K:-. M j^«^^mi !f^?y.^' . 14 i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Mn ^A /Hoi 2 , {ft^llj^^^ ?R TO REAR ADMIRAL EVANS, WHO, HAVING UNSHRINKINGLY BREASTED THE STORM, AND LONG AND BRAVELY SERVED HIS KING AND HIS COUNTRY, CASTS THE ANCHOR OF HIS HOPE, ON THE ROCK OF HIS SALVATION, LOOKING WITH THE EYE OF FAITH TO THAT HAVEN OF REST, WHICH HE, WHO SAID UNTO THE TEMPEST, " PEACE, BE STILL," HATH GONE TO PREPARE FOR ALL WHO LOVE HIM, THIS POEM, V IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. QISCES THE STORM. CANTO THE FIRST. Oh, who that has gazed on the ocean at rest. When the bright morning sun-beams illumin'cl its breast ! When the winds were all hush'd, and the waves were all even. Reflecting the unclouded radiance of Heaven ; Oh, who then a thought of its terrors could form. When the powers of destruction are riding the storm ; When the waves are all swelling to mountains of foam, And the heart-stricken mariner thinks of his home, — The home of his youth, on his dear native shore. And the far distant friends that shall greet him no more. THE STORM. With colours gay, and snowy sails unfurl'd, And keel, that lightly cleft the watery world, And songs that gladly echoed o'er the wave. From hearts that thought not of an opening grave. The morning sun beheld a vessel glide. As if in conscious empire o'er the tide. Where is that fair vessel, majestic and gay ? The billows are answering loud ; Her sailors, true-hearted and brave, — where are they ? Deep, deep in the caves of the dark, rolling sea. The ocean-weeds weave them a shroud. With death still contending, one victim remains. His right hand the waters repel, — His left — oh how fondly, an infant sustains. As through the dark tumult of ocean he strains. Whose surges seem pealing his knell. And now — he is nearing a low, rocky brow — That merciful Being has strengthen 'd him now. Whose word the wild ocean commands ; A white-crested wave bears him on to the shore. Receding, it leaves him, — yet one effort more. And sav'd from destruction he stands. Spirit of life ! thou wondrous thing ! How art thou priz'd when on the wing ; THE STORM. The young, the happy, and the gay May dread thy flight, or woo thy stay ; May fear to quit a smiling scene, To part from lover, parent, friend, — To see the curtain raised between This world and that which ne'er shall end. But yonder stranger, desolate. Cast up from ocean's angry bed, With none to soothe or share his fate. Save one, for whom such tears are shed ; Such tears of bitterness as flow To mourn the wreck of all below. What nerved him to deny the grave, And toil and struajfifle with the wave ? 'o&' . I Spirit of life ! the fear was thine Thou wouldst not leave the sanctuary. The frame, by Architect Divine, With heavenly wisdom raised for thee ; — Without the blessed hope which springs To speed with joy thy parting wings ; When mercy takes death's sting away. And thou dost separate from clay. In the sweet hope that thou shalt claim Thine own beloved long-suffering frame, No more to grieve, no more to sever, Imperishably thine for ever. 8 THE STORM. Freed from all feebleness and pain, Wash'd white as snow from every stain, licd spotless to Jehovah's throne. Clothed in that Righteousness alone. Which may the eye of Heaven endure. And pure — as highest Angel pure — Throughout Eternity allied. Body and spirit gloiified. O thou supreme. Almighty Power, Let me be chasten'd and exil'd, A homeless wanderer from this hour. But spare — in mercy ^ spare my child ! — Such was the wild petition breath 'd. From lips that seldom pray'd before, — As in the ocean weed he wreath 'd His hand, and climb 'd the rocky shore. All jjrostrate and lowly, on that unknown sod He knelt, and his prayer was accepted of God ; His spirit was humbled, his pride was no more ; The High and the Holy, whom angels adore. The Lord, Avho through deep waters open'd his way. The Saviour, who rent from the mighty the prey. The victor, who rose from the Cross to the Throne, Look'd down on the sufferer, and seal'd him His own. THE STORM. y Resign'd and comforted, he prest His rescu'd infant to his breast. And felt its httle pulses beat. And heard its plaintive voice repeat The name of father — that dear name. He never thought again to claim. When, sinking 'mid the billows wild. He saw the pale cheek of his child. With tears of thankfulness and joy He looked on the reviving boy. And chafed his stiffen 'd limbs, and strove. With tender, apprehensive love. To guard him from the dashing spray. And wring the ocean brine away. The rage of the tempest is hush' d into res t — The day-star shines bright on the still waters' breast. Thou calm flowing element, where are thy waves ? Oh softly they glide o'er the mariners' graves. And where are the winds ? Oh they tranquilly sleep O'er the hearts that lie cold in the fathomless deep : Long over their rest shall thy surges be spread. Till call'd by the trumpet to give up the dead. The world is awaking, creation is gay, But the spirits that pass'd 'mid the storm, where are they? Fair shone that Isle 'neath morning's ray. As died the voice of storms away, 10 THE STORM. The flowers reviv'd — the rescu'd child Return 'd his Sire's embrace — and smil'd • And Osmond felt his weight of woe Was lighten 'd by the sunny glow. Here would the wanderer rest, he cried, If there be rest for woes like mine ; In this fair solitude reside. And seek no love, my child ! but thine. Here could I see my Alfred rise. And teach his artless lips to pray : The pleading tears in his dear eyes Might turn the wrath of Heaven away. But yonder — hark ! a voice I hear, A human voice alarms my ear ; It seems approaching — man is near. Alas ! I vainly hoped to find A shelter in this island lone. Where I might hide me from mankind. And live in peace, and die unknown. Yet hush, my boy — we will not part — Ere man, remorseless man, shall tear Thee, my sole treasure, from my heart. No pulse of life shall linger there. Such was the firm resolve, expressed In deep, low murmurs to the child. THE STORM, 11 Close folded to the throbbing breast. So late to transient hope beguil'd. As swift advancing through the wood, A martial form before them stood. Tall was his stature, stern his eye. His step was firm, his bearing high ; The chieftain's helm and sable plume Veiled his dark brow in deeper gloom ; Beneath his ample mantle slung. To broidered belt, the dagger hung : With salutation cold, he raised His helm, and on the stranger gaz'd. But soon the haughty glance was past ; He shrank, astonished and aghast. Before that outcast of the storm, O'er whose pale cheek and wasted form The tempest-riven deep had swept. The partners of whose dangers slept. Without a stone to mark their grave, Uncoffined all beneath the wave. " Approach, Gonsalvo — raise thy head — 'T is Osmond summons thee," he said ; " But not the Osmond thou hast known. When love, fame, fortune, were his own ; When friendship, which he deemed sincere. Made every blessing doubly dear. 12 THE STORM. " I will not say how fortune fell. Nor mean I to reproach thee now ; The Power that reads my heart can tell. Its loss would scarcely cloud my hrow. I could have witnessed wealth depart Without a murmur at my lot. But there 's a sorrow of the heart. Can never, never be forgot ! Cold is the spirit, worse than cold. That can on shining ore depend : I heard that I had lost my gold. But felt that I had lost my friend. I felt, in bitterness of soul. That I was trampled on, deceiv'd — I slighted reason's mild control. And deeply, frantically griev'd. " My wife, my sweet Monimia, tried Affection's soothing voice in vain ; She could not heal my wounded pride. Nor cool the fever of my brain. Nay, while to comfort me she strove. What will not fell suspicion do ? I thought she only feign 'd to love — That she would soon forsake me too. She felt the change — she could not bear The frozen glances of my eye. THE STORM. 13 I saw her yielding to despair, I saw her fade away and die : My madness, my unkindness doom'd The fairest flower that ever bloom'd To wither in an early grave — Repentance came, but late to save. " Oh, many a night, when all repos'd, When every eye sweet slumber clos'd, Have I, amid sepulchral gloom. Knelt at my murder'd angel's tomb ; In silence knelt — my heart was stone — This burning eye had not a tear — But He, who from the depths unknown Hath called me forth to meet thee here. Who kept me in the stormy sea. He taught the flinty heart to pray ! "You smile, Gonsalvo — prejudice and pride May mock religion, and may faith deride ; But I have found, when human aid was vain. Religion comfort me, and faith sustain. That faith which now emits a feeble ray. May yet burn brighter to the perfect day — That heart, which now lies bleeding 'neath the rod. May yet rejoice and triumph in its God. B 14 THE STORM. 'T is true, I cannot what I was forget, Remembrance haunts the wounded spirit yet ; But I can see the man whose baneful art Infused suspicion in my trusting- heart — I can that man with calm compassion view — Who hopes for pardon, learns to pardon too. " Behold this sacred pledge of love. This image of a saint above. This only treasure of a breast Which thou hast known so fully blest, Preserv'd 'mid danger, sorrow, strife. My last remaining link to life. The stormy win ds, and raging se a. Have spared its tender infancy : Be not more merciless than they — Blot out the evil thou hast done. And save the father in the son." Fervent he spake, a burning hectic passed O'er his pale cheek, as still more close he clasped The child, for whose dear sake he deigned to sue The man whom he had tried and found untrue. " Would it were blotted out," Gonsalvo said. As Osmond from the shore he kindly led — " Would it were blotted out, nor left behind One painful image on thy noble mind ; THE STORM. 15 Too well the record of the past I see, Defac'd and darken 'd by my acts to thee. Oh that oblivion's fabled waves might flow O'er scenes that but awaken fruitless woe ; fO-^ And yet a page unfolds of promised joy. The future prospects of Lord Osmond's boy. The chosen heir of all that we survey. For this fair island owns Gonsalvo's sway. Nay, more — full many a gallant heart and hand Obeys his mandate, arms at his command ; From east to west his lofty vessels glide. And calmly sweep the subjugated tide. Till, flushed with victory and charg'd with spoil, They harbour here, and rest them from their toil. " Then inauspicious deem the gale no more. Which cast^thy s hattered b ark on frie ndly shore . Where daring spirits dwell, from bondage free — Thou need'st repose, refreshment — follow me. " 'T is noon — 't is evening — on the sea The breezes slum ber tr anc[uilly : Up, comrades, much must yet be done. Ere from the bosom of the deep Shall rise again yon setting sun. Let cheerful labour banish sleep ; 16 THE STORM. Our bavk must, ere the break of flay. Be fitted for the watery way : Then speed the hours till morning smile- A song may lighten toil the while. PIRATES' SONG. Let the soft sons of pleasure on down couches slumber, No free-born spirits such luxury crave ; Though few be the hours of enjoyment they number, Yet sweeter by far is the sleep of the brave. Oh, who that has seen, o'er the white foamy billow. His bark bounding lightly, the queen of the wave. Would wish to exchange, for the sensualist's pillow. The heart-cheering triumph, the bliss of the brave ? Let the great ones of earth, then, exult in their splendor. Their obsequies graced by the hireling and slave ; Oh, who would exchange, for the homage they render, The tear that is shed o'er the tomb of the brave ? Such was the strain that from the band Beneath Gonsalvo's stern command Arose in cadence free. y THE STORM. 17 As, grouped upon the Island strand, Cheerful they toiled, and lightly scanned The peril s of the sea. jNIeanwhile, retiring to his lonely tower. Their chief with Osmond spent the midnight hour. " Thy purpose own," the noble stranger said, " With me, Gonsalvo, sophistry is vain ; The upright heart need no avowal dread ; Plain are my questions, be thy answers plain. " With right undoubted, thine appears a land Adorned by nature's most jDrolific hand ; Where spring delights to spread the turf^ with flo vvers. And fruitful autumn loads the fragrant bowers. What prompts thee to desert so fair a scene. And tempt the dangers of the stormy main ? If to defend thine isle from threatened foes. And, nobly open, force to force oppose. Then shall our long estrangement never more Recur with power resentment to restore ; Remembrance of the past shall only raise The soul-reviving hope of better days. " But if, a lawless pirate of the sea. Thy sail be spread for injury or prey ; If thirst of gain alone inspire thy mind. Then can our interests never be combined. B 2 18 THE STORM. " No ! though offensive to my God, though still My pride rebell'd against his sovereign will. Beneath his chastisement though doom'd to roam, Bereft of friends, of fortune, and of home, I yet have held, than even that tie more dear, The love of virtue early planted here. No — let me rather seek some distant shore. Where wandering exile never trod before. Than vdth such degradation brand my name : At least, my Alfred from his sire shall claim Unquestion'd honour and unsullied fame." Darkly, as lowers the angry south When whirlwinds drawjieai". Threatening, as seems the crater's mouth Ere Etna's fires appear, Scowl'd that indignant chieftain's eye. While, meditating for reply. He strove his feelings to restrain. And o'er his wrath ascendance gain. " Lord Osmond, ancient prejudice is strong — These doubts provoke me, these supicions wrong ; No lawless pirate of the deep I roam, In quest of treasure better found at home ; For every fruit and flower, which toil bestows On other lands, in this spontaneous grows ; THE STORM. 19 O'er sands of gold the chrystal river strays, And the rich mine with sparkling diamonds blaze. " Would'st thou not deem it idle thought to bind In caverns deep the restless northern wind ? It were a vainer project to control. To this fair speck of earth, Gonsalvo's soul. Sweeter by far to spread my snowy sail. And see my galley fly before the gale. Than, stretched beneath these ever-verdant bowers, To waste in languid ease my l istless hou rs- To-morrow's dawn I purpos'd to have shown My friend the wonders of this coast unknown ; Fear not that pirate strife shall stain my prow — The winds arejiush'd, no chance of shipwreck now — Doubt me no more — 't is all that I demand, And take, in pledge of confidence, my hand." His proffered hand with kindness Osmond prest. They part in peace, and both retire to rest ; One knelt, in humble, penitential prayer. His child commending to Jehovah's care ; And one, unmoved and prayerless, laid him down. His evil deeds with darker acts to crown. Glorious, as when commission'd to illume The hidden wonders of primeval gloom. 20 THE STORM. Bright, as when first, beneath the Almighty's eye, It shone on earth, and kindled all the sky, The sun arose, with animating ray. And nature smiling own'd the orb of day. Up, Osmond, up, Gonsalvo cried. Our galleydances on the tid^j^ Fear not. Old Martha well shall tend The boy, till evening shades descend ; Freshly the favouring breezes blow. They wait you on the beach below. Oh ! there are feelings undefined. Prophetic warnings of the mind. That, with the lightning's swiftness, dart Resistless presage to the heart. As if a spirit of the air. With sudden whisper to beware. Had chilled the vital current there ; Or ministering angel's wing Had slightly touched the secret spring. And open'd to the mental eye The curtain of futurity. Such ominous foreboding prest On Osmond's agitated breast. As, o'er the unconscious infant leaning. His sole remaining tie below. THE STORM. 21 He felt its influence restraining His steps, whene'er he turn'd to go. Bless thee, sweet innocent, he said. May hovering angels guard thy bed ; Thus ever tranquil be thy sleep. And never mayst thou wake to weep. Should sudden ill, or treacherous snare. Deprive thee of a parents care, Oh ! may thy Heavenly Father spread His holy banner o'er thy head ; In eveiy sorrow be thy Stay, And guide thee through the thorny way. But hark ! a signal from the shorcj^ A summons hence — yet one look more — Oh could I see these eyes unclose. Yet, sacred be my child's repose ; Why should I cause thy tears to flow. Or wake thee to a sense of woe ; Blest in thy slumbers, sweetly smiling O'er thy pure soul some dream of gladness Seems all thy infant thoughts beguiling. Unconscious of a parent's sadness ; Perchance, from heaven, Mominia, thou Dost commune with our infant now. 22 THE STORM. Farewell, farewell, my lovely boy — 'T is but a passing cloud, I trust ; If e'er we meet — we meet in joy. Said I, if e'er — we shall ! — we must ! The die is cast — I may not stay — Wildly he spake, and turn'd away ; Dash'd from his eye the startling tear, And, hasting on in swift career, Down the steep chffs, as if by speed To be from torturing memoiy freed : Like the pierced deer that knows no rest. Bearing the arrow in her breast ; Impetuous to the shore he flew, And join'd Gonsalvo's daring crew. THE STORM. CANTO THE SECOND. THE HERMIT. Is there, amid the changing scenes of time. In guilt's dark record, is there trac'd a crime So hateful as ingratitude ? Its sting Can pierce the kmdest heart — the noblest, wring. Where feeling dwells, and confidence prevails, Beneath the smiling guise of love it steals. And, like an aspic, cherish 'd and caress'd. Awaits its time to wound the trusting breast. When rebel angels fell, to depths of woe — When Adam forfeited his heaven below — 24 THE STORM. Though man was blest, and Paradise was fair, Expell'd from heaven, ingratitude was there ; With sweet and syren voice allured to Ul, In guise a seraph, but a demon still. Serenely glanced the summer morning's ray On the clear bosom of the tranq uil sea . Which seem'd in such unbroken calm to rest As if a storm had never stirr'd its breast ; Save where the cliffs hung giant bulwarks o'er. To guard from rude approach the lovely shore. Then, chang'd their peacefuljnien, and azure Jjue, All white ^oth rage the baffled waters grew ; Combin'd in t umult wil d, the a ngry waves Claim'd right of passage to remoter caves; O'erleap'd the ro cks th at would their entrance bar. And sent their sparkling witnessers afar. Spreading o'er silver sands in triumph j aLr; OiTrisingTnghTlike snowy birds in air. The foamy heralds seem'd announcing wide The unresisted power of Ocean/sJide^ With canvas strain 'd to catch the gentle gale. Returning, see the Island Chieftain's sail ; Glad voices, now, his welcome home declare, Gonsalvo lands— but Osmond is not there ; 'Mid gratulations loud of feudal pride. None paus'd to think where Osmond might abide. THE STORM. 25 None car'cl to ask would any chance restore The noble stranger cast upon their shore : While all was joy and heedless mirth around, To waken thought of him was but one sound. It was a startling sound — a scream — A name — an oft repeated name ; A plaintive cry, and little hands Extended most imploringly ; A voice, whose fond appeal demands A father's wonted sympathy. And never sure had baby's moan Such depth of anguish in its tone — Ne'er did such floods of sorrow fall From infant eyes — 't was mark'd of all, That hapless shipwreck'd orphan's woe. Save him who caus'd the tears to flow. He might have felt it, for the arrow flies. When most the harden'd heart its power denies. What though he pass'd the babe unheeded by. In midnight stillness heard he not its ciy ? Oh were there not a world, where endless bUss, Or woe eternal, waits the immortal soul, 'T were wisdom's better part to yield in this Allegiance to religion's mild control. 26 THE STORM. Who would not rather trust a conquering Lord, Beneath the flag- of his salvation move, When doubtful, led by his unerring word. And cheer 'd, when faint, by his redeeming love. Than boast of liberty, though bound the while To ruin's gulph by Satan's strongest chain ? There is no slave so abject and so vile As him o'er whom his own dark passions reign. G uilt undetected may remain. With harden'd front and haughty_mien, Of mental leprosy no sign ; Upon the brow n ^ da rkenin g'line Remember'd crime may have imprest ; But in the chambers of the breast. In midnight musings on the pilIo^\ , Or tossed upon the stormy billow. Or when the leech's art is vain. Remorse will add a sting to j^ain. Where is the orphan of the storm — The nursling of the ocean's bed ? And where that other noble form P A vision, scarcely seen ere fled. It may be that the father died ; But when, or how, none car'd to tell. THE STORM. 27 The orphan's tears had all been dried. No echo of the fond farewell, Almost prophetically spoken. Might now avail — the tie was broken. The arms that clasp 'd him in the wave. And rescu'd from a watery grave. Had moulder'd long beneath the clay ; And he, Gonsalvo's chosen heir. The son of his adoption, may For sorrows past have little care. Such was the chieftain's answer still. If chance a thought of former ill. Of that dark, stormy hour of woe. That parent who had lov'd him so. Came, like a shadow of the nisht, To cloud a brow where all was liffht. And art thou cradled in the pirate's nest. Thy only resting-place Gonsalvo's breast ? Dost thou confide to it thine every care. Unconscious of the slumberins: Etna there ? Son of the noble, scion of the brave. Had Heaven so will'd, 't were better that the grave Had o'er thee clos'd, than thou wert spar'd to know A tyrant's love, that heritage of woe. The awful foldings of Jehovah's plan. His undevelop'd providence to man. 28 THE STORM. Involv'd in clouds and darkness may appear ; Beneath our tents of clay, we marvel here At his unsearchable decrees, or doubt The love, whose depths are past our finding out. Free to reject, or choose, as fancy led. From vice, as from contagion, Alfred fled. The prayer of Osmond's breaking heart, preferr'd In that dread hour of nature's grief, seem'd heard. And, every earthly guide to virtue flown, His son appear 'd the ward of Heaven alone. The Lord, omnipotent in mercy, smil'd In ceaseless blessing on the orphan child. And gave him favour in a heart, till then To feeling callous, and at war with men. Gonsalvo knew the daring crew, that serv'd, Piiz'd and esteem'd him as his deeds deserv'd. Confess 'd him brave, his sway unmurmuring bore, Obey'd his will, — and he requir'd no more. His youth was fled, his manhood nearly gone. With yeai's infinnity may hasten on. How sweet the dream, to share the fondest part In that young, ardent, uncorrupted heart ; To think that there was one would shed a tear Of undissembled sorrow o'er his bier. THE STORM. 29 Conversant once in deep scholastic lore. He now revis'd his mind's extensive store ; Call'd forth the knowledge which had dormant lain, And woke his slumbering energies again. Delighted when his ready pupil caught Each new conception, and, with reach of thought. And rising power of intellectual sway, Chas'd the dull clouds of mental gloom away. And thus, as time in peaceful study pass'd. Each year saw Alfred wiser than the last. But there, he felt, was something wanting still, A blank, which no attainment made could fill. In the soft showers, the freshening winds, the dew. The trees that blossom'd and the flowers that blew. The ocean's broad expanse, the earth, the sky. He trac'd an omnipresent Deity — A great First Cause, whose all creative power He ignorantly worshipp'd every hour. Oh ! who would teach him on that God to call. That mighty Spirit, thus pervading all ; From things unseen the shrouding curtain draw. Or lead him to the source of n ature's law_ j^ At such enquiiy, stern Gonsalvo grew. Harshly replied, or silently withdrew. Why was the light of truth obscur'd to him ? Was his eye clouded, or his senses dim ? C 2 30 THE STORM. Strange, that a mind on other subjects clear Should be so dark, so unacquainted here. As, lost in such reflections, Alfred stray 'd. He gain'd a vista in the forest shade. Where trees receding-, show'd a verdant plain. Declining gently to the azure main. Against an oak, whose giant trunk was rent By time and storms, an aged hermit leant. With clasped hands, and locks of silver grey. And tranquil brow, exempt from passion's sway, Save in the rapt, ecstatic glow of love. Which seem'd to waft his kindling soul above. What strong emotions, deep, transporting, new. Awoke in Alfred's bosom at the view ; His spirit in the offering seemed to blend, And with the hemiit's hymn of praise ascend. HYMN. When, at Jehovah's high command. The Spirit mov'd upon the deep. He bade the lofty mountains stand. And the wild waves their boundaries keep. Reign, Emmanuel, Emmanuel reign alone. And make the kingdoms of the world thine own. THE STORM. In beauteous harmony combin'd. And guided by omniscient skill. Creation own'd tby forming mind, And at thy voice the storm was still. By disobedience lost, when man From Paradise ejected fled. Thy love restored the glorious plan. Thy mercy bruised the serpent's head. The nations now that bend the knee. And low to heathen idols fall. Ere long shall triumph. Lord, in thee. The sxeat Deliverer of them all. The souls who own thee strong to save. And all-sufficient to atone. Shall claim thy victory o'er the grave. And, glorified, surround thy throne. The clouds that now thy saints divide Before thy light shall pass away. The gates of glory, opening wide. Disclose the Lord of endless day. Reign, Emmanuel, Emmanuel reign alone, And make the kingdoms of the world thine own 31 32 THE STORM. The solemn strain, so deeply felt By him who spake and him who heard, Had scarcely ceas'd, when Alfred knelt. And fervent thus his suit preferr'd : " Oh pardon that my steps intrude. Blest stranger, on thy solitude ; But what my lips would fain unfold Waits not for introduction cold. I have seen death, have look'd on clay. When the bright spirit pass'd away ; When closed and sightless was the eye Which once could glance on earth and sky ; And mute and motionless the tongue On which the words of kindness hung ; And cold, as marble cold, the breast Where fond affection once had rest : And I have shudder'd at the doom. To sink for ever in the tomb. " Annihilation cannot be — The deathless principle within Asserts its immortality — To harbour doubt of it were sin. Yet oh, mysterious darkness shrouds That awful world beyond the clouds ; THE STORM, The spirit that can feel and see. Lament and triumph, hate and love. When from its earthly dwelling free. Must still exist — below — above — Must soar aloft, to regions blest. To brighter scenes of joy and rest; Or, bound in chains of darkness, know A dread eternity of woe. In pity, holy father, show Where, when the mortal link is gone. The spirit of the just lives on." To Heaven the hermit's hands were spread. As if to say its home was there. Then rested on the suppliant's head. In raptur'd fervency of prayer. Oh, thou, he cried, who for our sins hast trod Alone the winepress of the wrath of God, Wased with the Prince of hell successful strife, And oped the gates of everlasting life ! Great source of light and knowledge, God of love. Maker of earth below, and Heaven above ; Who by thy mighty Spirit guided here A charge to me, thou only knowest how dear. Grant that this precious talent I employ. And render up account of it with joy; 33 34 THE STORM. Bear with the weakness of thy servant's heart. And wisdom to these faltering lips impart. That I may bid the young immortal soar To that blest world where sorrow is no more — To knowledge unattained, and joy unknown — His God to worship, and his Saviour own ; From vain philosophy his spirit free. And cast the anchor of his hope on Thee. The prayer was heard — the trembling anchor cas t On Him, who, once receiving, holds it fast. Though gto rms aris e, and angry bniowsjx)ll. And earthquakes rend the world, from pole to pole. Now Alfred soar'd on contemplation's wing, Now rose in spirit to his risen king ; Unclouded light dawn'd in upon his soul. And Heavenly hope, unfettered by control. Celestial visions of futurity : Peace upon earth, and glory from on high. When Satan's empire, sin, and suffering o'er. The Heaven of Heavens should open, and restore The righteous Lord, omnipotent to save ! The plague of death, the conqueror of the grave. The Book of Prophecy was now unseal'd. And stUl, as knowledge grew, was light reveal 'd ; THE STORM. 35 Now an instructor sent, whose gifted mind. Tried in affliction's furnace, and refin'd. With tender care prepar'd his pupils heart. To meet and overcome the Tempter's art. Long had Gonsalvo his fierce crew restrain 'd. And was, or seem'd, content with treasure gain'd. While Alfred 'neath his eye perus'd the page Bequeath'd by history from age to age. In the fleet race his skill and swiftness tried. Or graceful rein'd the fiery courser's pride. Yet dark and troubled grew the Chieftain's brow, Since in the port appear'd a foreign prow. When sable night bids wearied nature sleep. Still with her Captain held he converse deep. Morn dawn'd, and she was gone — unknown her aim — Her flag — her nation — or from whence she came. But not with her departs Gonsalvo 's care — A gloomy, deep abstraction marks his air ; All day he wanders on the lonely shore. Or, pausing, seems to list the billows' roar ; It is but seeming — in his bosom raves A storm ^which drowns the dash ing of the waves . Up the rude path with rapid steps he springs. Loud through the cavern 'd rocks his bugle rings. 36 THE STOilM. Swift, at the summons, his obedient band Attend — and silent wait the chief's command. " 'T is past mid_day — before yon sun be^et. My chosen band, be in the galley met — Arm'd, and prepar'd for hazard of a deed Which bold unshrinking enterprize may need. I sail ere fall of night — see to it, now. That no impediment retard my prow." With gay alacrity, Gonsalvo's crew To fit the bark for wish'd-for strife withdrew ; Each haU'd his brother pirate with a smile, And sound's of gladness echo'd through the Isle. " Strange tidings," Alfred said, " ere set^f sun. Your galley_sails — and far the glass has run, Whate'er the enterprize, let Alfred bear With thee its peril, or its glory share. He fears not danger — shrinks not from alaiTU, A rightful cause will nerve a feeble arm ! Deny me not — and trust, a zealous will Almost compensates for the want of skill." " Thanks for the wish, my gallant boy, tho' now Thy much lov'd presence I may not allow. No peril threatens to awaken fear. And well ajoprov'd the hearts that guard thee here." THE STORM. 37 " No guard I here require," the youth replied, " I part no follower from Gonsalvo's side ; Since deem'd unworthy of his confidence. Unworthy to contend in his defence, I would but seek the pious Hermit's cell. And there, in unmolested quiet, dwell." " Alfred, thou do'st me wrong, to doubt the love Which every act has prov'd, and still shall prove. What ! thou unworthy ! there exists not one Beneath the cope of Heaven, but thee alone. Whom I would trust — not one of all my crew — Of all the many that in life I knew. My early youth mankind this lesson taught. And let them rue the tempest they have wrought. But I will trust thee till my latest sigh. Till warmth forsakes my heart, and light my eye. All but my sorrows would I share with thee. And yet brief time shall solve the mystery ; Then cheer thee, nor thy suit's denial moum. Each doubt shall fade away at my return. Nor hast thou need to seek a hermitage. That last resource of superstitious age. When quell'd ambition wearies of its toy. And worn out nature can no more enjoy. Go — thou art young — experience clears the view. And time at least gives wisdom — now adieu. D 38 THE STORM. Adieu, my Alfred, every doubt restrain ; Ere twice the sun descends, we meet again." " Does time give wisdom ? " Alfred musing said. As swift to join his crew Gonsalvo sped. " Does time give wisdom ? What is wisdom, then '' To hate, deride, distrust our fellow men — To mock religion ? blest be ignorance. If such be wisdom — wisdom is oftence 'Gainst every noble sentiment and aim. Religion teaches, charges us to claim. No — let me rather deem what I have heard The utterance of a heart by misery sear'd. The bitter ebullition of a mind PeiTcrted — perhaps injured by mankind. Alas ! Gonsalvo, hadst thou only known The blessed truth Angelo might have shown, Thou wouldst not see in prospect drear extend, Death without hope, and age without a friend. And yet he loves me — trusts to me alone ; Ah ! many a year his changeless love hath shown. As some proud bark, by angry tempests driven. At length o'er labour'd seeks a sheltering haven, So, by contending tides of passion cast. He hopes to find repose in me at last. THE STORM. 31) And he shall find it, if affection true. Attention never wearying — ever new — May to his spirit better hope impart. Or draw the arrow rankling at his heart. ^ But now — he rushes on with purpose dread. With all his errors darkling o'er his head. Oh ! let me fly between him and the grave. And save him yet — if in my power to save. Oh, let me at his feet imploring bend. And bear his anger — but his steps attend." He said, and instant from the tower he rush'd. His heart beat strongly, and his cheek was flush 'd ; Athwart his path the wheeling owlet flew ; The herbs and wild flowers steep 'd his feet in dew ; The sun already sinking in the main. The deepening shadows tell him hope is vain ; He gains the beech — is yon Gonsalvo's prow. Yon lessening speck afar ? — 't is vanished now : Increasing darkness shrouds the lovely view. And darkness falls upon his spirit too. Silent — he bent his footsteps from the shore. And never felt so desolate before. He closed his eyes in slumber, but the theme Of waking terror fram'd the nightly dream : 40 THE STORM. He sees Gonsalvo sinking 'mid the deep. While round him billows rise, and tempests sweep ; And now the winds are hush'd, the waters show. Receding far, a darksome cave below' ; Extended pale and breathless on the ground. His bosom pierc'd with many a ghastly wound, Gonsalvo lies — in agony of grief. Vainly would Alfred fly to his relief; A chilling form, of dread, unearthly mien. Still waves him back, and frowning stands between. Now gladly waking from disturb 'd repose, Resolv'd to seek the Hermit's cell, he rose. 'T was sweet to meet the calm, benignant eye. Which sparkled with delight when he was nigh ; Sweet in the prayer of faith to bear a part. And thus unfold the sorrows of his heart. Departing, Holy Father, didst thou mark. At close of yester eve, Gonsalvo's bark ? My heart went with him, yet was I denied To know the threaten'd peril, or divide. Dread visions of the night still imag'd him. With terror undefined, and shadows dim. Alas ! he is not happy — hath not rest, A secret grief is heavy at his breast. In childhood oft, when near unto his bed His partial kindness would my pillow spread. THE STORM. 41 Amid night's stUlness, waking from light sleep, I Ve wept to hear his groans of anguish deep. And climb'd his couch, with infantine caress. In vain attempt to lighten his distress ; Then would he fondly clasp me to his heart. Or fling me off, and charge me to depart ; Yet ever, such brief harshness sure to mourn. His outstretch'd arms would woo me to return. Oh never, never jcan this heart forget The tenderness which bless'd my orphan years ; The future may be dark with clouds, but yet All brightened by his love the past appears. Did Revelation's light upon him shine. Had he acquaintance with the Word Divine, As gems of value, when their grosser part Is polish 'd by the skilful workman's art ; So might we see Gonsalvo's noble mind In purest lustre glow, from dross refined. Oh, sainted father ! think what joy to bring That generous spirit from its wandering ; What privilege an erring soul to gain. For sure thy voice was never heard in vain. Behold, my son, the Hermit said, this form, Bow'd down to earth by keen affliction's storm ; D 2 42 THE STORM. This bosom, wrung with agonizing fears. This pallid cheek, less worn by time than tears ; Their solemn, silent, evidence maintain. How oft this voice was heard, and heard in vain. Oh ! there are hearts so hard, so void of fear. That if an angel spake, they would not hear ; Spirits, whose long companionship with ill Makes all that we hold sacred, mockeiy still ; And such Gonsalvo bears — nay, start not so ! The fearful truth it must be thine to know. An early exile from his native clime. His youth, wild license mark'd — his manhood, crime : One friend he had, on whose confiding breast The blighting seal of miseiy he imprest, And lightly doom'd him to a fate so dark. That were I free to name it, Alfred ! mark ! Thy very soul would shudder there could be In heart of man such merciless cruelty. But I am silent — must be sQent there. To save and warn thee now be all my care ; Amid the guilt whose punishment foreshown. Draws from his tortur'd heart the midnight groan ; He loves, or seems to love thee ; yet beware, The friendship of the wicked is a snare. THE STORM. 43 A deep and deadly poison, which distils Its venom, and, with seeming healing, kills. Then oh, my Alfred, fix no bower of rest On the dread Etna of Gonsalvo's breast ; Distrust his counsels, to whate'er they tend. Religion's foe was never virtue's friend. For me, far sooner would I seek the den Of savage beast, or still more savage men ; Far sooner would I trust the crocodile. Which sports deceitful on the banks of Nile ; Far sooner life in silent sorrow close, Than trust his love, or on his truth repose. To guard thee from destruction, hovering round. Detains me where 't were ruin to be found ; Tortures, or death, or cruel bonds would be My instant recompense for love to thee. "As Saul, when from the holy Seer He heard that sentence dread. Which 'reft him of a kingdom here, And pointed out a doom of fear Impending o'er his head. Recoiling, fain would not receive The jirophecy he must believe ; So Alfred strove to turn away From truths too painful to survey : 44 THE STORM. He had been leaning on a spear. Whose deadly point with flowers was bound ; And he had held its service dear. Nor would suspect its skill to wound, While, grateful for experienc'd aid. He felt not of its power afraid. Oh may thy generous love to me, he said, Be never met with recompense so dread ; My life — a thousand lives, I would resign. From all approach of ill to shelter thine. Yet of Gonsalvo let us not despair. But humbly hope that He who answers prayer May deign to break the iron bonds of sin. And heal the fearful leprosy within. For me — where'er my steps I bend. The blessing of my sainted friend Shall comfort, strengthen, and defend ; May naught of evil reach thy cell, Trust to my secrecy — farewell ! The setting sun had ting'd the west With clouds of gold and purple hue ; The breezes sleep, and ocean's breast Reflects the scene, like mirror true. THE STORM. 45 How sweetly zephyr bears along The music of the feather'd throng. From groves of fragrance — oh how bright. How lovely is declining light ! Like friends, who never seem so dear As when the parting hour draws near. But hark ! — a signal-gun is fired — Another echoes o'er the main. Announcement of the sail desir'd, Gonsalvo's gallant bark again ; She sweeps majestically slow. And anchors in the port below. To hail the Chieftain, Alfred stands — The- boat arrives — Gonsalvo lands — The only hand he deigns to clasp. With equal warmth returns his grasp. My gallant boy ! — sure peril 's sweet. When parted friends in safety meet ; But thou art spent with watching — I Would also sleep's refreshment try ; To both 't were needful. — Yonder, hark ! Remove the prisoners from the bark ; With heedful care their wants supply, And let the galley anchored lie ! 46 THE STORM. Haste, Alfred ! wherefore linger there ^ Methinks to breathe this chilling air Is no such luxury. — My Lord, Fain would I question — Not a word ! O'erwearied nature claims repose. Doubt not the morrow shall disclose What thou wilt gladly hear, — he said, And up the rocky pathway led ; While pleas 'd to think returning day Would solve Gonsalvo's mystery, Alfred forgot his cares below. In slumbers sweet as infimts know.-*- THE STORM. CANTO THE THIRD. THE PRISONER'S CHILD. 'Mid the turbulent passions, the sorrows and strife, That too often embitter the short span of life. There are hours of enjoyment, and moments of bliss. Did they last, oh ! no world of trial were this. But transient, as beauteous, they come but to fly. As sunbeams that glance through a wintiy sky. And yet, should our bosoms with thankfulness glow, For traces of Paradise left us below. That, flashing benignly our darkness between. Attest by things present of glories unseen. 48 THE STORM. The spiiit immortal rejoices to find The treasure of mind sympathizing with mind ; When sentiment, feeling, expression, and tone. In union harmonious, responds to our own ; ■ Foreshadowing faintly that perfected love. Uniting beatified spirits above : And lending assurance life's narrowing span. Confining the high aspirations of man ; But leads where no shadow of grief shall descend, To regions of blessedness never to end. Then sacred for ever, for ever most dear. Be the feelings that lighten our pilgrimage here — May the flowers of affection profusely unfold, To solace the young, and to shelter the old ; Through the links of society verdantly wave. Nor exhale their last sweets till they droop o'er the grave. " Fain wouldst thou leara, my son," Gonsalvo said, " When to the favoring breeze my sail was spread. What course I bore — what enterprize design 'd — List, Alfred, then — a lesson of mankind. Where yonder darkly frowning cliffs arise. Far to the west, a fertile Island lies : Long undiscover'd, and to man unknown. Its fig trees blossom 'd, and its wild flowers blew ; Frec|uented by the feather'd tribe alone. It ne'er the foreign aid of culture knew — THE STORM. 49 Until De Moiney came— a chief, whose pride No bounds could limit, no deception hide. It matters not to tell how strife began. Of treacherous enterprize, and baffled plan ; To tell my Alfred how% to peace inclin'd. Content with conscious masteiy of mind, I naught permitted that might discord raise. But left to him the empire of the seas. Thy worth, thy tenderness my home endear 'd ; Almost extinct ambition's power appear 'd, For I had tried the world, and could resign Its vain allurements for a heart like thine. But while I thus had hope my days to end. And tranquilly the vale of life descend — A plot was form'd to sever, at one blow. All that I priz'd, and dearest held below. Thanks to my trusty spies, that project failed. Thanks to this arm, the rightful cause prevail'd. The would-be conqueror little thought to find A foeman to his purpose well inclin'd, Prepar'd in all things to anticipate Intent so kindly — meet him at his gate — Provide a galley to convey him o'er. And land him safely on the wish'd for shore. Aye — thus shall that vain glorious chieftain know. The lion rous'd becomes a dangerous foe ; 50 THE STORM. He would not let him sleep, and he shall rue. Entangled in the very net he drew. And yet, he hath a fair and gentle child, As the soft breeze of summer evening, mild ; My war is not with woman, — Alfred, thou Shalt be the herald of good tidings now." Within a solitary keep. Which overhung the lonely deep, W^ith cheek that seem'd too purely fair, And richest curls of auburn hair. And eye, whose azure depths of blue Seem'd borrowing from the sky its hue. And features, such as sculptor's art Might mould to speak a feeling heart — Whose beautiful expression told Of anguish, words could not unfold — From mortal sympathy exiled. She sat and wept — "the j^risoner's child." Who comes ? — her father's deadliest foe. But with such change of bearing now. His heart may yet compassion know. May yet her tender suit allow. With pleading look, and clasped hands. Before Gonsalvo Edith stands ; THE STORM. 51 His words are lost upon her ear. Her heart hath only one appeal — One evil only can she fear. One comfort only can avail. One hope the mourner's silence break. And give her strength and heart to speak. There is a cloud upon my soul, A darkness none may tell. Since dubious seems the destiny Of one ne'er lov'd so well. The only stay on which I rest Is now a thorn to pierce my breast ; My lonely hours are full of him. Of him I think when waking. Night visions round my pillow throng. That one dear image taking. But not as if in life array 'd. It comes the shadow of a shade ; That well-known voice I hear, but not As I rejoiced to hear it. My heart would vibrate to its tones, I was not wont to fear it. But broken and unearthly now. It suits the chang'cl and sunken brow. Though as a knell his accents fall. They still on Edith seem to call. 52 THE STORM. Oh ! take me to him — let me hear But once, once more, these accents dear ; I will not deem his prison drear. If but the light of love be there. My heart is with him in his cell. And his with me — I know it well. Let mercy plead in accents mild. Nor part a jiarent from a child. Thou canst not the appeal deny. And leave me here alone to die." " In truth, fair maiden, thou hast well divin'd, Gonsalvo justly claims intent more kind. O'er this enchanting- isle no tyrant reigns. To doom a guest like thee to prison chains. Forbear these supplications, diy these tears. Such dark forebodings ill become thy years, Beauty, and youth, and gentleness combine To make in all things Edith's pleasure mine. Then cherish thoughts of joy, and banish fear. My son awaits, to bid thee welcome here. Adieu, fair stranger, Alfred's care shall be To make thee taste the sweets of liberty." Who has not felt, when most the heart would speak. Bereft of power the mental spell to break ; THE STORM. 53 As if the deepest feelings of the mind Might not in words their meet expression find ? But there is silence that conveys A thousand things a thousand ways. And eyes that seem expressly made To show each change of light and shade — Affection's waraith, or terror's chill. Or passion's fire, or feeling's thrill. Or sympathy's consoling balm. Or pure religion's holy calm. The tongue may learn to counterfeit. But in the eye is no deceit. Unconscious of the rules of art. That sparkling mirror of the heart Reflects its true emotions well. And speaks what language may not tell. Gonsalvo's eloquence had fail'd To soothe the maiden's agony ; But more effectually prevail'd The silent glance of Alfred's eye. " In adverse hour, when hope is fled. True sympathy is sweet," she said ; " Thou sure wert cast in other mould From him to whom I sued erewhile ; E 2 54 THE STORM. Thou couldst not miseiy behold. That miseiy caused by thee, and smile. Oh, it was mockery to say That all my pleasure should obey, When the sole favour that I sought Was disregarded or denied ; As if he deemed my bosom fraught With only selfishness and pride ; Or thought that flattery could bind The anguish of a wounded mind. " Alas ! my father ! is there, then. No hope that we shall meet again ? And what is liberty, or what Is safety, if thou share it not ? " " He may, fair stranger : yonder chief Bears not a heart to mock thy grief; Give but Gonsalvo's anger sway. The storm will wear itself away. The flame of wrath will soon expire. And liberate thy captive sire. Then cheer thee, gentle lady, dry Affliction's witness from thine eye. And I will lead thee to a friend. Who can with counsel comfort blend ; THE STORM. 55 For early grief hath been his lot, His wounds, though closed, are not forgot. Full oft, while listening to his voice, My bosom's care hath taken wings ; He bids the sorrowing heart rejoice. For oh ! he speaks of heavenly things. It seems his privilege most dear. To wipe away the mourner's tear." Companionship in happiness may blend Congenial spirits in a dream of joy; But fellowship in suffering will lend Affection strength, which time cannot destroy. The beauteous plant of love, though sown in tears. And rising oft beneath a stormy sky. Will all unshrinking stand the blight of years. When mere ephemeral blossoms droop and die. The light of heart, who share the sunny hour. When clouds are heavy, fade and fall away ; Adversity, with analyzing power. Detects the feeble buds of pleasure's day. Still with the flowers of love will mingle The thorns of anxiety. On earth they never blossom single. But rise together, fade, and die. 56 THE STORM. Yet all-enchanting was the dream. As first o'er Alfred's soul it came. Steeping- his senses in too blest Illusion to be long possest. Oh what a blank, compared to this, Seemed all that he had known of bliss ; Such change was wrought, in that dehght Of soul, the sun appear'd more bright. The heavens assum'd a clearer blue. Ocean and earth were ting'cl anew With hues, too beautiful to stay. That vanish, rain-bow like, away. No more from tranquil sleep he rose. His was the joy that mocks repose. The fever of the heart, which then Creates a world when most alone ; Lives o'er and o'er the past again. And frames a future of its own. And now, with vivid colours glancing. That future's bright perspective lay. And now, the shades of night advancing, Chas'd every glowing tint away. Yet, consolation to bestow. To soothe the gentle Edith's woe — Her drooping spirit to sustain. And charm her from the sense of pain : THE STORM. 57 This, even Anselmo might approve. 'T was duty — any thing — but love. Thus day by day, and hour by hour. The name denied, but felt the power. He reason'd on, till peace was flown. And passion ruled his heart alone. " What hast thou done ? " Anselmo said, " Child of my prayer, what hast thou done ? Unconsciously the arrow sped. Which yet must pierce thy heart, my son. With cruel kindness sought to raise A phantom mocking Edith's gaze. Conspired to add one sorrow more. To wounds too deeply felt before. Taught her to hope her sire's release — To look for years of love and peace — When every light we strive to gain Upon the prisoner's fate is vain. The time is come for thee to prove. Religion's triumph over love. Awake ! from passion's dream awake ! If not for mine, for Edith's sake ! " " If not for thy sake ! oh, recall That word, to one who owes thee all : 58 THE STORM. This heart may inconsiderate be. But wanting ne'er in love to thee. It fear'd to break the spell which bound it. And wake to find all darkness round it : But truth prevails, and thou shalt see Thy prayer was not in vain for me." Spring's bright and beautifying power Had renovated all below — Insect, and bii'd, and plant, and flower Rejoie'd beneath the sunny hour, And yielded to the genial glow. The woods sent up their melody. In sacrifice to the Most High : There was no wave upon the sea. No cloud upon the azure sky — Man only seem'd the child of grief. As Alfred sought the Island chief. Respectful, but resolv'd, he spoke Of Him who sees not as we see. Who breaks the dark oppressor's yoke. And sets the captive exile free ; Rules earth below, and Heaven above, A God of mercy and of love. Of strength, to ope the darksome grave, Of power, omnipotent to save, THE STORM. Before whose judgment must appear All who resist His Spirit here ; Who will the cup of trembling give His foes, and bid his people live. His saving mercy to adore. For ever and for evermore. Dear guardian of my life, he said. Bear with my feebleness and youth, By no presumptuous feeling led, I speak the words of sacred truth. When man by disobedience fell. His deadly foe, the prince of hell. Arose to take his heavenly crown. And 'mid dark spirits cast him down. 'T was then the great Redeemer came. Descended from Jehovah's throne, Assum'd our nature and our name. And bare our sorrows as his own ; 'T was then he shed his precious blood To wash us white from every stain ; For all who seek that cleansing flood, Gonsalvo ! never seek in vain. Victorious o'er the "Prince of air," Ascended to His throne above. 59 60 THE STORM. Christ pleads his full atonement there ; And as He lov'd us, bids us love : How can we love Him, yet delay To yield the grace for which we pray P Oh as thou would'st be forgiven. Through one great Advocate in heaven, I do adjure thee to forgive. To bid the hapless stranger live ; His child, his liberty restore, — Secure him by such fetters, more Than bonds or prison walls can bind. Oh lead him captive, heart and mind. Chains are of hatred the token. But links of love are rarely broken ; With fibres of the heart they blend. And change the prisoner to the friend. With brow on which might well be read Determination fix'd and dread. And gloomy and averted eye. Where woke no glance of sympathy, And heart, resolv'd itself to steel, Gonsalvo heard the youth's appeal. The anguish of his bosom saw. And silent, wav'd him to withdraw. And canst thou thus my suit deny. Nor deem me worthy of reply ; THE STORM. 61 Though thou the wrath of Heaven despise, Unanswer'd I must not depart ; Dissolve not so the sacred ties That bind to thee one faithful heart. Nor this an idle warning deem. The man I love, I must esteem. Bold language this, rash youth ; and dost thou dare Against me mine own confidence to bring ; Erect thyself in proud defiance there, — Renounce the friend, and to the stransfer clinof P Ingrate, depail! — Gonsalvo needed not The sharp and bitter lesson thou hast taught. The source of thy rebellion seek — transfer The little reason thou hast left to her ; Assist her to deplore her father's fate. And let me have for my reward, thy hate. Such word, my lord, in Alfred's mind Can never be with thee combin'd ; This heart an early idol knew. Increasing with my growth it grew ; Nor can harsh word, nor act severe. Erase the first impression there ; No — though that long indulgent hand Were rais'd to smite me as I stand. 62 THE STORM. All weaponless before thee now, No hatred could these lips avow ; And yet, to separate were best — Far as the east is from the west — Than let unkind disunion reign — Than thou shouldst hear me plead in vain. And yet it were not so, the Chieftain said. Ere thou wert captive to the stranger led. When Alfred's least desire was but express 'd. To find its echo in Gonsalvo's breast. Why let suspicion overcast thy brow With doubts that wrong the same affection noiv P This heart, long severed from ambition's shrine. Would only seek its happiness in thine. Let Edith see the prisoner — tears may move. Persuasion dwells upon the lips of love. The hour De Morney hails a son in thee. That very hour, my Alfred, sees him free ; For thee, Gonsalvo can his pride subdue. And, where he should command, can leani to sue. Not slow was Alfred to unfold A tale of joy too quickly told. And few brief moments pass'd away. Ere he was guide of Edith's way To where De Morney captive lay. THE STORM. 63 It was a prison dark and drear. With frowning walls and iron door. That neer beheld a form so fair. Nor welcom'd such a guest before ; Though oft oppression's tyrant power Had given an inmate to that tower. None ever enter 'd there, and smil'd. Till it receiv'd the Prisoner's child. The light of love was in her eye. Her heart with joyful hope beat high ; The flush of happiness o'erflowing. Was on her fair cheek brightly glowing ; Like being of celestial mould, Whom even the savage jailor there Relax 'd his sternness to behold. She vanish 'd up the narrow stair, — Not with such sanguine hope her guide Beheld that dark gate open wide; Not with such feelings saw it close ; The clanging of its iron chain, A sound of evU omen rose. And seem'd to tell him hope was vain. Moments are ages, when delight Or anguish hang upon their flight. 64 THE STORM. She comes — his Edith comes at last; How pale her cheek ! her step how slow ! What change, what fatal change has pass'd From these dear eyes, that tears should flow ? Our dream of joy, she said, is o'er. For ever gone — we meet no more ! Oh it is hard to teach my lips To bid thee every hope resign ; My life must know a long eclipse. It never can be link'd with thine. Yet all of ill 't were light to bear. Than 'neath a parent's curse to lie ; I go, his prison hours to share. And die with him, if doom'd to die. No, Edith ; He who wills his people's bliss Can ne'er demand a sacrifice like this ; Think on the true affection thou wouldst sever. Nor rashly leave me thus — what ! part for ever ! For ever ! — if thou wouldst not bring To Edith's heart remorse's sting. Rememberest thou Anselmo's prayer. If call'd the chastening rod to bear. That we might find a blessing there ? Now meekly bend we to that rod. And leave futurity to God. THE STORM. 65 " Yes, fortitude might well be shown, Did danger threaten me alone. How will Gonsalvo's spirit bear Rejection ? what his wrath assuage ? And must I see thee captive there. Exposed to his destructive rage ? Although my absence were relief, . I cannot part from thee in grief." "And yet thou doest Edith wrong : The weak should lean upon the strong — This heart, when tempted to repine, Should find its best support in thine. Yet not in thine, though heart more true The grief of parting never knew ; But, Alfred, what in time of need Is human strength ? A broken reed. On which we vainly would depend ; Then turn we to the sinner's friend. When sorrow rises as a flood. And heart is faint, and hope is dim. Can He not make all work for good. For those who trust alone in Him ? What though He bids me share a prison. Did He not bear a cross for me ? If we would rise as He has risen. We must his true disciples be : F 2 66 THE STORM. Resign 'd to suffer grief, and shame. And loss of all things for his name. Such truth Anselmo oft would tell. And Edith feels the lesson well. Oh bid our lov'd instructor know The aid I to his counsel owe ; For not mine own the power can be, Nor mine the strength to part from thee." He had no voice to bid her stay. As soon he would have thought to win An angel from its heavenward way. To paths of misery and sin. A moment's thought, a moment's prayer, And he was nerv'd the worst to bear ; To rise above the cloud of grief. And meet the anger of the chief; While hope of shielding the opprest Flash'd like a sun-beam o'er his breast. He sought Gonsalvo : feeUng high Glow'd on his cheek— and from his eye His generous resolution broke. While to the anxious chief he spoke. " Determination deeply fraught. To these we love, with joy or sorrow. THE STORM. 67 Demands maturity of thought, De Morney answers thee to-morrow : Vouchsafe, my lord, that Edith share His prison-hours — it is her prayer. Through thy command, that both remain. In unmolested peace till then." " Yet, Alfred, canst thou not detect the pride, The narrow pride, which prompts this vain delay ? It needed not reflection to decide Acceptance of Gonsalvo's amity. But I will bear with it ; thy interest quells My rising anger — but if he repels The proffer'd union, then shall vengeance rise. And justice claim a fitting sacrifice." Sternly Gonsalvo spake, and, ere he pass'd The turret's lofty portal arches, cast A glance which teem'd with meaning. Alfred guess 'd Too well its fearful import, and, imprest With consciousness that life or death might hang On his determination, forth he sprang ; A moment paus'd, till in the deepening gloom Had disappear 'd the chieftain's sable plume ; A moment thought on her he lov'd so well. And bent his footsteps to the hennit's cell. 68 THE STORM. Nisrht drew her solemn curtain o'er the scene — The busy voice of man was hush'd — serene Was earth and ocean — not a zephyr's breath Was heard to murmur — all \\as still as death. Gonsalvo listen 'd to the midnight chime. Awaking stillness with the knell of time ; Plans for the future, memories of the past. O'er troubled conscience deeper shadows cast, Till the wild th robbings of his fever 'd breast In transient sleep found momentary rest. The waning moon shone high in heaven, whose bright. Unclouded vault, illum'd with studs of light, A fitting throne appear 'd for Him, whose voice Spread out the skies, and bade the earth rejoice. Oh ! day may gladden us with sunny hours. With richest garniture of plants and flowers. Luxuriant verdure, blossoms of the spring. Autumnal hues, and birds upon the wing ; Beauty, and bloom, and harmony may all Wake at its glance, and answer to its call. As, entering into ocean's loneliest caves. It smiles on earth and dances o'er the waves. But night hath paths by angel footsteps trod — Night is a pleader, eloquent for God' — THE STORM. 69 Night stills the passions of the human breast — Night gives to wearied nature balmy rest. Whether in darkness palpable it shrouds The slumbering world, or rides on stormy clouds. Or bids the lightning flash from pole to pole. And thunder terrify the guilty soul ; Or opens to the meditative eye The sparkling wonders of the starry sky. Bids suns to worlds innumerable show The insignificance of all below ; The magnitude of that Almighty sway. Whose dictates each harmoniously obey. Which can the glance of its omniscience bring. From the archangel's to the insect's wing. The powers of heaven, and earth, and hell control. And with unerring wisdom guide the whole. Go, unbehever, trace yon record bright. The heaven-illuminated page of night ; Ask these pure orbs if chance hath made them glow. And hear each glittering witness answer — No ! Bright sparkles the celestial ray On Alfred's solitaiy way. As, pausing 'neath the prison walls. He lists a voice, whose music falls Sweetly upon his ravish 'd ear. As if a seraph hovered near. 70 THE STORM. Or one of the angelic quire Had stooped to earth its heavenward wings, While thus, to soothe her captive sire. The prisoner's daughter, Edith, sings. SONG. 'T is sweet to think, when parted here. With purer light shall glow The love, than life itself more dear. Which cheers our path below. 'T is sweet to chase the gloomy fears That would our peace destroy ; To wipe away our fiiUing tears. And think of endless joy. Where all, whose absence we deplore. In perfect bliss may dwell ; And never shall be uttered more That saddest word — farewell, 'T is sweet to hft our hearts above This ever darkening scene. To where the sunshine of God's love Hath not a cloud between. THE STORM. 71 If there 's a privilege below. Which soars beyond the reach of woe, Whose influence benign can dart Unmingled pleasure to the heart — If there 's a virtue cherish'd here To heaven acceptable and dear. If there is aught which compensates For all the evil sin creates. For all the sorrows we must prove. It is the joy that we have known, When, for the peace of those we love, We leam to sacrifice our own. Alfred, such joy was thine, such perfect joy. As nought on earth could give, and nought destroy ; When, all thy heart held dearest cast aside. Thy God was magnified, thyself denied. De Morney heard his prison gates unclose — To meet that midnight visitant he rose. As some proud bark, which long hath stemm'd the tide. And all the rage of warring winds defied. Though worn and shatter'd, rears its lofty prow. And curbs the foamy wave that swells, below ; And as the sailor, whose last hope is cast In clinging to its weather-beaten mast ; 72 THE STORM. His daughter's trembling arms were round him thrown. But Edith feared the stoim for him alone. It was a dreadful moment, as more near The echo of approaching steps they hear. Not that the form which dark assassin wears. Not that the eye which midnight murderer bears ; No — rather, like the messenger of light. Whose presence made the apostle's dungeon bright — At whose benignant glance the chains that bound His fetter'd limbs fell prostrate to the ground. " Thy mission, stranger — art thou here. The herald of Gonsalvo's hate ? If so, declare it without fear, I will not shrink to meet my fate." " Herald of hate I ne'er have been — De Morney's foe I ne'er can be — Nor wouldst thou now have Alfred seen. Had he not power to set thee free. Not courage to relinquish here The hope which made existence dear. " A last farewell, and it is done : Edith ! thou most beloved one ! Thy sire is liberated — see. The prison doors are oped to thee ! THE STORM. 73 Since danger waits upon delay. This faithful heart forbids thy stay ; It sinks, but never shall repine. If but remembrance dwells in thine." She rais'd her head, essay 'd to bless The hand that broke her father's chain ; But feeling's words could not express Arose, and made the effort vain. Now cautiously, as Alfred led. All by a secret path they tread. To where, in shelter of the bay, A little bark at anchor lay. "A boat to shoreward," Alfred cried : A pinnace darted o'er the tide — The moon-beams gemm'd the dashing spray. Which sparkled from its oars away. De Morney saw his daughter's eye That brave and generous stranger seek ; He saw its tearful agony Express the grief she might not speak. " And had his stern decision left His benefactor thus bereft ; Left him to meet that conflict dire, Gonsalvo's disappointed ire ? G 74 THE STORM. So young, so noble, and so mild, His mien might grace the proudest born ; But was he not a corsair's child. The child of him he held in scorn ! Shall that time-honoured, stainless race. Which long in glory's path had run. Now stoop to hold — oh, last disgrace — Connexion with a pirate's son ? It may not be ; no child of mine Shall sully that illustrious line !" With stern resolve aside he tum'd, His cheek with haughty feeling burn'd. " Farewell," he said, " brave youth ; to thee I owe my life, my liberty : Nay, more — my child — but, strange to say, De Morney can in naught repay. Yet time may come, for thee to find He bears not an ungrateful mind : Till then, the thought that thou hast riven A most unjust and cruel chain. Hast done a deed approved of heaven. May aid thy spirit to sustain. Farewell ! I fain would not combine A corsair's name with acts like thine." "A corsair's name ! " the youth replied, While from his heart the crimson tide. THE STORM. /O Impell'd by wounded feeling, rush'd. And cheek and brow indignant flush 'd : " A corsair's branded name I spurn, And from its degradation turn With loathing equal to thine own. And this, proud chief, to thee be known, That not thy daughter's hand to gain. That utmost blessing earth could give. Would I my high allegiance stain To Him in whom I move and live. I serve, my lord, a Heavenly King ; Obedient to his word I stand. Encamp beneath his sheltering wing, And move at his divine command ; No other leader I desire — I own no corsair as my sire. But night is waning fast — be kind To these brave men, who leave behind The joys that only home can bring. Dear to the peasant as the king ; Who nobly hazard all, to bear Thee far beyond pursuit, long ere Thy flight I to Gonsalvo tell. Good angels guard thee hence — farewell ! " He spake, and from the beach withdrew. Nor lingered once to wave adieu. 76 THE STORM. Or mark that boat forsake the shore— His heart was faint, his eye was dim Enough — 't was Edith that it bore — She was for ever lost to him ! THE STORM. CANTO THE FOURTH. THE BATTLE. When the dark tides of sorrow are gathering around us. And the sky of prosperity clouded all o'er ; When the memory of happiness comes but to wound us. And hope's fickle planet can guide us no more. Oh ! where shall the spirit, with anguish o'erflowing, 'Mid the wide desolation a resting place find ? Unquench'd by affliction, one taper is glowing. One perishless comforter lingers behind ; 'T is the Witness within us, the blessed assurance Religion presents us in characters fair ; G 2 78 THE STORM. That dear unto God is His people's endurance. That though they may suffer, they cannot despair. "The hour is near," Gonsalvo said. When, from the proud De Morney, dread Shall rend compliance — he must bend His haughty spirit — condescend. Oh wondrous meekness ! to ally His boasted name with heir of mine. Ha ! Alfred, here ! — speak — what reply ? Doth he my amity decline ? " As one, who has endur'd the worst. The very worst extreme of ill, Unmov'd can see the tempest burst. And let its terror rage at will ; So Alfred came — his cheek was pale. But fear was to his heart unknown ; Gonsalvo's wrath could nought avail, Its terror threaten 'd him alone. " Wouldst thou," he said, " De Morney's answer know," Be passion silent — for a noble foe. Let mercy, heaven descended mercy, plead. Still valour triumphs most beneath her shade. For me, my Lord, though Edith be more dear. More precious than the life-blood circling here : THE STORM. 79 Though, with her, I resign the hope which gave Existence joy, or terror to the grave, I would not that my happiness should rise From means, thy better reason must despise." " Then he rejects thee ; nay — 't is plain, My proffer 'd amity is vain ; They who Gonsalvo's wrath defy. Shall either quail to it, or die. I tell thee so— though thou resign Thus tranquilly the maiden's hand — 'T is his to tremble — but 't is mine. And he shall feel it, to command." " On me, my Lord ! let vengeance fall. If guilty — I deserve it all. It cannot reach De Morney now : Long ere this hour, I trust, the prow Which bare him and his daughter hence. Is safely anchor'd. Mine the offence — Be mine the punishment. I make No plea thy tenderness to wake ; My hope is not for lengthen 'd years Of trial in this vale of tears. Experience short of life has given No staff to rest upon — but Heaven." 'T were vain to say, while Alfred spoke. What passions o'er Gonsalvo's mind. 80 THE STORM. In dark, perturb 'd succession broke. Overwhelming, various, undefin'd. His prisoner freed — his vengeance lost — His power outrag'd — his pleasure crost. By whom ? Oh ! dreadful turn of fate. The only one he could not hate. He look'd at him ! how calm his air ! Yet no insulting pride was there. The healthful glow which late o'erspread His cheek, seem'd as for ever fled. And every accent breath'd a tone Of such heart-sorrow, as alone Might wake compassion — o'er the rest A pleader rose within his breast. Whom no decej^tion could repel. And told him Alfred acted well. He might have fled mth these he free'd — Have left him in his hour of need. Defenceless and alone, he stood The hazard, as his pupil should. " Infatuate youth ! " Gonsalvo said, " By weak, romantic passion led To sacrifice thine own repose. And thus my confidence repay ; In combination with my foes. THE STORM. C