, the firft by a dear fifter, the 
 fecond by a fincere friend, who have given me the permiflion to 
 place them in my book of Poems, as a kind of remembrance. 
 
 FINIS.
 
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