T. A. CLEXTON, [ ROY. N. V. No. OFTH1 UNIVERaiTI > AVOLIO; A LEGEND OF THE ISLAND OF COS, WITH POEMS, LYRICAL, MISCELLANEOUS, AND DRAMATIC. BY PAUL H. HAYNE. BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS. M DCCC LX. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by TlCKNOB AND FIELDS, in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANT. DEDICATORY SONNET TO EDWIN P. WHIPPLE, ESQ., OF BOSTON. O FRIEND ! between us, for long dreary years, Distance and Fate have raised their barriers strong ; Yet Love, surviving, takes the wings of Song, And flies to greet thee ; whatsoe er appears Of false or feeble in these various lays, Forgive ; the heart is in them, and to thee The lowliest strains of true sincerity Rise like the music of a voice of praise. Though thou hast searched the souls of greatest Seers, Shakespeare, and Spencer, Sidney, to the core Of their deep natures probing o er and o er, Still not the less to humbler bards are given Thy faith and homage, for the Poet s lore, Or great or small, is knowledge caught from Heaven ! M80G012 PREFACE. THE first and longest poem in this volume is founded upon a story contained in that most charming of recent Essayical and Legendary Miscellanies, " The Indicator," by Leigh Hunt. Hunt s story is a version of a very pleasing tradition. Parts of it could in no way be im proved. These I have followed literally, but the tale admitted of expansion, and I l\ave, therefore, introduced several new incidents, besides endeavoring to give to the narrative a cast more purely ideal. The reader will remark that no small por tion of this work is composed of Sonnets. Many of these were included in a volume issued from a Southern press in 1857. The edition, originally small, was partially sup pressed. a* VI PREFACE. With regard to the Miscellaneous Pieces, I would say, that, excepting five or six poems taken from a collection of more youthful verses, and subjected to the necessary revision, they have before appeared only in the columns of literary journals and magazines. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE Avolio A Legend of the Island of Cos 1 Ode to Sleep 17 Ode delivered on the First Anniversary of the Carolina Art Association, February 10th, 1859 21 Nature the Consoler. An Ode 30 SONNETS. Poets of the Olden Time 35 On the Occurrence of a Spell of Arctic Weather in May, 1858 36 October 37 Great Poets and Small 38 " Pent in this common Sphere of sensual shows," 39 Ancient Fables 40 Composed in Autumn 41 " The rainbows of the Heaven are not more rare,"- 42 " Here, friend ! upon this lofty ledge sit down ! " 43 " O God ! what glorious seasons bless thy world ! " 44 Written on one of the Blue Ridge Range of Mountains 45 " An idle Poet dreaming in the sun," 46 " Yet Stock depreciates, even Banks decay," 47 u viii CONTENTS. " Are these the mountains, this the forest gay," 48 Now, while the Rear-Guard of the flying Year," 49 To W. H. H. 50 Suggested by a Picture of Morning 51 POLITICAL SONNETS. " Hath the proud Spirit which o erruled this land," 52 " Strike ! tis a righteous quarrel ! strike as they," 53 " The conflict swells apace ! the rallying cries," 54 " Our ancient Honor, our ancestral Pride," 55 Ay! deaf, blind, lulled with opiates of self-praise," 56 On the refusal of the Legislature of a Southern State to appropriate any amount for the Erection of a Monu ment to the Memory of a distinguished Statesman. ... 57 " Still must the common Voice denounce the deed,". ... 58 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. Suggested by the description of Fairfax Rochester, in chapter xxxvii. of " Jane Eyre " 59 My Study 60 " Beloved ! in this holy hush of night," 61 u O ! pour thine inmost soul upon the Air," 62 Shelley 63 Written after reading a description of the burning of Shelley s body 64 Life 65 Death 66 " Thou who art moving ever in the round " 67 " Along the path thy bleeding feet have trod," 68 To W. H. H. 69 " O lady ! radiant lady ! thy sweet eyes," 70 CONTENTS. IX The Mystery of Life 71 The Revelation of Death 72 Preexistence 73 " Too oft the Poet in elaborate verse," 74 Elegiac t 75 " For aye thou art before me ! day and night," 76 Immaturity 77 " He stands as one to whom all life is vain," 78 " Between the sunken Sun and the new Moon," 79 A Character 80 The Garden in the City, 81 " O ! weary bondage of the clouding clay," 82 To a celebrated Actress 83 Written on a fly-leaf of the Letters and Journals of Sir Hudson Lowe, edited by Wm. Forsyth, M. A. 84 After the Storm 85 " Well spake the Poet, that howe er the cry " 86 Dedicated to M. H. II. 87 The Actor to the Thinker, 88 " All day the distant mountain tops have worn " 89 " The West is one great sea of cloudy fire," 90 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. The Presentiment 91 Queen Galena ; or, the Sultana betrayed 93 " The winter Winds may wildly rave," 95 Lines on the Death of the Rev. J. A. S., the distinguished Pastor of the Church of St. Peter, Charleston, S. C.- 96 The Battle in the Distance 99 To a Friend in Affliction 102 The Soul-Conflict 104 Life s under-current 105 I CONTENTS. Song, " Fly, swiftly fly " 107 Song, " Here, long ago," 109 Song, " Ho ! fetch me the winecup ! fill up to the brim ! " 111 Song of the Naiads 113 Palingenesis -^ 115 The Brook 118 The Poet s Trust in his Sorrow 120 Lines composed upon a beautiful Day in Autumn 122 The Tempter in the House 124 The Unprisoned Spirits 125 The Condemned, a Fragment 127 On a Portrait 128 Sunset and Moonlight 130 The Two Summers 131 The Island in the South . 133 The Village Beauty 139 Flowers from a Grave 142 Bought and Sold 143 Perfect Calm 144 Charlotte Bronte 145 Fragment of an Ode on the Death of a great Statesman 147 Lethe 148 January to May 150 A Remembrance 152 The Shadow 154 Lucette 156 The Picture of a beautiful Death, a Fragment 158 Song, " O ! your eyes are deep and tender" 161 Lines, " Though dowered with instincts " 162 The Eve of the Bridal 165 " Here, when I have laid aside" 168 My Father 170 The Will, and the Wing, 1 72 CONTENTS. XI The Pestilence, written during the Prevalence of the Yellow Fever in Charleston, S. C., in the summer of 1858 174 Retrospection and Aspiration 176 " The laughing Hours before her feet" 181 Sonnet, " Vainly a hostile world may strive to tame". . 183 Sonnet, " Moments there are when most familiar things " 184 DRAMATIC SKETCHES. Antonio Melidori 185 Allan Herbert 220 Dramatic Fragment 228 Dramatic Fragment 235 The Penitent 236 FUGITIVE VERSES. " Through dismal nights, and long laborious days" 227 A Life-history, (briefly told) 237 To G. C. H 238 Lines on the Bust of a Bacchante, by Alexander Gait, of Virginia 240 The Realm of Rest 241 POEMS. AVOLTO A LEGEND OF THE ISLAND OF COS. WHAT time the Norman ruled in Sicily At that mild season when the vernal sea Is ruffled only by the zephyrs gay, A goodly ship set sail upon her way From Ceos unto Smyrna ; through the calm She passed by sunny islands crowned with palm, Until, so witching tender was the breeze, So drugged the hours with balms of slumb rous ease, That they who manned her, in the genial air And dalliance of the time, forgot the care Due to her courses ; in the warm sunshine They lay enchanted, dreaming dreams divine, Whilst drifting heedless on the halcyon water The bark obeyed whatever currents caught her. Borne onward thus for many a charmed day, They reach at length a wide and wooded bay, The haunt of birds, whose purpling wings, in flight, 1 2 AVOLIO A LEGEND Made even the gold-hued morning seem more bright, Flushed as with darting rainbows ; through the tide By the o erripe pomegranate juices dyed, And laving boughs of the wild fig, and grape, Great shoals of dazzling fishes madly ape The play of silver lightnings in the deep Translucent pools ; the crew awoke from sleep, Or, rather, that strange trance which on them pressed Gently as sleep ; yet still they seemed to rest, Fanned by voluptuous gales, by Morphean languors blessed. The shore sloped upward into foliaged hills Cleft by the channels of a maze of rills That sent their clarion voices clear, and loud, Up to the answering eagle in the cloud; Green vales there were between, and pleasant lawns Thick-set with blooms, like sheen of tropic dawns Brightening the Orient ; further still, the glades Of murmurous forests flecked with golden shades Stretched glimmering southward ; on the woods far rim, Faintly discerned through veiling vapors, dim As mists of Indian summer, the wide view Was clasped by mountains flickering in the blue And hazy distance; over all there hung The morn s eternal beauty calm and young. OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 3 Amidst the throng that gazed with wondering faces On that fair Eden, and its fairy graces, Was one Avolio a brave youth of Florence, Self-exiled from his country, in , abhorrence Of the base, blood-stained tyrants dominant there ; A gentleman he was, of gracious air, And liberal as the summer, skilled in lore Of arms, and chivalry, and many more Deep sciences, which others left unlearned. He loved adventure ; how his spirit burned Within him, when, as now, a chance arose To search untravelled forests, and strange foes Vanquish by puissance of knightly blows, Or, rescue maidens from malignant spells Enforced by hordes of wizard sentinels : So, in the ardor of his martial glee He clapped his hands, and shouted suddenly: " Ho ! Sirs ! a challenge ! let us pierce these woods Down to the core ; explore the solitudes, And make this flowery empire all our own ; Who knows but we may conquer us a throne ? At least, bold feats await us, grand emprise To win us favor in our ladies eyes ; By Heaven ! he is a coward who delays ! " So saying, all his countenance ablaze With fiery zeal, the youth sprang lightly up, 4 AVOLIO A LEGEND And with right lusty motion filled a cup (They brought him straightway) to the glistening brim With Cyprus wine : " Now glory unto him Whom, bent on gallant deeds, no danger daunts, Whose constant soul a constant impulse haunts Which spurs him onward, onward, to the end ; Pledge we the Brave ! and may St. Ermo send Success to crown our valiantest ! " this said, Avolio shoreward leaped, and with him led The whole ship s company. A motley band Were they who mustered; round him on the strand, Mixed knights, and traders ; the first, fired for toil Which promised glory ; the last, hot for spoil. Through breezy paths, and beds of blossoming thyme Kept fresh by secret springs, the showery chime Of whose clear falling waters in the dells, Played like an airy peal of elfin bells, With eager minds, but aimless, idle feet, (The scene about them was so lone, and sweet, It spelled their steps), mid labyrinths of flowers, By mossy streams, and in deep shadowed bowers, They strayed from charm to charm through lengths of languid hours. OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 5 In thickets of wild fern and rustling broom, The humble-bee buzzed past them with a boom Of insect thunder, and in glens afar The golden fire-fly, a small, animate star, Shone from the twilight of the darkling leaves. High noon it was, but dusk, like mellow eve s, Reigned in the wood s deep places, whence it seemed That flushing locks, and quick arch glances gleamed, From eyes scarce human ; thus the fancy deemed Of those most given to marvels ; the rest laughed A merry jeering laugh, and many a shaft Launched from the Norman cross-bow 7 pierced the nooks, Or cleft the shallow channels of the brooks, Whence, as the credulous swore, an Oread shy, And a glad Nymph, had peeped out laughingly. Thus wandering, they reached a sombre mound Rising abruptly from the level ground, And planted thick with dark funereal trees, Whose foliage waved and murmured, though the breeze Had sunk to midnight quiet, and the sky Just o er the place seemed locked in apathy, Like a fair face wan with the sudden stroke Of death, or heart-break ; not a word they spoke, 6 AVOLIO A LEGEND But paused with wide, bewildered, gleaming eyes, Standing at gaze : what mortal terrors rise And coil about their hearts with serpent fold ; And O ! what loathly scene is this they hold, Grasped with unwinking vision, as they creep, (Led by their very horror,) up the steep, And the whole preternatural landscape dawns Freezingly on them ; a broad stretch of lawns Sown with rank poisonous grasses, whence the dew Of hovering exhalations flickered blue, And wavering on the dead-still atmosphere ; Dead-still it was, and yet the grasses sere, Stirred as with horrid life amidst the sickening glare ! The affrighted crew (all save Avolio) fled Incontinent, but his dull feet with lead Seemed freighted ; whilst his terror whispered " fly," The spell of some uncouth necessity Baffled retreat, and ruthless, scourged him on ; Meanwhile the sun thro darkening vapors shone Nigh to his setting, and a sudden blast Sudden and chill woke shrilly up and passed With ghostly din, and tumult ; airy sounds Of sylvan horns, and sweep of circling hounds Nearing the quarry : now, the wizard chase Swept faintly, faintly up the fields of space, OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 7 And now, with backward rushing whirl roared by Louder, and fiercer, till a maddening cry, A bitter shriek of human agony Leaped up, and died, amidst the stifling yell Of brutes athirst for blood : a crowning swell Of savage triumph followed, mixed with wails Sad as the dying songs of nightingales Murmuring the name ACTAEON ! Even as one A rapt sleep-walker through the shadows dun Of half-oblivious sense, with soulless gaze Goes idly journeying midst uncertain ways, Thus did Avolio, sore perplexed in mind, (Excess of mystery made his spirit blind,) Grope through the gloom ; anon he reached a fount Whose watery columns had long ceased to mount Above its prostrate Tritons : near at hand, Dammed up in part by heaps of yellow sand, Dead-white, and lustreless, a rivulet Of oozy banks, with dank dark alders set, Blurred in its turbid tides the o erhanging sky ; The melancholy waters seemed to sigh In wailful murmurs of articulate woe, And struggling from the sullen depths below, This dirge arose : AVOLIO A LEGEND SONG OF THE IMPRISONED NAIAD. Woe ! woe is me ! the ages pass away, The mortal seasons run their mystic rounds, Whilst here I wither for the sun-bright day, Its genial sights and sounds. Woe ! woe is me ! ii. One summer night, in centuries long agone, I saw my Oread lover leave the brake, I heard him plaining on the peaceful lawn A plaint "for my sweet sake." Woe ! woe is me ! in. Hearkening! I couched upon a reedy bank, Until the music grew so mournful-wild, Its sweet despair o ercame me, and I sank Weak, wailful as a child. Woe ! woe is me ! IV. My heart leaped up to answer that fond lay, But suddenly the star-girt planets paled, OF THE ISLAND OF COS. V And high into the welkin s glimmering gray Majestic Dian sailed. Woe ! woe is me ! / v. She swept aloft, bold, burning as the sun, And wrathful-red as fiery-crested Mars ; Then knew I that some fearful deed was done On earth, or in the stars, Woe ! woe is me ! VI. With ghastly face upraised, and shuddering throat, I watched the portent with a prescient pain, When, lightning-barbed, a beamy arrow smote, Or seemed to smite my brain. Woe ! woe is me ! VII. Oblivion clasped me, till I woke forlorn, Fettered, and sorrowing on this lonely bed, Shut from the mirthful kisses of the morn, Earth s glories overhead. Woe ! woe is me ! VIII. The south winds stir the sedges into song, The blossoming myrtles scent the enamored air, 10 AVOLIO A LEGEND But still, sore moaning for another s wrong, I pine in sadness here. Woe ! woe is me ! IX. Alas ! alas ! the weary centuries flee ! The waning seasons perish, dark, or bright, My grief alone, like some charmed poison-tree, Knows not an autumn blight. Woe ! woe is me ! The mournful sounds swooned off, but Echo rose And bore them up divinely to a close Of rare mysterious sweetness ; never more Shall mortal winds to listening wood and shore, Bring such heart-melting music : " Where, O ! where ! " Avolio murmured, " to what haunted sphere Hath dubious Fate my errant footsteps brought ? " Launched on a baffling sea of mystic thought, His reason in a whirling chaos lost Compass and chart, and headway, vaguely tossed Midst flitting shapes of winged phantasies ; Just then uplifting his bewildered eyes, He saw half hid in shade the pillars grand, Of a great gateway reared on either hand, And close beyond them, nested in a wood Of stern aspect, a sombrous mansion stood : OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 11 Long wreaths of ghastly ivy on its walls Quivered like goblin tapestry, or palls, Tattered and rusty, mildewed in the chill Of dreadful vaults ; across each window-sill Curtains of weird device and fiery hue Hung moveless, only when the sun glanced through The gathering glooms, the hieroglyphs took form, And life, and action, and the whole grew warm With meanings baffling to Avolio s sense : He stood expectant, trembling, with intense Dread in his eyes, and yet a struggling faith Vital at heart ; a sudden-passing breath Of mystic wind thrilled by his tingling ear, Waving the curtains inward, and his fear Uprose victorious, for a serpent shape, Tall, lithe, and writhing, with malignant gape, Which showed its fiery fangs, hissed in the gleam Its own fell eyeballs kindled ; oh ! supreme The horror of that vision ! as he gazed, Irresolute, mute, motionless, amazed, The monster disappeared ; a moment sped ! The next, it fawned before him on a bed Of scarlet poppies. " Speak ! " Avolio said, " What art thou ? speak ! I charge thee in God s name ; " A death-cold shudder seized the Serpent s frame ; 12 AVOLIO A LEGEND Its huge throat writhed ; whence, bubbling with a throe Of hideous import, a voice, thin and low, Broke like a mudded rill : " Bethink thee well ! This Isle is Cos, of which old legends tell Such marvels. Hast thou never heard of me, The Island s fated Queen?" "Ay! verily!" Avolio cried, " thou art that thing of dread ! " Sharply the Serpent raised its glittering head And front tempestuous. " Hold ! no tongue save mine Shall solve that mystery ! prithee then, incline Thine ear to the sad story of my grief, And with thine ear, yield, yield me thy belief; Foul as I am, there was a time, O ! youth ! When these fierce eyes were founts of love and truth ; There was a time when woman s blooming grace Glowed through the flush of roses in my face; When, but I sinned a deep and damning sin, I cursed the great Diana ! I defied The night s immaculate goddess, argent-eyed, And holiest of Immortals ! I denied The eternal might which looks so cold and calm ; Therefore, O ! stranger ! am I what I am ; A monster meet for Tartarus ! a thing Whereon men gaze with awe and shuddering, OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 13 And stress of inward terror; through all time, Down to the last age, my abhorred crime Must hold me prisoner in this vile abode, Unless some man, large-hearted as a god, Bolder than Ajax, mercifully deign To kiss me on the mouth ! " She towered amain With sparkling crest, and universal thrill Of frenzied eagerness that seemed to fill Her cavernous eyes with jets of lurid fire ; " And if I do accord thee thy desire," Rejoined Avolio, " what sure guage have I, That this same kiss thy cursed destiny Hath not ordained the least elaborate plan Whereby to snare and slay me ? " " O ! man ! man ! " The Serpent answered with a loftier mien, The while her voice grew mild, her front serene, " Shall Matter always triumph ; the base mould Mask the immortal essence, uncontrolled Save by your grovelling fancies ? ! eterne, And grand Benignities that breathe and burn Throughout Creation, are we but the motes In some vain dream that idly sways and floats To nothingness ; or, are your grandeurs pent Within ourselves, to rise magnificent In bloom and music, when we bend above, 14 AVOLIO A LEGEND And wake them by the kisses of our love ? I yearn to be made beautiful ; alas ! Beauty itself looks on prepared to pass In callous disbelief! one action kind. Would free and save me, Why art thou so blind Avolio?" While she spoke, two timorous hares Scared by a threatening falcon from their lairs, Rushed to the Serpent s side ; with fondling tongue She soothed them as a mother soothes her young. Avolio mused. " Can innocent things like these Take refuge by her? then perchance some good, Some tenderness, if rightly understood, Lurks in her nature. / will do the deed ; Christ and the Virgin save me at my need ! " He signed the monster nearer, closed his eyes, And with some natural shuddering, some deep sighs, Gave up his pallid lips to the foul kiss. What followed then ? a traitorous serpent hiss Sharper for triumph ? O ! not so he felt A warm, rich, clinging mouth approach and melt In languid, loving sweetness on his own, And two fond arms caressingly were thrown About his neck, and on his bosom pressed Twin lilies of a pure-white virgin breast. OF THE ISLAND OF COS. 15 He raised his eyes, released from brief despair, They rested on a maiden tall and fair, Fair as the tropic morn, when morn is new ; And her sweet glances smote him through and through With such keen-thrilling rapture, that he swore His willing heart should evermore adore Such loveliness, and woo her till he died. " I am thine own," she said, " thine own dear bride, If thou wilt take me." Hand in hand they strayed Adown the shadows through the woodland glade, Whence every evil Influence shrank afraid, And round them poured the golden eventide. Swiftly the news of this most strange event Abroad upon the tell-tale wind was sent, Rousing the eager world to wonderment. Now mid the various companies that came To visit Cos, was that leal knight by Fame Exalted, for brave deeds, and faith divine, Shown in the sacred wars of Palestine, Tancred, Salerno s Prince ; he came in state, With fourscore gorgeous barges, small and great ; With pomp and music like an Ocean Fate, 16 AVOLIO A LEGEND OF THE ISLAND OF COS. His blazoned prows along the glimmering sea Spread like an Eastern sunrise gloriously. Him and his followers did Avolio feast Right royally, but when the mirth increased, And joyous-winged jests began to pass Above the sparkling cups of Hippocras, Tancred arose, and in his courtly phrase Invoked delight, and length of prosperous days, To crown that happy union ; one sole doubt The Prince confessed, and this he dared speak out, " It could not be that their sweet hostess still Worshipped Diana, and her heathen will ? " " O ! Sir, not so ! " Avolio flushing cried, " But Christ the Lord ! " No single word replied The beauteous lady, but with gentle pride, And a quick motion to Avolio s side She drew more closely by a little space, Gazing with modest passion in his face, As one who longed to whisper tenderly, " ! brave, kind Heart ! I worship only thee ! " ODE TO SLEEP. 17 ODE TO SLEEP. BEYOND the sunset and the amber sea To the lone depths of ether, cold, and bare, Thy influence, Soul of all tranquillity, Hallows the Earth, and awes the reverent Air ; The gentle Rivulet quells its silvery tune ; The Pines, like priestly watchers, tall and grim, Stand mute against the saintly Twilight dim, Breathless to hail the advent of the Moon ; From the white beach the Ocean falls away, Coyly, and with a thrill; the sea-birds dart Ghostlike from out the distance, and depart With a gray fleetness, moaning the dead Day ; The wings of Silence, overfolding Space, Droop in dusk grandeur from the heavenly steep, And through the stillness gleams thy starry face, Serenest Angel Sleep. ii. Come ! woo me here, amid these flowery charms ; Breathe on my eyelids ; press thy odorous lips Close to mine own ; enwreathe me in thine arms, 2 18 ODE TO SLEEP. And cloud my spirit with thy sweet eclipse. No dreams, no dreams ! keep back the motley throng, For such are girded round with ghastly might, And sing low burdens of despondent song, Decked in the mockery of a lost delight ; I ask Oblivion s balsam the mute peace, Toned to still breathings, and the gentlest sighs Not music woven of rarest harmonies, Could yield me such Elysium of release ; The sounds of earth are weariness not only Mid the loud mart, and in the walks of trade, But where the mountain Genius broodeth lonely, In the cool pulsing of the sylvan shade ; Then bear me far into thy noiseless land, Surround me with thy silence, deep on deep, Until serene I stand Close on a duskier country, and more grand, Mysterious solitude, than thine, O, Sleep ! in. As he whose veins a feverous frenzy burns, Whose life-blood withers in the fiery drouth, Feebly, and with a languid longing turns To the Spring-breezes gathering from the South, So feebly, and with languid longing, I Turn to thy wished nepenthe, and implore The golden dimness, the purpureal gloom, ODE TO SLEEP. 19 Which haunt thy mystic realm, and make the shore Of thy dominion balmy with all bloom. In the clear gulfs of thy serene Profound, Worn Passions sink to quiet, Sorrows pause, Suddenly fainting to still-breathed rest ; Thou own st a magical atmosphere which awes The memories seething in the turbulent breast, Which, muffling up the sharpness of all sound Of mortal lamentation, solely bears The silvery minor toning of our woe, And mellowed to harmonious underflow, Soft as the sad farewells of dying Years, Lulling as sunset showers that veil the West, And sweet as Love s last tears, When overwelling hearts do mutely weep; O, Griefs ! O, Wailings ! your tempestuous madness, Merged in a regal quietude of sadness, Wins a strange glory by the streams of Sleep. IV. Then woo me here amid these flowery charms ; Breathe on my eyelids ; press thy odorous lips Close to mine own ; enfold me in thine arms, And cloud my spirit with thy sweet eclipse ; And while from waning depth to depth I fall, Down-lapsing to the utmost depth of all Till wan Forgetfulness, obscurely stealing, 20 ODE TO SLEEP. Creeps like an Incantation on the soul, And o er the slow ebb of my conscious life Dies the thin flush of the last conscious feeling, And, like abortive thunder, the dull roll Of sullen passions swells, far, far away, O, Angel! loose the chords which cling to strife, Sever the gossamer bondage of my breath And let me pass gently, as winds in May, From the dim realm which owns thy shadowy sway, To THY diviner sleep, O, sacred Death ! ODE. 21 ODE DELIVERED ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THE CAROLINA ART ASSOCIATION, FEBRUARY 10TH, 1859. THERE are two worlds wherein our souls may dwell, Two mighty worlds by eager spirits sought, One the loud mart wherein men buy and sell, The haunt of grovelling Moods, and shapes of Hell, The other, that immaculate realm of Thought, In whose bright Calm the master-workmen wrought, Where genius lives on light. And faith is lost in sight, Where the full tides of perfect music swell Up to the heavens that never held a cloud, And round great altars reverent hosts are bowed, Altars upreared to Love that cannot die, To beauty that forever keeps its youth, To kingly Grandeur, and to virginal Truth, To all things wise and pure, 22 ODE. Whereof our God hath said, " endure ! endure ! Ye are but parts of me, The HATH BEEN, and the evermore To BE, Of my supremest Immortality ! " ii. We falter in the darkness and the dearth Which sordid passions and untamed desires Create about us ; universal earth Groans with the burden of our sensual woes ; The heart heaven gave for homage is consumed By the wild rages of unhallowed fires ; The blush of that fine glory which illumed The earlier ages hath gone out in gloom ; There is no joy within us, no repose, One Creed our beacon, and one God our hold, The Creed, the God of Gold; The heavenward winged Instinct that aspires, Like a lost Seraph with dishevelled plume, Pants humbled in the " slough of deep Despond ; " The Present binds us, there is no Beyond, No glorious Future to the soul content With the poor husks and garbage of this world ; And are indeed the wings of worship furled Forevermore ? is no evangel blent, No sweet evangel with the hiss and hum Of th Century s wheels of progress ? SCIENCE delves ODE. 23 Down to the Earth s hot vitals, and explores Realms arctic and antarctic, the strange shores Of remote seas, or with raised vision stands, All undismayed, amidst the starry lands : Man too, material man, our baser selves, She hath unmasked even to the source of being ; Almost she seems a God, Deep-searching and far-seeing ; And yet how oft like to a funeral wail Which goes before the burial of our hopes, Emerging from the starry -blazoned copes Of highest firmaments, or darkest vale O th nether earth, or from the burdened air Of chambers where this mortal frame lies bare, Probed to the core, her saddening accents come. " What ! call st thou man a seraph ? nay, a clod, The veriest clod when this frail breath is spent, Man shows to us who know him ; what is he ? A speck ! the merest dew-globe midst the sea Of Life s infinity;" Or, " we have probed, dissected all we can, But never yet, in any mortal man, Found we the spirit ! thing of time and clay, Eat, drink, live well thy transient insect-day ! " Thus SCIENCE ; but whilst still her mocking voice Rings with a cold sharp clearness in our ears, Her beauteous sister, on whose brow the years 24 ODE. Have left no cankering vestige of decay, Eternal ART, she of the fathomless eyes Brimming Avith light, half worship, half surprise, In whose right hand a branch of fadeless palms, Plucked from the depths of golden-shadowed calms, Points upward to the skies, She answers in a minor, sweet and strange, [The while, all graces in her aspect meet, And Doubt and Fear shrink shuddering at her feet,] " I bring a nobler message ! Soul, rejoice ! Rise with me from thy troublous toils of sense, Thy bootless struggles, born of impotence, Rise to a subtler view, a broader range Of thought and aim ; Mine is a sway ideal, But still the works I prompt, alone, are real ; Mine is a realm from immemorial time Begirt by Deeds and Purposes sublime, Whose consecration is Faith s quenchless flame, Whose voices are the songs of poet-sages, Whose strong foundations resting on the ages, The throes and crash of Empires have not shaken, Nor any futile force of human rages. Come ! let us enter in ! Behold, the portal gates stand open wide ! Only, from off thy spirit shake the dust ODE. 25 Of any thought of sin, Or sordid pride, For sacred is the kingdom of my trust, By Mind, and Strength, and Beauty sanctified. She spoke ! and o er the threshold of a sphere, A marvellous sphere, they passed ; From the deep bosom of the purpling air A lambent glory broke along the vast Horizon line, whence clouds, like incense, rolled Athwart a firmamental arc of gold And sapphire, clouds not vapour-born, But clasping each the radiant seeds of morn, Which sudden, the clear zenith heights attained, Burst into light, unfolding like a flower, From out whose quivering heart a mystic shower Of splendor rained : A spell was Her s to conquer time and space, For from the desert grandeur of that place A hundred temples rise, The marble poems of the Bards of old, Whereon, twere well to look with reverent eyes, Because they body noblest Aspirations, Ethereal Hopes, and winged Imaginations, Whether to fabled Jove their walls were raised, Or on their inner altars offerings blazed To wise Athena, or, in Christian Rome 26 ODE. Beneath St. Peter s mighty circling dome, A second Heaven the golden censers swing, The clear-toned choirs those hymns of rapture sing, Which, on harmonious waves of gratulation, The outburst of the sense of deep salvation, Uplift the spirit where the INCARNATE WORD Amidst the praise no ear of man hath heard, The peace no mind of man can comprehend, Awaits to welcome Time s poor wanderers home ! " But look again ! " Art s eager Genius cried, " Thou hast not seen the end, Scarce the beginning ! " as she spake, a tide Of all the mighty Masters, loved, adored, From out the shining distant spaces poured, All those who fashioned through an inward dower The concrete forms of Beauty and of Power ; Whether from white Pentelic quarries brought ; The voiceless stone uprose a breathing Thought, Or, from the gorgeous rays of rainbows drawn, And colors of the sunset and the dawn, The PAINTER S pencil his ideal fine, Had clothed in hues divine Or, skilled in living words Melodious as the natural voice of birds, But each a sentient thing, a meaning grand, It is not given to all to understand, ODE. 27 The POET from the shade of breezy woods, From barren seaside solitudes, And from the pregnant quiet of his soul Outbreathed the numbers that forever roll, Perennial as the fountains of the sea, And deep almost as deep Eternity ! Near and yet nearer the bright concourse came, Their faces all a-flame, As when of yore the quick creative thrill Did smite them into utterance, and the throng, Awed by the fiery burden of the song, Grew reverent pale and still ; ! solemn and sublime Apocalypse That wresteth, from the dreary death-eclipse, The sacred presence of these wondrous men ! Yonder the visible Homer moves again, Moves as he moved below, Save that his smitten vision, Rekindled at a fount of fire Elysian, Burns with a subtler, grander, deeper glow : And yonder JEschylus, with " thunderous brow, " Scarred by the lightning of his own creations, Wrapped in a cloud of sombre meditations, Hath seized the Tragic Muse, as if to her He scorned to bend an humble worshipper. But ivould extort her gifts ; 50 ODE. Then Shakspeare mild, Blessed with the innocent credence of a child, With a child s thoughts, and fancies undefiled, And yet a Magian strong, To whom the springs of terrible fears belong, Of majesty, and beauty, and delight; To the wierd charm of whose infallible sight, The heart s emotions, Though turbid as the tides of darkest oceans, Shone clear as water of the woodland brooks, Passed with high wisdom throned in his looks Attempered by the genial heats of wit; Whilst close beside him his grand countenance lit By thoughts like those which wrought his Judgment Day, Grave Michel Angelo His massive forehead lifts, In a strange Titan fashion, unto Heaven ; Next Raphael comes with calm and star-like mien, Fresh from the Beatific Ecstacy, His face how beautiful, and how serene ! Since God for him the awful veil had riven, That shrouds Divinity, And rolled before his wondering mind and eye Visions that WE should gaze on but to die ! They passed, and thousands more passed by with them; ODE. 29 Again Art s Genius spake : " Lo ! these are they Who, through stern tribulations, Have raised to Right and Truth the subject nations; Lo! these are they, / Who, were the whole bright concourse swept away, Their fame s last barrier built the surge to stem Of chaos and oblivion, whelmed beneath The pitiless torrent of eternal death, Would yet bequeath to races unbegot, The precepts of a faith which faileth not ; Pointing, from troublous toils of time and sense, From bootless struggles born of impotence, To that fair Realm of Thought, In whose bright Calm these master-workmen wrought. Where the full tides of perfect music, swell Up to the heavens that never held a cloud, And round great Altars worshipping hosts are bowed, Altars upreared to Love that cannot die, To Beauty that forever keeps its youth, To kingly Grandeur, and to virginal Truth, To all things wise and pure, Whereof our God hath said, " Endure, endure ! Te are hit parts of me, The HATH BEEN, and the evermore To BE Of my supremest Immortality ! " 30 NATURE THE CONSOLER. NATURE THE CONSOLER. AN ODE. I- GLADLY I hail these Solitudes, and breathe The inspiring breath of the fresh woodland air, Most gladly to the Past alone bequeathe Doubt, Grief, and Care ; I feel a new-born freedom of the mind, Nursed at the breast of Nature, with the dew Of glorious dawns ; I hear the mountain wind, Clear as if Elfin trumpets loudly blew, Peal through the dells, and scale the lonely height, Rousing the echoes to a quick delight, Bending the forest monarchs to its will, Till all their ponderous branches shake and thrill In the wide-wakening tumult ; far above The Heavens stretch calm and blessing; far below The mellowing fields are touched with evening s glow, And many pleasant sights and sounds I love, Would gently woo me from all thoughts of woe : Sunlighted meadows, music in the grove, NATURE THE CONSOLER. 31 From happy bird-throats, and the fairy rills That lapse in silvery murmurs through the hills ; Great circles of rich foliage, rainbow-crowned By Autumn s liberal largess, whilst around Grave sheep lie musing on the pastoral ground, Or, sending a mild bleat To other flocks afar, The fleecy comrades they are wont to meet, Homeward returning neath the vesper star ! n. ! genial peace of Nature ! divine calm That fallest on the spirit, like the rain Of Eden, bearing melody and balm To soothe the troubled heart and heal its pain, Thy influence lifts me to a realm of joy, A moonlight happiness, intense but mild, Unvisited by shadow of alloy, And flushed with tender dreams and fancies undefiled. in. The universe of God is still, not dumb, For many voices in sweet undertone To reverent listeners come, And many thoughts, with truth s own honey laden Into the watcher s wakeful brain have flown, 32 NATURE THE CONSOLER. Charming the inner ear With harmonies so low, and yet so clear, So undefined, yet pregnant with a feeling, An inspiration of sublime revealing, That they whose being the strong spell shall hold, Do look on earthly things, Through atmospheres of rich imaginings, And find in all they see, A meaning manifold ; The forces of divine vitality Break through the sensual gloom About them furled, All instinct with the radiant grace and bloom Caught from the glories of a lovelier world. IV. A lovelier world ! in the thronged space on high, Dwells there indeed a fairer Star than ours, Circled by sunsets of more gorgeous dye, And gifted with an ampler wealth of flowers ? Can heavenly bounty lavish richer stores Of color, fragrance, beauty and delight On mortal, or immortal sight, In any sphere that rolls around the sun ? See what a splendor from the dying day Through the grand forest pours ! Now, lighting up its veteran-crests with glory, NATURE THE CONSOLER. 33 Now slanting down the shadows dim and hoary, Till, in the long-drawn gloom of leafy glades, At the far close of their impervious shades, The purple splendor softly melts -away ! v. Now, overarched by dewy canopies, And awed by dimness that is hardly gloom, We stand amidst the silence with hushed lips, Watching the dubious glimmer of the skies Paled by the foliage to a half-eclipse, And struggling for full room, With intermittent gleams, that quickly die In throbs and tremors, waning suddenly To the mere ghosts of flame, to Apparitions Impalpable as star-beams in deep seas, Lost in the dark below the surface-ruffling breeze. VI. Latest of all these marvellous transitions, And crowning all with unsurpassed grace, The eyes of the night s Empress, witching-sweet, Scatter the shadows in each secret place, So that where er her beamy glances fleet, Shot through and through, as if with arrowy might, The dusky Gloaming falls before her shafts of light. 34 NATURE THE CONSOLER. VII. Soothed by this milder glory, let us pass To the weird land of peace-embosomed dreams, The lapsing of the far-off forest streams Rustling the reedy grass, Will make rare music for us, till we reach The mystic beach, The margin of the starry sea of sleep ; Thence, launching on the waters, let us sail Beneath a Heaven of ever-living blue, Thronged with fair loving faces, fair though pale, The faces of the faithful souls we knew In our glad youth, before the death-clouds low ered ; O ! let us hold them in communion deep, And learn, although our lower world is fair, A lovelier sphere, Circled by sunlights of more gorgeous dye. And gifted with an ampler wealth of flowers, Dwells in the unimagined heights of Air, Unmeasured by dull Time, the weary-houred, And further learn, that world shall yet be ours, Wherein, released from every human care, The Mortal puts on Immortality ! SONNETS. 35 SONNETS. POETS OF THE OLDEN TIME. THE brave old Poets sing of nobler themes Than the weak griefs which haunt men s coward souls ; The torrent of their lusty music rolls Not through dark valleys of distempered dreams, But murmurous pastures lit by sunny streams ; Or, rushing from some mountain height of Thought, Swells to strange meaning that our minds have sought Vainly to gather from the doubtful gleams Of our more gross perceptions. O, their strains Nerve and ennoble manhood ! no shrill cry, Set to a treble, tells of querulous woe ; Yet numbers deep-voiced as the mighty Main s Merge in the ringdove s plaining, or the sigh Of lovers whispering where sweet streamlets flow. 36 SONNETS. SONNET. ON THE OCCURRENCE OF A SPELL OF ARCTIC WEATHER IN MAY, 1858. WE thought that Winter with his hungry pack Of hounding Winds had closed his dreary chase, For virgin Spring, with arch, triumphant face, Lightly descending, had strewed o er his track Gay flowers that hid the stormy season s wrack. Vain thought ! for, wheeling on his northward path, And girt by all his hungry Blasts, in wrath The shrill-voiced Huntsman hurries swiftly back, The frightened vernal Zephyrs shrink and die Through the chilled forest, the rare blooms expire, And Spring herself, too terror-struck to fly, Seized by the ravening Winds with fury dire, Dies mid the scarlet flowers that round her lie, Like waning flames of some rich funeral fire ! SONNETS. 37 OCTOBER. THE passionate Summer s dead ! the sky s aglow With roseate flushes of matured desire, The winds at eve are musical and low As sweeping chords of a lamenting lyre, Far up among the pillared clouds of fire, Whose pomp in grand procession upward grows With gorgeous blazonry of funeral shows To celebrate the Summer s past renown ; Ah me! How regally the Heavens look down O ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods, And harvest-fields with hoarded increase brown, And deep-toned majesty of golden floods, That lift their solemn dirges to the sky, To swell the purple pomp that floateth by. 38 SONNETS, GREAT POETS AND SMALL. SHALL I not falter on melodious wing, In that my notes are weak and may not rise To those world-wide entrancing harmonies, Which the great Poets to the ages sing? Shall my thought s humble heaven no longer ring With pleasant lays, because the Empyreal height Doth stretch beyond it, lifting to the light The Titan pinion of song s sun-crowned King ? Tis a false thought! the thrush a fitful flight Ventures in vernal dawns ; a happy note Trills from the russet linnet s gentle throat, Though far above the eagle soars in might, And the glad skylark an etherial mote Sings in high realms that mock our straining sight. SONNETS. 39 SONNET. PENT in this common Sphere of sensual shows, I pine for beauty; beauty of fresh mien, And gentle utterance, and the charm serene, Wherewith the hue of mystic dream-land glows ; I pine for lulling music, the repose Of low-voiced waters, in some realm between The perfect Aidenn, and this clouded scene Of love s sad loss, and passion s mournful throes ; A pleasant country, girt with twilight calm, In whose fair heaven a moon of shadowy round Wades through a fading fall of sunset rain ; Where drooping lotos-flowers, distilling balm, Gleam by the drowsy streamlets Sleep hath crown d, And Care forgets to sigh, and Patience conquers Pain. 40 SONNETS. ANCIENT FABLES. YE pleasant myths of Eld, why have ye fled ? The earth has fallen from her blissful prime Of summer years, the dews of that sweet time Are withered on its garlands sere and dead. No longer in the blue fields overhead We list the rustling of immortal wings, Or hail at eve the kindly visitings Of gentle Genii to fair fortunes wed : The seas have lost their Nereids, the sad streams Their gold-haired habitants, the mountains lone Those happy Oreads, and the blithsome tone Of Pan s soft pipe melts only in our dreams ; Fitfully fall the old Faith s broken gleams On our dull hearts, cold as sepulchral stone. SONNETS. 41 SONNET. COMPOSED IN AUTUMN. WITH these dead leaves stripped from a withered tree, And slowly fluttering round us, gentle Friend, Some faithless soul a sad presage might blend ; To me they bring a happier augury ; Lives that shall bloom in genial sunshine free, Nursed by the spell Love s dews and breezes send, And when a kindly Fate shall speak the end, Down dropping in Time s autumn silently ; All hopes fulfilled, all passions duly blessed, Life s cup of gladness drained except the lees, No more to fear or long for, but the rest Which crowns existence with its dreamless ease : Thus when our days are ripe, oh ! let us fall Into that perfect Peace which waits for all ! 42 SONNETS. SONNET. THE rainbows of the Heaven are not more rare, More various and more beautiful to view, Than these, rich forest rainbows, dipped in dew Of morn and evening, glimmering on the air From wooded dell and mountain-summit fair ; O ! Autumn ! wonderous Painter ! every hue Of thy immortal pencil is steeped through With essence of divinity ; how bare Beside thy coloring the poor shows of Art, Though Art were thrice inspired ; in dreams alone (The loftiest dreams wherein the soul takes part) Of jasper pavements, and the sapphire Throne Of Heaven, hath such unearthly brightness shone To flush, and thrill the visionary heart ! SONNETS. 43 SONNET. HERE, friend ! upon this lofty ledge sit down ! And view the beauteous prospect spread below, Around, above us ; in the noon-day glow How calm the landscape rests! yon distant town, Enwreathed with clouds of foliage like a crown Of rustic honor ; the soft, silvery flow Of the clear stream beyond it, and the show Of endless wooded heights, circling the brown Autumnal fields, alive with billowy grain ; Say ! hast thou ever gazed on aught more fair In Europe, or the Orient ? what domain (From India to the sunny slopes of Spain) Hath beauty, wed to grandeur in the air, Blessed with an ampler charm, a more benignant reign ? 44 SONNETS. SONNET. O GOD ! what glorious seasons bless thy world ! See ! the tranced winds are nestling on the deep ; The guardian Heavens unclouded vigil keep O er the mute Earth ; the beach birds wings are furled, Ghost-like and gray, where the dim billows, curled Lazily up the sea-strand, sink in sleep, Save when a random fish with lightning leap Flashes above them ; the far sky s impearled Inland, with lines of silvery smoke that gleam Upward from quiet homesteads, thin, and slow ; The sunset girds me like a gorgeous dream, Pregnant with splendors, by whose mystical spell Senses and soul are flushed to one deep glow, A purple-vestured Mood, more grand than words may tell. SONNETS. 45 SONNET. WRITTEN ON ONE OF THE BLUE RIDGE RANGE OF MOUNTAINS. HERE let me pause by the lone eagle s nest, And breathe the golden sunlight and sweet air, Which gird and gladden all this region fair, With a perpetual benison of rest ; Like a grand Purpose that some god hath blest, The immemorial mountain seems to rise, Yearning to overtop diviner skies, Though monarch of the pomps of East and West; And pondering here, the Genius of the height, Quickens my soul as if an angel spake, And I can feel old chains of custom break, And old Ambitions start to win the light ; A calm resolve born with them, in whose might I thank thee, Heaven ! that noble thoughts awake. 46 SONNETS. SONNET. AN idle Poet dreaming in the sun, One given to much unhallowed vagrancy Of thought and step ; who, when he comes to die, In the broad world can point to nothing done ; No chartered corporations, no streets paved With very princely stone-work, no vast file Of warehouses, no slowly-hoarded pile Of priceless treasure, no proud sceptre waved O er potent realms of stock, no magic art Lavished on curious gins, or works of steam ; Only a few wild songs that melt the heart ; Only the glow of some unearthly dream, Embodied and immortal ! What are these, Sneers the sage world, chaff ! smoke ! vain phantasies ! SONNETS. 47 SONNET. n. YET Stock depreciates, even Banks decay, Merchant and architect are lowly laid In purple palls, and the shrewd lords of trade Lament, for they were wiser in their day Than the clear sons of light; but prithee, how Doth stand the matter, when the years have fled; What means yon concourse thronging where the dead Old Singer sleeps ; say ! do they seek him now ? Now that his dust is scattered on the breath Of every wind that blows ; what meaneth this ? It means, thou sapient citizen, that death Heralds the Bard s true life, as with a kiss, Wakens two immortalities; then bow To the world s scorn, O Poet, with calm brow. 48 SONNETS. SONNET. ARE these the mountains, this the forest gay, Through whose grand gorges, and empurpled aisles I walked when Nature wore the light of smiles, And tuneful k Fancies charmed the genial way ? O er the broad landscape shines as fair a day, Still sport the breezes, and the wild brooks weave The same low, drowsy, music ; wherefore grieve, I ask my heart, and whence this sad decay O f answering gratulation ? Oh ! my soul, In thee, in thee, the mournful darkness lies, Which clogs the buoyant pulse, and dims the eyes That feasted once upon the humblest flowers ; And so, in vain the kingly mountain towers, The joyous forest waves, the sparkling waters roll. SONNETS. 49 SONNET. Now, while the Rear-Guard of the flying Year, Rugged December, on the season s verge Marshals his pale Days to the mournful dirge Of muffled winds in far-off forests drear, Good friend ! turn with me to our in-door cheer ; Draw nigh, the huge flames roar upon the hearth, And this sly sparkler is of subtlest birth, And a rich vintage, poet souls hold dear ; Mark how the sweet rogue woos us ! Sit thee down, And we will quaff, and quaff, and drink our fill, Topping the spirits with a Bacchanal crown, Till the funereal blast shall wail on more, But silver-throated clarions seem to thrill, And shouts of triumph peal along the shore. 50 SONNETS. SONNET. TO W. H. H. I PRAY the Angel in whose hands the sum Of mortal fates in mystic darkness lies, That to the soul which fills these deepening eyes, Sun-crowned and clear, the SPIRIT OF SONG may come; That strong-winged Fancies, with melodious hum Of plumed vans, may touch to sweet surprise His poet nature, born to glow and rise, And thrill to worship though the world be dumb ; That Love, and Will, and Genius, all may blend To make His soul a guiding star of Time, True to the purest thought, the noblest end, , Full of all richness, gentle, wise, complete, In whose still heights, and most ethereal clime, Beauty, and Faith, and plastic Passion meet. SONNETS. 51 SONNET. SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF MORNING. THE darkness pales in Heaven ; the eyes of Morn Unclose* from out the Orient ; purple bars Of tender sunlight dim the o erwearied stars, And the wan moon withdraws her watery horn, Lost in the Dayspring s rising ; Life is born From the .glad heart of Nature, roused anew To pulse in freedom through the deepening blue Of tranquil skies, to bend the golden corn In broad savannahs, and to stir the sea With odorous breezes rippling into calm, Where by the still lagoons, the pensive palm Doth take the winds faint kisses languidly ; While the earth s various voices blend in one Harmonious Jubilate to the Sun. 52 POLITICAL SONNETS. POLITICAL SONNETS. SONNET. i. HATH the proud Spirit which o erruled this land When Freedom was baptized in holy blood, Succumbed forever to the turbid flood Of wretched anarchies ! oh ! calm and grand, Did her broad wings above our homes expand In the old heroic days; but we have turned From the high shrine whereon her glories burned, And her sweet tongue none seem to understand. What ! battling by our hearthstones, while the Foe Storms at the gates of our most sacred Right, When every limb should girded be for fight, And every heart with one impulsion glow! Let Traitors in base broils expend their might, A Titan threats us shall we bide the blow ? POLITICAL SONNETS. 53 II. STRIKE ! tis a righteous quarrel ! strike as they, Our grand, brave, free Ancestors struck of yore, Full at the Tyrant s bosom they forebore, But not so long as we have much delay Endangers liberty, and Freedom s day Wanes when the unquelled Despot stalks abroad. Why pause ye ? right is right, and God is God Forever while the mountain breezes play Unfettered round your summits, while the sea Breaks on your shores in thunder, and the glooms Of mighty woods enshroud your Patriots tombs, Ringing to stormy anthems, can it be That ye will court the Oppressor s insolent sway, And basely fawn, and falter, and obey? 54 POLITICAL SONNETS. SONNET. THE conflict swells apace! the rallying cries Of frenzied Faction, and discordant Hate Send forth their ominous voices, thundering fate And ruin, while all loftier virtue dies ! Above us gleam two giant Destinies Solemn and still, the one with mien elate, The other that dread Doom whose shadows wait Where Freedom s sun pales down its wintry skies ; Behind us looms the Past, innumerous grand Imperial Phantoms resurrectionized, And beckoning with dumb pathos by their tombs, Beyond us, the veiled Future, with command To bless or curse, as we shall stand full-sized In Freedom s light, or dwarfed in Slavery s glooms. POLITICAL SONNETS. 55 II. OUR ancient Honor, our ancestral Pride, Duty, and manhood, every regal Thought Wherewith a noble end is nobly wrought, Purpose made strong and Valor sanctified, All urge divorce from that weak sloth allied To treacherous peace by glozing compacts bought; Success, and empire shall not come unsought, And plumed Victory walks by Labor s side ; Yet Sleep hath bound us, and the shadow of dreams Rests cold upon our spirits; one by one The bulwarks of supremest Rights are riven, And the crash wakes us not, the lightning-gleams Unheeded o er the tempest s bosom run, And we are blind and deaf to earth, and heaven. 56 POLITICAL SONNETS. III. AY ! deaf, blind ! lulled with opiates of self-praise, And sluggish in the calm of base content ; Our Wisdom clogged, our Will in banishment, Idly we pass the weak, voluptuous days ; Or, if a moment starting from the maze Of pleasant dreamings, we have feebly bent To mark the insurgent Madness which hath rent The altars of our safety, brief the gaze ! Straight the lethargic Ease resumes its power, And with a listless, and all-vacant air, We mutter foolish fancies, and are still ; Meantime, the Foe is up, the trumpets blare, The mailed Oppression works his iron will, Whilst dark Destruction bides the final Hour. POLITICAL SONNETS. 57 / SONNET. [On the refusal of the Legislature of a Southern State to appro priate any amount for the erection of a Monument to the memory of a distinguished Statesman.] YE cannot add by any pile YE raise One jot, or tittle to the Statesman s fame : That the world knows ; to the far future days Belongs his glory, and its radiant flame Will burn when YE are dead, decayed, forgot; Therefore your opposition matters not ; The thin-masked jealousies of present time Unburied in his grave, survive to keep Rampant the hate HE deemed his highest praise, And the rude clash of discord o er his sleep ; But for his great, wise acts, his faith sublime, ALL that the soul of genius sanctifies, These mount where viler Passions cannot climb, These live where palsied Malice faints and dies. 58 POLITICAL SONNETS. II. STILL must the common Voice denounce the deed, The common Heart swell with an outraged pride, That the poor purchase of the paltry meed His country owed him, should be thus denied; Shame on the Senate ! shame on every hand Which did not falter when recording there, The basest act achieved for many a year, To fire the scorn of the whole Southern land ; Nor the South only, for our foes will cry, Out on your petty pasteboard chivalry ! The People who refuse to crown the Great And Good with honor, do themselves eclipse, And doubly shameless is the recreant State, Whose condemnation comes from her own lips. SONNETS. 59 SONNET. SUGGESTED BY THE DESCRIPTION OF FAIRFAX ROCHES TER, IN CHAP. XXXVII. OF " JANE EYRE." HE stands beneath the bleak, bare Heavens alone, The baffled passions smouldering in his face, Hopeless of mercy and apart from grace, And rigid as some monument of stone; All but his innate manhood overthrown, That iron Hardihood which turns on Fate, Uplifts the Despot s gauntlet fronts his hate, With fiery eyes unquailing as his own ; Within, the maddening sorrows chafe and swell, The pent volcano stirs its depths of fire, But the firm lips are voiceless, and the knell Of love, and hope, and the consuming ire Of thwarted longing, find nor word nor groan. O Man ! that stand st beneath the Heavens alone ! 60 SONNETS. MY STUDY. THIS is my world ! within these narrow walls, I own a princely service ; the hot care And tumult of our frenzied life are here, But as a ghost, and echo ; what befalls In the far mart to me is less than nought; I walk the fields of quiet Arcadies, And wander by the brink of hoary seas, Calmed to the tendance of untroubled Thought : Or if a livelier humor should enhance The slow-timed pulse, tis not for present strife, The sordid zeal with which our Age is rife, Its Mammon conflicts crowned by Fraud or Chance, - But gleamings of the lost, heroic life, Flushed through the gorgeous vistas of Romance. SONNETS. 61 SONNET. i. BELOVED ! in this holy hush of night, I know that thou art looking to the South, Fair face, and fair white forehead bathed in the light Of tender Heavens, and o er thy delicate mouth A dewy gladness from thy dark eyes shed ; O ! eloquent eyes, that on the evening spread The glory of a radiant world of dreams, (The inner moonlight of the heart that dims This moonlight of the sense), and o er thy head Thrown back as listening to a voice of hymns Perchance in thine own spirit, violet-gleams From modest flowers that deck the window bars, While the winds sigh, and sing the far-off streams, And a faint bliss seems dropping from the stars. 62 SONNETS. II. O ! POUR thine inmost soul upon the Air, And trust to Heaven the secrets that recline In the sweet nunnery of thy virgin breast ; Speak to the winds that wander everywhere, And sure must wander hither the divine Contentment, and the infinite, deep rest That calm thy passionate being, and lift high To the still realm of Love s eternity The passive ocean of thy charmed thought ; And tell the Ariel element to bear The burden of thy whispered heart to me, By Fairy alchemy of distance wrought To something sacred as a saintly prayer, A spell to set my nobler nature free. SONNETS. 63 SHELLEY. BECAUSE they thought his doctrines were not just Mankind assumed for him the chastening rod, And Tyrants reared in pride, and strong in lust, "Wounded the noblest of the sons of God ; The heart s most cherished benefactions riven, They strove to humble, blacken, and malign A soul whose charities were wide as Heaven, Whose deeds, if not his doctrines.! were divine ; And in the name of HIM whose sunshine warms The evil as the righteous, deemed it good To wreak their bigotry s relentless storms On one whose nature was not understood ; Ah well ! God s ways are wonderous it may be His seal hath not been set to man s decree. 64 SONNETS. SONNET. WRITTEN AFTER READING TRELAWNEY S DESCRIPTION OF THE BURNING OF SHELLEY S BODY. WHY did they take thee from thine Ocean-grave, O ! man of many sorrows ? the blue sea Had been thy brother, and each wandering wave That kissed the shores of thy loved Italy A solace, and a blessing : the low moan Of the lamenting waters seemed to start Within thy soul an echo, and the tone Of a more mournful music in thy heart. ! therefore did st thou seek them, and pour forth To their deep sympathy a sorrowing strain Of all the woes and wretchedness of earth, That strove to bend thy patient mind in vain : The Ocean heard thee, loved thee and the breast Of Nature s mighty minstrel gave thee rest. SONNETS. 65 LIFE. i. SUFFERING ! and yet magnificent in pain ! Mysterious ! yet like spring-showers in the sun Veiling the light with their melodious rain, LIFE from the worlds beyond hath radiance won ; Its gloomiest phase is as the clouds that mourn Neath the majestic brightness of the Arch, "Where nobler orbs in deathless daylight burn, And God s great pulses beat their music-march : The Heaven we worship dimly, girt with tears, The spirit Heaven ! what is it but a Life, Liftrj its soul beyond our mortal years That oft begin, and ever end in strife ; Strife we must pass to win a happier Height; Nature but travails to reveal us light. 66 SONNETS. DEATH. ii. THEN whence, O Death, thy dreariness ? We know That every flower the breeze s flattering breath Woos to a blush, and love-like murmuring low, Dies but to multiply its bloom in death ; The rill s glad prattling infancy, that fills The woodlands with its song of innocent glee, Is passing through the heart of shadowy hills To swell the eternal Manhood of the Sea; And the great Stars, Creation s minstrel-fires, Are rolling toward the central source of Light, Where all their separate glory but expires, To merge into ONE WORLD S unbroken might ; There is no death but change, soul claspeth soul, And all are portion of the Immortal whole. SONNETS. 67 SONNET. THOU who art moving ever in the round Of Custom, dragging an eternal chain, Whose weight for thy dull spirit hath no pain, Deeming that thou life s secret bliss hast found ; Whose senseless ear is ravished by no sound Of inner harmonies, whose eyes are blind To the rich splendors of creative mind, That make our common earth imperial ground, Tis well for thee in the supreme content Of grovelling worldliness, to sit, and sigh That Heaven hath fashioned Poesy, and blent With our base instincts aught of pure, and high ; THOU would st pluck down the stars, and curb the bound Of Ocean, did thy AVARICE gain thereby L 68 SONNETS. SONNET. ALONG the path thy bleeding feet have trod, O Christian Mother ! do the martyr-years, Crowned with suffering, through the mist of tears Uplift their brows thorn-circled unto God ; Most bitterly our Father s chastening rod Hath ruled within thy term of mortal days, Yet in thy soul spring up the tones of praise, Freely as flowers from out a burial-sod : Nor hath a tireless Faith essayed in vain To win from sorrow that diviner rest, Which, like a sunset, purpling through the rain Of dying storms, maketh the darkness blest; Grief is transfigured, and dethroned Fears Pale in the glory beckoning from the West. SONNETS. 69 SONNET. TO W. H. H. How like a mighty picture, tint by tint, This marvellous world is opening to thy view ! Wonders of earth and heaven ; shapes bright and new, Strength, radiance, beauty, and all things that hint Most of the primal glory, and the print Of Angel footsteps ; from the globe of dew Tiny, but luminous, up to the circling Blue Unbounded thou drink st knowledge without stint ; Like a pure blossom nursed by genial Winds, Thy innocent life, expanding day by day, Upsprings, spontaneous, to the perfect flower ; Lost Eden-splendors round thy pathway play, And o er it rise and burn the starry Signs Which herald hope, and joy, to souls of power. 70 SONNETS. SONNET. O LADY ! radiant lady ! thy sweet eyes, And happy smiles, and fulness of all light Of genial beauty, overthrong my sight With memories of another, who now lies Crowned with the churchyard marble : thou hast all Her winning graces, and her blighted years Re-bloom in thee, the dark thought disappears That wooed the silence, and o erwept the pall. My soul flows to thee, and though not again May passionate thoughts possess me, I will pray, (As a fond brother might,) that on thy way The adoration of strong love may rain Its benedictions, and around thee fall Blisses that deepen with the deepening day. SONNETS. 71 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. WRONG conquers Right, and the black shadow of ill Covers the earth with drought and drear eclipse, And stammering prayers are uttered by pale lips, And Tyrants triumph, and Fiends drink their fill Of mortal wretchedness, and quick blights kill Virtue i th bud of promise ; wherefore this ? Moans the blind soul, stumbling away from bliss Through the wide mysteries of the eternal Will ; Why fainteth Love in the rude grasp of Hate ? Why creeps the Genius which hath wings to soar? And human Misery, fronting human Fate, Scorn and deny Thee, Father, evermore ? Till even the faithful falter from the dust. O awful God ! we hope that thou art just. 72 SONNETS. THE REVELATION OF DEATH. ii. " LIGHT ! give me light ! " * the expiring Poet cried, Closing his languid eyelids on the day, And with that solemn cry he passed away; And haply Doubt was solved, and Error died, And glimmering Trust was grandly glorified, Even in the moment of his mightiest need ; And that same light God planteth as a seed, Outburst from darkness to a broad noontide ; So that he saw as, Brothers ! we shall see (Freed by the angel Death) the chain sublime Which binds dim Earth to clear Eternity, Gleam from the duskiest depths of doubtful Time ; And learnt, as we shall learn, the wondrous plan " Which justifies the ways of God to man." i " The last audible words of Goethe were, MORE LIGHT ! The final darkness grew apace, and he, whose eternal longings had been for more Light, gave a parting cry for it as he was passing under the shadow of Death." Lewes s Life and Works of Goethe, vol. ii. p. 456. SONNETS. 73 PRE-EXISTENCE. IF Immortality be not a dream, Wherefore should we have never known of yore Another life than ours, a mystic shore, Whose memory haunts us as a shadowy beam Of pallid starlight haunts a clouded stream? What lives for aye hereafter, must before Have felt the pulse of being; our weak lore Declares it not; is t therefore the false gleam Of fantasy, which holds we rise to Heaven By infinite gradations, through all rounds Of multiform experience by the levin Of fiery trial hallowed in the bounds Of many worlds, till the immaculate soul Stands on the heights of Godhead pure and whole ? 74 SONNETS. SONNET. Too oft the Poet in elaborate verse, Flushed with quaint images and gorgeous tropes, Casteth a doubtful light, which is not Hope s, On the dark spot where Death hath sealed his curse In monumental silence. Nature starts Indignant from the sacrilege of words That ring so hollow, and forlornly girds Her great woe round her ; there s no trick of Art s, But shows most ghastly by a new-made tomb. / see no balm in Gilead ; he is lost, The beautiful soul that loved thee, thy life s bloom, Is withered by the sudden blighting frost ; O Grief ! how mighty, Creeds ! how vain ye are : Earth presses closely, Heaven is cold and far. SONNETS. 75 ELEGIAC. i. "WHOM the Gods love, die early," it may be,- But standing, noble Friend, beside thy grave, Whereon already the lush grasses wave, Nursed by the pitying Skies serenity, [While the pent grief expands, the tears gush free,] I do arraign the fiery Fate whose blow, In thy bright morn of years, hath laid thee low, Whose noon had held all gifts of fame in fee; Thou wert a Prince in manhood ; every grace Of generous nurture and of genial blood Beamed in thy presence ; and thy lordly face, The dial of a clear and lofty mood; Yet now thou art a Phantom, all is fled, The grace, the glory, God ! canst thou be dead ? 76 SONNETS. II. FOR aye Thou art before me ! day and night, A ghastly visage, wan and crowned with gore. Doth haunt my steps and front me evermore, Darkling between my spirit and the light ; I cannot purge my memory, cleanse my sight ; Blood hovers in the sunbeams ; the sweet air Of the calm evening is no longer fair, And universal Nature owns the blight : Alas ! what boots it ? individual grief, On the wide ocean of man s common woe, Shrinks to a current, oh, how vain and brief! Dwarfed in the height of that eternal flow, Yet strong to dim Love s joy-illumined eyes, And shut from Hope the peace of earth and skies. SONNETS. 77 IMMATURITY. THE fields are ripening to the harvest bloom, The full grain reddens in the fiery morn, When, lo ! a mighty whirlwind, sudden-born, Blights the fair produce with untimely doom ; Oft do the coral islands faintly loom Above the South-sea waters, to sink back, Crumbling to ruin in the earthquake s track, And what had risen an Eden, rests a tomb. Thus, glorious natures, toiling through the years, Just ready to yield up the glowing flowers Of faith and genius, fall amid their peers, And bear to Darkness those supernal powers, Wrought slowly upward with elaborate care, Swelling from depths obscure, to fill the loftiest Sphere. T8 SONNETS. SONNET. HE stands as one to whom all life is vain, And death is terrorless, the misty dread, Wherewith the Future veils her awful head, Hath touched him like the shadow of past pain ; He has no heart to woo Faith s lofty lore, The aspiring Instincts of his youth have fled, And even the shining tracks on which they sped Shall never catch their waning glory more. O Life ! O Sorrow ! fare ye well together ! At last Nepenthe comes with healing wings, And a faint music girds the final sleep ; Alas ! he cannot sigh, he cannot weep ; And even the hope this blest deliverance brings. Falls like a doubtful gleam of Autumn weather. SONNETS. 79 SONNET. BETWEEN the sunken Sun and the new, Moon, I stood in fields through which a clear brook ran With scarce perceptible motion, not a span Of its smooth surface trembling to the tune Of sunset breezes : " O delicious boon," I cried, " of quiet ! wise is Nature s plan, Who, in her realm, as in the soul of man, Alternates storm with calm, and the loud Noon With dewy Evening s soft and sacred lull : Happy the Heart that keeps its twilight hour, And, in the depths of heavenly peace reclined, Loves to commune with thoughts of tender power, Thoughts that ascend, like Angels beautiful, A shining Jacob s ladder of the mind." 80 SONNETS. SONNET. A CHARACTER. A VAIN old man, grasping at worldly hoards, On the dim verge of threescore years and ten, Still mingling in the turbid strife of men, Still struggling for its false and mean rewards, Mammon and Custom, his soul s sovereign Lords, He worships on the grave of health and youth, His dull ears closed against the voice of truth, And warning Wisdom s mild and sweet accords ; Gracious in bearing, generous in great words, By dwarfish deeds most impotently crowned, High in the Paradise of Fools he reigns Mid insufficient joys and sordid pains ; But self-assured within that narrow round, The exalted spirit s nobler faith disdains ! SONNETS. 81 SONNET. THE GARDEN IN THE CITY. HERE in the City s hot and lurid heart, Embowered with richest green, the Garden lies Open to each soft influence of the skies, A natural brilliant on the breast of Art, A shrine for quiet fancies mid the Mart, Whose multiplied harsh tumult faints and dies Adown its still arcades ; here Thought may rise Above base Mammon worship, and take part In the soul s inmost drama of delight, Its play of constant hopes, its prophet-powers, Half shrouded, yet indued with prescient might, And bathed with sunshine from far future hours, Calm Meditation merging faith in sight, And drooping Will made strong in Nature s secret bowers ! 82 SONNETS. SONNET. O ! WEARY bondage of the clouding clay, O ! prison of base darkness, in whose gloom Life shows a ghastly spectre, stript of bloom, And beauty faintly struggles with decay, Come Death ! with thy kind lightnings, rend away The crowded shadows, break the charnel doom, Haunting our years, as vapors haunt a tomb, Shut from the morning s songs and bliss of day ; Thou Blaster of all hope in hearts of joy, To ours thou shalt be welcome as a Bride Of passionate eyes and love-enamoured breath ; The shock of thy sharp summons shall destroy The hideous thrall upon us, and a tide Of happier Life gush from the stroke of Death. SONNETS. 83 SONNET. TO A CELEBRATED ACTRESS. ALL moods and feelings, Sorrow, Love, Delight, Tempestuous Pride, and low-voiced Tenderness, The mournful pleadings of a mute Distress, And regal Passion s fiery-vested might, Thou hast embodied to our souls and sight, Unsealing the deep fountains of our tears, Or lifting up our spirits from their spheres In the low ACTUAL to the glorious height Of some sublime IDEAL ; Art in thee, The genial handmaid of a natural grace, Moves to a queenly measure, bold and free, Yet, moulded ever in each perfect part By that serene and sweet humanity Which crowns the genius with the loyal Heart ! 84 SONNETS. SONNET. WRITTEN ON 1 FLY-LEAF OF THE LETTERS AND JOUR NALS OF SIR HUDSON LOWE, EDITED BY WILLIAM FORSYTH, M. A. How vain with pleas like this to quench the hate, The righteous hate, which, following hot and fast, Like an o ermastering torrent, whelmed at last The false Malignant ! he who stooped to sate His bloodless passions on the fallen Great, To wound and sting by every pitiful art That brave, heroic, sorely-smitten heart, Pierced to the core with deadly shafts of Fate : Base spirit! one unanimous voice of scorn Uprose and rang forever in thine ears, A haunting voice, reechoed down the years ; ! thou didst live detested, die forlorn, So racked by Memories fierce, by coward Fears, Twere best, methinks, that thou hadst ne er been born! SONNETS. 85 SONNET. AFTER THE STORM. A LONG, wild swell ! a waste of turbulent sea, Thrilled with the storm s last thunders ; overhead, A spectral sky down-glimmering, white and dead, On the gray billows staring sullenly Up to the colorless heavens ; the winds so free But yester-eve, so furious, harsh, and dread, Have hushed their warring turmoils, and are fled To ocean-gulfs ; the zephyr s gentle glee Waits for the lingering sunrise ; while we look, The clouds, like leaves of some dark-volumed book, Holding a glorious mystery, roll apart, A sudden splendor smites the leaden skies, The waste is all ablaze, the waters start To rapture neath the morning s passionate eyes ! 86 SONNETS. SONNET. WELL spake the Poet, that howe er the cry Of frenzied sorrow might call loud on death, 1 No soul hath prayed that with our transient breath, The last sad burden of a mortal sigh, Life thought desire should perish utterly ; O ! rather would the spirit bear the yoke Of torture, if beyond its prison-bars A glimmer of the feeblest promise broke, Athwart new heavens, sown thick with happy stars; O ! rather would we hold that doctrine just, Whereby mankind save some through Christ set free Shall writhe for aye divorced from joy and trust, Than yield up thus our Immortality, Quenching THAT HOPE in darkness and the dust. 1 " Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life iliai breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death." Tennyson s " Two Voices." SONNETS. 87 SONNET. DEDICATED TO M. H. H. HER face is very noble, and her mien Gracious, and sweet as sunshine ; in her eyes Dwell the deep lights of tender sympathies Which, from abysses of her soul serene, Come out like stars from depths of quiet skies Made lustrous by the night of others pain ; Her deeds of patient goodness fall like rain Upon our arid spirits, whence arise Warm benedictions gladdening all her way With heavenly music ; as her stormy day, So is her strength ; amid earth s bitter woes The river of her mercy gently flows ; Sick hearts revive, and fading hopes grow green. And frenzied Passions sink to soft repose. 88 SONNETS. SONNET. THE ACTOR TO THE THINKER. PALE Thinker ! wed to Monkish solitude ! Weaving the subtle substance of thy mind In flimsy webs of speculation blind, Fearful lest some bold worldling should intrude; How false the pride of that self-conscious mood, Wherein thou claim st the power to loose, or bind The car of progress; thou that liest reclined At lazy length in depths of vernal wood : Give ME the pulse of action, the fierce hope Of triumph midst the crowding ranks of men In mart, or field, or temple ; let me cope, Not with vain dreams in some deep-shadowed glen, But those stern facts which conquered, straight way ope The Gates of Fortune to our eager ken ! SONNETS. 89 SONNET. ALL day the distant mountain tops have worn A glory caught from the frank August sun, Steadfast, serene, unwaning, all save one Tall peak o er which a storm-cloud seems to mourn, Or, oftener still, to threaten, as its torn And fiery heart, rent by the lightning bolt, Gleams with a terrible glare o er heath and holt, The desolate mountain caves, and dells forlorn: Why wreaks the storm its fury on that height, Lonely and rugged, of sweet verdure bared ? Because yon haughty peak alone has dared To tower above its peers, to grasp the sky ; Storms, and not sunshine, gird the soul of might, And barren is all bold supremacy ! 90 SONNETS. SONNET. THE West is one great sea of cloudy fire, Above the horizon flaming in a flood Of such thick glory, that the Autumn wood Towers in the splendor like a burning pyre Built in the heat of sacrificial ire, In honor of some fierce Divinity; Some barbarous God of dreadful brow, and eye Red with the fumes of slaughter, and the dire Designs he fosters in his evil might; It burns, and burns from shadowy mountain base Slow-smouldering upwards to the loftiest height, "Whereon the feigned flames with sunset die, But not in darkness, for the radiant grace Of Eve, and Eve s calm Planet, shame the Night. THE PRESENTIMENT. 91 THE PRESENTIMENT. OVER her face, so tender and meek, The light of a prophecy lies, That hath silvered the red of the rose on her cheek, And chastened the thought in her eyes. Beautiful eyes, with an inward glance To the spirit s mystical deep ; Lost in the languid gleam of a trance, More solemn and saintly than sleep. It hints of a world which is alien and dim, Of a nature that hovers between The discord of earth and the seraphim s hymn, On the verge of the spectral Unseen ; And forever and ever she seems to hear The voice of a charmer implore, " Come ! enter the life that is noble and clear ; Come ! grow to my heart once more." 92 THE PRESENTIMENT. And forever and ever she mutely turns From a mortal lover s sighs ; And fainter the red of the rose-flush burns, And deeper the thought in her eyes. The seeds are warm of the churchyard flowers, That will blossom above her rest, And a bird that shall sing by the old church towers, Is already fledged in its nest. And so when a blander summer shall smile, On some night of soft July, We will lend to the dust her beauty awhile, Neath the hush of a moonless sky. And later still shall the churchyard flowers Gleam nigh with a white increase ; And a bird outpour, by the old church towers, A plaintive poem of peace. QUEEN GALENA. 93 QUEEN GALENA; OR, THE SULTANA BETRAYED. HOLD ! let the heartless Perjurer go ! Speak not ! strike not ! he is my foe, From me, me only, comes the blow, I will repay him woe for woe ; Look in my eyes ! my eyes are dry, I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh, But will avenge me ere I die. Think you that I shall basely rest, And know the bosom mine hath pressed Is couched upon a colder breast ? Think you that I shall yield the West, The Orient soul my nature nurst, Till the black seed of treachery burst, And blossomed to this deed accurst ? My rival ! O ! her eyes are meek, Her faltering presence wan and weak As the faint flush that tints her cheek ; Tis not on her that I would wreak 94 QUEEN GALENA. My vengeance, sooner would I wring Life from an insect-birth of spring Than palter with so poor a thing. But He, I tell you if he flew, As it was once his wont to do, Repentant pleading quick to woo, With all his wild heart flaming through The glance of passion, it were s weet, Yea, noble, righteous, just, and meet, To slay him kneeling at my feet ! He shall not wed her ; by Heaven s light He shall not : o er my lurid sight Throbs a thick fire ; the ancient might Of a stern race is stirred to-night ; My sovereign claim annul disown ! I will repay him groan for groan, Or stab him at the altar-stone ! "THE WINTER WINDS MAY WILDLY RAVE." 95 THE WINTER WINDS MAY WILDLY RAVE. THE winter Winds may wildly rave, Lost Edith, o er thy place of rest; But, love ! thou hast a holier grave Deep in a faithful human breast. There, the Embalm er, Memory, bends, Watching, with softly-breathed sighs, The mystic light her genius lends To fadeless cheeks, and tender eyes. There, in an awful calm serene, Thy beauty keeps its saintly trace, The radiance of an angel mien, The rapture of a heavenly grace. And there, O ! gentlest Love remain, (No stormy passion round thee raves,) Till, soul to soul, we meet again Beyond this ghostly realm of graves. 96 LINES. LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. J. A. S., THE DISTIN GUISHED PASTOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST. PETER, CHARLESTON, S. C. As those who, sailing in a Tropic Sea, Through golden calms borne on contentedly, And yielded to a listless noonday sleep, Are roused therefrom by thunder on the Deep, And wake to sudden turmoil and the dread Of lightning, which has struck a comrade dead, (Their faithful Pilot laboring at the wheel,) O ! thus we slumbered, and thus burst the peal Of death s artillery, and the bolt of woe Which smote his noble Life, and laid it mute and low. Our souls were still our lives, a summer sea When the great God, who worketh fearfully, Around whose will the shroud of mystery s thrown, Whose paths are dim, whose footsteps are not known, LINES. 97 Wrapped in the awful cloud, and darkness came, And on our shuddering hearts his judgment wrote in flame. But what, to our weak sight, is girt about With mist of grief and chilling shades of doubt, To him we mourn is very bright and clear, His is the joy, and OURS the blight and fear ; His the vast freedom, ours the prison wall ; His the white robe, and ours the bier and pall; His the calm Height which overtops the spheres, And ours the Depth of passionate despairs ; Then should we for ourselves and children keep The bitter human tears tis vain for him to weep. But tears must fall, and sorrowing words be spoken, And stricken hearts lament, or else be broken ; Tis not mid bleeding love s late-severed ties, We thrill to feel the healing Comfort rise, And catch the inner hymns of Paradise, Gently, and as the morn from banks of gloom Is slowly rounded upward into bloom, That tender Angel steals upon our being, And with it comes a harmony, agreeing With the soft sunshine of its heavenly spell, And startled Faith returns, and all is well. r 98 LINES. Then, from the cypress gloom, the darkening sod, We lift our eyes to the pure light of God, Where mid the shining ranks, absolved from sin, A perfect spirit hath just entered in, Felt the keen rapture of its last release, Received the immortal Crown, and clasped the palm of Peace. THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE. 99 THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE. HER dark eyes gleamed amid the gloom, Slow gathering from the stormy main, She stood as one who fronts her doom, And tasks the mystic Fate in vain : Sudden, a steed with drooping rein, Burst from the desert s shadowy rim, And flecked with many a crimson stain, Paused by the portal, black and grim. She knew the steed, she marked the cloud Which rolled across the distant fight, And strove to pierce the awful shroud, But a strange mist o erhung her sight, The prospect swayed in doubtful light, And, idly tottering to and fro, She shivered neath the lurid might Of prescient Thoughts foreboding woe. " 0, Love ! last eve, your head was laid Close to this warm and tender breast, And all the thrilling vows we made, And all I knew, and all I guessed, 100 THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE. Of passion breathed, or unexprest, Did point to bliss built up on bliss, An Aidenne of voluptuous rest New-opened by each burning kiss. " But Fate is stern, and men are base, Wrong creepeth in the dark to smite, A caitiff who had seen my face Once on El Kalim s castled height, Swore by the Houris brows of light To bear me through his Harem gate, And yonder strives my Roland s right With jealous fraud and desperate hate." But see ! the cloud rolls up apace ! But hark ! the shouts grow wild and clear ! A sudden whirlwind ! and the place Of strife looms outward everywhere ; And lo ! his proud plume waved in air, The victor Roland ! a dense throng With glittering casque, and gleaming spear, Shouting an ancient knightly song Of triumph, close around their Lord, And banners flaunt, and trumpets peal, And thundering on the level sward Rush the fierce chargers, clad in steel ; THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE. 101 The solid feudal bastions reel, The welkin thrills to brave alarms, Tumultuous liegemens fiery zeal, With clang of hoofs, and clash of arms. That night the bonfires hid the stars, The mighty wassail bowl foamed high, And to the deepest dungeon-bars, Rang the uproarious revelry ; And knights did woo, and ladies sigh, And minstrels sung, and jesters laughed, And gayly sped from eye to eye, Love winged his fairy-feathered shaft. But in a cloister near the sea, Shut from the jest, the dance, the tale, While the low winds breathe mournfully, And shadows throng, and billows wail, Bowed by the altar, hushed and pale, The Lord and Lady court the calm, Till the last lingering echoes fail Of solemn prayer and saintly psalm ! 102 TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. OH ! bitter is this final blow ! Yet shouldst thou strive to battle still, To calm the heart, to nerve the will, And overcome the woe ; Although thou walk st a desolate path, Where all the blooms of life seem dead, And fierce, and threatening overhead, The thunder speaks in wrath ; Yet never, while the sovereign brain Retains the rule by Nature given, Should misery shake our trust in heaven, Or Manhood crouch to Pain ! Young art thou, and this stormy day, So cold, so dim, so cheerless now, May thrill thy brightening soul and brow With sudden noontide ray; TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. 103 Or else, ere Life shall sink to Night, A golden sunset-calm may rise, To flush thy spirit s peaceful skies With blessed evening light. Whate er betide, tis noblest, best, Against all earthly ills to cope, Keep to the last our heart and hope, And leave with God the rest ! 104 THE SOUL-CONFLICT. THE SOUL-CONFLICT. i. DEFEATED ! but never disheartened ! Repulsed ! but unconquered in will, Upon dreary discomfitures building Her virtue s strong battlements still, The SOUL, through the siege of Temptations, Yields not unto Fraud, nor to Might, Unquelled by the rush of the Passions, Serene mid the tumults of fight. ii. She sees a grand prize in the distance, She hears a glad sound of acclaims, The crown wrought of blooms Amaranthine, The music far sweeter than Fame s. And so, gainst the rush of the Passions She lifts the broad buckler of Right, And so, through the glooms of Temptation, She walks in a splendor of light. LIFE S UNDER-CURRENT. 105 LIFE S UNDER-CURRENT. MANKIND esteemed him happy ! filled with good Of all things grateful unto youth s desire ; Alas ! they neither saw, nor understood His sorrow s secret fire. How could they dream that one whose genial face Seemed the sure index of a soul at rest, Watched in the darkening shadow of disgrace, Fierce torture in his breast? How could they tell that one whose smiles would wake To such quick radiance of responsive glee, Unseen tormentors to a viewless stake Had bound in agony ? O, shallow wisdom of this world, avaunt ! Thou seest the outward show, the whited tomb, But there is that within would stir and daunt, And shake thee as with doom ! 106 LIFE S UNDER-CURRENT. Mirth, silvery clear, from breaking hearts may rise, Gay laughter quiver upon Misery s lips, Tis not the whimpering soul that shrinks and sighs, That most has known eclipse ; For strong hearts, strong in joy, more strong in pain, Dare to the last the banded hosts of Fate, And covering o er their death-wounds, on the plain, Sink even in death elate. We cannot mould our lives, but can our wills Gird with keen-steeled resolve to meet our foes, And he who fights unyielding he fulfils A doom to which repose, The sordid quiet of your sensual souls Is mean and tame, as those low lands which lie Twixt mountain peaks that swell the thunder-rolls, The battling eagle s cry. SONG. 107 SONG. FLY, swiftly fly Through yon fair sky, O purple-pinioned Hours ! And bring once more the balmy night, When from her lattice, silvery bright, Love s beacon star her taper shines Between those dark manorial pines, Above the myrtle bowers. Fly, breezes, fly, And waft my sigh With love s warm fondness fraught, Twill stir my lady s languid mood, Where, in her verdurous solitude, She sits and thinks, a moonlight grace Cast o er her beauteous brow and face, Touched by a passionate thought ! Glide, rivulet, glide With whispering tide, Through coverts lone and deep, 108 SONG. To woo her with the airy call, The music faint, the far-off fall Of fairy streams in fairy climes, Or pleasant lapse of fairy rhymes, Soft as her breath in sleep. Fly, swiftly fly Through yon calm sky, O tremulous-breasted dove ! And pausing on her favorite tree, Murmur your plaint so tenderly, That, born of that deep tone, a charm Her very heart of hearts may warm With rosy bliss of love. Fly, Swiftly fly Through yon fair sky, O purple-pinioned Hours ! And bring once more the balmy night, When from her lattice, silvery bright, Love s beacon star her taper shines Between those dark manorial pines Above the myrtle bowers ! SONG. 109 SONG. I. HERE, long ago, While the fair River in its spring-time flow, Murmured with happy voice " Rejoice ! Rejoice ! " While youth s full pulses thrilled within our breasts, Far from life s hopeless calms, or fierce unrests, We told our love ; The April sunset heaven was bright above, The earth below Most beautiful but this was long ago, Long, very long ago. ii. Here, once again, While the dark River like a soul in pain Heaves, as it were from depths of human care, A sigh of lorn despair ; Youth s glorious pulses stilled within our breasts, The haunt of hopeless calms, or fierce unrests, 110 SONG. We speak but NOT of love ! The angry winter s heaven is wild above, The earth below Drear as the hopes that withered long ago, Long, very long ago. SONG 111 SONG. Ho ! fetch me the winecup ! fill up to the brim ! For my heart has grown cold, and my vision is dim, And I fain would bring back for a moment the glow, The swift passion that age has long chilled with its snow ; Ho ! fetch me the winecup ! the red liquor gleams, With a promise to waken youth s rapture of dreams, And I ll drain the bright draught for that promise divine, Though Death, Death the Spectre, should hand me the wine. Tis not life that I live, for the blood-currents glide Through my wan shrunken veins in so sluggish a tide, That my heart droops and withers ; what ! life call you this ? O ! rather, consumed by one keen thrill of bliss, 112 SONG. Would I die with youth s glory revivified round me, The deep eyes that blessed, and the white arms that bound me ; O! rather than brood in this dusk of desire, Sink down, like yon gorgeous sunset, all fire, The soul clad with wings, and the brain steeped in light; Then come, potent Wizard! I call on thy might, Breathe a magical mist o er the ravage of Time, Roll back the sad years to the flush of my prime, And I ll drain thy bright draught for that vision divine, Though Death, Death the Spectre, should hand me the wine ! SONG OF THE NAIADS. 113 SONG OF THE NAIADS. GAY is our crystal floor Beneath the wave, With strange gems flaming o er, The Genii gave ; Sweet is the purple light That haunts our happy sight, And low and sweet the lulling strains that sigh While the tides pause, and the faint zephyrs die Come ! come ! and seek us here, In these cool deeps, Where all is calmly fair, And sorrow sleeps : Thy burning brow shall rest, Couched on a tender breast, And, charmed to bliss, thy soul shall catch the gleams Of mystic glories in ambrosial dreams. Come ! for the earth is drear, The tempests rave, 114 SONG OF THE NAIADS. And the fast-falling year Is nigh its grave : Thy summer, too, is passed, Wouldst thou have peace at last ? ! here she dwells serenely in still caves, And waits to woo thee underneath the waves. PALINGENESIS. H5 PALINGENESIS. I DREAMED of late a mystic dream! Methought that Death Had struck my heart s warm pulses still, And robbed my breath : This feverish blood, and troubled soul Were calm and cold ; That which had borne thought, passion, will, "Was senseless mould ; I saw the mourners round my bed I heard their wail ; I knew what heavy tear-storms drenched My forehead pale : Yet I was dead, dead, dead, for aye! My blood was ice, And crumbled with my crumbling brain Thought s last device. 116 PALINGENESIS. They bore me to a lone churchyard The eve was mild, Save that a strange wind weirdly sung Its requiem wild. Months, years, and centuries lapsed away, In dead repose : Sudden, my lifeless ashes stirred With feeblest throes! A dim, dull sense crept struggling through My palsied frame, And nickering from the formless void, A pallid flame, Awoke, methought, one little seed, Whose latent germ Burst through the cerement s mouldering folds, And scorned the worm : It grew, it spread, it towered to heaven! A mighty oak, Proof gainst the fiercest tempest-wrath, The levin s stroke ! But when spring-breezes blew, its boughs Such music made, PALINGENESIS. 117 Men deemed that hid in murmurous green, Wood-fairies played : , They knew not that a poet-soul, For ages flown, Thrilled the warm leaves to whispering song, Or mystic moan ! 118 THE BROOK. THE BROOK. BUT yesterday this brook was bright, And tranquil as the clear moonlight, That woos the palms on Orient shores, But now, a hoarse, dark stream, it pours Impetuous o er its bed of rock, And almost with a thunder-shock Boils into eddies, fierce and fleet, That dash the white foam round our feet, A raging whirl of waters, rent As if with angry discontent ! A tempest in the night swept by, Born of a murk and fiery sky, And while the solid woodlands shook, It wreaked its fury on the brook. The evil genius of the blast Within its quiet bosom passed, And therefore is it that a tide, Which used as lovingly to glide As thoughts through spirits sanctified, Rolls now a whirl of waters, rent As if with angry discontent. THE BROOK. 119 I knew, of late, a creature, bright And gentle as the clear moonlight, The tenderest, and the kindest heart God ever sent a loving part To act on earth, across whose life A sudden passion swept, in strife, With wild, unhallowed forces rife. It stirred her nature s inmost deep, That nevermore shall rest* or sleep ; Remorse, its rugged bed of rock, O er which for aye, with thunder-shock, The tides of feeling, fierce and fleet, Are dashed to foam or icy sleet, A raging whirl of waters, rent By something worse than discontent! 120 THE POET S TRUST IN HIS SORROW. THE POET S TRUST IN HIS SORROW. i. GOD ! how sad a doom is mine, To human seeming ; Thou hast called on me to resign So much much ! all but the divine Delights of dreaming, ii. 1 set my dreams to music wild, A wealth of measures ; My lays, thank Heaven ! are undefiled, I sport with Fancy as a child With golden leisures. in. And long as Fate, not wholly stern, But this shall grant me, Still with perennial faith to turn Where Song s unsullied Altars burn, Nought, nought shall daunt me ! THE POET S TRUST IN HIS SORROW. 121 IV. What though my worldly s^tate be low Beyond redressing ; I own an inner Flaine whose glow Makes radiant all the outward snow ; My last great blessing ! 122 LINES. LINES. COMPOSED UPON A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN AUTUMN. How grandly in the mild September rays Eest the rich forests, and the cloudless sky ! Thou queenliest of the regal Autumn days, Would that thy happy Hours might never fly ! O ! that the same calm glory in the air Might bless forevermore our grateful sight ! O ! that the Earth might ever seem as fair And Nature wear for aye these robes of light! In the still Present, musing, let me rest, The Past be banished, and the Future veiled ! Dark fears ! yield up your empire in my breast, Fierce memories ! leave my spirit unassailed : This genial morn I give to gentle thought, Angels of peace and comfort hover nigh ; Sweet Hope, so long an alien, comes unsought, And Joy resumes her sway, I know not why : LINES. 123 Yet, Heaven! I thank thee for these healthful gleams Of present bliss, though brief the rapture be; They pierce the sullen darkness of my dreams, They bring me near oh ! Father ! unto thee ! 124 THE TEMPTER IN THE HOUSE. THE TEMPTER IN THE HOUSE. THE sky is dark with a cloudy pall, And the earth is dim with rain, And the ghastly pine trees toss and moan By the side of the moaning main ; And around the eaves of the desolate Hall The shrill March winds complain. But a darker pall has shrouded the light Of the Household Hopes within, For the troubled hearts that toss and moan By the terrible verge of sin Are sorely beset by the Tempter s might, And the Devil is sure to win ! THE UNPRISONED SPIRITS. 125 THE UNPRISONED SPIRITS. OUR prison walls are wrecked and gray ; Cast not a glance behind us, For forceful fraud has ceased to stay, And tyrant chains to bind us ; Press onward where his herald-gleams The Day-God sends in warning, Shake off the Lethean dew of dreams, And speed to hail the morning ; Dreary the night, and foul the wrong That curbed our bold endeavor, But though the despot held us long, He could not hold forever. Brave hearts, and high in Hell s despite Can ne er make base surrender Of THAT which clothes the will with might, The Genius with its splendor ; The Gods of earth may tempt and blind The souls that soar above them, But worthier Fates will seek, and find, And nobler Masters prove them ; 126 THE UNPRISONED SPIRITS. So, when the Tempter s hour is passed, His bonds are rent asunder, His dungeon topples in the blast, And falls before the thunder. Then rise the souls he could not tame To write in deeds their story ; To pluck the laurel-wreath from Fame, And scale the Mount of Glory ; Then, stronger for the deep disgust Of brief revolt from Duty, They fight the battle of the Just, Led on by Truth and Beauty ; Upborne from sun-crowned height to height, They chase the grand Ideal Till conquering faith is merged in sight, The IDEAL in the REAL ! THE CONDEMNED. 127 THE CONDEMNED. A FRAGMENT. THE .night is dim, the starry watch-fires fail, The boding clouds troop by in spectral guise, The embers on our cheerless hearth are pale, And sweet ! I cannot see thy loving eyes ; I only feel them burning through the gloom, I only know thy loving presence nigh By the low burden of a prescient sigh, Forerunning my sad doom. Draw near my love, and let me clasp once more, Once more, and for the last, last time on earth, Thy stainless hand ; mine own is dark with gore, And yet, thou shrink st not ; Danger, Doubt, and Dearth The tempest of thy mighty love hath swept Back from the path through which our Fates have led, And though to-morrow s eve shall find me dead, I shall not sleep unwept ! 128 ON A PORTRAIT. ON A PORTRAIT. THE face, the beautiful face, In its living flush and glow, The perfect face in its peerless grace That I worshipped long ago; That I worshipped when youth was strong and bold, That I worship now, Though the pulse of youth grows faint and low, And the ashes of hope are cold. The face, the beautiful face, Ever haunting my heart and brain, Bringing ofttimes a dream of heaven, Ofttimes the pang of a pain Which darteth down like a lightning flash To the dreadful deeps, Where the gems of a shipwrecked life are cast, And its dead cold promise sleeps. Sweet face ! shall I meet thee again, In the peaceful land of palms, By the banks of the rainbow-crowned streams, In the hush of the heavenly calms ? ON A PORTRAIT. 129 Or, forever and ever and evermore, While the years depart, / "While the ages roll, Walk the glooms of a ghostly shore, In the fear of a phantom-haunted brain, And a cloud-encircled soul With a haunted brain, and a cheerless heart, While the years and the ages roll ? No answer comes to my cry, Though out of the depths I call : Not the faintest gleam of a hopeful beam Shines over the shroud and pall. My soul is clothed with sackcloth and dust, And I look from my widowed hearth With a vacant eye on the tumult and stir Of this weary, dreary earth For my soul is dead and its hopes are dust, And the joy of passion, the strength of trust, These passed from the world with HER. 130 SUNSET AND MOONLIGHT. SUNSET AND MOONLIGHT. HERE, glancing from this breezy Height, "While the still Day goes slowly down, And sombre Evening s shadows brown Close o er the purple-flushing light, I mark the softer radiance rest Of the calm moon, till now unseen, Along the Ocean tides serene, Scarce heaving toward the faded West ; At first there dawns a ghostly ray, Faint as a new-born infant s dreams, But soon an ampler glory streams, And trembling up the lustrous Bay, Long level shafts of silvery glow Lead upward to the quiet skies, The radiant paths to Paradise Revealed when all is dark below. THE TWO SUMMERS. 131 THE TWO SUMMERS. THERE is a golden season in our year Between October s hale and lusty cheer And the hoar frost of Winter s empire drear, Which, like a fairy flood of mystic tides Whereon divine Tranquillity abides, The kingdom of the sovereign Months divides : Then wailing Autumn winds their requiems cease, Ere Winter s sturdier storms have gained release, And earth and heaven alike are bright with peace. O Soul ! thou hast thy golden season too ! A blissful interlude of birds, and dew, Of balmy gales, and skies of deepest blue ! That second Summer when thy work is dooey The harvest hoarded, and the Autumn sun Gleams on the fruitful fields thy toil hath won ; : 132 THE TWO SUMMERS. Which, also, like a fair mysterious tide Whereon calm Thoughts like ships at anchor ride, Doth the broad Empire of thy years divide. This passed, what more of life s brief path remains Winds through unlighted vales, and dismal plains, The haunt of chilling Blights, or fevered Pains. Pray then, ye happy few along whose way Life s Indian Summer pours its mellow ray, That ye may die ere dawns the Evil Day; Sink on that Season s kind and genial breast, While Peace and Sunshine rule the cloudless West, The elect of God whom Life and Death have blessed. THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. 133 THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. THE Ship went down at noonday in a calm, When not a zephyr broke the crystal sea. We two escaped alone: we reached an Isle Whereon the waters settled languidly In a long swell of music ; luminous skies O erarched the place, and lazy, broad lagoons Swept inland, with the boughs of plantain trees Trailing cool shadows through the dense repose ; All round about us floated gentle airs, And odors that crept upward to the sense Like delicate pressures of voluptuous thought. I, with a long bound, leapt upon the shore Shouting, but she, pavilioned in dark locks, Sobbed out thanksgiving ; twixt the world and us, Distance that seemed Eternity outrolled Its terrible barriers ; on the waste a Fate Stood up, and stretching his blank hands abroad Muttered of desolation. Did we weep, And groaning cast our foreheads in the dust ? So it had been, but in each other s eyes Smiled a new world, dearer than that which rose 134 THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. Beneath the lost stars of the faded "West. That very morn the white-stoled priest of God Had blessed us with the church s choicest prayers, And these did gird us like a sapphire wall When the floods threatened, and the ghastly Doom Moaned itself impotent ; free we, were to love To the full scope of passion ; a few suns, And in the deep recesses of the woods We built ourselves a palace ; the dim spot Was fortressed by the Tropic s giant growths, Luxuriant Titans of a hundred years ; And the vines, laced and interlaced between, Drooped with a flowery largess many-hued. It was a place of Faery ; songs of birds That glimmered in and out among the leaves, Like magical dreams embodied, wooed the Winds To gentlest motion of benignant wings ; And the sun veiled his radiance, and the stars Peered through the shadowy stillness with a light So spiritual, the forest seemed to wane In tremulous lines waved down the silvery aisles. There lived, there loved we, as none else have lived And loved since the primeval Blight Rained down its discords, and death clenched the curse. No shallow mockeries of a worn-out age, THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. 135 Effete and helpless, bound young passion round With the cold fetters of detested forms : / Civilization was not there to set Its specious seal of custom on our hearts, Prisoning the bolder virtues ; we might dare To act, speak, think, as the true nature moved, Untutored and majestic ; our souls grew To the stature of the spirit that looks down From the unpolluted regnancy of heavens That hold no curses ; the glad universe Showered rare benedictions on our path ; Matter was merged in poesy ; the winds From the serene Pacific, the quick gales From mountainous ridges in the uppermost air, The eternal chorus of far seas forlorn, The harmony of forests, the small voice That trembled from the happy rivulet s breast, All touched us with that sweet philosophy, Which, if we woo the visible world aright, Blesses experience with new gates of sense Wherethrough we gain Elysium So the years Were winged and odorous with a thousand joys, Of which the poor slave to the hollow law We term society, hath had no dream ; Our love was comprehensive, full, divine, Rounding the perfect orbit wherein life 136 THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. Should gravitate to God, even as the spheres Roll to the central fire ; love mastered life As maelstroms suck still waters ; love the one Electric current through act, reason, will, Throbbing like inspiration ; no vain touch Of weak, fantastic passion, no thin glow Of morbid longing, fluttering feebly up From shallow brains, stirred to a dubious flame, And tortured with false throes of sentiment (That bastard whimperer to the deity Love As a changeling to the Titans) no red heat Of base desire, fusing the delicate thought To chaos ; but a steadfast, genial sun, A luminous glory, gentle as intense, Making our fate a heaven of warmth, light, rest, "Whose very clouds were halos, and whose storms Were tempered into music. Thus Time stole On muffled wings through the still air of bliss, Gathering our ripened hopes, and sowing seeds Of joys to come. My innocent bud had flowered To beauty oh ! such beauty as these lips, Touched though they were with fire, might not profane With shackles of mean utterance. Oh, God ! God ! Why didst thou take her from me ? why transform The passionate presence in my shielding arms To this poor phantom of a broken brain, THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. 137 Mocking my woe with shadows ? On a night When the still sea was calmest, / the bright stars Most bright, and a warm breathing on the wind Spoke of perpetual Summer, a strange voice I could not hear, said : " It is evening time," And a wan hand my eyes were blind to note Beckoned her far away The awful grief Closed round me like an ocean. I was mad, And raved my memory from me. When again The world dawned, as a dreary landscape dawns Grotesquely through the sluggish mists of March I walked once more in a great Capital s streets, A savage midst the civilized a man Shattered and wrecked, I grant you still A MAN Amongst the puppets that usurp the name And act the fraud so basely, that the Fiend Wearies to death the echoes of his hell In laughing at them. I am with you still, Emasculate denizens of the stifling mart, Where heaven s free winds are throttled in the fumes Of furnaces, and the insulted Sun Glooms through the crowding vapors at mid-day, Like a God, re-collecting to himself His immortality ; where nerveless limbs 138 THE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH. Bear nerveless bodies to their separate dens Of torture, and lean, wild-eyed Revellers Foster the hungering worm that never dies, And fan the lurid fire unquenchable ; "Where stealthy avarice lurks in wait to sack The widow s house, and license of low minds, Loaded with prurient knowledge, and no hearts, (Self-worship having killed them,) make the world A Pandemonium. I am with you still, But the hours creep on to a more fortunate time ; A vessel thrills her broad sails in the bay, And the breeze bloweth seaward ; I will seek My island in the southern waves again ; A thousand memories urge me, tones that slept Waken to invitation ; I can feel The Hesperian beauty of that realm of peace Flushing my brain, and fancy; but through all The ruddy vision glides a tender shade, And pauses with mute meaning by a grave. THE VILLAGE BEAUTY. 139 THE VILLAGE BEAUTY. THE glowing tints of a Tropic eve Burn on her radiant cheek, And we know that her voice is rich and low, Though we never have heard her speak ; So full are those gracious eyes of light, That the blissful flood runs o er, And wherever her tranquil pathway tends A glory flits on before ! O ! very grand are the city belles, Of a brilliant and stately mien, As they walk the steps of the languid dance, And flirt in the pause between ; But beneath the boughs of the hoary oak, Where the minstrel fountains play, I think that the artless village girl Is sweeter by far than they. 140 THE VILLAGE BEAUTY. O! very grand are the city belles, But their hearts are worn away By the keen-edged world, and their lives have lost The beauty, and mirth of May ; They move where the sun and the starry dews Reign not ; they are haughty and bold, And they do not shrink from the cursed mart Where Faith is the slave of Gold. But the starry dews and the genial sun Have gladdened her guileless youth, And her brow is bright with the flush of hope, Her soul with the seal of truth ; Her feet are beautiful on the hills As the steps of an Orient morn, And Ruth was never more fair to see r the midst of the Autumn corn. Dear Effie ! give me thy loyal hand, As soft and warm as thy heart, And tell me again I may call thee mine, When the winter storms depart ; Tis true that thou mak st all seasons bright, But is it not fitter that we Should wed when the Spring thy sister comes To be a bridesmaid to thee ? THE VILLAGE BEAUTY. 141 The buds will blossom as bloom our hopes, And the earth make glad replies To the music that moves our inmost souls With its marvellous harmonies ; And between the Nature that glows without And the nature that thrills within, The delicate morning of love shall close, And its bountiful noon begin ! 142 FLOWERS FROM A GRAVE. FLOWERS FROM A GRAVE. THESE flowers are withered, Lady ! like the hopes We buried in the grave from which they sprung ; Yet are the tokens precious ; they have voices, And sad, sad memories of the broken Past; O I I could steep them in my bitter tears, But that the channels of my grief are closed, And dryer than their petals ; those whose hearts Have wept blood, seldom find their eyelids moist With dew of milder sorrow ; from her grave You plucked these blooms in the soft summer dawn ; Her grave, whose mould lies heavier on our souls Than e er on her sweet body ; God in Heaven Reward you for the pure impulsive pity To which I owe these treasures ; they are dear To memory as to passion, and though dead, Are greener than the sapless barren life Of him who wears them, henceforth, next his heart! BOUGHT AND SOLD. 143 BOUGHT AND SOLD. I HAVE no hope, and I will not cope Base knave with you ! A Nabob whose gold remains untold, What may / do to vanquish you, And to lift my Love To a heart above The bitter, the cruel, the dazzling spell Which has snared her soul with the snare of Hell? Win her, and wear ! Go to the shrine with a Satyr s leer, To the holy altar of God With the vilest thought that the prurient clod, Miscalled your Heart, can engender ; O ! guardian Angels, behold and weep ! No more in your prayers befriend her, For lo ! her purity seems to fall Like a garment off by the chancel wall, She is yours to keep No more, For a woman, a woman, that s bought and sold In a mart where the Devil pays down the gold, Goes forth from the sacred door ! 144 PERFECT CALM. PERFECT CALM.* ETERNAL Quiet were eternal sleep ! " O ! we will make," some fond Enthusiast cries, " This present weary world a Paradise O er which all gentle Thoughts their watch shall keep ; A noiseless calm shall brood above its bowers, And only Nature s sweet, and tender powers, Hold genial converse in the charmed shade ; " Through the new Eden s golden gates I look, And lo ! stretched listless by a murmuring brook, Whose silvery lustre glimmers mid the glade, I see the angel Tenant of the place, Fast by the tree of Life, his placid face Half hidden in his pinions downy deep, The Angel muses, or perchance he prays ! Not so, look closer, he is sound asleep ! * See Thorndale, or the Conflict of Opinions, p. 413. CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 145 CHARLOTTE BRONTE. THROUGH the deep shadows of the darkening years, She strove with griefs, which oft were agonies, The traitorous Hopes transformed to haunting Fears, The transient Raptures endig but in sighs: Till at the last, the life-clouds cleared away, The future bathed in promise heavenly bright, She heard a tender voice which seemed to say, " At evening time, behold! I give thee light/" For love, true love, her woman s nature yearned, And now true Love hath crowned her longing wild, And all without, and all within her burned The glory of his Godhead undefiled. A new world dawned upon her; divine forms Gleamed in the sunset on her earnest eyes, And throned above the years which set in storms, She saw the opening gates of Paradise ; 10 146 CHARLOTTE BRONTE. An earthly Eden, freed from earth s alloy ; Across the happy porch her footsteps passed, When on the very threshold of her joy, Death s sudden angel blew his trumpet blast : The gates of light, as that fierce trumpet rang, Dissolved, like some vain phantom of the air, And born of desolation deep, outsprang A passionate cry the last of her despair : " Love ! ive have been $p happy ! Must we part ? " Even as she spoke the final darkness came, To many sorrowing, and one broken heart, Leaving thenceforth but memory, and a name ! * These words, or words to this effect, were the last which Char lotte Bronte" uttered. FRAGMENT OF AN ODE. 147 FRAGMENT OF AN ODE ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT STATESMAN. TOLL forth, O mournful bells, the solemn dirge ; Speak out to the hushed heavens jour lamenta tion, A deep funereal music, surge on surge, Timed to the sorrow of a stricken Nation ; For a grand Life hath set, The last Star in a glorious sky gone down, And sullen shades of lowering darkness frown, "Where constellated lights of genius met On the proud summits of our old Renown ! 148 LETHE. LETHE. A DUMB, dark region through whose desolate heart Creeps a dull river with a stagnant flood ; Its skies are sombre-hued, and dreary clouds, No wind hath ever stirred, hang low and dim Above the barren woodlands ; all things droop In slumber ; the lithe willow stoops to kiss The waves, but not a ripple murmurs back Its salutation, and wan starlike flowers Yield a white radiance to the failing sense, And odors pregnant with the charm of rest, And glamour of Oblivion ; all things droop In slumber ; for whate er hath passed the bounds Of this miraculous kingdom, bird or beast, Men lured from action, or soul-sick of life, Weary and heartsore, maids in love s despair, Or mothers stricken by their first-born s crime, All sink without a struggle to deep peace. Prone in the gleam the river casts abroad, A gleam more pallid than the light of Hades, Lie those who sought this region ages since ; Their upturned brows are smooth, and tranced with calm, LETHE. 149 And on their shadowy lips a waning smile Fitfully glimmers; round them, rest the forms Of savage beasts; the Lion all unnerved, Timid and passionless, his huge limbs relaxed, And curved to lines of beauty ; the fierce Pard Tamed to a breathless quiet, whilst afar, Dim seen, but still a HORROR in the Shade, Gloom the gaunt shapes of mighty brutes of Eld, The world s primeval tenants ; all things droop In slumber ; even the sluggish River s flow Sounds like the dying surges of the sea To ears far inland, or the feeblest sigh Of winds that faint on lofty mountain-tops. This is the realm " Oblivion " this the stream Which mortals have called " LETHE ! " 150 JANUARY TO MAY. JANUARY TO MAY. I HAVE naught to give thee, lady, Love nor gold; This dull urn of burial-ashes, This is all I hold. Wouldst thou wed a soul in ruin, Clasp a breast, Where in depth of doubt and darkness Bides a demon-guest ? Wouldst thou pour a fervid torrent, Passion s flood, On a wrecked and lonely nature, Chilled in brain and blood? O, forbear! thou wert not fated Thus to yield; All thy warmth of love and beauty Leaves me unannealed. JANUARY TO MAY. 151 Plant thy roses in the spring-mould, Not the snow ; f And thy precious heart-seeds scatter Where the seeds may grow ! 152 A REMEMBRANCE. A KEMEMBKANCE. SOFTLY shone thy lustrous eyes On that silent summer night, Softly on my wakened heart, Thrilling into love and light, Though from the near mountain s height The shadows wrapt us solemnly. Faintly fell the tremulous tones From thy sweet lips coyly won, Dropping with the liquid lull Of low rivulets, by the sun Courted from the woodlands dun, Into pastures, glad and free. Through the mazes of deep speech Wandered we, absorbed, apart, On the mingled flood of thought Drawing nigh each other s heart, Till we felt the pulses start Of a mystic sympathy ! A REMEMBRANCE. 153 Ah ! those brief, harmonious hours ! When their winged music fled, Discord through all voices ran, And the universe seemed dead, Only, moaning o er its bed, I heard the low pathetic sea. 154 THE SHADOW. THE SHADOW. THE pathway of his mournful life hath wound Beneath a Shadow ; just beyond it play The genial breezes, and the cool brooks stray Into melodious gushings of sweet sound, Whilst ample floods of mellow sunshine fall Like a mute rain of rapture over all. Oft hath he deemed the spell of darkness lost, And shouted to the Dayspring ; a full glow Hath rushed to clasp him, but the subtle Woe Unvanquished ever, with the might of frost Regains its sad realm, and with voice malign Saith to the dawning Joy " This Life is mine ! " Still smiles the brave Soul, undivorced from Hope, And, with unwavering eye and warrior mien, Walks in the Shadow dauntless and serene, To test through hostile Years the utmost scope Of man s endurance, constant to essay All heights of Patience free to feet of clay. THE SHADOW. 155 Still smiles the brave Soul undivorced from Hope ! But now methinks the pale Hope gathers strength, Glad winds invade the Silence, streams at length Flash through the desert ; neath the sapphire cope Of deepening Heavens he hails a happier Day, And the spent Shadow mutely wanes away. 156 LUCETTE. LUCETTE. A SNOW-WHITE brow, and tender eyes ! A lip of rich carnation ! A fairy s pace, And form of grace, With the still glory on her face Of virgin meditation ! A snow-white mind ! the tenderest heart That e er bore Heaven reflected ! A light, it seems, Of sacred dreams (O radiant tide !) about her streams, The chrism of God s elected. I greet her with a conscious thrill, A strange and deep confusion, As one who knows His crimes must close Hope s portal to the Thought which rose, " Go ! win her from seclusion ! " LUCETTE. 157 False am I, yet not false enough To link my base condition "With her pure state, Forestalling Fate, Who lurks with latent Joy in wait To crown her with fruition. 158 THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH. THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH. A FRAGMENT. TEIEY knew that she must leave them! clay by day Her spirit brightened through its veil of clay, Till that seemed spirit also, a fair Thing, Poised for a moment on its luminous wing, And soon, oh ! not to die, but melt away Into the perfect splendor : One calm morn, A July morn, just as the sunshine kissed From the dim summits of the broadening hills The shadows of the twilight and the mist, Amidst the faint-heard music of far rills, With not a sight, nor tone, nor shade forlorn In earth or heaven, she rose from mystic dreams To view once more the golden summer-gleams, And say " farewell " to Nature ; Nature smiled, And with majestic pity drew around The failing footsteps of her favorite child Her richest spells of beauty ; not a sound But came with mellowed murmur, not an air THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH. 159 That touched her tranquil forehead, and dark hair, But seemed a Seraph s whisper ; the glad birds Were full of carols, and the loving Sky Bent, as it were, to clasp her ; peaceful herds Browsed on the distant slopes, and in the vale, Still as a placid vision, the clear lake Glassed the blue heaven s divine tranquillity, And every verdant shrub and blossoming brake Glistened with dewy baptism. * * * * * # There she lay As in the first mild sleep of infancy, Her face upturned towards the quiet sky, O er which a white cloud floated silently, Most like an angel ; as the cloud crept on, It threw a shadow struggling with a gleam Right on her eyelids ; slowly they unclosed From the deep rapture of some glorious dream, And the large eyes, clear with immortal life, Shone out upon her mother ; then she sighed One transient human sigh, and so she died. And years have passed ! spring blooms, and wintry showers, And gorgeous splendors of Autumnal eves By turn have glorified, and chilled the spot Her mortal form hath hallowed ; but the years 160 THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH. Bring no reprieve to memory ! hast thou not, O stricken Mother ! ever in thy mind A vision of thy darling mid the leaves Of the young spring-vines dying ? pale as then, But oh ! so beautiful, so beautiful, That murmuring to thyself, thou sayst again, As in a trance, " daughter ! the angels wait To bear thee up ! " Alas ! the Eden gate Hath closed so long upon her, that ofttimes A stress of rayless misery weighs thee down ; Thou hear st no hymn supernal, but the chimes Of funeral bells, the everlasting crown Pales by the spectral whiteness of her tomb ! There shalt thou mourn through all the coming years, And there, when Faith is darkened, drop thy tears. God help thee lady ! twas the bitterest blow ! Yet other hearts than thine were stricken low, And other hopes eclipsed, when she departed ; Well, let us lean on Patience ! we have done With earthly gauds ; the day is waxing late, The sunset falls, the shadows are unfurled About the Future, and I see thee stand, O Mother ! with thy loved one, hand in hand, Beneath the palm-trees in the Better Land ! SONG. 161 SONG. i. O ! your eyes are deep and tender, O ! your charmed voice is low, But I ve found your beauty s splendor All a mockery and a show ; Slighted heart and broken promise Follow wheresoe er you go. V II. All your words are fair and golden, All your actions false and wrong, Not the noblest soul s beholden To your weak affections long; Only true in lover s fancy, Only constant in his song. 11 162 LINES. LINES. " THOUGH DOWERED WITH INSTINCTS KEEN AND HIGH." He weeps His youth, and its brave hopes, all dead and gone, In tears which burn. PARACELSUS. THOUGH dowered with instincts keen and high, With burning thoughts that wooed the light, The scornful world hath passed him by, And left him lonelier than the Night ; Yes ! cold and helpless ; one by one, The stars of Faith have quenched their flame, And, like a waning Polar sun, Declines the latest hope of Fame. He longed to sing one noble song, To thrill, with passion s living breath, The fools whose scorn had worked him wrong, To baffle Fate, and conquer Death. Dear God ! dost thou endow with powers, Whose aspirations mock the bars LINES. 163 Of time and sense, whose vision towers Irradiate mid thy sovereign stars, Only to furnish some faint gleams Of loftier Beauty, quick withdrawn, Leaving a frenzied hell of dreams, And ivailings for the vanished Dawn ? The Oracles of Fancy mute, Ambition s Priests dethroned and fled, He wanders with a tuneless lute, Through dreary regions of the dead. But from that place of bale uploom The Phantoms of unburied years, The haunting Care, the Grief, the Gloom, The treacherous Hopes, the pale-eyed Fears, That stormed his spirit s brave design, That clogged its wings, betrayed its trust, Defaced its creed, and dashed the wine, In Song s bright chalice to the dust. Ah ! Heaven ! could He retrace his life From out this realm of doubt and dearth, He would not court Thought s eagle strife, But clasp the Peace that clings to earth. 164 LINES. Above, the threatening thunders wait, And lightnings watch the souls that soar, But lowly lives are safe from hate, And humblest aims, the wisest lore. Yet birds that breast the turbulent air, Are worthier than the things that creep, And nobler is a HIGH DESPAIR Than weak content or sluggish sleep. THE EVE OF THE BRIDAL. 165 THE EVE OF THE BRIDAL. AND hath it come, that strange, o ermastering Hour,. When blushing Hope, and tender, tremulous Fears Sway the full heart with a divided power, Alternate sunshine and alternate tears ? Oh ! for a spell to charm away thy care, As I could charm were I but near thee now, Chiding with lightsome laughter the despair, That girlish, coy despair that dims thy brow. A fitful gloom that shades the flush of joy, Like those transparent clouds in summer days, That cast a silvery shadow, and destroy The else unveiled noon s too dazzling blaze. Yet, from the far hills of this foreign shore, I waft thee benedictions on the wind, Hopes, that a peaceful Bliss forevermore May rule the quiet Empire of thy mind. 166 THE EVE OF THE BRIDAL. And blessing thus, the darkening distance dies, And in a grander than Agrippa s glass, The enamored Fancy, a pale picture lies, Brightening to shape and beauty ere it pass ; A room where sunset s glory, deep though dim, Girds the rich chamber with luxurious grace, Rounds the fair outline of each delicate limb, And crowns with mellowed lustre thy sweet face. In graceful folds thy loose robes, soft and rare, Swell with the passionate heaving of thy breast, O er whose young loveliness the enchanted Air, More golden seeming, seeks voluptuous rest. Thy hand in two brief hours no longer thine Gleams by a damask curtain, stirred with sighs, And the full, starlike tears begin to shine In the blue heaven of those bewildering eyes. Tears for the girlhood, almost passed away, Its innocent life, its wealth of tender lore, Tears for the womanhood, whose opening day, Glimmering, reveals the untried scenes before. Not bitter tears ! for him thou lov st is true, And all thy being trembles into flame, THE EVE OF THE BRIDAL. 167 A soft, delicious flame that thrills thee through, Whene er thy memory lingers on his name. Even now I see thee turn thy timid head, Luxuriant-tressed, towards a dim retreat, Where twilight shadows veil thy bridal bed, And purple Gloom, and amorous Silence meet. A step ! it is the approach of her, whose hands Dear hands long to array thee for the rite, Which draws around thy life the welcome bands Of wedded joys and duties, born to-night. She comes ! and soon enrobed in fairest guise, Fresh as a rose the summer winds have wooed, Thou goest to pledge thy faith in low replies, And leave for aye thy virgin solitude. And Peace go with thee ; wheresoe er thou art, Blest be all sinless passion, like to thine, And Heaven s divinest Angels guard the heart, The inviolate heart, where true Love builds a shrine. 168 "HERE, WHEN i HAVE LAID ASIBE." HERE, WHEN I HAVE LAID ASIDE." HERE, when I have laid aside The cumbrous load of life, By this rivulet s languid tide, Far from mortal strife, Let them make my quiet grave Where the emerald grasses wave Flushed with woodland flowers, And the birds, as Twilight dies, Pour their genial harmonies Lifc:e falls of silver showers. The skies that circle round the place Are purer than elsewhere, And a spirit of rare grace Sanctifies the air ; Richer tints at day-dawn lie On the dew-lit meadows nigh, And the sunset s glory Floods the ancient hazel wood, As a Poet s purple mood Floods an ancient story. " HERE, WHEN I HAVE LAID ASIDE." 169 Tranquil voices whisper, " rest " Rising from still streams, Floated to the waning West, With the calm of dreams ; And the breeze s murmurous call Hath the faint, ethereal fall Of songs in childhood s sleep; And all things do seem to be Parts of some lone mystery, Which broodeth sad and deep. 170 MY FATHER. MY FATHER. MY FATHER ! in the mist-enshrouded Past, My boyish thoughts have wandered o er and o er To thy lone grave upon a distant shore, The wanderer of the waters, still at last. Never in boyhood have I blithely sprung To catch my father s voice, or climb his knee ; He was a constant Pilgrim of the sea, And died upon it when his boy was young. He perished not in conflict nor in flame, No laurel garland rests upon his tomb ; Wild were his days, and clouded was his doom, Brief was his life, forgotten is his name. Yet have I shrined his memory in my mind, Yet have I wrought his image on my soul Though fancy-painted, a most perfect whole Of sweet conceptions, deep, though dim-defined. His careless bearing, and his manly face, His frank, bold eye, his tall and stalworth form MY FATHER. 171 Fitted to breast the fight, the wreck, the storm; The sailor s nonchalance, the soldier s grace. / In dreams, in dreams we ve mingled, and a swell Of feeling mightier for the eye s eclipse. The music of a blest Apocalypse, Hath murmured through my spirit, like a spell. Ah, then ! ofttimes a sadder scene will rise, A gallant vessel through the mist-bound day, Lifting her spectral spars above the bay, Swayed gloomily against the glimmering skies. O er the dim billows thundering, peals a boom Of the deep gun that bursteth as a knell, When the brave tender to the brave farewell, And strong arms bear a comrade to the tomb. ****** The opened sod ; a sorrowing band beside One rattling roll of musketry, and then, A man no more among his fellow-men, Darkness his chamber, and the Earth his bride, My father sleeps in peace ; perchance more blest Than some he left to mourn him, and to know The bitter blight of an enduring woe, Longing (how oft !) with him to be at rest. 172 THE WILL, AND THE WING. THE WILL, AND THE WING. To have the will to soar, but not the wings, Eyes fixed forever on a starry height, Whence stately shapes of grand imaginings Flash down the splendors of imperial light, And yet to lack the charm that makes them ours, The obedient vassals of that conquering spell, Whose omnipresent and ethereal powers Encircle Heaven, nor fear to enter Hell ; This is the doom of Tantalus the thirst For beauty s balmy fount, to quench the fires Of the wild passion that our souls have nurst In hopeless promptings, unfulfilled desires. Yet would I rather in the outward state Of Song s immortal Palace lay me down, A beggar basking by that golden gate, Than bend beneath the haughtiest Empire s crown. THE WILL, AND THE WING. 173 For sometimes, through the bars, my tranced eyes Have caught the vision of a life divine, And seen a far, mysterious rapture rise Beyond the veil that guards the inmost shrine. 174 THE PESTILENCE. THE PESTILENCE. WRITTEN DURING THE PREVALENCE OF THE YELLOW FEVER IN CHARLESTON, S. C., IN THE SUMMER OF 1858. How long, O Lord! shall Desolation hold Stern empire over us, and wasteful Death Darken the sunshine, and the life of hope? Fierce Harvester! Oh! whither stretch the bounds Of thy permitted vengeance? hast thou not In thy cold granary heaped the human grain Sheaf upon sheaf? is not the harvest ended, Or nigh its end? most precious household bonds Of wifehood, childhood, brotherhood, all ties Which twine with tenderest thrill around our hearts, And parted leave them broken, thy swift scythe Hath severed; barren hast thou left the field Thou found st so rich in fruitage ; spare the rest, The few, sad, shivering stalks that droop i th wind Mourning their prostrate brethren. THE PESTILENCE. 175 God of might ! How fearful art thou when in cloud and fire, Thou send st thy pitiless messengers to smite The doomed nations ! then this beautiful earth, Changed to a pestilent charnel, opes her womb Unutterably loathsome, where DECAY Sits mocking at our motley human pomps, Our pride, and even the sacred passionate grief Wherewith we mourn its victims ; hollow masks Hiding a dark Reality, seem all Man s shows, conventions, forms, howe er august. Death pricks them with his keen Ithurial lance, And lo ! from out their gilded impotence crawls " THE CONQUEROR WORM ! " Hard it is for Faith Amidst these mortal vapors, these foul damps Corrupt, and earthy, to lift up her wings Dank with sepulchral dew, and win the light Which still shines calm above them ; her fair face, Furrowed with scathing tears, hath lost its clear Angelic courage, and her faltering voice, Faint as the tremulous accents of fourscore, Can only whisper feebly, " WATCH, AND PRAY ! " 176 RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. THE fiery glow of sunset pales, And soft adown the deepening vales The tranquil shadows steal apace ; The winds repose, the waters keep The stillness of unbroken sleep, And all the unmeasured realm of space Between us, and the stars that rise To crown those rich imperial skies, Majestic Silence holds in thrall : Only the quiet dews that fall In stealthy dripping from the eaves, Or some lone bird among the leaves, Touched by a transient dream of flight, Stir to the faintest thrill of sound, The mystery of the Calm profound. The peace of Heaven is in my heart ! And if that God would grant me grace, I could lie down in this sweet place, Breathe Nunc Dimittis ! and depart ! RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. 177 I stand forlorn, where last the light Of her mild beauty blessed /my sight ; Oh ! she, so generous in her trust, So queenly in her maiden pride, (The pride of perfect womanhood That crowneth with its regal sweetness All meaner creatures incompleteness,) Was near to blend the brightening charm Of her entrancing human eyes With Nature s beauty, and make warm With whisperings of a human love Born of all tender sympathies The else cold pulses of the air. Soul ! thou alone art altered here ! Around me sways the orange grove, The self-same grove that heard our vows, And waved its glad melodious boughs, Setting to music all she said, And showering on her gracious head White flowers, as if to crown a bride : Just on an eve like this, she died So still and fair I saw her die, Bound by a spell of misery Too bitter for the balm of sighs, That froze the tears within mine eyes, 12 178 RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. The currents of my brain and blood ; The while, as statue-wan, I stood As one who in the lonely trance Of some unearthly dark Romance, Hath heard a ghostly voice of doom Wailing above an open tomb. Love ! lift me to thy radiant clime, I sicken on the waste of Time, And burn to breathe a subtler breath Than that which haunts these realms of death ; For round about me float and stir Foul vapors from the sepulchre, Rising, a monstrous gloom, to blight The glory of the inner sight Shrouding phantasmal shapes of ill, But thou, the same sweet Angel still, Thou canst not leave me thus forlorn, And exiled from the gates of Morn ! Within my soul a vision glows, A vision of the peace to be, The undivined serenity, In whose clear depths the angels dwell : Through many a fiery-circled Hell Of self-inflicted woe and pain, Through many lives (for still I hold RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. 179 That not in vain above us rolled, The mighty Planets whirl in space, Each is the destined dwelling-place Of souls, fresh-winged in every star, ) We struggle toward the holy Height, The consummation infinite, Whereto the groaning Ages tend : A prescient Voice foretells the End O Voice that fallest faint and far, Sound on through all our dreary night ; " From height to height the soul aspires, Reluming its mysterious fires Through the vast worlds which gird the way Up to the immemorial Day Of primal Immortality ! " Ah ! that I then may meet with thee In that serene Eternity! May feel that human love can shine Unwavering midst the Love Divine, May rise on Rapture s eagle wing, And hear the spheral music ring, And that great Song the Seraphs sing Peal round the Godhead s Mystery, And mark, where grosser systems trace 180 RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION. Their orbits in the outcast space, Earth with its transient agonies Sink from the height of those calm skies Down to a gulf so dim and low, They flicker to a fire-fly glow, Myths of a million years ago ! " THE LAUGHING HOURS BEFORE HER FEET." 181 THE LAUGHING HOURS BEFORE HER FEET. THE laughing Hours before her feet Are scattering Spring-time roses, And the voices in her soul are sweet As music s mellowed closes ; All hopes and passions heavenly-born, In her have met together, Arid Joy diffuses round her morn A mist of golden weather. As o er her cheek of delicate dyes The blooms of childhood hover, So do the tranced and sinless eyes All childhood s heart discover. Full of a dreamy happiness, With rainbow fancies laden, Whose arch of promise glows to bless Her spirit s beauteous Aidenn. She is a being born to raise Those undefiled emotions That link us with our sunniest days And most sincere devotions. 182 "THE LAUGHING HOURS BEFORE HER FEET. In her we see renewed and bright, That phase of earthly story, Which glimmers in the morning light Of God s exceeding glory. Why in a life of mortal cares Appear these heavenly faces ? Why on the verge of darkened years These Amaranthine graces ? Oh! tis to cheer the soul that faints With true and blest Evangels, To prove if heaven is rich with Saints, That earth may have her Angels. Enough ! tis not for me to pray That on her life s sweet river The calmness of a virgin day May rest, and rest forever ; I know a guardian Genius stands Beside those waters lowly, And labors with immortal hands To keep them pure, and holy. SONNET. 183 SONNET. VAINLY a hostile world may strive to tame The Poet s soul through Love, and Grief made strong ; Unfettered still, he soars to heights of Song, "Whence his clear genius sheds a starlike flame. Deaf to the captious sneer, the ignorant blame, He sings of heavenly RIGHT, and mortal WRONG, Of faith and sufferance, that by birth belong To noble spirits, and that final fame Which crowns their shining brows with Amaranth bloom : No shallow discontent, with fretful moan, Mars his brave utterance, no unmanly gloom Shadows his heart wherein Hope reigns alone ; For rebel Doubts his nature hath no room, Scorning to be thus basely overthrown ! 184 SONNET. SONNET. MOMENTS there are when most familiar things Seem strangers to us ; when round heart and head The mists of unreality are spread, From which our keenest searching, baffled, brings Unformed conceptions, vague imaginings, Tinged with the doubtful hues of a half-truth; Chiefly in age, or in our dreaming youth This phase of contemplation sternly wrings Our bosoms with the thought, the soul is blind ! " Unfathomed meanings, beauty most divine, Lie round about us, but we cannot see; In sky and forest burns a spirit s sign Unrecognized, and in the whispering wind Breathes a low undertone of mystery ! DEAMATIC SKETCHES. ANTONIO MELIDORI. [AMONG the heroes of the modern Greek Kevolution, none, per haps, were so distinguished for acts of individual daring;, and a spirit of romantic and chivalrous adventure, as the Captain Antonio Me- lidori, a native of Candia. He waged against the Turks a partisan conflict, which was often eminently successful. His own deeds of strength, and reckless hardihood, made him terrible to the foe, who were persuaded finally to look upon him as one whose life was "charmed." It did not prove so, however, as he fell a victim to the rage and jealousy of some of his own company. Having been invited by the malcontents to a feast, Kousso, (the chief of the conspirators, whom Antonio appears to have rivalled successfully both in love and war,) whilst in the very act of embracing the patriot, plunged a dagger into his bosom. There is a tradition that Antonio loved a beautiful maiden, PHI- L6xA, whom in the stirring and anxious scenes of the Revolution he was ultimately led to neglect, if not to forsake. A writer in " Chambers s Journal " has from this episode in the private career of the Greek partisan taken the materiel for a touching and graphic narrative, which has been closely, often literally followed in the composition of the ensuing " sketch." 186 ANTONIO MELIDORI. The author had intended, at one time, to compose a tragedy of the usual length upon this subject, but he has never been able to proceed beyond a few Scenes, which, however, appear to him to possess a certain unity of their own. They are now published partly with the hope of calling the attention of some more practised dramatic writer, (the brilliant author of " Anne Boleyn " and "Calaynos" for example), to a theme eminently picturesque and suggestive.] SCENE I. [A place not far from the summit of Mount Psiloriti, in the Isle of Candia. PHILOTA discovered with a basket of grapes upon her head ; she looks eagerly upward. Time, a little before sunset.] PHILOTA. Why comes he not? here on this emerald sward, Close to the cool shade of these ancient rocks, We have met, and fondly communed in the sunset Eve after eve, since first he said, " I love thee ! " Never, Antonio, hast thou been ere now A loiterer ! wherefore should my heart beat fast, And my breath thicken, and the dew of fear Stand chill upon my forehead? is t an omen? [At this moment ANTONIO is seen bounding quickly down the mountain; he reaches PHILOTA, and embraces her.] ANTONIO. Thou hast waited long, Phildta, hast thou not? ANTONIO MELIDORI. 187 PHILOTA. Tis true, Antonio ! but thou know st an hour, Nay, a bare minute, drags the weariest length When thou art from me! ANTONIO. Thanks, dearest, and forgive me, I did but dream upon the hill-top yonder, And dreaming thus forgot thee PHILOTA. Forgot me ! ANTONIO. Nay, nay, I meant not that! thy face, thy smiles, Thy deep devotion, in my heart of hearts I keep them shrined forever, but my thoughts Turned truant, who can hold his thoughts, Phil6ta, In a leash always ? prithee reascend The mountain with me, I would show the place Which tempted my weak thoughts to wander thus. [ They reach the most elevated portion of the mountain, whence a wide circuit of land and sea becomes visible. ] How beautiful! how glorious! see, my Love, There s not a cloud, or shadow of cloud in Heaven! 188 ANTOXIO MELIDORI. Even here, the winds breathe faintly, and afar O er the broad circuit of the watery calm, Peace broods upon the Ocean, rules the Air, And up the sunset s dazzling pathway walks Like a Saint entering Paradise. Twere sweet, How sweet, Antonio, amid scenes like these, To live and love forever ! ANTONIO, [absently. ] Dost thou think so ? Aye ! well perhaps PHILOTA. He heeds me not, his eye Is cold and stern what troubles thee, Antonio ? ANTONIO. Trouble ! I am not troubled. PHILOTA. But thou art, I know thou art; would st thou deceive Phildta? Now by the Saints, not so; dismiss the fear Which, like a tremulous shadow, breaks the calm ANTONIO MELIDORI. 189 Of those soft eyes ! [after a pause] The matter, in brief, is this : Tracking our mountain paths at early dawn, Rousso thou knowest him hailed me from the rocks, With words that sounded like the battle trumpets. " It comes ! " he cried, " the war-cloud rolls this way ; We too shall hear its thunders" PHILOTA. Aye ! and feel Its bolts perchance, there s lightning in such clouds ! ANTONIO. What if there be ! who would not brave them all, All, for a cause like ours ? Believe me, Love, We stand upon the brink of troublous times ! All shall be changed here: men, brave Grecian men, The blood of heroes in them, cannot pause, Storing the honey, trampling down the olive, Or humbly following the tame herdsman s trade, Whilst Freedom calls to conflict. Look, Philota! Dost mark yon lurid flash across the bay ? Our soldiers test their cannon ! hark, below, The drums of Affendouli how they ring ! 190 ANTONIO MELIDORI. Already thousands of bold Mountaineers Have formed beneath his banners ; dost thou hear me ? And would st thou wish to join them ? Ah ! I see, I see it all ! a trouble on thy brow, Borne upward from the restless gloom within, Hath clouded o er thy peace. I, a frail girl, And gifted only with the wealth of love, How can / satisfy the burning need Of a strong man s ambition ? Yes, tis so, Tis even so ! love is the woman s heaven, Her hope, her God, her life-blood ! yet to man, What is it but a pastime ? ANTONIO. Speak not thus, Oh, speak not thus, Philota ! I have loved Thee, only thee, so help me, Virgin Mother ! But comrades from whose lips a taunt is bitter, Have dared to hint - PHILOTA. What! ANTONIO. That I chose to stay, ANTONIO MELIDORI. 191 1 Delving, like some base Slave, our barren soil, When not a Sphakiote that can carry arms Has failed to seize them. Liars ! foul-mouthed liars, I would have proved the falsehood were it not PHILOTA. For me Phildta ! well ! I love thee dearly, Deeply, God knows, but I would have this love To crown thee as a garland, not as a chain To bind and fetter thou art free, Antonio ! ANTONIO. But hast thou thought of all which follows this? Thou shalt be left alone, no bridal feast Can cheer the olive harvest ! PHILOTA. I have thought, And am determined ; thou art free, Antonio ! ANTONIO. Oh, thanks, thanks, thanks ! lift up thy hopes, Phildta, Up to the height of mine ! our cause is just, And a just Fate shall guard it ; wheresoe er Free thought finds utterance, and the patriot-soul Thrills at the deeds of heroes, we may look 192 ANTONIO MELIDORI. For a " God speed ! " The prayers of noble men. The tears of women, the whole world s applause Do wait upon us ! Methinks I see the end, A free, grand Commonwealth of Grecian States, Built upon chartered rights, each sealed with blood ! ; PHILOTA. Enough ! enough ! Antonio, thou shalt go ! Greece is thy mistress now. SCENE II. [The cottage of PHILOTA, at the foot of Mount Psiloriti. PHILOTA discovered at the window, looking out upon the night, which is bleak and stormy.] PHILOTA. Hark ! how those lusty Trumpeters, the Winds, Urge on the black battalions of the clouds ; And see ! the swollen rivulets rushing down The sides of Psiloriti ! yesterday, Neath the clear calm of the serenest Morn Earth ever stole from Paradise, they swept Bright curves of laughing silver in the sunshine, But now, an overmastering rush of floods, ANTONIO MELIDOEI. 193 They thunder to the Heavens, that answer back From the wild depths of gloom, an awful tempest ! [Enter ANTONIO hastily.] ANTONIO. Where is the priest, Philota? where is Andreas? Was he not here to night? PHILOTA. Aye ! but he left some half hour since ; ANTONIO. What say you ? Oh, the poor father! then twas him I saw Pent twixt the .mountain torrents; he is lost! The good old man ! and yet, not so, not so ! Give me yon oaken staff, and, hold! a flask Of the best vintage; I ll be back anon, And the dear father with me : [Exit ANTONIO. PHILOTA kneels before an image of the Virgin, and prays for the safety of her lover. After the lapse of some min utes, enter Rousso stealthily, wrapped in a cloak, which partly con ceals his features. ] Rousso, [aside.] Faith ! a pretty picture ! 13 194 ANTONIO MELIDOKI. Now, were I what fools call poetical, I d worship her, whilst she adores the Saint, A lovelier Saint herself, and nearer truly To the just standard of Divinity, Than yonder painted image ; there s the curve, The old Greek curve, in the voluptuous swell Of those full lips ; the passion in her eyes Is shadowed off to melancholy meaning, Only to waken to meridian life, When a like passion touches it to flame : PHILOTA, [praying.] Oh, merciful Mother ! save him, save Antonio ! Kousso, [aside. J Oh, potent Devil ! claim him, claim Antonio ! What ! shall this malapert boy dispute my love ? [PniLOTA, rising, discovers Eousso, towards whom (mistaking him for ANTONIO^ she rushes, as if about to cast herself into his arms, but discovering her error she shrinks back.] PHILOTA. You here ! Rousso, [advancing. \ I crave protection, shelter, may I stay? ANTONIO MELIDORI. 195 PHIL^TA. At a safe distance, Sir! / Eousso. Why, what means this? I looked for kindlier welcome ! PHILOTA. Wherefore, Rousso? What thou hast asked, I grant, protection, shelter ; Durst thou claim more than these ? Rousso. I* faith thy temper is most strange and wayward! Because, some months agone, not quite myself, I ventured at the harvest of the Olive, Upon one innocent liberty - No liberty, With me at least, bold man ! is rated thus ! Rousso. I do repeat, that I was not myself; Blame the hot wine of Cyprus ; spare your slave ! \Jcneeling.~] 196 ANTONIO MELIDORI. PHIL<5TA. A slave indeed ! Rousso. But one who stoops to conquer, fair Phildta ; If I have knelt, tis only that I may Rise thus, and clasp thee ! Hold, no foolish cries, No weak, vain strugglings ! Think st thou that the storm Pealing adown the mountain s rugged steeps, Can bear these feeble waitings to thy friends ? Come, come, Philota ! if thou could st believe it, I am the very worthiest of thy vassals ; List for an instant, while I paint the beauty Of a far Eden waiting for the light, The sundawn of thine eyes : Amid the waves Of the JEgean, bosomed in the calm Of ever-during summer, sleeps an ISLE Whereon the Ocean ripples into music, Through whose luxuriant wilderness of blooms, The soft winds sigh their breath away in dreams, Where [the deuce take me ! I forget my part] Where where where i sooth, a place To live, to love, to die in, and revisit From the sad vale of shadows, with a touch Of mortal fondness, overmastering death : Wilt thou go thither with me? Nay, thou must! ANTONIO MELIDORI. 197 [As Rousso attempts to carry PHILOTA from the apartment, she recovers, and by a sudden effort releases herself from his arms.] Rousso. Pardon, Phil<5ta! tis my eager love Which thus hath urged me on ; thou tremblest ! what? I would not make thee fear me ; PHILOTA. Fear! fear! If my cheek pales, it is not cowardice That plays the tyrant to the exiled blood; If my frame trembles, there are other moods Than that thou speak st of, to unstring its firmness ; Thy presence brings no terrors ; dost thou talk Of fear to a Greek woman ? Rousso. No ! no ! not fear, but love ! PHILOTA. Man! man, I pray thee Blaspheme not thus ! what canst thou know of love ? J Tis true thou speak st it boldly ; from thy lips The word falls with a rounded fullness off, And yet, believe me, thou hast used a phrase, 198 % ANTONIO MELIDORI. (A sacred phrase, and wretchedly profaned,) Which, were thy years thrice lengthened out beyond The general limit of our mortal lives, And thou be made to pass through all extremes Of multiform experience, it could never Enter thy sordid soul to comprehend ! Rousso. Bravely delivered ! by my soul, I think We loth make good declaimers ! Where did st learn That pretty speech, Phildta? PHIL6TA. Wilt thou leave me? Rousso. Pshaw ! thou art less than courteous ! Leave thee ! no ! I will not leave thee ! Hark ye, my proud damsel, I am not one with whom tis safe to trifle, Thou knowest, or shalt know this ; so, mark my words, Long have I wooed thee fairly, would have won thee, Tea, and endowed thee with both wealth and station ; ANTONIO MELIDORI. 199 Twice hast thou heard my proffer, twice with loathing Spurned it, and me; I shall not woo thee thrice With honeyed words ; no, tis the strong arm now. I am prepared for all, come on ! [He seizes PniLdxA a second time, but enter on the instant ANTO NIO, with the Monk ANDREAS leaning upon him.\ PHILOTA, [faintly.] Saved ! saved ! ANTONIO. Ha, Rousso, I have heard it whispered oft Amongst thy watchful brethren in this isle, That underneath that smooth and flattering front There lurked a mine of blackest villany ! I did deny it once ; what shall I say When next the public voice decries you Sir? Rousso. A jest ! I do assure you but a jest ! This cloak, which in your self-devoted flight To rescue the dear father, Andreas, [How glad I am to see his Saintship safe,] You dropped some furlongs from the mountain s base, I cast, in sportive fashion, on my person, And deeming that Philota would rejoice To hear that thou had st so far braved the force 200 ANTONIO MELIDORI. th treacherous elements, I called upon her ; She did me the vast honor to confound Your humble servant with Antonio, And ere I was aware, sprang to my arms, With such a blinded ecstacy of rapture, That I had wellnigh sunk into the Earth, From the mere stress of native modesty! A jest, a jest, and nothing but a jest. ANTONIO. Such jesting may be dangerous, beware ! SCENE m. [A year is supposed to have elapsed. The town of Sphakia after nightfall. Enter confusedly a band of Sphakiote soldiers, with Eousso amongst them. The streets are crowded with women, many of whom are heard lamenting the death of ANTONIO MELIDORI.] Rousso, [in a disguised voice.] Why will ye clamor thus, ye foolish jades ? Your handsome favorite, your renowned commander, Is no more dead than I am ! A WOMAN. Say st thou so? Where then is Melidori ? ANTONIO MELIDORI. 201 Eousso, [still disguising his voice."} Would st thou learn? Women of Sphakia, your immaculate Captain, He for whose welfare, upon bended knees, Ye nightly pray to Heaven, whose name your infants Lisp in their very slumbers, hath betrayed us ! Hold ! hear me out ! I am no dubious witness ; Thrice, whilst the battle raged along our front, I saw the Traitor creeping like a dog Between the Turkish outposts ! [ANTONIO appears in the rear, with a child in his arms.] ANTONIO. It is false! Here is your leader, Sphakiotes ; what base slanderer Dares to pronounce me Traitor? I but paused To save this weeping innocent, whose mother Fell by some coward s sword ! Rousso. Ha, Sphakiotes, see, The noble Melidori waxes tender, Soft as a woman ! he must love the Moslem, Who fosters thus their offspring ! by the Saints A lusty brat ! he ll thrive, good friends, believe me, And grow betimes, to cut our infant s throats ! 202 ANTONIO MELIDORI. ANTONIO. Let him who speaks stand forth; I would confront My bold accuser. What! he clings to the dark! Fit place for lies, and liars ! Friends, I scorn To parley with this viper; there s a way, One only way, to deal with reptiles, crush them, Thus, thus, and thus, When they have crawled too near us; [Stamping violently upon the earth.} Till then, why let the ugly beasts hiss on, And spit their harmless venom : [ Turning to the women.] Mothers, wives, Maidens of Sphakia, are there none amongst ye Ready to take this poor unfortunate? Just for my sake, fair countrywomen, list, List to the blessed word : " The merciful Shall obtain mercy ! " Rousso. Heed him not, I say, But seize the infidel whelp, and let him rock On a steel bayonet ! What ! have we repelled The invading foe, exterminated wholly His forces, and his empire, that we dare Cherish his cubs among us ? and for what ? ANTONIO MELIDORI. 203 "Just for his sake, fair countrywomen, his, And mercy s ! " Who showed mercy to our children, When the Turk ravaged Scio ? The young devil, Hear how he shrieks ! ho ! send him down to Hell! Down to his Father ! he s a grateful Spirit, And thankful for small favors ! [ The crowd begin to murmur, and move threateningly towards ANTONIO.] ANTONIO. Shame upon you ! Though the poor boy were fifty times a Moslem, I ll rear him as my own ; he shall not perish ; Perchance, who knows, when I have died for you, For you, and Grecian liberty, this babe, Reared as a Greek, may yet avenge my death, As none of you, false brethren, dare avenge it ! Once more I say, Mothers, wives, maids of Sphakia, Is there not one amongst ye to whose tendance I may commit this trembling castaway ? PHILOTA, [veiled.} Give me the child, I ll nurture him with love, And gentlest usage. 204 ANTONIO MELIDORI. ANTONIO, [starling.} Heavens ! what voice is that ? You here Philota? I had hoped you dwelt Safely within the close heart of the mountains ! PHILOTA. The mountains are not safe. ANTONIO. Why then did st thou Keep such strict silence? Answer me, Philota, How hast thou lived, this peasant s dress PHILOTA. Is fittest For me, Antonio, by my handiwork, And daily labor, I do earn my bread, For was it meet an unknown peasant girl Should claim, as her betrothed, great Melidori, Captain of Sphakia? ANTONIO. O, thou generous heart ! But stay, the rabble must not catch our words ; Take thou the babe, under the city-walls, I ll meet thee in the gloaming. ANTONIO MELIDORI. 205 SCENE IV. [A place under the city walls, time, an hour after sunset. | ANTONIO, [embracing Pmi,6TA\constrainedly. ] How kind thou art! I but obeyed your mandate ! ANTONIO. Nay, why so cold ? my troth is thine Philota, Dost thou remember ? Would st thou have me do so? Methought that dream was over, by thy wish. ANTONIO. By heaven ! I never said so ! Yet thy heart, Thy heart, Antonio, spoke the keen desire, Although thy lips kept silence ; I have learned To read thy spirit like an open book, 206 ANTONIO MELIDOBI. And cannot be deceived ; all s changed with us ; Never again, as in the time that s past, Shall we, hand linked in hand, explore the vales, Or walk the shining hill-tops; thou hast risen Far, far above my level ; a great man, Among the greatest, thou wert mad t espouse A humble girl like me; I ask it not; My love but burdens thy aspiring hopes, So, I beseech thee, dwell no more upon it : Antonio, for thy welfare I would give My soul s life ; shall I then refuse to yield A personal joy, that thou may st win, and wed The immortal virgin Glory ? Dream it not ! Oh ! dream it not ! ANTONIO. Now, gracious God forgive me ! It were presumption, should I kiss thy feet, Thou pure, unselfish woman ! yet thy words Are true, too true, and I dare not gainsay them. One thing believe, Phil(5ta, I am wretched, Yes, far more so than thou art : [After a pause.} Did st thou know The terrible life I lead in this dread warfare, Through what an atmosphere of blood and carnage It is my doom to move, as through the air ANTONIO MELIDORI. 207 Of some plague-stricken city, thick with curses, DicTst know the numberless dangers, that like de mons, (Many unseen, and therefore doubly fearful,) Which hover round the soldier, hour by hour O ershadowing life with the black gloom of death; Did st know the coarse companions, the rude manners Of vile extortioners, bent alone on prey, And personal profit, and the thousand evils Gendered of strife, and strife s unhallowed passions, O! thou would st shrink from following such base courses, Even as an Angel from the brink of Hell ! PHIL6TA. Thou wrong*st my love, and hast deceived thyself! Where er thou art, to me that place is Heaven ; Antonio ! God alone, God, and my soul Know what I might, and would have been to thee ! I would have shared thy fortunes, joined my fate For weal or woe, for honor or disgrace, For life or death to thine ; have tracked thy steps, (If need it were,) through seas of blood and carnage, Strengthened thy weakness, buoyed thy sinking hopes, Nor, at the worst, have shed one woman s tear 208 ANTONIO MELIDORI. To shake thy manhood! Had Heaven blessed thy cause, I would have striven to make my spirit worthy To mount with thee ; so, when the orbed glory Shone like the fire of sunrise round thy brow, No man dare say that with that lustre mingled One blush of shame for Melidori s wife! This might have been, and this shall never be ! [ Wildly.-] I th name of mercy, by thy mother s soul, And the dear past, I pray thee leave me now, While still thou lov st me, (dost thou not) a little? ANTONIO. And thou and thou Phildta? - PHILOTA. I shall dwell In peace ; [aside] aye ! broken hearts are peaceful ! ANTONIO. But where ? - What matter where, so that I live in peace? Grieve not Antonio! in my humble station One thought shall bring content ; "he was not false/ No mortal maiden stole Antonio s heart ! ANTONIO MELIDORI. 209 ANTONIO. Blessed words ! Tis true I love but thee ! / Then do not sorrow ! Love, I forgive thee ! thou hast wronged me not ! And for the child ah ! I shall dream it thine, Tend it as thine, and when the years have ripened That infant soul, tis mine to lead to virtue, I ll teach the boy how noble was the act Whereby Antonio saved him; I ll be happy Oh, trust me, Love ! so very, very happy ! - ANTONIO. Then be it so, Philota ! I would bless thee, But am not worthy ; still, thou shalt be blessed. PHIL6TA. And thou, too, if the Virgin hear my prayers ; And now, that we are friends, but friends, though firm ones, Beseech thee, list my tidings ! There s a foe, A deadly, treacherous foe in thine own camp, And one who vows thy ruin ; it is Rousso ; Thou knowest how first his envious, bitter temper 14 210 ANTONIO MELIDORI. Was stung to hatred ; since that time, thy will Hath often clashed with his ; besides, thy fame In these fierce wars hath far o ertopped his credit ; So he has sworn thy death ; the voice was his, That goaded on thy soldiers to rebellion ; And, as I threaded my uncertain pathway, A short hour since, through the dark streets of Sphakia, I heard thy name in whispers ; two dim forms, [Men, as I knew by their hoarse tones,] conferred With hurried, stealthy gestures, and one sentence Startled me like a knell ; " His tomb is open," A deep voice said, " Antonio s tomb is open ! " Oh, then, beware ! as lowly as thou deem st me, I ll watch above thy safety, the soft dove May warn the eagle of the midnight spoiler ! ANTONIO. And thy own life and safety PHIL^TA. I am here To spend them both for thee ! but hark, thy name Is shouted by thy comrades in the valley, The hour has come that parts us ; fare thee well ! [She gives him her hand.] ANTONIO MELIDORI. 211 ANTONIO. Twas not our wont to part in this cold fashion ; Come, one more kiss Phil(5ta! let me feel We were indeed betrothed ; one last, last kiss ! [ They embrace andpart.~\ SCENE V. [An apartment in the house of AFFENDOULI, the Governor-General of Candia. Enter ANTONIO, and AFFENDOULI, conversing.] AFFENDOULI. These private bickerings are the fruitful cause Of all disgrace, and failure ; let us end them ! ANTONIO. Most willingly ! / have no feud with any, Saving one quarrel, forced upon me, Chief! AFFENDOULI. True, true ! but even now a Courier waits, Charged with a special message of good will, From Rousso, and his brother, Anagnosti ; They say, " "We plead for peace ! all personal hate Henceforth be quelled between us ; we would join Our troop to Melidori s, and our banners Wave side by side with his." Accept their proffer ! 212 ANTONIO MELIDORI. ANTONIO. I will I AFFENDOULI. To show thou art sincere, fail not to test Their hospitality ; ANTONIO. As how ? AFFENDOULI. They give A solemn feast of Unity and Friendship, To which thou art invited. Go, I charge thee ! ANTONIO. Trust me, I shall be there, what day s appointed Whereon to hold this festival of love ? AFFENDOULI. This very day ; thou knowest the camp of Rousso ? ANTONIO. Ay ! I ll be there anon ! [Exit ANTONIO. Enter , after a brief interval, PHIL^TA, with a hurried and anxious mien.] ANTONIO MELIDORI. 213 PHIL6TA. Oh, pardon, pardon ! Most gracious Governor ! but , I come to seek Ant Ant , that is, the Captain Melidori, With tidings of grave import. AFFENDOULI. Ha! Thou luckless messenger ! he has departed, Gone PHIL<STA, [wildly.] Where, where ? AFFENDOULI. To feast with Rousso. PHILOTA, \rushing out.} Then is he lost! O merciful God, protect us! SCENE VI. [An open space in a wood, tables arranged for a banquet, Rousso, ANAGNOSTI, ANTONIO MELIDORI, and their followers, dis covered feasting.] ANAGNOSTI. A soldier s life forever ! free to pass 214 ANTONIO MELIDORI. In feast or fray ! how glorious this wild banquet Compared to those dull, formal feasts of old, Held at the Olive harvest! Speak, Antonio, Give us thy thought upon it ; what ! art silent ? Rousso. Urge him no more; perchance Antonio pines For the sweet quiet of that mountain life, Which thou hast called so dull ; its days of dream, Its nights of warm voluptuous dalliance ! ANTONIO. No, no, by Heaven ! those times are dead to me ; They had their pleasures, but not one to match The keen delights of glory, the true honor Which follows patriot service ; Rousso. Gallant words, Brave, and high-sounding ; but for me and mine, We do not fight for shadows! ANTONIO, [coldly.] I m at fault, Not clearly comprehending, Sir, your meaning. ANTONIO MELIDORI. 215 Rousso. Oh ! thou dost well to speak of glory, honors, We know what rich rewards await thee, Chief, When the war s ended ; spoils, and wealth and beauty ! But yestermorn, I saw thy winsome lady, The bride to be, old Affendouli s daughter. Nay, shrink not man, she is a lovely maid, Fair as her father s generous ; what an eye ! Half arch, half languishing ; and what a breast ! That heaves as twould burst outward to the day. And strike men mad with its white panting pas sion ! No lovelier woman lives, unless unless It be that poor young thing who doted on thee, Before the war, what was her name ? PhilcSta ? ANTONIO. Thy thoughts run on fair damsels ; let us talk Like soldiers, not like brain-sick boys in love. Rousso. With all my heart ; only, one pledge to thee, And Affendouli s daughter ! ANTONIO. I have borne 216 ANTONIO MELIDORI. This jesting with the patience of a Saint, But now tis stretched to licence. Prithee cease ! Eousso. God, how he winces! if Phildta ANTONIO. Villain I Utter that sacred name again Rousso, [rising suddenly and drawing his dagger .] Oh, ho! Wilt fight, wilt fight! I m ready for thee; come. ANTONIO, [aside. ] (He shall not trap me thus.) Thou art my host ; Twere shame, yea bitter shame this brawl should end In blows and bloodshed ! when the time befits, [ To Rousso.] Doubt not that I shall call thee to account For this day s work ; meanwhile I leave a board Where clownish insult poisons all your cups ! [As he is about to depart, ANAGNOSTI approaches, with an air of conciliation.] ANAGNOSTI. Well spoken, noble Captain, thou wert wronged ; ANTONIO MELIDORI. 217 But Rousso is so hasty ! He repents ; Let not this solemn feast of Unity Break up in discord. Rousso. No, no, no, Antonio ! I do repent ! Prithee embrace me, friend, In sign of reconcilement. [Rousso approaches MELIDORI with an unsteady step; while in the act of embracing, he stabs him in the side. PHIL^TA rushes upon the scene, with a cry of agony, and throws herself beside ANTONIO, whose head she supports.] PHILOTA. Too late ! O God, too late ! He faints, he dies ! Why stare ye thus upon us, cruel men ? Wine, wine, another cup, how slow ye move! My scarf is drenched with blood, ye pitiless fools ! Will not a creature loan me wherewithal To bind his wretched wound up ? There, tis stanched, And he revives ! Antonio, speak to me, I am Phildta, thine own, own PhihSta. ANTONIO, [his mind loandering.] Where hast thou been, my love, this weary time ? Am I not true ? I charge thee, heed them not ! The girl is nothing to me ; Rousso s tongue, 218 ANTONIO MELIDORI. His sharp false tongue first joined our names together ; She loves another, and I love but thee ; Draw nearer, let me whisper. I have dreamed, Oh, such a dream! the valleys flowed with blood, And Ruin compassed all our Island round, And every town was sacked, and hark ye, nearer ! I saw a mother murdered by a knave, A coward knave, because she would not yield Her body to him ; but I saved her child, And here he is, a pretty, pretty boy ! Take him, Phildta. Ah, my heart, my heart ! It pains me sorely; twas a terrible dream, But now, thank Heaven, tis over ! Thou art pale ; What makes thee pale ? Bear up, my dearest Love ! This morn we shall be wedded, and I think We will not part again ! I had a foe, His name is Rousso ; but we are so happy, Let us forgive all foes ; invite him hither, PHILOTA, [weeping.] He breaks my heart ANTONIO. How keen the wind is! Keen, keen, and chill ; it was not wont to blow ANTONIO MELIDORI. 219 So coldly at this season ; I am sick, Yea, sick of very joy ; but joy kills not ; My lids are heavy ; I would sleep, Philota. Wake me at early dawn; I told my mother. That I would bring thee home, to-morrow morn. [He dies.] ALLAN HERBERT. SCENE I. [The hall of a country house in Westmoreland, surrounded with portraits of the M family. ALLAN HERBERT, and JOCELYH, an old domestic, are seen standing before the likeness of a lady, young, and wonderfully fair.] HERBERT. The canvas speaks ! JOCELYN. Aye, Sir ! tis very like ; Was she not beautiful? HERBERT. Was! yes, and is; She had not lost one bloom when late I saw her. JOCELYN. Sir, she is dead ! HERBERT. Aye ! so they say, old man ; ALLAN HERBERT. 221 And yet I see her nightly, in my dreams ; I tell you that her cheek is round and fair As summer s fulness, that her eyes are lustrous, And she a perfect Presence clasped in light! Thus will she look, on resurrection morning. JOCELYN, [aside.] Alas, poor gentlemen ! how many loved her, And loved her vainly ! Pardon, Sir, your name ? HERBERT. My name is Allan Herbert. JOCEL.YN. Herbert, Herbert ! Where have I heard that dainty name before? [Musing.] Oh, now I have it ; my young mistress, Sir, She who is dead, was wont to read a book, A delicate gold-edged volume, that I m sure Bore some such name within it; she would sit Beneath yon grape vine trellis toward the South, (This window, Sir, commands it,) and for hours, Nay, days, bend o er her favorite pages ; once She left the book behind her, and I saw Its leaves were drenched with tears. 222 ALLAN HERBERT. HERBERT. Where is it now ? That book your mistress loved ? let me behold it ! JOCELYN. In sooth, Sir, I have never seen it since, Or if I have, [hesitating ] it lies beyond our reach. HERBERT. What meanest thou ? JOCELYN. I mean that while she lay Decked for her burial, whilst I stood beside her, Looking my last upon her tranquil features, The robe of death was fluttered by the wind, A low sad wailing wind, that swept aside The drapery for a moment, and I marked The glimmer of the gold-edged pages placed Right on her bosom ! Master, you are pale, You tremble ; I have rudely touched the spring Of some deep-seated sorrow ! HERBERT. Yes, old man ! A sorrow most unlike to common griefs, ALLAN HERBERT. 223 That pass like clouds or shadows ; mine is mingled With the dark hues of treachery and remorse, A rayless, blank eclipse, through which I wander, Accursed and hopeless ; sometimes in a vision Comes the sweet face of her I foully wronged, And stabs me with a smile ! JOCELYN. Did st wrong her, Sir ? Did st wrong my lady ? HERBERT. Lead me to the grave ; I know tis near at hand. JOCELYN. The grave ! what grave ? Moreover, if you wronged her HERBERT. IF I wronged her ! Why dost thou taunt me with it ? thou on earth With Mercy still beside thee, I in Hell? JOCELYN. Madman ! 224 ALLAN HERBERT. HERBERT. I am not mad, my friend, but only wretched ; Once more, I pray thee, show me where she sleeps. JOCELYN. I must obey him"; this way, follow me. [Exeunt.} SCENE II. [A forest. Deep in the shade a single monument appears, cov ered with wild-flowers and roses.] HERBERT, [alone. } Tis fit she should be buried in this place So fragrant and so peaceful ; O, my love ! Thou hast grown dull of hearing ! I may call Till the lone echoes shiver with thy name, Thou wilt not heed me ; dust, dust, dust indeed ! And thou more glorious than the morning-star ; More tender than the love-light of the eve ! They tell me thou shalt rise again, Christ s bride, Not mine, most beautiful, yet changed ; Perchance I shall not know thee, or perchance, The human love which made thine eyes like Heaven My Heaven of hope and worship shall be lost ALLAN HERBERT. 225 In some diviner splendor ! all is hushed, No smallest whisper trembles gently up From the deep grave to soothe me ; tis in vain I agonize in thought. Eternal Nature ! She whom I once called " mother," wears an aspect Callous and pitiless. I fain would solve This terrible mystery that weighs down my soul With nightmare fancies. Let me die in peace, God ! and if I may not see her more Through all the long Eternities, nor hear Her voice of tender pardon, let me rest Next to some stream of Lethe, and repose In everlasting slumbers ! [Enter JOCKLYN.J JOCELYN. Come, let us hence ! the darkness creeps upon us; See, Sir ! there s not a spark of sunset left In all the waning West. HERBERT. Well, what of that! 1 live in darkness, the light burns my spirit, It mocks and tortures me ! Begone, I say, And leave me to the dismal shade thou fearest ! JOCELYN. Good Sir, be counselled, stay not in the wood ; 15 226 ALLAN HERBERT. Thine eye is troubled, and thy visage weary ; Tis a rash venture ! HERBERT. Sooth to say, I thank thee ; Thou could st not serve long in the household blessed By her most merciful presence, and not catch Some tenderness of temper ; take my thanks ! Yet will I stay in this same dreary wood, And watch until the night is overpast. JOCELYN. Thou lt find it lonely. HERBERT. Oh, I have my thoughts, A stirring company, that never slumber. JOCELYN. Why, worse and worse! I ve heard, such restless thoughts Engender a sore sickness HERBERT. Of the mind ; Yet is my case already desperate, Past healing, and past comfort. Go thy way, SONNET. 227 Thou kind old man, thou canst not shake my purpose, But when the last star wanes before the dawn, Come back ; my night will then be overpast, And my watch ended ; till that hour, farewell ! SONNET. THROUGH dismal nights, and long laborious days, A weary Workman at the forge of Thought, He toils, till brain and spirit overwrought, Sink to enforced inaction, and the maze Of troublous dreams ; no nimble Fancy plays Her necromantic tricks which lead to naught But stale delusions; bitter years have taught His heart the hollowness of casual praise ; And yet, even this poor boon s denied him now ; Bound by Convention s hard and galling rule, He must subdue his nature, smooth his brow, List meekly while an ignorant Pedant speaks, And though the hot blood boils from soul to cheeks, Pay homage to a tyrant, and a fool ! DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. (FROM THE CONSPIRATOR, AN UNPUBLISHED TRAGEDY.) SCENE. [A garden; ARNOLD DE MALPAS and CATHARINE discovered walking slowly towards a summer-house in the distance.] CATHARINE. Art thou prepared to risk all this, De Malpas ? DE MALPAS. Ay ! this, and more, if I but thought [Hesitating.] CATHARINE. What, Arnold? DE MALPAS. If I but thought that when the strife was over, The feeble Prince hurled down, the throne secured, She, for whose love I braved the people s hate, DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. 2 29 Malice of rulers, and the headsman s axe, Would deign to share with me that perilous height. CATHARINE. She ! Oh, thou hast a lady-love ! DE MALPAS. Cruel ! Wouldst thou put by my passion thus, With a feigned jest ? Catharine, I stake my all, Manhood s strong hopes and purpose, the heart s wealth, And the mind s store of hard-bought lore, my peace Of conscience, and my soul s immortal life, To lift thee to the summit of thy wish ; (Oh ! I have proved thee, and I know thy thoughts,) And yet thou feignest ignorance ! CATHARINE. Dear De Malpas, Forgive me ! let us both throw by the mask ! I hate the Queen ; even in our girlish days, She was my rival ; her mild-mannered arts Stole suitors from me ; the old Priest, our Teacher, Though I eclipsed her ever in the school, And shamed her dullness with keen-witted words And quicker apprehension, shone on her 230 DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. With sunny aspect, sleeked her golden hair, Fondled and soothed and petted, whilst for me The apter scholar he reserved harsh looks, And harsher tones ; (Well, the old fool is dead ! In after time, some friend of Holy Church Some zealous friend proved that his saintship taught Schism and heresy, and so he perished ! ) But for this Queen, this Eleanor ! our souls Nursed yearly a more fixed hostility ; We sat together at the knightly jousts, And watched the conflict with high beating hearts, Flushed cheeks, and fluttering pulses, she from fear, 7 with the mounting heat of martial blood, Thrilled with the music of the battle s roar, The ring of mighty lances on steel helms, Clangor of shields, and neighing of wild steeds : One morn MY knight was victor ; as he placed The crown of gems and laurel on my brow, Methought that I was born to be a queen, Not the brief ruler of a festal throng, But stablished kingdoms, and a host of men Bound to my sway forever ! DE MALPAS. A true thought f DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. 231 O, nobler Catharine! thy aspiring spirit Fires my purpose, and gives wings to action ; Thy rival hath sped past thee in the race, But she shall fall midway ; the blinded Monarch Walks on the brink of an abysmal deep, And soon shall topple over; then, a victor, (Not from the conflict with half-blunted spears In friendly tournament,) but the tumult fierce Of revolution, and the crash of states, Shall set a weightier crown about thy brows, And hail thee ruler, not of festal throngs, But ^stablished kingdoms, and a host of men Bound to thy sway forever! (From the same.) ARNOLD DE MALPAS. Speak, Bolton ! what say these, my faithful friends, Touching my present life? BOLTON. Why, Master Arnold, I sooth they re much divided ; some assert, That thou art moonstruck ; that some morbid fancy, Whether of love or pride, hath seized upon thee ; Others, that thou hast simply lost thy trust In man and in thyself ; and others still, 232 DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. That thou hast sunk to base, inglorious ease, Urging the languid currents of the blood With fiery spurs of sense ; a few there are, Few, but most faithful, who at dead of night In secret conclave, with low-whispered words And pallid faces glancing back aghast, Speak of a monstrous wrong, which thou ARNOLD DE MALPAS. [Starting wp, and seizing BOLTON.] Unhappy wretch ! therein thou speak st thy doom ! That prying, curious spirit is thy Fate. [Slabs him suddenly.] Did I not warn thee of it ? BOLTON. Oh! I die! Yet my soul swells and lightens ; all the future Flashes before me like a revelation. Arnold De Malpas ! thou shalt gain thine end ! The aged king shall fall, the throne be thine ! But, as thou goest to claim it, as thy foot Presses the royal dais, (mark my words ! ) A bolt shall fall from Heaven, sudden, swift, Even as thy blow on me, thou lt writhe i the dust, Down-trodden by the hostile heels of thousands, Whilst she, for whom thou st turned Conspirator, DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. 233 Smiling, shall gaze from out her palace doors, And wave her broidered scarf, and join the music Of her low witching laughter to the sneers Of courtly parasites ; " De Malpas bore His honors bravely, did he not my Lords ? Now, by our Lady, tis a grievous fall!" " Yet pride, thou know st, sweet Catharine," " Aye, aye, aye ! "Prithee Francisco, wilt thou dance to-night?" ARNOLD. What, fool ! wilt prate forever ? hence, I say, And entertain the devil with thy dreamings ! [Stabs him again.] (From the Same.} ARNOLD. Thou hast been to court, Bernaldi, hast thou not ? BERNALDI. Ay ! all the forenoon ! ARNOLD. Didst thou see the lady, Catharine of Savoy, whose miraculous beauty Hath set all Spain aflame ? 234 DRAMATIC FRAGMENTS. BERNALDI. I did, my cousin, But I am bold to speak it liked her not; Her beauty is the beauty of the serpent, Masking a poisonous spirit; there s no depth Of womanly nature in her gleaming eyes. Falsest when most they flatter; men have said She owns the Borgia s blood ; I know not that, But, by St. Mark ! she owns their temper, cousin ! DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 235 DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. We might have been ! ah, yes ! we might have been Amongst the crowned noblemen of Thought, Who lift their species with them as they climb To deathless empire in the realm of Gods ; But some dark power we will not call it Fate We dare not call it Providence hath seized The helm of our strange destinies, and steered Right onward to the breakers. All is lost ! Hope s syren song of promise faints in sighs, And Bliss ! (but SHE ne er charmed us, save in days Of dim-remembered childhood ;) let it pass ! Our lot s the lot of millions ; for on life A blight is preying, and a mystic wrong Hath set our heartstrings to the tune of Grief! 236 THE PENITENT. THE PENITENT. THOU see st yon woman with the grave pelisse Lined with dark sables ? Is she not devout ? Her soul is in the service, and her eyes Are dim with weeping, weeping for the follies Of a misguided youth ; thus saith the world, But I, who know her ladyship, know this : She weeps that youth itself, and the lost triumphs Which followed in its train ; the scores of lovers Dead now, or married off; the rout, the joust, The sweet flirtations, merry carnivals, And (oh ! supremest memory of all ! ) The banded serenaders neath the lattice, Lifting the voice of passion in the night : And one amongst the minstrels loved her well, But him she laughed to scorn, his heart was riven ; She trampled on the purest pearl of love, And cast it to the dogs ; well, God is just ! She scorned His sacred gift, and so must walk, Henceforth, a lonely woman on the earth ! A LIFE -HISTORY, BRIEFLY TOLD. 287 A LIFE-HISTORY, BRIEFLY TOLD. i. IN the saddening light of the Autumn stars, Half hidden behind those lattice-bars, I mark the flush of her ringlets bright Gleam faintly forth on the misty night; ii. Her face is pale, and I barely see That her looks are bended mournfully On what, perchance, is the image of One, Who, dying, left her hopes undone ! in. Poor girl ! she had given her best, her all, And now her heart like a funeral pall Holds only a thought of the silent dead, Of the grace that is lost, and the love that s fled. 238 TO G. C. H. TO G. C. H. i. I KNOW not where thou art my Friend, But tender thoughts arise, and wend Their way to thee, where er thou art ; No distance chills the loyal heart. II. If ocean breezes fan thy cheek, Oh, may their breath be mild and meek, And every wind that stirs the sea Come like a mother s kiss to thee ! in. Or if, the mighty billows past, Thy eager feet have touched at last That glorious realm which filled thy dreams, While pondering by our Western streams, IV. May all those antique scenes be bright As when beheld in Fancy s light, TO G. C. H. 239 So that thy soul may haply chance To wander still with old Romance. / v. Once, the delicious hope was mine To blend a traveller s joys with thine, From farthest frith of Northern sea, To the fair fields of Italy: VI. But Fate stepped in with stern command, And bound me to this barren land ; What matter ? though by Fate denied, No Power can keep me from thy side. 240 LINES. LINES ON THE BUST OF A BACCHANTE, BY ALEXANDER GALT, OF VIRGINIA. THOU Image of sweet passion crowned with hope, Thou glorious Personation of flushed youth, Lost in the fresh dawn of a mystic truth, Whose hidden motion hath o erpast the scope Of maiden wisdom thy bewildering face Thrilling beyond the marble thy glad port Of eager exaltation, where the sport Of a child s nature, chastened by the grace Of thy maturer spirit s subtlest sense, Breaks into starry sparkles of still bliss These hold me spelled, and breathless, and dis pense Faint languors round me, and a radiant air Like some serenest morning s, touched to rare Voluptuous beauty by Apollo s kiss. THE REALM OF REST. 241 THE REALM OF REST. IN the realm that Nature boundeth, Are there balmy shores of peace, Where no passion-torrent soundeth, And no storm-wind seeks release ? Rest they mid the waters golden, Of some undiscovered sea, Where low, Halcyon airs have stolen, Lingering round them slumbrously ? Shores begirt by purple hazes, Varying with pale, mellowed beams, Whose dim curtains shroud the mazes, Wandering through a realm of dreams ; Shores, where Silence woos Devotion, Action faints, and Echo dies. And each peace-entranced emotion Feeds on quiet mysteries. If there be, Oh, guardian Master ! Genius of my life and fate, Bear me from the world s disaster, Through that Kingdom s shadowy gate ; 16 242 THE REALM OF REST. Let me rest beneath its willows, On the fragrant, flowering strand, Lulled to sleep by murmurous billows, Thrilled with gales of Elfin-land. Slumber, flushed with faintest dreamings ; Deep that knows no answering deep, Unprofaned by phantom-seemings, Which but leave the soul to weep; Noiseless, timeless, half forgetting, Let that sleep Elysian be, Whilst serener tides are setting, Inward, from a roseate sea. Soft to mine a voice is calling, Sweet as Tropic winds at night, Gently sighing, faintly falling From some wondrous, mystic height, And it gives my soul assurance, Of the land I long to know, Nerving to a fresh endurance, Neath the present weight of woe. " There s a Realm, thy footsteps nearing, [Thus the voice to mine replies,] " Where the heavy heart s despairing Gains its rest, arid stops its sighs ; THE REALM OF REST. 243 Tis a realm, imperial, stately, Refuge of dethroned Years, Calm as Midnight, towering greatly, Through a moonlit mist of tears. "Though an Empire, freedom reigneth, Kingly brow and subject knee, Each with what to each pertaineth, Slumbering in equality ; Tis a sleep, divorced from dreamings, Deep that knows no answering deep, Unprofaned by phantom-seemings Noiseless, wondrous, timeless sleep. " On its shores are weeping willows, Action faints, and Echo dies, And the languid dirge of billows, Lulls with opiate symphonies ; % But beside that murmurous Ocean All who rest, repose in sooth, And no more the stilled emotion Stirs to joy, or wakens ruth. " Thou shall gain these blest dominions, Thou shall find this peaceful ground, Shaded by Oblivion s pinions, Startled by no mortal sound ; 244 THE REALM OF REST. Noiseless, timeless, ALL forgetting, Shall thy sleep Elysian be, Whilst eternal tides are setting Inward from that mystic sea. O^r" Any Books in this list will be sent free of postage, on receipt of price. BOSTON, 135 WASHINGTON STREET, NOVEMBER, 1859. A LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 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