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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 RODOLPH: 
 
 A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 ^tanias! 
 
 IN 
 
 CONTINUATION OF " DON JUAN 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY A MINOR. 
 
 " Perhaps it may be asked of him, what are his motives for this publica- 
 tion ? He answers — simply these : — The facilitation, through its means, of 
 those studies which, from his earliest infancy, have been tlie principal ob- 
 jects of his ambition ; and the increase of the capacity to pursue those 
 inclinations which may one day place him in an honourable station in the 
 scale of society." — Kirke White. 
 
 LONDON: 
 T. GRIFFITHS, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND; 
 
 AMD 
 
 WITTENOOM AND CREMER, CORNHILL. 
 
 183:2.
 
 WILLIAM IDJNHY COX, 
 S5, GKiiAi Uui^i:); bruKiiT, Likcoln's Inn I'liLDs.
 
 ?K 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I FEAR, indeed I know, there are many portions 
 of this little volume which will not escape censure, 
 but, as the greater part of it was written before 
 I had attained my eighteenth, and the whole before 
 I had completed my nineteenth year, I throw it 
 upon the kind consideration of those Avho, for- 
 ffivino; the errors, will look at the merits, if there 
 be any, with a kindly eye, since there can be no- 
 thing in after years, more grateful to look back 
 upon than the encouragement given by a fostering 
 and indulgent public to the efforts of 
 
 A MINOR. 
 
 February, 1832. 
 
 TO5364
 
 RODOLPH: 
 
 A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 " The rest W!t,s nothing, savi? a lUe mispent. 
 
 And soul — but who shall answer where it went?" — Byrox. 
 
 SCENE. — Room in cm Ancient Castle. 
 Time— Midnight. 
 
 ■&' 
 
 RoDOi^PH. C Alone. J 
 
 The spell is form'd — all's done — the time draws nigh, 
 A few short moments — and the fated die 
 
 Is cast. 
 Dream on my soul — in fancy blend 
 The wreck of worlds, their destined end, 
 
 With ages past ! 
 If those dark powers, who oft have laid 
 • My spirit in the rest it pray'd. 
 
 Be potent still ! 
 I'll rack the very darkness of their mind, 
 Till in some deep and black recess I find 
 
 Tlieir strongest spell. 
 
 B
 
 Dream on my soul — if in tlie thouglit 
 Of sin, and all its minions, brouglit 
 
 By man once blest. 
 Let all thy vaunted strength be summoned now. 
 Let every sense in solemn silence bow. 
 
 To bear the test — 
 To know if for the soul the grave is rest ! 
 
 Spirits arise ! nor dare my power. 
 
 Or boundless sway. 
 It is mine own avengeful hour. 
 
 Then haste and say. 
 If death can chain. 
 As guilt can stain 
 
 The soul — tliey say, 
 Immortal — though enclosed in clay ? 
 
 I will not brook a moment's gleam. 
 
 Or atom's thought. 
 Dominion o'er j'e Avas a dream. 
 
 And dearly bought. 
 Then banish all. 
 Which Adam's fall 
 
 To man has brought. 
 And from me dare to shadow nought. 
 
 Remember ! that the wretch who claims 
 
 Your every spell, 
 Though every being impious names. 
 
 Commands ye still —
 
 Then haste and say. 
 If thus you may, 
 Does yonder shell 
 Go farther than your might can tell 
 
 First Spirit. 
 
 The magic sound 
 
 Has answer found 
 Beneath the cavern'd dell ; 
 
 Stranger ! I boAV, 
 
 I hail thee now, 
 Rodolph ! thy mandate tell. 
 
 Second Spirit. 
 
 Borne on the wings 
 
 Of shadeless things. 
 From a far distant home ; 
 
 To do thy will 
 
 Rodolph ! I still 
 Am doom'd— and spell-bound come. 
 
 Third Spirit. 
 
 The sun had sunk beneath the wave 
 
 Of my home, the coral sea, 
 Compell'd for Time to be thy slave, 
 Rodolph again you see ! 
 
 2
 
 A beins who could once have claimed 
 Douiinion over thee ! 
 Then, impious wretch ! speak, while you can, 
 For one short space, o'erstep the bounds of man. 
 
 Chorus of Spirits. 
 
 When Time has vanish'd, 
 Hopes are banish'd. 
 Every power destroy'd. 
 We know thou wilt be 
 Wretched then. 
 And in it we have joyed. 
 Thy ^^dsh is known, 
 And like a flash 
 Of lightning flown : 
 IMortal ! we are. 
 But as a star, 
 Compar'd with II im who fills the throne. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Evade not thus the hour, 'tis vain. 
 
 It shall not be, 
 I will not, in that doubting strain. 
 
 Allow ye free ; 
 Speak, say that none, 
 But lie alone, 
 1£ such there be ! 
 Who made the world, man's end can see.
 
 And I for this to brave the tire 
 
 Of Legion's flames ! 
 Dare ye refuse my soul's desire 
 
 The all it claims ; 
 Fiends ! ye are mine. 
 Yes now are mine, 
 
 With vengeance dire, 
 I '11 cause ye dread my \vrathful ire. 
 
 Chorus op Spirits. 
 
 Mortal ! to hear 
 Thy frenzied fear, 
 
 We all delight ; 
 Whate'er it be. 
 Death unto thee — 
 
 Shall be a blight, 
 Dark as the blackest gloom at night. 
 
 RODOLPU. 
 
 All vanish'd — gone to the realms of light, no — 
 They speak of darkness, as a thing they know, 
 'Tmust be the darkness of the soul, and they 
 
 Are capable of misery ! 
 Stupendous thought ! yon rock, that hangs 
 In midway air, falls and involves a thousand pangs. 
 
 Destroying all it nears. 
 Oh ! that a seraph's wings would bear me to the spot, 
 To meet my doom, how happy then my lot.
 
 6 
 
 .My soul uoukl quit. 
 
 As fancy tells, this earthly cot 
 ]\Iy body, every care forgot, 
 And for another world be fit. 
 Dark as the thought of future worlds to me. 
 Gloomy as night, though fathomless it be^ 
 
 Is this existence. 
 Will this Time fade, for longer Time to be, 
 And do we darkly through a mirror see 
 
 Another Being. 
 Or was it chance that raised a race of men. 
 To live and breathe, to live and breathe again. 
 And then to die : 
 To be no more, for ever lost ; 
 And life a stormy sea, when cross'd. 
 All's known, and why ? 
 Did man exist, for only misery ? 
 
 SCENE.— /««// beneath the Castle. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 This is the home for spirits like to mine. 
 The silent mansions of the sleeping dead ; 
 And here, on this cold bed of earth I'll lay. 
 Till the dim shadows of the grave are past : 
 This darksome charnel vault perchance may lead 
 To Heaven and bliss — or to despair and hell ! 
 Even that were better than a world where Hope,
 
 The past, the present, future, all is fled. 
 
 And the bright flitting dreams of earthly peace 
 
 Sunk in the dreary void of nothingness. 
 
 The sweets of life were ever mine in dreams. 
 
 And all my early hopes of bliss were blighted. 
 
 Ere the full radiance of their hallowed beams 
 
 On this my cold and lonely heart had lighted. 
 
 Nor even now, to memory there seems 
 
 One lasting joy, in which my soul delighted : 
 
 Like some lone winter isle, where sunbeams never 
 
 Shine through the gloom, 'tis dark and dark for ever. 
 
 I had a child, a bright and beauteous child, 
 
 I gazed upon the bed of death, and saw 
 
 Him sleep his last long sleep, — without a tear. 
 
 Nor in the deep recesses of my heart. 
 
 Did sorrow find a momentary home ! 
 
 To weep were madness — when earth's fading joys 
 
 Are changed for Heaven, and pure, immortal bliss ; 
 
 And if that land of Spirits after Death, 
 
 Be not the phantom of some heated mind, 
 
 'Tis his — my child, my lost and guiltless child, 
 
 Inherits that bright kingdom, and is blest. 
 
 ****** 
 There's more than magic in a poison'd drauglit — 
 By midnight arts. Earth's darkest sons may reach 
 The narrow limits of the grave — but that 
 Opens the portals of futurity. 
 And boldly tears the mystic veil from fate ! 
 'Tis past — e'en now, the deadly venom'd chill 
 Buns through my blackening veins, and burns the thread
 
 8 
 
 Of life — slow torture shrills through all my frame. 
 And leaves my body — cold, — without a soul 
 Welcome thou King of Terrors, Earth farewell ! 
 I feel 'tis nothing, — and Eternity 
 Will break the spells of doubt.
 
 9 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF THERESA. 
 
 I. 
 
 The struggle's o'er, the spirit's free, 
 
 On angel wings to fly. 
 To the glad mansions of the blest. 
 
 Above yon bright blue sky. 
 The bark has cross'd life's stormy sea. 
 
 The vale of Death is past, 
 The soul has found its own " sweet home," 
 
 The loveliest and the last. 
 
 And thou art gone ! and I must live 
 
 In this dark world alone, 
 This breaking heart, that will not break, 
 
 Still still must linger on. 
 'Tis sad, when Death's relentless dart 
 
 Breaks friendship's dearest tie ; 
 But deeper sorrow clouds the heart, 
 
 Whicli love has hover'd nigh. 
 
 And thou wert love, wert all to me. 
 The joy amid the sorrow.
 
 10 
 
 The star of Hope, the ray of bliss. 
 That brigliten'd every morrow. 
 
 And thou art gone ! those pale, pale lips 
 Have breath'd their parting breath. 
 
 And that fair form, where Beauty dwelt. 
 Wears the cold robes of Death. 
 
 II. 
 
 I will not grieve, for thou art blest. 
 This world to leave for endless rest. 
 
 To thee is given — 
 I will not weep, for thou hast found 
 Beyond the sleep of Death around 
 
 Thee waking. Heaven. 
 
 I will but shed one silent tear. 
 
 Nor mourn the dead, to bliss so near. 
 
 In realms of light ; 
 I will but dream of spirits fair. 
 And thou shalt seem the briglitest there. 
 
 Amid the bright. 
 
 III. 
 
 In vain I seek the crowded halls, 
 ^\'here pleasure reigns alone. 
 
 The transient phantom but recals 
 A brighter image gone.
 
 11 
 
 111 vain I gaze on every face, 
 
 On every feature there. 
 And madly hope, that smile to trace. 
 
 Which thou wert wont to wear. 
 
 I cannot weep, my grief 'tis past 
 
 The power of tears to stay, 
 My sadden'd soul seems wildly cast 
 
 Upon some trackless way ; 
 No friendly hand to guide it o'er. 
 
 No voice to cheer it on. 
 No star to mark a distant shore 
 
 Or haven to be won. 
 
 I cannot smile, 'twould mock the pain. 
 
 And deeper still impart, 
 'Twould faster lock the grief-link'd chain. 
 
 That binds my breaking heart. 
 I cannot doubt thy lot is bliss. 
 
 Mid angels' choirs to be : 
 I can but fear a joy like this, 
 
 I may not share with thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis her death knell sounds afar. 
 
 Tread light ! it is her grave. 
 Look on the Heavens ! another star 
 
 Sheds lustre o'er yon glassy wave.
 
 12 
 
 Soft ! 'tis a choir of angels singing, 
 Rejoicing o'er her righteous soul, 
 
 ^VHiile earth an echo back is flinjrinff. 
 
 And dirges through the night winds roll. 
 
 Twine me a wreath of mournful willow! 
 
 Oh ! place me in her shroud ! 
 Her grave shall be my last cold pillow. 
 
 To crush the worms that round her crowd.
 
 13 
 
 TO A SCHOOL FRIEND 
 
 ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR COLLEGE. 
 
 Farewell, my friend ! and if my soul has felt 
 
 Envy for any being's lot, 'tis thine ! 
 Thy spirit lives, Avhere mine would fain have dwelt ; 
 
 Thy star is bright, where mine has long'd to shine. 
 
 Fondly together did we love to trace, 
 
 111 early youth, the path which led to Fame ; 
 
 Vacant for thee now stands her highest place. 
 While I must sink — unknown my very name. 
 
 And perhaps, when gazing on the much-loved scene. 
 Thy college home, that classic, happy spot. 
 
 Thou wilt recal what once has fondly been. 
 And in that glance my fate be not forgot ! 
 
 But fare thee well ! though my best hopes are driven. 
 Far from their joys, from all condemn d to part. 
 
 My be.st affections still to thee are given. 
 Thy welfare hovers n-jarest to my heart.
 
 14 
 
 Oh ! when the drooping spirit feels 
 
 The weight of worldly sorrow. 
 And o'er the soul a shadow steals. 
 
 To cloud each coming morroAV. 
 'Tis sweet to know there is a power. 
 
 That watches o'er our way ; 
 O light within (though tempests lower. 
 
 And cloud our noontide ray). 
 That brightly shines, that purely lives. 
 
 The haven of our joy ; 
 And to the lone believer gives, 
 
 A peace no blights destroy. 
 IIow dear is that Redeemer's name. 
 
 Whose life for sinners given, 
 To God's forgiveness laid a claim. 
 
 And paved our way to Heaven, 
 Then oh, 'tis sweet ! 'tis sadly sweet ! 
 
 When sorrow clouds awhile 
 Our path, to know, that we shall meet 
 
 That loved Redeemer's smile. 
 That when the vale of life is past. 
 
 And earthly joys are gone, 
 Our brightest jo.y will be the last. 
 
 The never-dying One !
 
 .15 
 
 Oh, tliere are moments of despair, 
 
 When miserj^ firmly clings 
 Around the griefworn heart, and there. 
 
 It's mystic halo flings : 
 Moments of sorrow, never felt 
 
 When man supremely blest. 
 In Eden's happy garden dwelt, 
 
 And all around was rest. 
 'Twas Sin that banish'd every joy, 
 
 And grief and sorrow brought, 
 'Twas Satan, glorying to destroy. 
 
 The work his God had wrought ; 
 That centred all his baneful power. 
 
 To make us wretched here ; 
 And still is toiling hour by hour, 
 
 Our future hopes to sear. 
 But would'st thou banish Sin, and all 
 
 Its guilt brought pangs for ever .'' 
 Upon the blessed Jesus call. 
 
 He will desert thee never. 
 Believe, oh ! let thy trust be placed. 
 
 In him, as God alone : 
 And he, who all thy pangs has traced. 
 
 And all thy sorrows known.
 
 1<) 
 
 Will ii'ive thee strength to " tight the fight," 
 
 And make the victory thine, 
 Will crush the self-proud prince of night, 
 
 Though all his powers combine. 
 And when thy spirit quits the scene 
 
 Of pain, and grief, and sorrow, 
 Far, far above the bright serene. 
 
 Thou 'It find a pangless morrow ! 
 There with that Saviour thou wilt dwell. 
 
 Whose life for man was given. 
 And taste the joys no words can tell, 
 
 The fadeless joys of Heaven.
 
 17 
 
 POLISH WAR SONG. 
 
 Away to the field where thy country is pleading, 
 'INIid war and its horrors to Freedom her claim. 
 
 Where each gallant warrior, whose life-drop is bleeding, 
 In glory is dying — immortal his name. 
 
 Go ! think not of home nor one sigh give at parting. 
 From all its fond beauties, though loved they may be, 
 
 'Tis Liberty's self that commands thy departing. 
 Then hasten to rescue the " land of the free." 
 
 Go ! cling to the standard thy chiefs arc unfurling, 
 To free their loved country from slavery's gloom ; 
 
 From the " home of thy fathers" the tyrant be liurling, 
 Or find in the struggle a " patriot's tomb."
 
 m 
 
 THE FUNEKAL. 
 
 We laid his cold corpse in his father's grave, 
 And the damp chill earth threw o'er him. 
 We pray'd a prayer, with a hope to save 
 His soul, which we knew they could never enslave 
 In the "home" whither Death had borne him. 
 
 We knew he was just, and we felt a joy 
 In the thought of that happier land. 
 
 Where there are pleasures that never cloy. 
 
 Nor moth nor rust can ever destroy. 
 And a seat at a God's right hand. 
 
 We could not have J'ancied a brighter scene 
 
 Than that where his spirit was fled ; 
 
 And as we remember'd the joys which had been — 
 So earthly, so vain, and so fading they seem — 
 
 That we thought, " oh, how blest are the dead !" 
 
 We gazed on the scene for a moment, and when 
 They had closed the grave o'er him for ever. 
 We stood and we linger'd to look once again, 
 And we bitterly wept — for, oh ! it was then 
 That we felt it was pain to sever.
 
 J{) 
 
 " We left him alone" In that dreary tonih^ 
 
 With nought but death around liini ; 
 
 But we saw a bright beam shine through the gloom. 
 Which told of a better and happier doom, 
 
 In a land where bliss had found him. 
 
 Oh ! say not, that the restless mind 
 
 For ever sleeps at Death's command. 
 Which far beyond the grave must find, 
 
 A brighter or a darker land : 
 Death does but end a fitful dream. 
 
 And set the soul undying, free — 
 Changing at once our mortal stream. 
 
 To one of immortality. 
 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 FARE W ELL. 
 
 Faiiewell then to all the fond hopes I had cherish'd, 
 
 The fancies which Reason long wish'd to control, 
 Like all that is beauteous, too soon they have perish'd. 
 
 And left a dark void in this now blighted soul. 
 But oh ! long as memory calls to each feeling 
 
 One ray of that brightness — no more it may know. 
 O'er my heart, a fond rapture so beauteously stealing. 
 
 Shall still blend delight with each moment of woe. 
 
 o 
 
 Farewell ! yes, farewell, with no thought of returning, 
 
 I hasten to quit the fond land of my birth, 
 And whilst with affliction my young heart is burning. 
 
 It grieves but at leaving this loved spot of earth. 
 Yes, the home of my fathers still deeply inherits 
 
 The love, the devotedness, due from a son : 
 But oh ! when I look on the world for its merits. 
 
 For a being to love — there is none, there is none. 
 
 And must I for ever, in misery dwelling, 
 
 Thus feel that no bosom can beat with mine own. 
 
 And listen in sadness, Avhile memory 's telling 
 
 The joys which my innocence once might have known? 
 
 No, no, in the deepness of distance I '11 banish 
 
 The thoughts which may cloud o'er my dark'ning 
 career. 
 
 And bright will the joy of my heart be, as vanish 
 
 The scenes which to Virtue may ever be dear.
 
 21 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 When Beauty's sun, Avith Virtue's ray. 
 Gleams but a moment o'er the way 
 Of life — it seems as if 'twere tjiven 
 As emblem of a future Heaven. 
 When Virtue leaves, and Beauty falls. 
 Its clouded glory then recals 
 The sin-brought pangs to Adam given. 
 When from his home — his Eden — driA'^en. 
 
 How beauteous is the beam that throws 
 
 Its radiance o'er the dawn of youth ; 
 How simply sweet its brightness glows 
 
 With heavenly peace, and heaven-born truth ; 
 But, oh ! before the soul awakes. 
 
 The bliss it brings to more than taste. 
 The brightness fades, the magic breaks, 
 
 And life becomes a joyless waste.
 
 99 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A BUOTHEll. 
 
 'Neath yonder stone in deaths cold grasp lie lies, 
 Ilis guiltless spirit dwells above the skies. 
 Vain are my tears, and vainer still my sighs, 
 For him, my brother ! 
 
 The morn that broke upon us sweetly bright. 
 Is early darkened by a glimpse of night. 
 And youthful hopes of joy have taken flight. 
 With him, my brother ! 
 
 Dreams of my childhood, thus ye learn to fade ! 
 Star of my fate, one cloud has cast its shade ! 
 Where none but beams of joy as yet had play'd — 
 He's gone, my brother. 
 
 Angels' heavenly lij)s may fondly press him, 
 Seraph's smiles may full around and bless him. 
 But they cannot with my love caress him — 
 IVIy own lost brother ! 
 
 A parent's grief some other child may stay. 
 Or worldly cares or sorrows chase away. 
 But none are mine to check the tears that stra)''. 
 For liim, my brother!
 
 23 
 
 MORNING ODE. 
 
 See ! the morn is breaking. 
 Hark ! the lark is taking 
 His flight, and sweetly waking 
 To life, the sleeping plains. 
 JMark ! the sun arising, 
 JMountain bounds despising, 
 From the bed he lies in 
 
 's adamantine chains. 
 
 Awe-struck Ghebers kneeling. 
 O'er their souls is stealina: 
 A glowing depth of feeling. 
 
 Towards Him — their spirits' joy. 
 Every ray tliat's beaming. 
 To them brightly seeming, 
 Like the distant gleaming 
 
 Of bliss, without alloy. 
 
 At the altar bending, 
 Pious monks are sending, 
 Prayers to Him ascending. 
 
 Him their God above ! 
 Worldly thoughts repelling. 
 Nuns are slowly telling 
 Their beads, and find a spell in. 
 
 That speaks, a God of love.
 
 24 
 
 Helmets brightly glancing, 
 Plumes in mid air dancing. 
 Steeds impatient prancing. 
 
 Wake to battle's call ! 
 From their cohorts kneeling, 
 IMatin hymns are pealing, 
 Faith in Him revealing. 
 
 Him — the Lord of all. 
 
 From his slumbers startinjr. 
 That still voice imparting. 
 Pangs no more departing ; 
 
 Guilt to pain awakes — 
 While from dreams, that spoke nut 
 Aught but peace, and broke not 
 Slumber's chain, and woke not. 
 
 Virtue's morning breaks. 
 
 Oh ! thus wake for ever. 
 Thou from whom to sever. 
 And to meet with — never 
 
 Is my unhallowed doom — 
 And when death shall make thee 
 His ; and far shall take thee. 
 Oh ! niayst thou then awake thee. 
 
 To bliss beyond the tomb !
 
 25 
 
 ODE ON THE FALL OF POLAND. 
 
 Oh ! shame, on the countries that broke 
 
 Every tie, by which honor had bound 
 The hearts of the brave and the free. 
 
 To shed liberty's bright rays around ; 
 Lost, lost, in the oceans of guilt. 
 
 On the pages of fame they shall dwell. 
 While their children shall weep o'er the spot. 
 
 Where Poland and freedom once fell. 
 
 Oh ! shame, on the coldness of those, 
 
 Whose fathers for liberty bled. 
 Who could smile on the ruin of hope, 
 
 And rejoice that rebellion was dead : 
 Deep, deep, and for ever, the stains 
 
 Of disgrace on their standards shall be ; 
 Who could chill the warm hearts of the brave. 
 
 And blight the high hopes of the free. 
 
 Though the harp of our country was strung. 
 
 By the brightest and best of our lands ; 
 We loved not the theme which they sung. 
 
 And it lifelessly fell from their hands : 
 But withered and lost as it be. 
 
 Though the heart of the minstrel rebel, 
 'Tis a mournful delight which he feels. 
 
 The shame of his country to tell.
 
 2t) 
 
 The tyrant whose fetters have bound. 
 
 And broken the hearts of the brave. 
 Less guilty than those shall be deem'd. 
 
 Who could silently smile o'er their grave 
 A tyrant ! 'twas his to enslave, 
 
 'Twas his best joy a tyrant to be. 
 But ours was the home of the brave. 
 
 The land Avhich had cherished the free ! 
 
 Oh ! shame, on the countries that broke 
 
 Every tie, by which honor had bound 
 The hearts of the brave and the free. 
 
 To shed liberty's bright rays around : 
 Lost, lost, in the oceans of jmilt. 
 
 On the pages of fame they shall dwell ; 
 While their cliildren sliall weep o'er the spot. 
 
 Where Poland and freedom once fell.
 
 27 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 I SAW him on the mountain stand. 
 
 His cheek with anger burning, 
 He cast a glance o'er a distant land. 
 
 While his eye away was turning ; 
 He knew that land had once been dear. 
 
 And he knew that now 'twas lost. 
 And he felt as the wretch, no haven near. 
 
 On the foam-ting'd billow tost ; 
 He knelt upon the mountain's side. 
 
 And breathed a prayer to Heaven, 
 And pale was the lip which faintly sigh'd, 
 
 " From the land of my fathers driven, 
 I haste to offer at thy throne, 
 
 A heart with doubt long beating. 
 And tell the miseries I have known. 
 
 From thy loved ways retreating ; 
 I know that thou art present here. 
 
 Or in the valley's shade. 
 Thy mercy is for ever near. 
 
 Thy truth may not be stayed ; 
 Oh ! shed thy spirit o'er my soul. 
 
 And turn this recreant heart. 
 That w hen time's flood away shall roll. 
 
 From Thee I may not part."
 
 28 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west. 
 
 And shading the darken'd sea. 
 The stranger knew no place of rest, 
 
 As he rose from his bended knee : 
 He oft had loved on such a spot. 
 
 An hour of care away to fling. 
 And memory echoed the scenes forgot. 
 
 As thus he heard the peasant sing. 
 
 How happy with the morning's light, 
 Wlien larks with warbling accents tell. 
 
 That vanished all are visions briiiht, 
 I haste to yonder hawthorn dell. 
 
 Free as home I loved in youth. 
 Wild as the purple heather bell. 
 
 Simple and beauteous as is truth, 
 I love that spot ! that hawthorn dell 
 
 And when at night, with gladsome heart 
 I seek the joys my home can tell, 
 
 I feel a moment's grief to part. 
 For still I love that hawthorn dell. 
 
 8ad were his thoughts, as the moonbeams fell 
 
 On the lone and silent way, 
 Tlioughts which he may not, dare not tell. 
 
 Since their hopes were far away-
 
 21) 
 
 Banished for ever from tlie scene, 
 
 By early joys endear'd ; 
 An exile — when that spot had \wvn 
 
 So loved, and this so feared. 
 
 It was not for the home he left. 
 
 Alone, he sadly sighed ; 
 His heart was seared, his soul bereft. 
 
 His every joy had died. 
 A cloud was hanging o'er his brow. 
 
 Its gloom he could not stay. 
 It was despair, who fiendlike " now," 
 
 Exclaimed, " thou art my prey."
 
 30 
 
 TO 
 
 IMv own beloved Eliza, I leave thee now for ever. 
 And in this cup of bitterness I pledge thy still-loved 
 name, 
 Torn from my childhood's home — again to see it never, 
 An outcast on this world of woe, one tear is all I 
 claim. 
 P'orget me, oh ! think it was a phantom cross'd thy 
 way. 
 To blight with a bitter blight, the joys which life 
 had given. 
 Thy brightest morning's splendor to chase with gloom 
 away. 
 As the coming storm awhile o'ershades the light 
 beloved of Heaven. 
 Oh ! for thy bosom's quiet, remembrance of me banish. 
 Nor seek the scenes, where " days gone by" our 
 loves we joyed to tell. 
 And thus, oh ! thus, thy grief, like the swollen cloud 
 will vanish. 
 And peace, that angel peace, again within thy breast 
 will dwell.
 
 :3i 
 
 TO 
 
 When death has closed thy short career 
 
 Of eartlily joy, and fading pleasure. 
 Sweeter and brighter far than here. 
 
 Thy soul will find a heavenly treasure ; 
 On earth thy angel spirit dwelling, 
 
 Is far too pure for worlds like this ; 
 Thy virtues every sin repelling. 
 
 Rest, fondly rest, secure of bliss. 
 
 The pathway in which I first found thee. 
 
 Will lead thee unerringly home. 
 And angels will hover around thee. 
 
 Rejoicing thy spirit is come : 
 In robes of pure white will they dress thee. 
 
 Sweet emblems of thee as thou art. 
 Their lips, seraph's bright lips will press thee. 
 
 And bliss to thy spirit impart.
 
 32 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Beneath thy window, on my guitar, 
 
 I touch the gay, the sportive notes. 
 While Echo answers from afar. 
 
 As o'er the gale their music Boats. 
 Oh ! Avake, and hear, the tale that tells 
 
 Of love's first brightest, purest ray ; 
 The star, ^vhose lustre all expels. 
 
 That dimm'd awhile life's chequered day. 
 
 The moon is up, and palely sweet 
 
 Her beams are trembling o'er the spot. 
 This — this the scene where lovers meet. 
 
 Oh ! wake and show 'tis not forgot. 
 The scene may lose its magic all. 
 
 The halo fade, and be no more. 
 But thou can'st Hope's fiiir gleam rocal — 
 
 Then wake, and say it is not o'er. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, if maiden sleep, 
 
 When lover 'neath her window sings. 
 For lost affection once he'll weep, 
 
 Then seal the fount whence sorrov/ springs ; 
 To scenes of joy I'll haste away. 
 
 And there forget thy fancied power, 
 Nor tliouglits, nor dreams, shall ever stray, 
 
 To this thine own, thy faithless bower.
 
 33 
 
 STANZAS IN CONTINUATION OF 
 « DON JUAN." 
 
 Remember that we left Don Juan last 
 
 In the dark towers of Norman's ancient hall. 
 
 With snares by Cupid in his pathway cast. 
 And lips — which Venus may not blush to call 
 
 Her own bright rubies, beautiful, and past 
 The verge of womanhood — possessing all 
 
 The rapturous blisses, which indulgent Heaven 
 
 For Eden's ruin'd hopes has brightly given. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Tis sad to trace the first wrong step which youth 
 In his or her career has ever taken. 
 
 To tell the tears which must be shed forsooth ! 
 Ere the bright path of Virtue be forsaken ; 
 
 To sigh o'er ruin'd peace, and feel the truth 
 Of pangs, that will the guilty soul awaken : 
 
 But go remorse ! the hero of this poem 
 
 Knows not thy stings, nor ^vill he ever know 'em. 
 
 D 
 
 «
 
 34 
 
 III. 
 
 And for myself, though my opinions never 
 ]\Iay win a laurel of a wreath from fame. 
 
 They are, they have been, and they will be ever. 
 That is so long as I am, just the same. 
 
 Careless of whispering tongue, that joys to sever 
 From Virtue's home, the mind which only came 
 
 To lend its powers to others — perliaps to him. 
 
 And brighten portraits which were faint and dim. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But let that pass, and shed one tear of sorrow. 
 As o'er the tomb of him awhile we kneel. 
 
 From whose bright plumage, it is mine to borrow 
 The gems which other bards have dared to steal ; 
 
 And as we glance o'er every joyless morrow. 
 And seem to see the pangs his heart could feel. 
 
 Oh ! envy not the bard his bed of rest. 
 
 Nor deem earth's brightest sons, the truly blest. 
 
 Farewell to him, but never more forgetting 
 The unblest lot of that proud child of song, 
 
 I'll dream of him, the dark past not regretting. 
 Amid the glad, the blest, the happy throng ; 
 
 Purer than when we saw him sadly setting. 
 The star of freedom, freeborn slaves among : 
 
 And I will hope, on some congenial shore 
 
 He rests in peace, where grief is his no more.
 
 35 
 
 VI. 
 
 Farewell, and if to him in yonder Heaven, 
 Where all earth's pure departed spirits dwell. 
 
 The promised rest, the bliss untold be given. 
 And his proud spirit does not there rebel. 
 
 He is then blest — each daring thought forgiven. 
 And angels chauut his latest, best farewell. 
 
 While round his laurell'd brow they bind a wreath. 
 
 The sweetest sleep for him, the sleep of death. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But to our hero, whom we've long been keeping. 
 In a strange kind of " plural" situation. 
 
 Nor shall the tears, which innocence is weej)ing. 
 Deter me from my simple, plain narration ; 
 
 On that fair bosom, then, we find him sleeping. 
 With those bright ringlets — this is no translation. 
 
 Or, if I should acknowledge it to be one. 
 
 You'll not deny it is at best — a free one. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I cannot say, I love those moonlit bowers. 
 
 Those scenes of bliss, which youthful maidens prize. 
 
 Nor even admire those beds of summer Howers, 
 Where some imaginary beauty lies: 
 
 No, in my brightest, most romantic hours, 
 I languish only for some fond one's sighs. 
 
 And all my joy is centred in caressing 
 
 One lovely heart whose only bliss is blessing. 
 
 o2
 
 clO 
 
 IX. 
 
 There 's even joy in sorrow, this I hohl 
 
 To be a truth original and wise, 
 Not from some French book's bright leaves edg'd wi th gold. 
 
 Beneath whose lustre many a nothing lies. 
 Got up by Galignani perhaps, and sold 
 
 By every bookseller beneath the skies ; 
 But torn from talent's proudest height and thrown 
 Like pearls — where nothing of its worth is known. 
 
 X. 
 
 Whispering good night, the fair one gently heaves 
 Her sleeping lover from his pillow'd bliss. 
 
 And sighs, as on those lips of love she leaves 
 The trembling pressure of one stolen kiss ; 
 
 " Farewell my love, my dearest life adieu. 
 
 When night returns I come, again adieu. 
 
 ■it * * V* * * 
 
 XI. 
 
 Her grace the duchess more than all was pressing. 
 And smiling, said she loved to hear a tale 
 
 Of ghost or friar, with their curse or blessing. 
 In mournful accents on the midnight gale. 
 
 In fact she hinted, that herself undressing 
 Last night, had heard a distant demon's wail. 
 
 So faint and low she felt inclined to doubt it, 
 
 Had sl-.o not heard Don Juan sj)eak about it.
 
 37 
 
 xir. 
 
 Aurora's cheek was flushed, her pale h'p trembled. 
 And o'er her brow a cloud of brightness pass'd. 
 
 The dying beams of evening it resembled. 
 As o'er the wave their lucid light is cast. 
 
 The first glow of a heart that ne'er dissembled. 
 
 Chilled by some transient, cold, and withering blast. 
 
 And her dark eye, by some strange feeling lighted. 
 
 Beamed wild with passion, love and hate united. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The sun has sunk beneath the western hills. 
 And twilight shades the dimm'd horizon's line. 
 
 The starbeams glitter in yon gushing rills. 
 
 That down the vale in graceful circlets twine, 
 
 I love to gaze upon the scene — it fills 
 
 My heart with thoughts of home and hopes once 
 mine. 
 
 As when the Exile, on some lonely strand. 
 
 Hears the loved music of his native land. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But these are facts, so wholly unconnected 
 With the proceedings of our virtuous friend. 
 
 That they well perhaps by critics be rejected. 
 And there the " Stanzas of Don Juan" end; 
 
 This would not be the treatment I expected, 
 I'll therefore bid my muse her footsteps bend 
 
 Back to Parnassus — sending me a new one. 
 
 Her sister perhaps, to cater for Don Juan.
 
 38 
 
 XV. 
 
 Meanwhile, with trembling hand I 11 touch the notes 
 Of Erin's bard, the beautiful^, the bright^ 
 
 On whose loved page my lonely spirit dotes. 
 With the reality of deep delight. 
 
 As o'er my heart its brilliant music floats. 
 Like lovers' whispers in the still of night : 
 
 And are the tones of that entrancing lute 
 
 To be for ever lost, for ever mute ? 
 
 And must the hearts that own his magic spell. 
 
 Bid to Tom Moore, the gem of song, farewell ? * 
 
 XVI.— 1. 
 
 Farewell to thee, Moore, but the glories undying, 
 
 The glimpses of brightness that flash from thy lip, 
 I shall often remember, when night winds are sighing, 
 
 Or morn breaks in beauty, the dew-drops to sip : 
 I'll twine for thy brow a fond wreath of sweet flowers. 
 
 The sweetest that bloom in yon roseate vale. 
 And sighs, those Ave sigh in love's earliest hours, 
 
 I'll waft for thy blessing on each sunny gale. 
 
 XVII.— 2. 
 
 Farewell to thee, Moore, and when Death claims thy 
 morrow 
 
 To break on a world that's far purer than this. 
 And thy spirit finds rest from a wandering sorrow. 
 
 In fancy's reality — mansions of bliss : 
 
 • It is needles.'* lo remark, that these lines were written before 
 the publication of the " Summer Ff^te."
 
 39 
 
 I '11 steal the bright drop which thy Peri is weeping. 
 O'er that maiden whose death-bed's in Oman's dark 
 sea. 
 
 And weep it again o'er the spot where lies sleeping. 
 The genius of poetry, buried with thee. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 I know not if there's meaning in this ditty, 
 I only hope 'twill please the author's ear. 
 
 When set to music, soft, and sweet, and pretty. 
 And sung by lips, which he himself holds dear ; 
 
 As for the rest, the wild, the gay, the witty. 
 Should they forget to give their wonted cheer, 
 
 I'll swear the music's bad — by Mr. H n. 
 
 And wish that gentleman had ne'er been born. 
 
 ****** 
 
 ******
 
 40 
 
 THE KISS.^ 
 
 What's sweeter on earth than a kiss 
 From a maiden's rosy lip ; 
 
 Or Avhat joy more like to bliss 
 Than one long delicious sip ? 
 
 Let others boast of those that give 
 A far less fleeting pleasure. 
 
 But while on fading earth I live, 
 A kiss I'll dearly treasure. 
 
 And when above yon bright blue sky 
 
 I go, to wander never. 
 If maiden's rosy lips are nigh, 
 
 I 11 kiss, and kiss for ever. 
 
 Thi:*, with Ihe following four pieces, professedly imitates the 
 style of Mr. Little.
 
 41 
 
 TO JULIA. 
 
 While the twinkling stars are j)oeping 
 Through some dim and distant cloud. 
 
 Here our nightly vigils keeping, 
 Countless pleasures round us crowd. 
 
 Julia, when you talk'd of parting. 
 
 Was that heart with pleasure cloyed ? 
 
 Or did conscience, idly starting. 
 Say that soul in wrong had joyed. 
 
 But no matter, such a madness 
 
 Cannot find an echo here, 
 This is not a home for sadness. 
 
 Hence we banish every fear. 
 
 Welcome nights so free from sorrow. 
 Free from all but love as this. 
 
 If we live but till to-morrow. 
 Let us pass to-night in bliss.
 
 42 
 
 TO JULIA, SLEEPING. 
 
 Angels guard the sacred pillow. 
 
 Where in nature's witchery. 
 Thy bosom mocks the heaving billow 
 
 Of some unruffled sea. 
 
 Guardian spirits watch thee sleeping. 
 While the moonbeams o'er thee play. 
 
 Like some Cupid, slyly creeping. 
 There on beauty's self they lay. 
 
 Would I were that favour'd bright beam. 
 
 On thy bosom bed to rest. 
 Pleasures past would all but light seem. 
 
 Buried in thy fondling breast. 
 
 To these glowing arms I 'd press thee. 
 Smiling through the gloom of night, 
 
 And my very soul should bless thee. 
 In a phrenzy of delight.
 
 4;j 
 
 TO JULIA. 
 
 Those lips, those pouting lips of thine. 
 How oft I Ve wished them far away. 
 
 And though to speak the thouglit be mine. 
 Still, still untold the wish must stay. 
 
 For if I banish those sweet lips. 
 
 And dream that then my heart is free. 
 
 Of some new joy my fancy sips. 
 
 And leads me back to love and thee. 
 
 Then stay, and from thy cheek I'll chase, 
 The teardrop with a burning kiss. 
 
 Nor one past murmur shalt thou trace. 
 In earthly joy like heavenly bliss.
 
 44 
 
 TO JULIA, WEARING A VEIL. 
 
 Julia, I oft have wondered why 
 You hang a veil before those beams. 
 
 Which sparkle from that bright black eye. 
 As lightning through a cloud storm gleams ? 
 
 'Tis vain to think, as perhaps you do. 
 
 Less seen, less longed for, are those charms. 
 
 The more you hide them from my view, 
 The more I wish them in my arms.
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 They tell usj that the '^ gentle moon" 
 
 Is the best light for lovers. 
 But I say, when the sun at noon 
 
 Above us warmly hovers — 
 For cold and chilly is the night. 
 
 When moonbeams gently play ; 
 And love, if not a bird of light. 
 
 From coldness flies away. 
 
 ON THE DEATH 
 
 THE IMAGINARY MR. LITTLE. 
 
 Thy Uitle race is quickly run. 
 Thou art vanished brilliantly ; 
 
 Like dew drops in a summer's sun. 
 That sparkle, fade, and die.
 
 46 
 
 POLAND. 
 
 Poland ! thy lost and scattered sons 
 
 Have fallen beneath a tyrant's arm. 
 And deep, and dark, the lifedrop runs 
 
 Of many a bleeding bosom, warm 
 With patriot hope, in Death as bright 
 
 As the sun's setting beams, that throw 
 Their last, and loveliest, mellow'd light 
 
 O'er the dark world — ere sunk below 
 The dimm'd horizon's gilded line. 
 
 Another home they seek to find. 
 There with young beams of bliss to shine. 
 
 And know not of the gloom behind! 
 Yes ! wide and glad the gates of Heaven 
 
 Are thrown, for spirits pure and brave 
 To enter there, though Hope had given 
 
 No light to bless their blood-stained grave. 
 And still the tear of vain regret 
 
 Falls fasti y on the desert shore. 
 Where Poland's sun for ever set ! 
 
 And Freedom's name is heard no more ! 
 The page of Fame, in days to come. 
 
 To eyes that weep, may haply tell. 
 To break the chains that bound their home. 
 
 How patriots fought, how patriots fell —
 
 47 
 
 And as tlie golden tear is shed, 
 
 From Pity's fountain bright and clear. 
 Their lips shall curse the nation's dead 
 
 That smiled on Virtue's, Honor's bier ! 
 Hearts — true in word — while laurels hung 
 
 Gaily around the victor's brow. 
 That soon — away their false lights flung. 
 
 When Fate had laid them vanquished — low. 
 But Death has closed the short career 
 
 Of all, in glory's ranks, the best. 
 And sweeter, purer far than here. 
 
 Their souls have found the promised rest. 
 
 In realms of bliss — for ever blest.
 
 48 
 
 And now farewell ! the strings are broken, 
 
 The lute has lost its fancied spell. 
 And trembles as the words are spoken — 
 FareAvell, farewell. 
 
 'Tis mine the poet's hope to cherish. 
 
 Though bright, perchance the wild and vain, 
 'Tis yours to bid the young plant perish. 
 Or bloom again. 
 
 And ere you set the seal for ever. 
 
 Upon the minstrel's wreathless brow. 
 That bids him seek a fame, he never 
 In song may know. 
 
 Remember 'tis in life's young hours. 
 He takes his first, unguided flight, 
 Alike unknown, and faint his powers 
 Of dark and bright. 
 
 And now farewell! the strings are broken. 
 
 The lute has lost its fancied spell. 
 And trembles as the words are spoken — 
 Farewell, farewell. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY COX, 
 55, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, Londok.
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 
 
 5, 
 
 5, 
 
 6, 
 
 10, 
 
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 37, 
 
 line 
 
 1 
 
 16 
 21 
 14 
 
 7 
 19 
 
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