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 FUGITIVE POEMS. 
 
 BY G.*M. 
 
 Blush, as thou ruay'st, my little book, with shame, 
 Nor hope n ith homely verse to purchase fame ; 
 For such thy maker chose ; and so designed 
 Thy simple style to suit thy lowly kind. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO. CORNHILL. 
 
 1836.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED EV STEWART AND CO, 
 
 OLD BAILEY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Willow of St. Helkna (From the French) 5 
 
 Elegy (from the French) 8 
 
 The Monk 10 
 
 'Tis Early Morn 13 
 
 How changeable is a,' man , 14 
 
 The Exile's Song 15 
 
 The Desolate City 16 
 
 'Tis sweet when the Morning 18 
 
 When tlie dim sliades 19 
 
 Description of a dark Evening, (a Fragment) 19 
 
 Woman's Tear 20 
 
 The Seeker of Happiness 21 
 
 The Parting 2.') 
 
 Stanzas 24 
 
 Othniel , 25 
 
 The Broken-hearted 27 
 
 The Violet 28 
 
 The Prisoner's Lament 29 
 
 Despair 31
 
 FUGITIVE POEMS, 
 
 THE WILLOW OF ST. HELENA. 
 
 (from the FRliNCH). 
 
 On his dreary, distant couch, 
 
 Doth He, th' Immortal, sleep! 
 
 Lull'd by the rippling fount. 
 
 And the wails of the winds and the deep ! 
 
 Escaped from beneath his tomb, 
 A grey willow lifts its head, 
 And bends in a graceful arch 
 O'er the grave of the mighty dead!
 
 O THE WILLOW OF ST. HELENA. 
 
 Upon th' iinfeeling rock 
 Its humid leaves descend, 
 And shed unceasing tears 
 As the eyes of a faithful friend ! 
 
 All under the waving boughs 
 
 Wliere abides the bird of night, 
 
 He rests as within a tent 
 
 On the eve of the day of fight ! 
 
 Wlien the vast eagle with expanded wings 
 
 Into mid heav'n from his high eyrie springs, 
 
 And the loud thunder's long and echoing roar 
 
 Rolls from the mountains to the rocky shore, 
 
 We think we see him bursting from the tomb, 
 
 Like the red lightning darting through the gloom 
 
 Ardent, amid his cannon's earthquake breath. 
 
 And breaking thro' the feeble snares of death ! 
 
 At evening, on the lone and bleak hill-top, 
 
 Beneath the melancholy monument 
 
 Is seen the gentle willow as it leans 
 
 O'er him in fond embraces. The sad wail 
 
 Which the mild undulating tree repeats. 
 
 Sighs in the air, and with its sound beguiles 
 
 The weary years of his long solitude ! 
 
 It is a mystic elegy, which blends 
 
 With the soft murmurs of the silent night. 
 
 And falls consoling on the naked rock!
 
 THE WILLOW OF ST. HELENA. 
 
 Yes ! to remind him of his ancient glory, 
 His fifteen years of triumph, there remains 
 Nought but a solitary tree ! The last 
 Of all his courtiers. Yes ! Of all tlie wreaths 
 A wondering world threw on his noble head, 
 What now remains ? — a willow on a rook ! 
 It is the green triumphal arch that Time 
 Has left for him whose fame will never die !
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 (from the FRENCH.) 
 
 A GLORIOUS seraph, round whose face 
 The splendors of celestial grace 
 Shone like a halo, pensive leant 
 Above a cradled innocent ; 
 And with complacent thought survey 'd 
 (As if in some clear stream portray'd) 
 His image mirror'd in the mild 
 Sweet features of the lovely child. 
 " Dear babe," for thus his accents flow, 
 " My little likeness here below, 
 Come to a happy place with me. 
 For earth is all unworthy thee ; 
 Come to a world of endless bliss : 
 A world far different from this ! 
 Here none a true delight can know. 
 Aye Pleasure's cup is dash'd with woe ! 
 The deep sob choaks the laugh of joy ; 
 And sighs the mirthful smile alloy. 
 Fear reigns o'er all ! No day is seen 
 Firmly and evenly serene,
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 But gloomy storms deform the morrow, 
 And vex the soul of man with sorrow! 
 What! shall these features, calm and pure, 
 Th' assault of grief and dread endure i 
 Shall tears corrode with bitter flow 
 These eyes of blue, and wring this brow .' 
 No ! thro' the ether spread on high 
 With me thou shalt to glory fly ! 
 Come then, for clemency Divine 
 Permits it, and ordains thee mine ; 
 Remits to thee thy destined time 
 Upon this mournful globe of crime. 
 Let not thy parents beat their breasts, 
 Nor clothe thy corse with sable vests, 
 But let them hail thy day of death, 
 As when thou first received'st breath. 
 He is not dead ! (oh, why complain?) 
 But into heaven is born agaiu ! 
 Let smiles and looks of joy replace 
 The stare of mis'ry on each face; 
 Death is no evil to the^o;)d — 
 The threshold of beatitude." 
 Then tow'rd the realms of endless day, 
 With that blest child he wings his way. 
 With glittering pinions widely spread : — 
 Poor mother, look, thy son is dead !
 
 10 
 
 THE MONK. 
 
 Paul Rlbens hied him up and down 
 
 Thro' Portugal and Spain ; 
 And he entered in a convent grey 
 
 With his youthful scholar-train. 
 
 As he was being led about 
 
 By a monk of noble mien, 
 He view'd a picture in a nook, — 
 
 The like was never seen ! 
 
 " And who is lie tliat drew this piece ?" 
 Said Rubens, " what his name?" 
 
 " Ask not for him," replied the monk, 
 " He seeks not wealth or fame! 
 
 " I know him, and the convent grey, 
 " Wherein he now doth dwell, 
 
 " But never shall my erring tongue 
 " The sacred secret tell !" 
 
 " The Pope shall force you to reveal 
 " This mighty artist's name ! 
 
 " And give his vast unrivall'd powers 
 " To bright and lofty fame !
 
 IHE MONK. 
 
 " For know that Rubens I am call'd, 
 " And high in art am thought — 
 
 " So great a thing as yonder work 
 " My pencil never wrought." 
 
 Upon the friar's pallid cheek 
 
 A colour rose, then died, 
 " Hear me, nor do in thoughtlessness 
 
 " A cruel deed !" li€ crie<l. 
 
 " What! deem ye ere he threw aside 
 " Each cherish'd earthly bliss, 
 
 " He had no struggle with liimself? 
 " If so, ye deem amiss. 
 
 " No! he preferr'd a heavenly crown 
 " To worldly praise or gain ; 
 
 " Give not, in grace, those agonies 
 " For him t' endure again!" 
 
 The aisle was clear'd , 
 
 The monk alone 
 With hurried paces 
 
 Trod the stone. 
 
 He took the picture 
 
 From the wall, 
 And in the river 
 
 Let it fall ! 
 
 li
 
 12 THE MONK. 
 
 The river ran 
 
 'Neath the convent wall ; 
 He took his paints 
 
 And pencils all, 
 And in the river 
 
 Let them fall ! 
 
 He watch 'd them as 
 They sunk full deej), 
 
 And back to his cell 
 
 Did, heart-broken, creep. 
 
 He besought his Master 
 His sins to forgive. 
 
 Then dropt on his pallet 
 And ceased to live !
 
 13 
 
 'TIS EARLY MORN. 
 
 'Tis early morn, with tlie solar beam 
 The cloudless skies are gay : 
 
 And full on yonder rippling stream 
 The golden arrows play. 
 
 The waters bright at distance flow, 
 In chequering, sheeted blaze : 
 
 Illusive is the splendid glow 
 Of those reflected rays. 
 
 It fleets before the advancing pace ; 
 
 And onward ever flies, 
 Shifting insensibly its place 
 
 Before the gazing eyes. 
 
 'Tis thus on life's dim waves, the star 
 Of happiness allures us on ; 
 
 We hope, we toil — it shines afar. 
 We near it now— and lo 'tis gone !
 
 14 
 
 HOW CHANGEABLE IS A', MAN. 
 
 How changeable is a', man, 
 fn this wide warld of ours ! 
 
 Soon night succeeds the day, man. 
 And thorns succeed the flowers. 
 
 How changeable is a', man, 
 In this wide warld of ours ! 
 
 The sky is bright awhile, man, 
 Anon 'tis dim wi' showers. 
 
 How changeable is a', man. 
 In this wide warld of ours I 
 
 And life is warst of a', man, 
 Sae chequered are its liours. 
 
 The heart of love grows cauld, man. 
 And friendship's eyebrow lowers. 
 For changeable is a', man. 
 In this wide warld of ours !
 
 15 
 
 THE EXILE'S SONG. 
 
 The suu afflicts my throbbing brow, 
 The whiles I pace the strand. 
 
 And watch the sea that parteth me 
 From my dear native land, 
 My friend, 
 From my dear native land ! 
 
 Each dear and long-remember'd face, 
 And long-remember'd scene, 
 
 And my sad eyes and sadder heart 
 Its billows roll between, 
 
 My friend, 
 Its billows roll between ! 
 
 When eve hangs out her cloudlets dark. 
 
 In vain I try to sleep : 
 I sit and ponder o'er my lot 
 
 The livelong night, and weep. 
 My friend, 
 
 The livelong night, and weep. 
 
 Each night sweet rest, forsakes my soul. 
 Each day I pace the strand : 
 
 Oh! shall I ne'er return again 
 To my dear native land, 
 
 My friend, 
 To my dear native land ?
 
 16 
 
 THE DESOLATE CITY. 
 
 Alone I pace the dreary streets ; 
 
 Pass each chill palace with a sigh. 
 For whatsoe'er my vision meets, 
 
 Awakes a mournful memory ! 
 
 'Twas here of yore a multitude 
 
 Of glorious, beauteous beings moved, 
 
 'Twas here bright, sunny scenes I vievv'd. 
 And all my Human Nature loved! 
 
 And wlien beneath the walls I wend 
 Of some old hospitable tower, 
 
 Stern as an unforgiving friend, 
 
 Its changed aspect doth on me lower .' 
 
 While thus 1 pour my vain lament, 
 The setting sun, the quiet sky. 
 
 At length beguile my discontent 
 By their august sublimity ! 
 
 The evening breeze with influence kind 
 Careers along the cheerless way : 
 
 Whence com'stthou. Spirit of the wind, 
 To visit me at close of day ?
 
 THE DESOLATE CITY. 
 
 With sweet remembrances tliy wings 
 Are laden, Spirit pure, and blest ! 
 
 Pure as the earth's internal springs. 
 
 Blest, for thou calm'st the turbid breast ! 
 
 Com'st thou from green expansive meadows, 
 Where the fresh grass exhales perfume, 
 
 And foliaged trees spread but few shadows, 
 Or gardens, bright with various bloom ? 
 
 Or grey moors, sprinkled all about 
 With pools, that, when the sun is high, 
 
 With mimic blaze like stars flash out : 
 Or ocean, sleeping peacefully? 
 
 Say, whither fliest thou, oh wind ? 
 
 To some lone isle in southern waves. 
 Which navigators ne'er did find. 
 
 And still a taintless billow laves ? 
 
 Thou art departing! stay, oh stay! 
 
 I hear afar thy feeble moan ! 
 The sound decays, it dies away! 
 
 And I, alas, am left — alone !
 
 IS 
 
 'TIS SWEET WHEN THE MORNING. 
 
 'Tis sweet when the morning bursts from the clear 
 
 skies, 
 To feel on the cheek the sweet breath of its sighs ; 
 'Tis sweet when the noon flames in the airy expanse 
 To muse, while the soul, with an aquiline glance, 
 Looks up to the source of each beautiful ray, 
 And riots in all the perfection of day ! 
 And 'tis sweet on the sunset of summer to gaze 
 While the west gleams all o'er with a mellowing blaze, 
 And the cloudlets, like cherubs, so pure and so bright, 
 Seem to beckon us after the monarch of light! 
 But 'tis sweetest to think when the night breezes blow. 
 And the darkness of winter o'er nature steals slow. 
 Of the meeting of those the cold world has disjoined, 
 Who long on the earth in despondence have pined. 
 In the regions of Paradise, blooming with spring, 
 Where death has no power, and affliction no sting!
 
 19 
 
 WHEN THE DIM SHADES. 
 
 When the dim shades of pensive evening fall, 
 And night is flung o'er Nature like its pall, 
 The moaning winds that past us sadly fly. 
 For vanish'd friendship eclio back the sigh : 
 Again when sun-beams pleasing warmth dispense, 
 And balmy flow'rets* sweets regale the sense, 
 The scent recals a dream of those with whom 
 We bask'd in sunshine 'mid the floral bloom : 
 Day, night, s.enes, odours, all things serve alone 
 Thoughts to create of joys and friendships gone ! 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF A DARK EVENING. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Loud howled thro' the foliage the comfortless blast, 
 As thro' the dim forest at twilight she past ! 
 She scarce could distinguish the path wliich she trod, 
 For 'twas barely mark'd out on the damp dewy sod : 
 The sun long had sunk ; and the black clouds were 
 
 driven 
 In obscurity vast o'er the lustre of heaven ; 
 Before her lone footsteps no beetle uprose 
 Like a ghost from the cell of his noontide repose; 
 No bat flickered by her on wandering wing ; 
 Nor heard she the sound of a living tiling!
 
 20 
 
 WOMAN'S TEAR. 
 
 She looked across the roaring wave, 
 And bent lier o'er its foam to weep ! 
 She thought of one exposed to brave 
 The stormy perils of the deep! 
 
 And not in vain her tears they fell, 
 For ocean's billows ronnd her curl, 
 Catch every drop within a shell. 
 And turn them into precious pearl ! 
 
 Nought is so rich in lovers' eyes 
 
 As this incomparable gem ; 
 
 No costly jewel do they prize 
 
 Like woman's tear, when shed for them !
 
 21 
 
 THE SEEKER OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 Seeker of happiness, O whither now? 
 To the wild windy moorland's open plain ! 
 The cultivated vale delights me not, 
 The pasture, nor the fields of golden grain. 
 
 Seeker of happiness, O whither now ? 
 
 To the high mountain's bold and rugged crest ! 
 
 I hate the sombre and continual flats, 
 
 And long to see the eagle's towering nest! 
 
 Seeker of happiness, O whither now? 
 To sbell'ring groves ! The cold and savage breeze 
 Wither'd my very heart on the bleak hill ! 
 What joy to watch the changes of the trees ! 
 
 Seeker of happiness, O whither now? 
 Sick of the land, for all therein is vain, 
 I fly impatient to the azure sea ! 
 And my heart yearns to float upon tlie main ! 
 
 Seeker of happiness, O whither now '. 
 
 To the gay pleasures of the world on shore ! 
 
 Terrific and deceitful is the deep : 
 
 Calm is the day — at night the tempests roar!
 
 22 THE SEEKER OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 Hold, wretched mortal! Rush not to the world! 
 
 In J* combined the evils are of all ! 
 
 Its hatred withers and its love betrays!] 
 
 Its joys are vapid, and its pleasures pall ! 
 
 Go commune with thy conscience! Probe thy soul ! 
 Awake thy virtuous energies divine! 
 Subject each rebel passion to control ; 
 And real, inward happiness is thine I
 
 23 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 FiUEND well-beloved, and often tried, 
 
 We soon, alas ! must part ; 
 But time's drear lapse shall ne'er divide 
 
 Thine image from my heart ! 
 
 Before anotliei" day has past 
 
 Thou'lt be upon the sea ; 
 Yet though this meeting is our last, 
 
 I'll still remember thee! 
 
 Yes ! never more before us twain 
 May wine-cup sparkle high ! 
 
 Few minutes now for us remain — 
 We'll spend them cheerfully ! 
 
 By death the tenderest ties are rent, 
 
 Man cannot fly from fate: 
 AVhat boots it then to make lament ? 
 
 We but anticipate ! 
 
 And must thou then so soon depart. 
 Companion tried, and true?, 
 
 Judge of my grief by thine own heart! 
 My early friend — 'Adieu!
 
 24 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Soul! thou sleepest ! wake thee! wake! 
 
 Doff" the gauds of carnal clay ! 
 From thy feet the fettei's shake, — 
 
 Night hath melted into day ! 
 
 Lo ! the fir-tree's waving branch, 
 Silver'd o'er with flakes of snow ! 
 
 Still they drift — and still tliey blanch — 
 See ! it breaks and drops below ! 
 
 To like end the joys of earth 
 Ceaselessly are on thee falling; 
 
 Rise ! as from a second birth ! 
 List the voice of Mercy calling ! 
 
 Heaven's gates wide open stand ; 
 
 — Sink for aye if nerveless now ! — 
 Breathe the prayer, and clasp the hand ; 
 
 — For thou hast pressing need, I trow !
 
 25 
 
 OTHNIEL. 
 
 Huge Othniel had no sooner risen 
 From that blue lake on which lie lay, 
 
 Than quitting hell's tremendous prison, 
 To th' earth he took his dreadful way : 
 
 Intent to add to the dark rolls 
 
 Of human crimes and fallen souls ! 
 
 A mind serene he found, but well 
 He knew 'twould barter Paradise 
 
 For one sweet bait, though clogged with hell ! 
 And shut to fate its wilful eyes. 
 
 Compassion, stranger till that hour 
 
 To Othniel, pleaded, — he forbore ! 
 
 That instant from his breast despair 
 Fled, and he felt the bliss of ease ! 
 
 The dreadful sense of ceaseless care 
 Was gone! he sunk upon his knees — 
 
 He felt that the Almighty hand 
 
 The wondrous change had wrought and plann'd.
 
 26 OTHNIEL. 
 
 Then thus he pray'd : " Tremendous Power! 
 
 Let me not taste of woe again ! 
 Annihilate, this very hour, 
 
 Thy slave, who fears his former pain ! 
 Omnipotent ! I long, yet dread, 
 To sleep, to be for ever dead ! 
 
 " For I, alas ! can ne'er forget 
 The horrid torture I have borne, 
 
 Nor canst thou, Mighty Master ! yet, 
 Forgive my guilt and rebel scorn: 
 
 This mercy I implore of thee, 
 
 This scarce-hoped mercy, — not to he!" 
 
 Straight from the pregnant air there came 
 An awful and commanding voice ; 
 
 Trembled the spirit's giant frame 
 At the articulate earthquake noise : 
 
 While in sublime affright he heard 
 The Infinite Omniscient's word. 
 
 " Thou hast done well! for this good deed 
 I can and will forgive thy sin ! 
 
 Thy clemency receives its meed. 
 
 And heaven takes pardoned Othniel in ! 
 
 The existence of the Fiend has ceased, 
 
 Othniel, my seraph-son, is blest !"
 
 27 
 
 THE BKOKEN-HEARTEO. 
 
 Fear not thou ! No vain lament 
 
 Shall ever irk thine ear, 
 And the' my throbhing heart be rent, 
 
 I'll check the rising tear! 
 
 The world has given me to thee, — 
 
 The dreadful vow is past; 
 And prompt shall its fulfilment be 
 
 By me, while life doth last ! 
 
 Thou didst from a true lover's breast 
 
 Tear me with cruel joy! 
 But all reproach shall be represt, 
 
 I'll work thee no annoy! 
 
 And when 1 die, perhaps thou'lt weep. 
 
 And mourn my early fate : 
 But quickly will thy conscience sleep - 
 
 Thou'lt clioose another mate ! 
 
 What lowering days for me remain ! 
 
 What nights of burning tliought ! 
 Oh ! 'tis too much ! my wretched brain 
 
 And heart are over wrought.
 
 28 THE VIOLET. 
 
 Yet hold ! Like the firm Spartan youth 
 In Dian's blood-stain'd fane, 
 
 I will not seek for ease or ruth — 
 But die — and not complain ! 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 As forth at eve I walk'd with pensive tread, 
 A wither'd violet in my path I found; 
 
 Faded its hue, its scent and beauty fled, 
 And lying all neglected on the ground ! 
 
 Ah ! once, methought, this hapless flower was seen 
 Growing iu dew on some smooth sloping bank, 
 
 Its purple head enshrined in foliage green, 
 And, modest, from the public gaze it shrank! 
 
 Perhaps some savage hand relentless tore 
 This timid violet from its calm retreat, 
 
 The whiles its bloom and beauty lasted, bore ; 
 Then flung it to be crush'd by heedless feet ! 
 
 Ah ! need I point the moral of the lay ? 
 
 No ! woman far too great resemblance bears. 
 And far too often to the castaway. 
 
 Whene'er she lists to man's delusive prayers !
 
 29 
 
 THE PRISONER'S LAMENT. 
 
 Through my barr'd grate I catch a beauteous view 
 Of nature, yet my eyes are wet with tears ! 
 
 The zephyr soothes not as 'twas wont to do, 
 Yet blows as sweetly as in former years. 
 
 The cheerful blackbird whistles from the wood, 
 The blazing sun pours down a dazzling ray, 
 
 And o'er the banks of yonder glittering flood 
 The swallows fleet pursue their insect prey. 
 
 But nought to me can pleasure now impart ! 
 
 And fain would I forget the reason why ; 
 The ready answer, springing from my heart. 
 
 Too harshly cries, " Thou art condemn'd to die!" 
 
 Whene'er I steal a few short hours from pain 
 In sleep, of home and happiness I dream ; 
 
 Restored to pristine innocence again. 
 Restored to fond parental love, I seem. 
 
 But soon these transient visions of delight 
 Are broken by my jailor's surly voice ! 
 
 The horrid truth comes o'er me like a blight, 
 And all my blest forgetfulness destroys!
 
 30 THE prisoner's LAMENT. 
 
 Hopeless lam; to pray I cannot dare ! 
 
 Though heavy on nij^ spirit hangs the deed; 
 The God of heaven would surc4y scorn a prayer 
 
 Which came not from the heart, but from the need. 
 
 And shall I, unrepentant, unforgiven. 
 Despairing to th' Eternal's presence go ? 
 
 My certain doom to be deprived of heaven, 
 And languish in eternity of woe ! 
 
 My wife! my children ! oh, thou blessed God ! 
 
 Whose just displeasure I have oft incurr'd! 
 Though 1 may bow before thy righteous rod. 
 
 Let them at least escape the avenging sword ! 
 
 Make not my infant son to beg his bread, 
 A wretched outcast boy, from door to door; 
 
 Harsh curses heaped upon his houseless head ; 
 An abject wanderer, miserably poor ! 
 
 Guard him, thou Gracious Power, although I bleed ! 
 
 Preserve the innocent for better times : 
 And grant he may, by many a virtuous deed, 
 
 Expnnge the memory of his father's crimes !
 
 31 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Yon pool, thick, dull, and stagnant, view, 
 
 (An emblem meet for thee. Despair!) 
 Of noisome stench and gloomy hue, 
 Tainting the air. 
 
 Nought can its sluggish ocean move, 
 
 In vain the breezes o'er it blow : 
 In vain the sun shines bright above. 
 All sad below ! 
 
 No fowl across its surface flies, 
 No cattle of its waters drink ; 
 Fertile of death, rank weeds arise 
 
 Beside the brink ! 
 
 Should lovely scenes around it spread, 
 
 No fair reflection would appear ! 
 'T would only seem more dim and dread, 
 More dark and drear !
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY STEWART AND CO. 
 
 OLD BAILEYv
 
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