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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CYRIL, 
 
 A POEM IN FOUR CANTOS, 
 
 AND 
 
 MINOR POEMS; 
 
 BY GEORGE WILSON. 
 
 MY POVERTY, BUT NOT MY WItl., CONSENTS. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 LEEDS. 
 
 JOHN CROSS, 2, COMMERCIAL STREET; 
 
 AND OTHER BOOK-SELLERS. 
 
 1834. /^
 
 TO 
 
 THE Rev. Wai. Chas. WOLLASTON, B.A. 
 
 VNDER MASTEK OF THE LEEDS FREE GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 
 
 To you, Sir, wlio imparted to ine tlie knowledge of 
 *' man's divinest lore " — who taught me to converse 
 witli the miglity dead — wlio have given me, without 
 price, that instruction which is beyond all price, and 
 which has been my sole companion amid many sorrows 
 — to you would I now offer the first fruits of the tree 
 which your own hands planted, and your own labour 
 has in some deffree matured. 
 
 ^o' 
 
 Permit me, then, to dedicate to you tlie following 
 pages — and believe me, with the deepest feeling of 
 respect and admiration, 
 
 Your grateful pupil, 
 
 GEORGE WILSON.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 As it is usual, on presenting any kind of literary work to 
 the world, to give some reason for such presentation, the author of 
 the following Poems begs to state briefly what have been his motives 
 to publish. For nearly ten years he has been engaged in a constant 
 struggle with almost every kind of difliciilty and disgrace — for, whatever 
 poor men may say to the contrary, poverty is a disgi'ace. During 
 seven out of these ten years he has been studying the profession of 
 medicine — and now, at the end of seven years' servitude, finds himself 
 unable to raise a sufficient sum to enable him to attend the usual 
 lectures for two winters — which is the time required by the Exami- 
 ners at Apothecaries' Hall. The requisite sum for this purpose he had 
 no means of raising — his family being totally unable to do it — and as 
 the chance of obtaining a loan, without ample security, is notoriously 
 small in this ' generous and happy country ' ( Vide Newspapers) he has 
 followed the example of the author of Rasselas, and written a book 
 merely for the sake of obtaining a little gold. 
 
 Were he to profess himself indifFcrcnt as to the merit and success 
 of the work, trifling though itbe, he would but wrong himself, and insult 
 his readers. He is fully aware that, in the works of young writers 
 especially, there is frequently a great inequality in style, composition, 
 and language — and hopes this will not be forgotten by his readers. 
 If, again, there be any sentiments or opinions expressed in the work, 
 which are oflfensive to individuals, the author begs to disclaim the slight- 
 est wish that such should be tlie case ; and must plead in excuse, his 
 youth, inexperience, and iiTegular moral education. 
 
 Moreorer, he would claim indulgence, inasmuch as most of the 
 poems have been written under the pressure of adverse circumstances 
 — and in moments of bitter feeling, which those who have struggled 
 with ]ioverty and (consequently) oppression will readily understand 
 and forgive. Lastly on this point he would remind them of the com- 
 parative scarcity of perfection even in this best of all possible worlds.
 
 VI 
 
 aiid recommend to their adoption the charitable determination oi' the 
 
 poet : 
 
 Non ego paucis 
 
 Oflendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, 
 Aut 
 
 — He has however forgotten the remaining apologies enumerated — and 
 
 the one given must therefore suffice. 
 
 To one other matter he would briefly allude — It may be by some 
 supposed that he would have done better in attempting to raise the 
 sum required by continuing in servitude, and saving a portion out of 
 each year's salaiy. But the trifling amount of salary given to Surgeons' 
 assistants in these days totally destroys the probability of success by 
 this method — excepting in the course of five or six years' bondage. 
 During this period, moreover, the plan of education now in vogue, 
 might, and probably will, be materially altered, and even become more 
 expensive than at present — But supposing this did not happen, it is 
 the very natural, and by no means vicious, wish of every man to be 
 as soon as possible his own master. 
 
 Besides if one be able, by the exertion of such talent as it has 
 pleased God to give them, in any degree to help themselves in their 
 struggle through the world ; it is not only meritorious but a duty in- 
 cumbent upon them ; and, at all events, less intolerable than a state 
 of hopeless bondage, embittered as it too often is by overbearing brut- 
 ality, and the contemptible mandates of privileged ignorance. 
 
 Lastly, the author has to thank several kind and disinterested 
 individuals, who, having themselves grown rich in the profession, and 
 whose sons being intended to succeed them in it — have, with a degree 
 of candour and liberality remarkable for the age, blamed him for this 
 attempt to finish his education, and advised him to turn to some other 
 business — forgetting, with that indiflTerence to trifles which indicates 
 great minds, that the expence attending the acquirement of a new pro- 
 fession would be at least as great as is required to finish the old one. 
 
 To several gentlemen, who have materially assisted him in obtaining 
 subscribers, as also to the subscribers themselves, the author returns his 
 most sincere thanks — and is proud to reflect that so many, on reading 
 the statement contained in his Prospectus, at once bestowed on him 
 their patronage. No trouble has been spared to render the work 
 worthy of such support, and it is now submitted to the public, in the 
 confident hojie that it will afford satisfaction.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGF. 
 
 CYRIL 1 
 
 Canto First .... , , , . i ib. 
 
 Canto Second 15 
 
 Canto Third 25 
 
 Canto Fourth 37 
 
 MINOR POEMS 44 
 
 Julia Deserted , ib. 
 
 The 137th Psalm 45 
 
 A Day Dream 46 
 
 Invocation to the Spirit of Beauty 52 
 
 Family Portraits 53 
 
 Six Sonnets 55 
 
 To Whom } 58 
 
 Melancholy ib. 
 
 Night Hymn 60 
 
 Stanzas 61 
 
 To the Deity 62 
 
 To Juliet 64 
 
 A Reverie ., ib. 
 
 Arab Maiden's Sonij 66 
 
 To my Good Spirit G7 
 
 Byron'b Death bed G9 
 
 Solitary hours 71 
 
 Woman — a Song; 72 
 
 Hypocrisy 73 
 
 The Emigrant 74 
 
 January 1st 1834 75 
 
 Love and Sorrow 76 
 
 The Bequest 77 
 
 The Bygone Days 78 
 
 Youth and Pleasure 80 
 
 The Nightingale and the Rose 81 
 
 The Age of (Jold 89 
 
 A Dramatic Sketch 100 
 
 Love's Hour 103 
 
 The Search IO4 
 
 Heaven and Hell 107 
 
 Juliet's Pledge ib. 
 
 Finis Philosophia; 10% 
 
 The Chief's Lament 109 
 
 The Itinerant Musician 110 
 
 Liberty , , 112
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 I ask no muse my bosom to inspire 
 With heavenly ^visdom and poetic fire — , 
 I pray not, though 'tis usual ^nth the trade 
 At setting forward, for Apollo's aid — 
 Such gentle deities may well beseem 
 Some l}^ng poetaster's ancient theme. 
 Or old romance in tinsel trappings di-ess'd. 
 Of war and cliivalry and all the rest : 
 Such tilings have I forsaken — and my page 
 Relates to beings of the present age ; 
 Nor muses now, nor Phoebus I implore, 
 Resolv'd at least in this to sin no more. 
 But, oh ! ye powers, (if any), who preside 
 O'er human frailty, and o'er human pride ; 
 Who "\ntli (hvine compassion haply scan 
 The self-inflicted miseries of man ; 
 Who bear o'er king and subject equal sway ; 
 To ye, a suppliant I kneel and pray : 
 Give to my pen a salutary pow'r 
 To curb the follies of the teeming hour ; 
 Still at depravity the lasli to aim, 
 And vice, where'er it llourislies, condenm — 
 To add mv voice to virtue's warniun- crv, 
 That lures the heedless one from iniiimy \ 
 
 A
 
 And though the \dper-critic fume and hiss, 
 To paint existence as it really is. — 
 
 At peace with all, and yet of none afraid. 
 My little venture is serenely made ; 
 Wishing to none the very least offence. 
 Callous to slander's babbling virulence ! 
 I know, nor fear my fate. — The upstart fool. 
 The tmckling knave, of every man the tool — 
 The meanest hypocrite that crawls the earth. 
 In disposition abject as in birth — 
 The chattering dunce adom'd by fasliion's laws- 
 All these, if opulent, obtain applause ; 
 Wliile slighted genius, left to mourn and die, 
 Findeth no mate but faitliful poverty ! 
 The young and beautiful — the grave, the gay. 
 Their willing tribute unto Mammon pay ; 
 The palsied sire, upon whose aged brow 
 Twice forty winters have repos'd their snoAv, 
 Trains not liis son in viitue's path to tread • 
 To love the noble, but the vicious dread ; 
 His precepts teach but to increase his store. 
 And still, as much he gains, to wish for more : 
 To fawn and flatter, and to simper praise 
 At all the Tvdtless things his patron says ; 
 To take his part when any one is near. 
 Such zeal to carry to the great man's ear • 
 With well-dissembled smiles liis gifts receive 
 And serve him warmly till he's nought to give ! 
 
 That time aniv'd, the wretched farce is o'er 
 
 He mocks the failings he had prais'd before. 
 
 As one, whose footsteps have securely pass'd 
 Thro' burning solitudes and deserts vast
 
 Whose heart hath sunk 'neath India's toriid 
 
 ray, 
 Or icy Greenland's melancholy day — 
 Deliglits, when home a welcome respite hrings, 
 And age forbids liis further wanderings ; 
 Round the warm circle of liis fire to tell i 
 
 How dangers rose, and accidents befel ; 
 Of midnight watches on the roaring sea ; 
 The sunken rock, the whirlpool's treachery ; 
 The savage tribes who balk'd the march by day ; 
 The panther's growl that scar'd repose away — 
 So I revive, in many a humble song, I 
 
 My youth, my love — and a delicious throng 
 Of joys and smiles, and still more blissful tears, 
 The sweet companions of my boyhood's years; 
 And, rapt in happy reveries, forget < 
 
 The thousand son'ows which my course beset ! ! 
 
 Alas ! the pleasures that from memory spring | 
 
 Are but ideal — as the dreams wliicli flina: ' 
 
 Their grateful fancies o'er the slumb'rcr's eye, 
 Who wakes to murmur at their perfidy ! — j 
 
 Yet oh ! how sweet when misery comes on, , 
 
 To muse and weep o'er joyous moments gone ; \ 
 
 When friends were faithful, and wlien love was j 
 
 true, ' 
 
 And many a budding hope luxuriantly grew ! j 
 
 Remembrance is from heaven — a mercy sent ' 
 
 To soothe the rigour of man's punislunent ; 
 And gild at least, with its redeeming: rav. 
 The weary travail of our mortal way. 
 The past is ever best — and yet how vain 
 The wish to linger through the past again —
 
 I :l 
 
 Our loug-forgotten woes again to bear, 
 The wrongs of youth, and manhood's deeper care-- 
 Ev'n then as now we wept o'er blighted flow'i-s ; 
 Mourn' d o'er the past, and sigh' d for future hours — 
 Ev'n then young hopes had vanish'd or decay'd. 
 And many a new one blossom' d but to fade — 
 Ev'n then we sadden' d at the voice of woe, 
 And felt within us a responding glow — 
 Wliile joys, whose memory now such bliss imparts. 
 Were cast untasted from our troubled hearts! 
 E'en now — (albeit my pleasures are but few. 
 And only poverty attends me true ) — 
 I feel that when my present hour hath fled. 
 And years roll'd onward o'er my silver' d head, 
 These trivial pleasures shall return again 
 Unlink' d, unburthen'd by attending pain ; 
 And glow perchance in recollection's page. 
 The brightest season of my pilgrimage ! 
 
 I sing of love — nor let the fancied wise 
 These amorous breatliings of my lyre despise — 
 Wealth, WHY, ambition, or the breach of laws, 
 Of mortal suff 'ring is the frequent cause : 
 How these the sorrows of mankind can swell 
 Let bleeding hosts, and ruin'd nations tell — 
 Yet these in crowds the sufferers o'erthrow. 
 And each participates liis neighbour's woe ; 
 While the sad thought affords to all relief, 
 That each is burthen'd by an equal grief — 
 But love, the subject of my willing lay. 
 Consumes unseen his melancholy prey ; 
 Kindles the heart with his voluptuous breath, 
 And fans the flame to agony and death !
 
 Yet mine's no fable of the poet's thought. 
 No morbid dream by vivid fancy wrought ; 
 But a plain narrative, in honest dress. 
 Whose truth but magnifies its bitterness — 
 And some may contemplate -without disdain 
 These simple sorrows of the village swain ; 
 Nor sconi the record, humble though it be, 
 Of ought pertaining to humanity. 
 
 So pass we to our theme 
 
 — My pen must tell 
 Of one who lov'd ' too fondly and too well' — 
 Whose greatest fault- whose most besetting sin 
 Was, that aflfection reign'd his heart ■svitliin. 
 His name was Cyril : — in an English vale 
 Where rustic murmurs wooed the summer 
 
 gale — 
 Remote from cities and the crowded mart, — 
 Where all was beautiful, yet void of art — 
 Wliere the soft voice of many a joyous bird . 
 Blent ^vith the lowing of the milky herd. 
 And the glad carol of the harvest train. 
 As slowly homeward sped the golden grain : — 
 There was he bom — of humble lot was he, 
 A lowly scion of a loAvly tree ; 
 For him no herald conn'd Ids mystic lore ; 
 Nor coat of ai*ms, nor blazon'd crest he bore — 
 But honest industry, unmark'd by fame. 
 Gave reputation to liis decent name ; 
 And what, though glory hallow'd not his race ? 
 It own'd no ciimc, nor blush'd beneath disgrace ! 
 Ancient in manners, liberal, fraiilv, and free — 
 The noblest patent of nobility !
 
 6 
 
 Nature had form'd him in her fav'rite mould, 
 Of manly port, yet rather cahn than bold ; 
 Nurtured in sunny hours, the vital tide 
 Of youth and health liis glowing features 
 
 dyed — 
 Breath'd o'er his forehead their congenial hue, 
 And lighted in liis eyes a deeper blue. 
 But there was something in his voice and mien 
 Distinct from other youths — he was not seen 
 To mingle ever with the sportive train. 
 Who fought their mimic battles on the plain ; 
 Or gaily danc'd about the maypole tall, 
 Or with quick foot propell'd the flying ball : 
 But he would wander in some solitude. 
 Where on liis privacy might none intmde ; 
 And, rapt in meditation, pensive stray 
 Where chance or fancy pointed out the way ; 
 Communing with liimself in sombre mood. 
 In the dark bosom of the tangled wood ; 
 Or, stretch'd on some green knoll at close of 
 
 day, 
 O'ercome wdth fond and fairy visions lay ; 
 Gazing all drowsily for many an hour 
 On grove and mossy dell, on field and flow'r ; 
 And 'mid such scenes, so beautiful and fair. 
 Breathing to heaven his unaffected prayer ! 
 In sooth he was not skill'd in rustic lore ; 
 His pleasure was o'er heathen books to pore. 
 That told of Arcady, the muses' clime — 
 
 And deeds that dazzled from remotest time 
 
 Of nymphs that haunted ev'ry sacred tree ; 
 Of Tempe's vale in rural Thessaly ;
 
 Of the fond love-sick youth who pin'd in 
 
 vain 
 For his own image in the liquid plain 3 
 Of war and tumult ; and ill-fated Troy, 
 Lost for the passion of an amorous boy — 
 How mighty Jove, and those of heavenly birth, 
 Lov'd the fair daughters of the blissful earth ; 
 And all the Avondi'ous liistoiies that be 
 Set forth in books of old mythologie ! 
 Nor less the genius of liis native land 
 Engag'd liis studies — of th' immortal band. 
 He whom the banks of favour' d Avon bare, 
 Unequaird — best — partook liis cliiefest care : 
 And oft, reclin'd beneath some cypress shade. 
 When glorying noon all harder tasks forbade ; 
 Or milder evening's twilight tresses fell 
 In dim luxuiiance o'er his native dell ; 
 Near the soft lipple of the drowsy stream. 
 His voice would wander through the darling 
 
 theme : 
 Or he would follow Dryden's polish'd line — 
 Pope's mellow'd numbers-Milton's page divine — 
 Or haply Goldsmith —whose delicious lays 
 Mourn the past joys of Britain's better days. 
 These were his friends — in intercom*sc with 
 
 these 
 There lack'd indeed no fm*ther power to please; 
 Home, kindred, parents, were alike forgot, 
 Their very being was remcmber'd not ; 
 And tlie Aving'd hours so lightsomely went by, 
 That till dark sliadows garb'd the blushing 
 
 sky.
 
 8 
 
 The spell was broken not — and then he bent 
 His steps reluctant home — wliile as he went. 
 He caroll'd to himself, to cheer the way, 
 Some measure wild, or rustic roundelay. 
 
 But though he wander'd thus by wood and dell. 
 His home and all things homely lov'd he well : 
 For who that hath not felt a secret pain — 
 Whether his lot were on the lonely main, 
 Or in far climes a traveller to roam — 
 A longing for his own — liis distant home ? 
 So the brave S^\itzer — though liis fearless eye 
 Kindle with pleasure at the onset-cry ; 
 Though in liis voice and hardy look there be 
 No mark of aught, save soldier-revelry ; 
 Yet, should he hear the meny vintage train. 
 Or some poor minstrel's half-forgotten strain, 
 His heart is sadden' d — for before his eyes 
 His peaceful home and native valleys rise ; 
 He sees the spring beneath the mllow shade. 
 Where last he met the dark-ey'd mountain 
 
 maid ; 
 His aged parents, and his sisters gay ; 
 The village dance, the well remember'd lay : 
 Oh ! marvel ye if then his eye grow dim. 
 And foreign homes have no delight for him ? 
 Ev'n I, whose heart misfortunes daily sear, 
 Can drop for liim the sympathizing tear ; 
 Can feel with liim the sacred ties that bind 
 His hopes and fears to all he left behind !
 
 9 
 
 Cyril had learn' d to worshii), and obe> 
 The God, whose merc}^ gave each passing day- 
 Not with a Pharisaic proud pretence 
 Of never-failing moral excellence — 
 The tutor' d homage of a lifted eye — 
 The fonnal babble of h}^ocrisy — 
 Nor virtue vaunted by a saintly tongue — 
 Nor righteous triumph o'er a sinner's wrong — 
 Not with the tribute of unvaried gloom, 
 As one who fears inevitable doom — 
 Nature beam'd forth in smiles and happy glee ; 
 All else rejoic'd, and wherefore should not he ? 
 As yet he knew no soitow to destroy 
 The quiet tenour of his bosom's joy — 
 Earth was liis temple — and the boundless sky, 
 Glitt'ring Avith gem-like stars, its canopy — 
 His books, the hills and valleys ; and his pray'rs 
 A hush of holy peace, as eloquent as theirs ! 
 Who, that hath wander'd in the beauteous 
 
 hour 
 When dusky tA\ilight shares Avith night her 
 
 pow'r — 
 When weeping dews the tliirsty valleys fill — 
 
 And mists are rolling down each darken'd hill 
 
 When birds are hush'd — when toil and labour 
 
 cease — 
 When earth and heav'n are universal peace — 
 And, tiiough no sound pervade the solenm air, 
 The very silence is replete with pray'r; 
 Breathing from Hood and field, and mountain 
 
 rude, 
 The voiceless orisons of gratitude ! — 
 
 B
 
 10 
 
 Who, that hatli felt this hour's deep 
 
 eloquence — ' 
 
 Who, that hath life's most ordinary sense — 
 Who, that can move, tliink, feel, and understand. 
 Can doubt the pow'r of an Almighty hand ? 
 Go, read the stones upon the rugged hill ; 
 Go, list the music of the singing rill ; 
 Go, leani from ocean, forest, field, and flow'r. 
 The infinite wisdom of Eternal Power — 
 All have their language, and alike upraise 
 In one continual round Jehovah's praise ! 
 
 Thus in the vivid page of earth and skies 
 Cyril had read Religion's mysteries — 
 Parental love all humbler lessons taught. 
 Chasten' d each folly, fram'd each generous 
 
 thought ; 
 Train'dliis young heart in spotless virtue's way. 
 And pointed out where hidden dangers lay ; 
 Taught him, by j>recept and example too. 
 Not what man does, but what he ought to do — 
 To bear contentedly misfortunes giv'n 
 By the wise will of an unfailing lieav'n ; 
 To love his king mth steady loyalty, 
 Nor rail with envious fools at sov'reignty ; 
 To hold his life as to his country due. 
 Nor question why things were, but still be true : 
 To love his country-men — to pity those 
 Whom scheming traitors make their country's 
 
 foc.^ ; 
 A band iiccurst ! in cveiv region found, 
 Wlio spread revolt and disaOection round ;
 
 11 
 
 Whose canker' d hearts, forever fill'd with guile, 
 Live but in nourishing some falsehood vile, 
 Who, spite of gibbets, poison every clime ; 
 The pest of earth, tlie constant curse of time ! 
 
 My lowly harj) ! whose mclanclioly strings 
 Have tun'd my spirit's earliest murmurings. 
 And sooth'd at least, with tliy delicious pow'r. 
 The torture-pangs of many a wretched hour — 
 My truest warmest friend — awake ! arise ! 
 A nobler theme demands tliinc energies ! 
 Shake off the mist of fancies wild and rude. 
 Have chill'd thy lays in our lone solitude ; 
 Forget the strains of poverty and wa'ong, 
 And give to glory a triumphant song ! 
 
 England! my country! once so great in fame. 
 Whose single arm th' united world could tame — 
 Wliose navies rul'd rough ocean's stormy pride. 
 And whelm'd Hispania's myriads in the tide — 
 Whose warrior- sons defeat nor bondage knew. 
 But * came, and saw, and bravely overthrew' — 
 Home of the bold, the beautiful, the free ! 
 Empire of noble hearts and liberty ! 
 My native land I to thee indeed belong 
 The warmest notes of tributary song, 
 Whose l)rilliant annals of undying fame 
 Glow with the patriot's and the hero's name — 
 Whose glory dazzled thro' long ages past, 
 Still proudly beams, and shall for ever last ! 
 How can I look upon thy glory's name, 
 Nor weep the changes that shall dim its flame ? 
 The growth of luxury's degenerate pride ; 
 The restless swell of innovation's tidi^ ;
 
 12 
 
 Seditious fools allow' d to babble free 
 The idol- worship of democracy; 
 Utopian projects ending in regret j 
 And thousands ruin'd by a needless debt ! 
 
 No more thy sons, in ancient labour bent. 
 Till the glad earth — unletter'd, but content — 
 No more simplicity adorns the plain. 
 But discontent and disaffection reign : — 
 Is this indeed the triumph and effect 
 Of the much vaunted march of Intellect ? 
 Are these the blessings education brings — 
 Is this the wisdom that from learning springs ? 
 That all, conceited with their new-found lore. 
 Despise the toil by which they liv'd before — 
 What! men who read and write — nay, blunder 
 
 through 
 Philosophy and mathematics too — 
 Shall men like these their intellect degrade 
 By meanly stooping to the tricks of trade ? 
 Is't fit that embryo Newtons should be found 
 Driving a ploughshare through the stubborn 
 
 ground ? 
 Shall poets sew — logicians curry wigs — 
 Shall future Bacons merely fatten pigs ? 
 It shall not be — in tliis enlighten'd age. 
 When books and Institutes are all the rage. 
 And Hamiltonian systems flourish free. 
 Who w ould be charg'd with vulgar industry ? 
 
 Oh ! Goldsmith, bard prophetic ! in whose eye 
 Sad visions rose of England's destiny — 
 Who wept e'en then o'er happiness decay'd 
 And all the woes tliat luxury had made —
 
 13 
 
 Coukl'st thou revisit the distracted land, 
 And view her cliildrcu leave their native strand, 
 To seek perforce in some far distant spliere. 
 That life and sustenance denied them here — 
 In haleful climes, with unrelenting toil, 
 To clear the woods and dig the tangled soil — 
 To waste their strength heneath an alien sky — 
 To live in exile — and forgotten die : 
 Could'st thou behold the miserable train, 
 Who, bound by poverty alone, remain — 
 Wlio, mad with famine and unheeded giief, 
 By turns become th' assassin and the thief; 
 Or, join'd in lawless brotherhood, conspire 
 The daily riot, and the midnight fire : 
 Could'st thou behold mistrust and rancour 
 
 spread, 
 And foul rebellion shew her fatal head — 
 How w^ould thy soul with pity be oppress'd ! 
 What various pangs would rend thy gen'rous 
 
 breast ! 
 The desolation wild, the woes to idew. 
 Thy fancy pictur'd, and thy pencil drew ! 
 
 Young Cyril's father was a plain good man ; 
 Honest, untaught — a quiet race he ran. 
 From party strife and politics remote — 
 Unus'd to murmur — and to talk l)y rote 
 Of Universal Suffrage, and Reform, 
 Or gravely prophecy a coming stonn — 
 Save when some jolly neighbour chanc'd to pass. 
 And smok'd his pipe, and sip'd a social glass ; 
 Then would debate and argument arise, 
 Sagacious nods, and gestures wondrous wise ;
 
 14 
 
 And then tliey fought the French, and beat 
 
 them clear, 
 Their field a board, their armies chops of 
 
 beer. 
 Blest bloodless battles, amicably fought ! 
 Quarrels serene, \yith only pleasure fraught ! — 
 But in all tilings pertaining to the field 
 And agriculture, he to none would yield ; 
 Skilful was he to sow the gen'rous grain, 
 Foresee the biting frost, and welcome rain ; 
 He knew what soil liis varied seed would suit. 
 And waim the springing blossom into fruit ; 
 The yearly produce of his fields could tell — 
 And reign' d, in fact, a rustic oracle ! 
 A life like his, metliinks were surely blest : 
 No care to cloud tlie brow, disturb the breast — 
 Refreshing slumber—plain, yet wholesome food- 
 The welcome home — tlie lisping infant brood — 
 A wife, whose smiles endear each coming day. 
 And neither sadly grave nor weakly gay ! 
 Almighty Father ! grant in life's decline 
 That such a lot, and such a home be mine ! 
 I ask not useless wealth — too well I know 
 That riches riot breed, — and riot, woe — 
 My fortune moderate — one faithful friend— 
 My days in homely happiness to spend — - 
 And wlien at last my little hour is run, 
 Witli lioly hope to say " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 END OF CANTO FIRST.
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Mysterious Love ! thou master-passiou fine, 
 Whom all have felt, yet none could e'er define ; 
 Whose joys, whose miseries, alike belong 
 -f To lowly bosoms, and the titled throng ; 
 
 How shall I sing thee ? — Admirable theme ! 
 The youthful poet's and the painter's dream — 
 The theme of ev'ry age, of ev'ry tongue, 
 Tlu-o' valleys echoed, and o'er mountains 
 
 rung — 
 
 A feeling pure, that ne'er can be express'd. 
 Which fii-st inspires the bard's prolific breast ; 
 Dispels the low'ring clouds around us driv'n 
 And lends to wretched earth a glimpse of 
 Heav'n ! 
 
 One summer eve had Cyril souglit the 
 grove — 
 It was a glorious hour — around, above, 
 Sang many a joyous bird its vesper song, 
 And half-heard nnmnurs mourn' d the boughs 
 amoim- — *
 
 10 
 
 Tlie balmy breeze amid tlie foliage sigh' d, 
 And scarcely ciirl'd the rivulet's blue tide — 
 Lightly the trout leapt at the skimming fly — 
 The lark shot blythely through the blushing 
 
 sky— 
 The nimble squirrel danc'd from tree to tree, 
 And oh ! a merry mountebank was he — 
 The swallow, wheeling in an endless round. 
 Vanish' d along — and then the mirthful sound 
 Of village children busy at their play, 
 Or, at the well, young maidens singing gay. 
 By fits fell softly on liis ravish' d ear ; 
 Now mellow'd deep, now swelling sweet and 
 
 clear ! 
 These, and a thousand rural sounds beside, 
 To country life and summer days allied. 
 Mingled their charms — and wrought in Cyril's 
 
 breast 
 A calm contentedness, a sacred rest, 
 A rapturous peace, that knows not how to rise 
 In the gross hearts of Mammon's votaries 
 
 Thus rambling forth, in solitary mood. 
 At length his careless footsteps left the wood ; 
 Then, as he wont, his listless length he threw 
 On the green herbage yet unkiss'd with dew — 
 There drowsy lay, in blissful state I ween, 
 Lull'd by the languor of the peaceful scene ; 
 So calm, so tranquil, at his very feet 
 The timid hare scarce left her custom' d seat — 
 The black-bird whistling o'er liis feath'ry nest, 
 In mellow notes his mate and infant care 
 
 address' d !
 
 17 
 
 But sudden, as lie mus'd, arose hard by 
 A scream of terror — like the smother'd crv 
 Of one whom, sleeping', heavy dreams oppress — 
 He started from his doze, and scarce could guess 
 Whether quick fancy had deceiv'd his ear, 
 Or some real voice were actually near--- 
 Till, looking o'er a hedge of willows nigh, 
 A scene of anxious danger caught liis eye : 
 A lordly hull, the ruler of the plain, 
 Stung by some fly, or of his prowess vain. 
 Was rushing in hot rage the field along. 
 Foaming, untam'd, and as a lion strong — 
 With heavy feet that rais'd a thund'ring sound. 
 And rugged front bent iiercely to the ground ; 
 Red glaring eyeballs, as of liquid fire. 
 And hello wings hoarse, proclaim the monster's 
 
 ire : — 
 While, some short space before, across the mead, 
 Frantic with fear a shrieking maiden lied ; 
 Pallid lier face, and fdl'd with wild ailViglit, 
 As the mad brute still gain'd upon her 
 
 lliglit— 
 A single moment all the scene (Usplay'd, 
 And summon'd Cvril to tlie fair one's aid ; 
 From the low fence a pointed stake he drew, 
 Then, leaping o'er, across the meadow flew ; 
 With bounding footsteps to his foe drew near, 
 And fiercely smote him on the brawny rear; 
 But just in time to liberate his prey. 
 And turn from her his nmrd'rous front awav. 
 Against our youth was now his fury bent — 
 From his deep chest a lengthen'd roar he sent, 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 Then, quickly turning, laid Iiis foreliead low, 
 And rusli'd impetuous on liis ready foe — 
 But Cyril, active as tlie mountain deer. 
 Leapt lightly from tlie shock — and in liis rear 
 With such a host of blows his liide assail' d. 
 His courage sank, his stubborn spirit quail' d ; 
 Groaning he fled, with mingled rage and pain. 
 Leaving our hero master of the plain. — 
 The noisy conflict o'er — the rescued fair. 
 Fainting and breathless, next engag'd his care; 
 Of all unconscious on the ground she lay, 
 A beauteous image ! — ne'er was mortal clay 
 By nature's hand to such perfection brought, 
 So mtching soft, so delicately wrought ! 
 As some poor savage, uninforai'd and rude, 
 Lur'd from liis forests' native solitude 
 By golden promises and trinkets vain. 
 To seek fresh worlds across the treach'rousmain ; 
 And should his lot in lovely Britain fall. 
 His footsteps lead liim to her capital. 
 When to his wondering eyes they first impart 
 Some noble triumph of the sculptor's art ; 
 Fearful he gazes, \\itli amazement dumb. 
 And tliinks a Deity from heav'u has come ; 
 So fix'd, so motionless, 'tis hard to say 
 Wliich is the living, which the lifeless clay ! 
 So stood the youth — in admiration bound ; 
 Himself forgetting, and the scene around — 
 Struck with such beauty as his eye ne'er view'd, 
 Save in the dreams that bless' d his solitude ; 
 Such as he fancied in his brightest hour, 
 Conceiv'd in fond imagination' s pow'r ;
 
 19 
 
 Such as his lieail liad soug-ht for, but in vain, 
 Amid tlie blue-eyed daughters of tlie plain ; 
 Yet, tho' desir'd, had scarcely hop'd to see 
 In so divine, so fair reality ! 
 Arous'd at length from gazing on her charms, 
 He rais'd the drooping maiden in liis arms ; 
 Then to the stream which bound the forest-sliadc, 
 His j^recious burthen hastily convey'd ; 
 There on the mossy bank her form reclin'd. 
 And ope'd her bosom to the gentle wind • 
 To raise her head liis mlling ami lie gave. 
 And bath'd licr beauty in the limpid wave — 
 While, as he thus perform'd his welcome part, 
 Love gain'd at once admission to his heart : 
 And he bent o'er her, bless'd as he could be, 
 In all first love's devoted energy ! — 
 
 Reader ! if thou hast lov'd, 'twere vain to tell 
 Wliat rapturous hopes in amorous bosoms dwell, 
 When first affection lights her ilame divine. 
 And youth and beauty in the pair combine — 
 J3ut if tliy heart remain a stranger still 
 To love's delights, 1 trust it ever will — 
 For far more bitter tluin the seqient's tongue. 
 And fai" more cruel than tli' oppressor's wrong, 
 More fatal than the scoiinon's vcnom'd sting, 
 Are the deep miseries from love tliat spring ! 
 Oh ! draught delicious in young manliood's lioui ! 
 Nectar indeed — of more tlian mortal pow'r ! 
 Dear as the fountain to the pilgrim's taste. 
 When faint and dyini;^ 'mid Zaara's waste ; 
 Sweeter than seem'd to Judah's hoav'n-lod baud 
 The milk and honey of their pronii.s'd lau'l ;
 
 20 
 
 Yet treaclierous as tlie marsli-fire's lurid ray 
 Wliicli lights to danger, burns but to betray ! 
 Enclianting goddess ! daughter of the sea, 
 Whose wayward billows are but types of thee ! 
 Fain would my heart eternally forget 
 The long-lost hopes whose memory wounds it 
 
 yet- 
 Fain would forget the moments dear and blight. 
 When love meant nothing but intense delight ; 
 When earth was heav'n, and passion wander'd 
 
 free. 
 Till all at once 'twas lost in agony ! — 
 
 Ellen — for such the name our maiden bare — 
 
 Bloom'd in full beauty, most supremely fair — 
 
 In stature short, yet delicately wrought ; 
 
 Her manners feminine, as nature taught ; 
 
 No art was needed — elegance and ease. 
 
 The gifts of heaven, had made her sure to please ; 
 
 Rich auburn tresses in profusion deck 
 
 Her polish' d forehead, and her swanlike neck ; 
 
 Blue lustrous eyes, for ever bent below. 
 
 As if to contemplate her bosom's snow ; 
 
 The small voluptuous mouth — the Avell-form'd 
 
 chin — 
 (Which saints might kiss, and deem the Idss 
 
 no sin — ) 
 The virgin bosom's tremulous rise and fall — 
 The gi-aceful innocence that sweeten' d all — 
 The half-drawn sigh — the tear— the timid 
 
 glance — 
 The thousand cliarms which loveliness enhance —
 
 21 
 
 Tlic cheerful smile that told lier quiet miud — 
 All these in matchless union were combin'd — 
 Her heart Avas made for love — sincere and mild, 
 Haply too soon by pity's tale beguil'd — 
 Her generous hand the liberal bounty gave 
 Ere scarce the suppliant had begun to crave ; 
 And tears, as pure as those which angels shed, 
 Declar'd tlie feeling that compassion bred ! — 
 Such as my pen hath imag'd forth was she, 
 Ah ! why should excellence be born to misery ? 
 A man of plenteous wealth was Ellen's sire ; 
 A liberal-minded, English country-squire — 
 Who ate, drank, hunted, reel'd to bed—and then 
 Arose to eat, drink, hunt, and sleep again — 
 No care beyond his kennel, or his wine. 
 No point to settle, save what hour he'd dine — 
 His greatest boasts his daughter and his ale, 
 Or the soil'd trophy of a fox's tail : 
 Thus did he vegetate the long year through, 
 Belov'd, respected, by a kindred few. 
 Harmless and hospitable, blunt and free, 
 Void of olfence to all humanity ! 
 Oh ! happier he than later years have known ! 
 Far from the fashions of the vicious town ; 
 He liv'd at ease upon his own estate. 
 Nor sought the favour of the courtly great — 
 Tlie city's pageantries he envied not. 
 But spent his money in his native spot j 
 And still, from youth to age's latest span, 
 Liv'd, as he ought — a simple honest man !
 
 22 
 
 My tale is like my life — a mingled scene 
 Of tears and laughter, revelry and spleen ; 
 Now gaily roving love's delights among, 
 Now fain redressing an imagin'd wrong ; 
 Here, soaring on ambition's liighest wings, 
 There, sunk in abject grief, and useless mur- 
 
 murings ! 
 As some tough knight of whom old stories tell, 
 Who daily compass' d deeds impossible — 
 So I, careering with my doughty pen. 
 Fierce as that fairy-fiend, a Saracen — 
 Must still digress, still wander from my path, 
 To vent my spleen, and fulminate my wrath j 
 To hold some blockhead to the public eye. 
 To scout the dealings of hypocrisy ; 
 And gain by this, as you may well suppose. 
 One lukewarm friend and fifty clam'rous foes ! 
 And here, inspir'd by pity's generous flames. 
 Some waken' d reader wittily exclaims : — 
 " Wliy then continue thy disastrous course, 
 Wliich leads from good to bad — from bad to 
 
 worse ? 
 Hast thou not heard the melancholy lot 
 Of fools who prate of follies long forgot— 
 Of honour, justice, truth, and liberty. 
 And all such antiquated trumpery? 
 Doth honour lead to wealth ? or canst thou live 
 On the scant pasture truth and virtue give ? 
 Or canst thou turn the venerable trash 
 Into that summmn bonum — ready cash ?" 
 Alas, most courteous querist ! well I know 
 My foolish notions can but end iu woe —
 
 23 
 
 Yet much I stiive to sliuii the yawning net, 
 Love, mercy, charity, woukl fain forget ; 
 Nay, lieaven permitting, hope ere long to be 
 Cold, sordid, selfish, as the rest of ye ! 
 
 The youthful pair, whose fate inspires my song, 
 Are sadly wandering the fair fields along ; 
 Loving, helov'd — soft words ! wldch briefly tell 
 The bliss of heav'n, the torture-pangs of hell ! 
 Days have roll'd onward, summer half gone past, 
 Since their first meeting — and 'tis now their 
 
 last ! — 
 The " choice of friends," love's most unhallow'd 
 
 foe, 
 Hath whelm' d afiection in a tide of woe ; 
 And now, when joy seem'd most of all in store. 
 Gave the stern mandate — " ye shall meet no 
 
 more !" 
 Yet here were they together — fondly met 
 To weep, to mourn — ali ! wherefore not forget ? 
 
 My ling'ring pen unwillingly must tell 
 The cause of all their care — and thus it fell : — 
 Since that auspicious eve when Cyril's aid 
 So barely rescued the distracted maid. 
 Love, cliild of gratitude, had warm'd her breast, 
 Wliich, wliile her tongue ^vitheld, her eyes 
 
 confess' d — 
 Nor he could gaze upon her charms unmov'd, 
 But still, as more he look'd, the more he lov'd ! 
 Thus long they met, and ever as they walk'd, 
 On some soft theme ih' unconscious lovers 
 
 talk'd ;
 
 24 ' ! 
 
 Save that which glow'tl in eitlier happy hreast, 
 More rapturously sweet, hecause suppress'd ! 
 Nor ask'd they why so faithfully they met, 
 Nor why their parting ever brought regret — 
 Perchance at first they knew not how to name \ 
 
 The genial fervour of affection's flame ; ! 
 
 Or modest bashfulness the tale delay'd, 
 And what desire would utter still forbade — 
 But glances eloquent, and sighs that swell 
 In passion's youth, had left no tale to tell ; 
 And when his tongue at length the truth con vey'd, 
 Blushes and treacherous tears her mutual love 
 betray' d ! 
 
 Thus time wore on — and they were happy then. 
 
 In the calm bosom of their native glen — 
 
 They had no wish for splendour, wealtli, or , 
 
 fame — ' 
 
 No thought, no feeling, virtue's self could ! 
 
 blame — 
 Their hopes were moderate — their wishes few — 
 Their mino-led hearts Avere innocent and true — 
 Far from the slander of malignant tongues ; I 
 
 Far from the babbling town's ungenerous \ 
 
 wrongs ; ; 
 
 Wealth's bloated pride ; and sneering envy's 
 
 They liv'd to love — they lov'd, alas ! to die ! 
 
 END OF CANTO SECOND. I
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 They rambled on~tlusk even long since fell, 
 Yet conkl they not pronounce the sad farewell ! 
 They gaz'd upon each other — could it be 
 That such as they were made for misery ? 
 Had heaven pennitted them such bliss to know. 
 Merely to mock them v.ith its overthrow ? 
 As the bright hues on pining beauty's cheek 
 Only more fatally her doom bespeak ; 
 When hope fain lingers o'er the beaming ray, 
 Till death, exulting, claims his sudden prey ! 
 
 In weeping accents Ellen's tongue convey'd 
 The cruel mandate which their love forbade : 
 How that, returning from far southern lands — 
 Where, as the custom of his rank demands, 
 His studies were pursued — lier father's heir 
 Had rcach'd his native fields, and forests fair : 
 In manners polish'd, but by nature free, 
 And rash as the rough cataract was he — 
 Ardent, impetuous, and of haughty soul. 
 He brook'd no thought nor sliadow of control — 
 Proud of his birth — and fearful tliat disgrace 
 Should taint his hitherto untainted race — 
 
 D
 
 26 
 
 Ambitious above ev'ry thing, to join 
 His only sister to some noble line ; 
 For well her blooming loveliness might claim 
 The mlling homage of a titled name — 
 No marvel, when report the tale had told— 
 For what can rumour's busy tongue withold ? — 
 Of Ellen's passion for the nameless hind. 
 That indicrnation fir'd her brother's mind : — \ 
 Fury, contempt, reproach, all play'd their part 
 To root the dangerous feeling from her heart ; 
 And, though no power could quench her 
 
 plighted lovBj 
 Frowns and unkindness did not fail to move ; 
 For many an hour in secret sorrows fled. 
 Full many a night she sought a restless bed ; 
 Night had, for her, no slmnbering hopes of 
 
 peace, 
 Morning but witness' d all her woes increase ; 
 The dancing sparkle from her sweet eyes fled. 
 Her cheek no longer blush'd its wonted red. 
 Save when reproach arous'd the dying flame, 
 Or scornful mention of her Cyiil's name — 
 Her voice was silent in the custom'd lay. 
 Her flow'rs, neglected, pin'd with grief away — 
 Alas ! her heart was breaking — and 'twas well. 
 Since it must be, 'twas so susceptible I 
 Better to perish by the lightning's blast, 
 Than linger di'earily, to die at last ; 
 Condemn'd to suffer through an age of pain^ 
 Till dissolution rends the weary chain ! 
 
 And she had come — as vainly she believ'd. 
 Unknown to all> unnotic'd, unperceiv'd —
 
 27 
 
 For who can hope to cheat tli' unquiet eye. 
 The constant watchfuhiess of jealousy ? — 
 To meet the cherish'd one, whose earnest vows 
 Were dearer tlian the gems which Afiic" 
 
 shows — 
 For whose lov'd sake, without comphiint, she 
 
 hare 
 All the deep agony of that hell, despair ! 
 
 Woman ! how seldom, in our warmest hour, 
 We duly estimate thy passion's po^v'r ! 
 How little know we thy devoted soul, 
 Thy love, which time nor sorrow can control — 
 Thy meek suhmission to a cheerless lot. 
 Reproach, neglect, unheeded and forgot! 
 Ifow little think wc, in our careless part, 
 Of what is passing in thy liiled heart — 
 Wooed hut to gratify a moment's pride, 
 And won too often to he cast aside — 
 Blotted from recollection, or at most 
 Rememher'd faintly in a drunken boast — 
 Tortur'd hy custom's mandate to conceal 
 Such love as only woman's licart can feel — 
 \Vliile its cold ol)ject revels *' fancy free," 
 Nor wastes one thought upon tliy constancy ! 
 
 The moon is up — and they must pari 
 indeed — 
 Ah ! why doth love such desolation breed ? 
 Heav'n surely mingled the severe alloy. 
 Lest lUiin sliould perish witli excess of joy — 
 They stood and we))t togetlier ! woe is me I 
 It was an hour of mortal agony !
 
 28 
 
 How shall I paint the melancholy scene ? 
 The bitter tears nncheck'd—the anguish keen— 
 The long, long kiss — the passionate embrace — 
 The sobb'd farewell— my pen denies to trace :— 
 For memory paints old times so green and 
 
 bright, 
 I fondly weep, where I but ought to wiite ! 
 'Tis over, and they part When, from the 
 
 shade 
 Rush'd forth the brother of our hapless maid — 
 Boiling with fury, as the cubless bear 
 When the fell hunters have despoil'd her lair — 
 On our defenceless vouth, with sudden bound 
 He sprang, and smote him bleetling to the 
 
 ground — 
 A moment, stunn'd beneath th' inflicted blow, 
 Supine he lay before his raging foe ; 
 Then, lising from his feet, with savage eye, 
 Leap'd like a maniac on liis enemy ; 
 Contriving still each desperate blow to foil. 
 Then hurl'd him breathless on the trampled 
 
 soil; 
 Nor here the torrent of liis rage had stay'd, 
 But for the pleadings of the weeping maid : — 
 " Oh ! Cyril, 'tis my brother !— 'tis, 'tis he- 
 Forbear, nor add to this day's misery — 
 Go, leave me now for ever — 'twill not be — 
 Love cannot flouiish othenvise than free ! 
 We may not be as we have been before. 
 Yet will I ever love — Oh ! ask no more ! 
 Hope for the future, though the past be pain \ 
 I know, I feel, we yet shall meet again--
 
 29 
 
 Nay, why ? — yet lake it Cyril, and depart. 
 Nor doubt the constancy of Ellen's heart !" 
 He hath departed 
 
 -As the last shade fled. 
 
 When Phcehus mounted from his eastern bed. 
 Young- Cyril left his cottage ; and pursued 
 The path which track' d the forest-solitude. 
 The village sluniber'd in serene repose — 
 Save where a faintly-curling cloud, that rose 
 From the low roof of toil's industrious son, 
 Sliew'd that already had his task bei^un — 
 The morning beam'd as morning ever beams 
 On pastoral homes — the many-languag'd 
 
 streams 
 Shouted and sang in eloquent delight. 
 At the warm visit of the laughing light. 
 Whose rosy rays, in lavish beauty spread, 
 Dispell'd the tears which dewy night had shed I 
 The early ploughman, joyous as the day, 
 Cheer'd his rough horses with a rustic lay ; 
 And, resting at the sound of Cyiil's tread, 
 Just turn'd, and grinn'd — then scratch'd his 
 
 shaggy head, 
 Bade him, "good moiTow," as he pass'd along. 
 Then, flourishing his whip, resum'd liis song — 
 Happy, whom neither wealth nor cares oppress ; 
 And bless' d as ignorance alone can bless ! 
 
 Our youth still iollow'd his uncertain way, 
 Musing, and careless wJiither he should 'stray ; 
 He was too pregnant with aflliction's birlli 
 To mark the beauties of the waken' d eiuth ;
 
 30 
 
 'Twas all indifferent — he Lad left his bed, 
 To f|uit the torments recollection bred — 
 Had vainly fancied lie could leave behind 
 The thoughts that dwelt but in his tortur'd mind ! 
 He could at least, unseen, his sorrows vent. 
 Which burn'd the fiercer for imprisonment ; 
 Besides — tho' scarcely to himself confess' d — 
 An earnest feeling flutter' d in his breast, 
 A secret impulse to behold again 
 The scene of much delight, and all his pain ; 
 Where he had liv'd upon liis Ellen's smile, 
 Munn'ring liis hopes of happiness the wliile — 
 Where love's young aspirations were express' d. 
 And her returning love alike confess' d — 
 Where they haddream'd a dream of future years, 
 And wak'd, as dreamers do, to nought but tears ! 
 
 Oh ! life itself, that we so dearly prize, 
 Is but a string of dreams — wliich cheat our eyes 
 With some new prospect, as the old go by. 
 Blooming as they did, but like them to die — 
 Yet still we fancy, as the play goes on. 
 Each fresh delusion is not really one. 
 But rich reality's most golden vein — 
 Till thrills a sudden gush of mortal pain 
 Through the soul's inmost sanctuary — and then 
 We wake~weep~trust~and are deceiv'd again ! 
 So youth sees boyhood's brighest hopes decay. 
 So youth's best hope in manhood dies away : 
 So age creeps on — and ever, as at first. 
 Year after year the splendid bubbles burst j 
 Till death or dotage, mercifully sent. 
 Ends the sad record of our punishment !
 
 31 
 
 He hath reach'd liis journey's end — how 
 
 brief a space 
 Since liere he gaz'd upon his Ellen's face ! 
 Troubled, 'tis time — yet dearer, lovelier so, 
 Than deck'd in levity's delusive glow ; 
 For sweetest smile nor blandishment endears 
 Like the warm eloquence of woman's tears ! 
 He thought upon his boyhood — and the time 
 When he had lov'd the mountain-side to climb, 
 Plucking the summer-flow'rs — his rambles 
 
 wild. 
 When songs and happy thoughts the way 
 
 beguil'd — 
 His ancient sultry day-dreams — and the spell 
 Of pleasurable dread, that whilom fell 
 O'er his young spirit in the rocky hall 
 Wliere boil'd the thunder of tlie waterfall — 
 The sweet vocations of liis ripening years — 
 His youth's ambitious hopes, and pregnant 
 
 fears — 
 Then thought he of past hours with Ellen 
 
 spent — 
 Their rapturous bond of mutual sentiment — 
 Their moniing vows, their vesper reveries. 
 In some delightful spot reclin'd at ease ; 
 Each far too happy in their innocent love 
 To think about the future — what could move 
 Their hearts from such sweet union ? — they 
 
 might die. 
 But never break their spirits' unity ! — 
 And now !
 
 32 
 
 Here then, in solitude, — unseen — 
 
 He kneels in tearful pray'r — the herbage green 
 Was trampled bj rough feet~he knew, too well 
 For his heart's happiness, how tliis befel. 
 Oh ! agony, that bring' st the soul to God, 
 How deadly~deeply~fiills thy chast'ning rod ! 
 The drops of torture trickle o'er his brow, 
 To mingle -with the rolling tears below — 
 He cannot pray — the earthly feelings, pent 
 In his swoU'n heart, require a baser vent — 
 Sunk in despair, the groaning victim lies — 
 Ah ! Love, why torture thus thy votaries ? — 
 
 Long did our hapless youth his grief pursue. 
 Nor strove the weeping torrent to subdue ; 
 For hearts that burn, whate'er the cause may be. 
 Find in full tears the surest remedy — 
 Oblivious of the passing scene he lay. 
 And fondly mourn' d the vacant hours away,' 
 Nor thought he to depart — till, sounding near, 
 A hasty footstep sudden reach'd his ear — 
 He cast a careless glance around, when lo !.. 
 Close at liis side appear' d his recent foe ! 
 
 Cyril was nurtur'd in the humblest mode. 
 Nor travell'd further from his sire's abode 
 Than twice or thrice~I blush the truth to own— 
 The ten-miles' journey to the nearest town — 
 Yet nature bountifully grac'd his mind 
 With feelings generous, if not refin'd — 
 And such small learning as he might contrive 
 From books and observation to derive. 
 With love's assistance, had his mien subdued. 
 And with a kindly gentleness imbued —
 
 33 
 
 So, though resentment he might haply feel 
 Through the recesses of his spirit steal — 
 For such is mortal man — and tho', perchance, 
 A spark of anger kindled in his glance — 
 'TAvas but a moment — He would gladly there 
 Have cast all strife upon the viewless air. 
 Had freely ceas'd the quarrel to prolong. 
 And giv'n his friendship in exchange for wrong ! 
 
 He rose — determin'd not, by look or Avord, 
 A plea for fresh contention to afford ; 
 And would have wander' d on, nor silence 
 
 broke. 
 When, thus addressing liim, the other spoke : — 
 " Fair youth, who, counting on a menial deed 
 Of servdce render' d in an hour of need. 
 Hast dar'd to hope for what shall never be — 
 Aided by time, and opportunity. 
 And the smooth pleadings of an oily tongue. 
 To turn the natural gratitude, which sprung 
 From one whom trideS but too warmly move. 
 Into a current of disgraceful love — 
 Nor then contented with thy first offence. 
 Hast to presumption added violence — 
 Think not my temper is so tamely slow. 
 As to forgive mine adversary's blow — 
 Think not, while life, and strength, and season 
 
 serve. 
 To 'scape the punishment thy deeds deserve — 
 Hope not by brutal force, as yesterday, 
 Again to triumph in the unequal fray — 
 Though, in submitting to contend witli thee, 
 I blush Anth shame at the indignity, 
 
 E
 
 34 
 
 Yet will I ratlier suffer such disgrace 
 Thau hear thy presence in this hateful place ! 
 I will not deem thee such a very slave. 
 That fear can over thee dominion have — 
 Here are mine arms—on equal terms we meet- 
 
 Vengeance indeed will here be doubly sweet 
 
 ^ _^_^ ^ ! 
 
 Clmse wliich thou wilt " — 
 
 — He ceas'd — and thus began 
 The youth in answer — "Were I less than man. 
 Whom God hath fashion' d for eternity, 
 In His own fonn of noblest majesty — 
 Hath rais'd above all earth, and earthly tilings. 
 And lighted w itli th' essential fire, wliich springs 
 From His own glorious mightiness — were I 
 Doom'd, when this brevity be past, to die 
 Through an eternal future—and my' soul 
 Return unquestion'd to its awful goal — 
 Then might I, to indulge a madman's mood, 
 Wash out imputed wrongs with worthless blood; 
 Yet, even then, I hardly might agree 
 To settle thus my difference with thee ! 
 Thou bear'st thy sister's lineaments — andknow. 
 Her kindred never shall be Cyril's foe — 
 Thou canst not be mine enemy — then cease, 
 And let us dwell in brotherhood and peace ! 
 Doubtless, the members of my humbler line 
 Must yield the precedence of rank to thine ; 
 And I can fancy my suppos'd offence 
 In loving, where I owed but reverence ; 
 Yet since 'tis done — it were the better part 
 No more to agonize that dear one's heart —
 
 35 
 
 Oil ! can a brother's tongue tlie deed ad\ isc, 
 Would but redouble all her miseries ? 
 Not so : Here first our dealing hath begun — 
 Here let our enmity alike be done ! " 
 
 Burning with passion and indignant pride, 
 In scornful terms liis enemy replied : — 
 " Tliink'st thou with patience I can stand to 
 
 hear 
 The wordy babble of thy dastard fear ? 
 Think' st thou my senses to delude and blind 
 By school-boy diivel, thus profusely whin'd ? 
 Hast thou no tears thine eloquence to grace 
 And lend a pathos to thy pallid face ? 
 Coward ! and liar ! who hast fram'd a tale, 
 To bear thee out, when impudence should 
 
 fail; 
 I came not here in tiifling words to waste 
 The hour of reckoning for my name disgrac'd- 
 I sought thee out, and when our talk began. 
 In sooth belie v'd that I address' d a man ; 
 But since thy woman's heart too plain appears 
 In the forc'd tattle of thy slavish fears, 
 I am content my vengeance to forego. 
 Nor wish to meet an ignominious foe ! 
 Yet ere thou goest from my presence, learn 
 How much thy proffer'd amity I spurn — 
 Thou match with Ellen ! — shall the fearful dove 
 Aspire to gain the royal eaglet's love ? 
 Never ! — this hand shall dig my sister's grave, 
 Rather than give her to a nerveless slave ! 
 Away ! nor vent thy base excuses more. 
 Which but increase the scorn I felt before ! '*
 
 36 
 
 He hath prevail' d — "Enough ! — the youth 
 
 replies. 
 While indignation lights his gleaming eyes — 
 " I have not sought this contest — nor will I, 
 Tho' last consenting, he the first to fly — 
 Devil ! and fiend ! who thus cans't rend in twain 
 Her heart — hut curses are at least in vain ! " 
 
 The distance mark'd — the signal-word 
 agreed — 
 To their respective posts the pair proceed — 
 A hrief repose — and then the ringing knell 
 Echoed from rock to rock — and Cyril fell ! — 
 
 END OF CANTO THIRD.
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 And such is Honour ! such the 'custom'd plan 
 By whicli man immolates liis fellow man ! 
 Such are society's most polish' d laAvs, 
 Wliicli Chiistian nations practise and aj^plause ! 
 
 Is tliis the warfare by wliich Heaven is won ? 
 Is this the faith of God's incarnate Son? 
 Did He thus teach His followers to repay 
 The wrongs they suffer'd in their heav'nwai'd 
 
 way? 
 Is it indeed the Christian's rightful patli • 
 To glut the yearnings of his ravenous wrath ? 
 Is it the spirit of the crime forgiv'n 
 Seven times—and tliousands added to tliat sev'n ? 
 " Vengeance is MINE ! " Th' Omnipotent hatli 
 
 said, 
 By ME the guilty one shall be repaid ! 
 Did not — while prostrate fell the trembling 
 
 land — 
 Burst from Sinai's Iiill tlie loud command, 
 "Tliou shalt not kill ! " — in God's own voice 
 
 express' d ? 
 Is tliis a trifle, or a theme for jest ?
 
 38 
 
 Can we, believing what our tongues profess. 
 Excuse sucli acts of terrible wickedness ? 
 If so, what shade of right have we to blame 
 The midnight ruffian's sanguinary name — 
 Why doth the gibbet rise for such as he. 
 While daylight's titled murderers go free ? 
 Nor only 'scape their country's vaunted laws. 
 But wade thro' blood to fasliion and applause ! 
 
 Nature hath surely chang'd, since murd'rous 
 Cain 
 Mourn'd in despair his brother Abel slain — 
 He, the first shedder of his fellow's blood. 
 Wander' d an out-cast from the care of God ; 
 Condemn d, tis said, thro' boundless time to feel 
 Pangs far more deadly than th' assassin's steel ; 
 Hunself accurst — liis children, as we see. 
 The branded slaves of all posterity. 
 But-now the practis'd connoisseur in blood 
 Bears a bold front of reckless hardihood — 
 Conscience—remorse— repentance—all forgot. 
 Or in gay fashion's bustle heeded not — 
 Can such men sleep? and doth no hideous sight 
 Damn them each hour of each successive night? 
 
 No dream, no spectre, liaunt their guilty bed 
 
 No voice address them from the troubled dead ? 
 Have they no fear of Judgment — but delay'd? 
 Of that atonement wliich must yet be made ? 
 
 The bed of death — the final dread decree 
 
 The ceaseless hell that fills eternity ?—
 
 39 
 
 The morning splendour of a summer sun 
 Falls o'er the victor and the dying one — 
 Oh! now, what worlds the conqueror would give, 
 For the sweet hope liis enemy might live ! 
 His enemy ? — it is no longer so — 
 All hostile feelings have been whelm'd in woe ; 
 And the red stream, from Cyril's heart express'd, 
 Quench'dall the passion in the other's breast ! — 
 Frantic — distracted — miserable — wan, 
 He knelt in anguish o'er the dvino- man : — 
 " Cyril ! my brother ! oh, revive and live, 
 " If but my vengeful folly to forgive ! 
 " Thou cans't not — slialt not — thus untimely 
 
 die!"— 
 A faint light struggled in the victim's eye : — 
 " I do forgive thee — all may yet be well — 
 " But no ! 'tis almost past — my heart — farewell ! 
 " Yet tell her, cv'n in death" — The purple tide 
 Gush'd Anth redoubled force — and thus he died ! 
 
 Awhile the murderer gaz'd upon the dead, 
 Then, stnick with horror, from the valley fled — 
 But wliither sliall he turn ? — Tlie village soon 
 Will swarm with all tlie busv din of noon ; 
 Some truant-boy, or homc-retuniing liind, 
 Doubtless, ere long, the gory corse will find, 
 And in a few brief liours 'twill be too late 
 To shun by fhght the dangers which await. 
 His course is taken — Antli immeasur'd haste. 
 The intervening woods and fields were past ; 
 Reckless he rush'd, as rolls the lava-fire, 
 Till rose in sight the mansion of his sire ;
 
 40 
 
 Which gain'd at length — besmear'd with dust 
 
 and blood, 
 In Ellen's presence the destroyer stood ! 
 
 Let not my pen on their sad meeting- dwell ! 
 Few words suffic'd the harrowing tale to tell — 
 She heard, and from liis haggard visage knew 
 Each torturing circmnstance was but too true ! 
 Yet was she calm as the all-waveless seas 
 That slumber mid' the happy Cyclades ; 
 She did not weep — nor any word she spoke — 
 No sigh, no murmur, from her bosom broke — 
 She gasp'd indeed, as one who, drow^ning, tries 
 To breathe once more in his last agonies — 
 With her small hands she press'd her drooping 
 
 head — 
 A livid paleness o'er her features spread, — 
 And a slight spasm convuls'd her lips and brow. 
 As if she started 'neath a dagger's blow — 
 Reproaches she had none — could they restore 
 That life — that happiness — so briefly o'er ? 
 Was it a deed for tears and clamorous grief — 
 Could these in such an hour have giv'n relief? 
 It was a pang too deep for utterance — 
 The utmost limit of despair's advance — 
 All trivial sorrows — as the clouds, that dye 
 With melancholy gloom the summer sky — 
 Though for a time tlieir darken' d aspects low'r, 
 End in the pleasure of a soothing show'r — 
 But there be troubles of a deadlier cast. 
 Too hideous far, too terrible to last ! 
 Troubles that wither, with as fatal blight 
 As burns the red volcano's lurid liglit :
 
 41 
 
 Wlielining the valleys in its sulphurous breath. 
 And leaving in its track — desjiair and death ! — 
 
 No more — why lingers my LeAvilder'd pen 
 O'er the sad history ? — suffice it then, 
 That, ere bright Phoebus reach'd his noon-day 
 
 throne. 
 The wretclied nuirdcrer from his home had gone ; 
 Banish'd from all the joys to virtue dear. 
 Which ev'n in poverty delight and cheer — 
 Condemn'd to waste liis manhood's choicest 
 
 prime 
 In the dull refuge of an alien clime — 
 He roam'd from land to land — in hopes to find 
 At least some respite for his troubled mind. 
 And the sad memory of his guilt to fly 
 'JNIid the gay regions of variety — 
 But years roll'd onward, and his hopes were vain. 
 Time did but aggravate the growing pain ; 
 Till, tir'd of striving 'gainst his adverse fate, 
 Sick of the world — where he was desolate. 
 Where pleasure bloom' d wliich he could never 
 
 share, 
 Where witness'd happiness increas'd his care ; 
 He chose at lengtli Religion's calm abode, 
 And gave his life, in penitence, to God ! — 
 
 And where is Ellen ? — In distracted mood, 
 She sought tlie borders of that well-known wood: 
 'Twas such an Jiour, a few short months aiio, 
 ^Mien he had sav'd her from her bellowing foe ; 
 And oft, since then, the happy pair had stood, 
 Buoyant with youth, in that autunnial wood — 
 
 F
 
 42 
 
 She tlioiiglit of tliis, and of their passion sweet. 
 As she press'd onward with unwearied feet. 
 And recollection whelm'd her gentle eyes 
 In tears, that sprung not for her miseries ! — 
 At length she found him — pardon, generous 
 
 Heav'n, 
 The first wild murmuring of a spirit riv'n ! 
 Oh! twas a piteous scene — She, kneeling, wept 
 O'er his pale forehead, as he calmly slept 
 In death hefore her — and she kiss'd his cheek 
 With hloodless lips, from which the faint words 
 
 hreak : — 
 *' Tis over, Cyril ! this can scarce be pain. 
 Since here we meet—nor henceforth part again— 
 It might indeed — hut I will not repine, — 
 Ev'n yet, beloved, Ellen will be thine — 
 Alas ! I talk to nothing ! — 'tis not he — 
 But the fall'n image of mortality ; 
 And I am barely more — the meeter bride 
 To grace, as I have sworn, my Cyril's side ! — 
 Ev'n death is sweeter than to outlive this — 
 But death with him a paradise of bliss ! 
 
 How beautiful is woman's constancy ! 
 Oh ! theme of many a sacred tear to me. 
 In the dim solitude of curtain' d night — 
 AVhen thou, departed vision ! dear and bright, 
 Recurrestto mine eyes — and with old lays, 
 Such as thou sangs't me in our innocent days, 
 Bringest, in vivid power, the moments past ; 
 Where first we met, and where we parted last —
 
 43 
 
 Oh ! best and loveliest ! — yet it may not lje — 
 How beautiful is woman's constancy ! — 
 
 They found them dead together — she reclin'd 
 Her head upon his breast — and fondly twin'd 
 Her wliite arms round him —and her face was 
 
 bent 
 Upward to Cyril's, with a fix'd intent ; 
 As though, in dying, she had lov'd to sec 
 The worshipp'd idol of her memory ! — 
 
 Thus liv'd,thus died they; — pass we briefly by 
 The funeral pomp — their kindred's agony — 
 My pen grows languid, and my trembling song 
 Too. oft hath falter'd as it flow'd along — 
 Oft, while that song another's grief hath shewn. 
 My heart hath idly brooded o'er its own — 
 And the sad harmony its notes express 
 Sounds but the knell of long-lost happiness ! 
 
 Tliey buried them together — 'twas most due 
 To them, whose love had been so sweetly true ! — 
 Peace to the memory of the guileless pair ! 
 Green be their tomb ! — and may the zephyrous 
 
 air 
 Full many a blossom in profusion shed, 
 To deck the gentle lovers' l)ridal-bed I 
 
 THE END.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 JULIA DESERTED. 
 
 Julia, forsaken by the youth 
 
 Wliose vows her heart had won, 
 Rusli'd madly to the river smooth — • 
 
 " And here shall rest," she weeping cried, 
 " Beneath this gentle river's tide, 
 " My heart — by Love undone ! " — 
 
 Cast on the bank, in phrenzied mood 
 She watch' d th' expanse below — 
 When, mirror' d in the faithful flood, 
 
 A fonn appear'd of beauty rare ; 
 With bosom white, and golden hair. 
 And cheeks where roses glow : — 
 
 "Mother of Beauty! "—Julia cried— 
 
 " Forgive my purpos'd sin ! " — 
 At once was rous'd her woman's pride — 
 
 She w^reath'd fresh lilies in her hair, 
 
 Heighten'd her charms with fondest care. 
 
 And roam'd, fresh hearts to win !"
 
 45 
 
 THE 137th PSALM. 
 
 Where Babylon's deep Avaters roll o'er tlie yellow sand 
 We sate, and wept in bitterness tlie memory of our land : 
 Well might our hearts be soften'd then — our tears fall 
 
 rapidly — 
 As we brooded in a stranger clime, O Zion ! over thee ! 
 
 Our tuneless liarps all silently upon the willows hung — 
 Harps, tliat in Judah's palaces with many a glad note 
 
 runs: ! 
 While our proud victors, in their scorn, triumj^liantly 
 
 command : 
 " Sing ye a song of Israel — a hymn of Zion's land !" 
 
 r 
 
 How shall we raise devotion's voice to Thee, dread 
 
 King of Kings, 
 How shall we sing Thy praises 'mid tJie Gentile- worsliip- 
 
 pings ? 
 Wliile my liglit hand can wake the lyi'e, and wliile my 
 
 tongue is free, 
 Jemsalem ! Jerusalem ! their song sliall be of thee ! 
 
 Thou God of conquer'd Judah ! remember Edom's line 
 Were bitter in their hatred of the hind that still is Thine ! 
 Oh! let Thy vengeance justly fall upon their homes and 
 
 them. 
 Whose voices peal'd the fatal cry, " Down with Jeni- 
 
 salem ! " 
 
 Daughter of lofty Babylon ! behold, the hour is nigh 
 When thou, like us, shall groan beneath an exile's 
 
 misery ! 
 And happier shall the avenger be than mortal tongue 
 
 can tell. 
 Whose handrepaycth tlice tlie wrongs of trampled Israel! 
 
 i
 
 46 
 
 Daughter of Babel! in thy pride, thy downfall is decreed — 
 Dash'd on thine own foundation stones, thine infant sons 
 
 shall bleed ! 
 And blessed shall the victor be, whose victory cometh on. 
 Whose arm shall work thy grandeur's fall — detested 
 
 Babylon I 
 
 A DAY DREAM. 
 
 I laid me down, beneath a sycamore. 
 In an autmimal wood — the hum of men, 
 The voice of birds, the bubble of the brook. 
 Were sweetly mingled in communion 
 With the faint rush of ocean — then there came 
 A snatch of some wild carol, as the throng 
 Pass'd home from labour— Thus the day wore on 
 I lay and listen' d ; and was woe to think 
 All had no joy for me — there was no note 
 In all harmonious nature's melody 
 Could wake to sympathy my deaden' d heart. 
 That once was only rapture — presently 
 Mine eyes grew dim A\itli weeping, and a train 
 Of sombre fancies flitted througli my brain. 
 Making me drowsily forget the past, 
 And reckless of the future — 'twas a draught 
 Deeper than Lethe's water, and of pow'r 
 That came I knew not whence 
 
 1 oaz'd around — 
 
 The sycamore was waving o'er my bed 
 
 In all luxuriance — but its leaves were tongues. 
 
 That join' d in one delicious symphony —
 
 47 
 
 "Rest, wearied one!" llieir sylvau song beg-an- 
 " From love and liatred, toil and tronble, rest ! 
 Here shall no beauty avoo tliy cheated heart 
 To break in admiration — here no friend, 
 With treacherous kindness, shall acquire thy 
 
 thought, 
 Then bruit it to the world — no proud one's taunt 
 Shall reach thy sooth' d ear in this solitude. 
 Where Peace abideth only — rigorous laws 
 Have here no power to wrest the Avidow's mite 
 For rich mens' banquetings — nor poverty 
 Wears, as in cities, sorrow's garniture ! 
 Then rest and slumber hap])ily — beliold. 
 The woodbird's note shall lull thy jaded sense 
 To dreamless deep oblivion" — 
 
 Thus llow'd on 
 The tide of mournful melody — Ere long 
 Methought soft footsteps flutter'd by mine ear. 
 As if some fairy band, with revels meet, 
 AVelcom'd their lady-moon — I rais'd mine eyes. 
 And lo ! a sight of joy — a form was there 
 Of one my early youth had long, long known. 
 And lov'd as long — l)ut bitter circumstance 
 Had stepp'd unkindly 't^rixt our plighltMl liearts. 
 And riven the growing fetter — Is it riven? 
 Oh ! let the misery of a thousand hours 
 Borne in still woods and valleys — let the change 
 From youth to young infirmity — the waste 
 Of liealtli — and hope departed — testify 
 How that old bond encompasseth my heart. 
 And groweth to my being ! — On she came, 
 With the same smile whicli witness'd in past 
 
 hours 
 Her spirit's inward truth — then, sitting down 
 Upon tlie turf beside me, she began : — 
 INJingling her eloquence with many lasses, 
 Such as of old she gave me—
 
 48 
 
 " Wilt thou cro 
 Where the hase world dies, where soft songs rise, 
 And angels warhle their melodies ? 
 
 Love, wilt thou go ? 
 
 Wilt thou tread 
 A land, whose sons are immortal ones ? 
 Where many a liver of glory runs. 
 
 And grief lies dead ! 
 
 Wilt thou stand 
 'Mid a shining ring round creation's King, 
 Where clouds of incense young heauties fling 
 
 O'er the fragrant land ? 
 
 Canst thou leave 
 The sordid earth, where fiends roam forth, 
 Where care and sorrow are hrought to hirth. 
 
 And the best deceive ? 
 
 Come, oh ! come 
 To the gloiies above, in the realms of love, 
 Where power is given to the sinless dove ! 
 
 Come, love, come !" 
 
 She ceas'd — but, as the echo of her song- 
 Died in the distance, all her blandislnnents 
 Resum'd again — and many a dear caress 
 She lavish'd on my lips — -while through my 
 
 frame 
 Sprang up a glow of passionate delight 
 That mocks all painting — but a voice Avithin 
 Impeird me to disperse mine indolence. 
 And thus I answered her : — 
 
 " Beautiful one ! 
 Thouknowest how lonof I have sufTer'd wronor; 
 That my hope is dead — and the joyous throng 
 
 Of old friends gone.—
 
 49 
 
 Thou knowest well 
 How my spirit is worn by the proud man's scorn. 
 How my boyhood's love is cruelly torn 
 
 From its citadel — 
 
 Do I not lie 
 On a couch of sorrow, yet hoping- to borrow 
 Relief in slumber ? while each good morrow 
 
 My fond hopes die — 
 
 True, I am sad — 
 But oh ! can I flee from my dreams of thee 
 To another land, where thou may'st not be 
 
 With thy presence glad ? 
 
 See the lark rise ! 
 On Iiis morning wings, above earthly things. 
 Up to the home of the stars he springs 
 
 Through the sunny skies — 
 
 But he looketh back 
 O'er woodlands brown, and meadows mown. 
 And lo ! he returneth in rapture down. 
 
 On his homeward track ! 
 
 Urge mc not then — 
 Ev'n could I fly to the regions on high, 
 My heart ere long would wither, and sigh 
 
 To return again ! — 
 
 She wrung my hand with animpassion'd grasp, 
 While from her blue eyes fell a weeping tide 
 Of much-pcrsuadiug tears — and all the love. 
 Which years of absence and a cluumeful fate 
 Had smother d in lier bosom, suddenly 
 Beam'd forth into mine eyes in one long gaze, 
 Tliat held an age of bliss : —
 
 50 
 
 ** Tliou dreamest yet 
 Of tlie blessed lioiirs tliat once were ours. 
 When life was bright as morning flowers 
 
 With dew-drops wet — 
 
 Thon reniemberest still 
 The sabbath bells — the greenwood dells — 
 The yellow beach where ocean dwells — 
 
 The sunlit hill — 
 
 And thoughts of home, 
 Vivid and deep, are rous'd from sleep ! 
 'Tis a theme of son-ow, yet wherefore weep ? 
 
 Come, love, come ! 
 
 Who would abide 
 Where bonds controul th' imprison' d soul, 
 That pants to be free as the fires which roll 
 
 Through creation's tide ? 
 
 Will I not love ? 
 Will I not bring thee where seraphs sing 
 Anthems of praise to the glorious king 
 
 Of the land above ? 
 
 It was no mortal harmony which flung 
 Its magic spell upon me — for no more 
 My voice could raise its feeble negative 
 To my belov'd one's eloquence — I sigh'd, 
 But not in sorrow — and delivered up 
 My spirit to her guidance — then she gave 
 To my charm' d lips a goblet nectarine, 
 Wrought of an emerald stone — the which I 
 
 qualTd, 
 And slumber' d in her anns 
 
 -There came a sound 
 
 As of a rushing tempest, ^rild and shrill ;
 
 51 
 
 Roaring as if tlie world's foundations fell 
 Among chaotic fires — I cannot tell 
 How it now rose beyond imagining, 
 And then was partly hush'd — its memory 
 Brings yet a trembling terror to my heart, 
 And poisons all its energy !^ — I woke. 
 Stretching mine eyelids to their utmost bounds 
 To seek the whirlwind's cause — but all was 
 
 gloom ; 
 Darkness impenetrable held her sway, 
 And mock'd my straining vision — horribly 
 The sound went over me, beneath, around. 
 Nay, through my very soul ! — at length arose, 
 Like the marsh-meteor's melancholy gleam, 
 A speck of distant light — (not this the ray 
 Of gladsome noon, or evening pui*pleness. 
 That tell of hope and beauty :) — glaring, pale 
 As hateful Uranus, or Saturn far ! 
 While, as it grew, I mark'd a thousand forms 
 Of beings strange and indescribable. 
 Flitting through crowded space : — anon there 
 
 fell 
 A dolorous yell upon my tortur'd ear, 
 As of a host of fiends — a matchless din, 
 Where pain and fell delight combin'd to freeze 
 
 The well of life within me Hell of liells ! 
 
 How can 1 tell what follow'd ? she, whose lay 
 
 Had chann'd me to tliis den, rush'd frantic by, 
 Close to my very feet ! — not, as of late, 
 A child of spotless beauty; but defil'd, 
 Bleeding, and blacken'd, from the leporous 
 
 touch 
 Of an infernal satyr ; whose mad blood. 
 Boiling in lustful passion, urged him on 
 Still faster on her fiiglit ! — Indignantly 
 My voice forbade his progress, and I strave 
 To rise and grasp liim^but my limbs were dull. 
 As if the draught of love she ofTer'd me 
 Had stol'n my very manhood — and a sneer 
 Of launting hellish laughter echoed by.
 
 52 
 
 Mingling with cries, that faint and fainter grew, 
 From my own heart's-beloved ! — " God of 
 
 Heaven ! 
 " Help in tliis agony — " but ere my prayer 
 Had fram'd its further utterance, the spell 
 Was loosen'd from my spirit — voice and scene 
 Faded I wist not how — and, waking forth. 
 There was a truant group beholding me ; 
 And making merry at the many sighs 
 Which mar'd my slumber ! — 
 
 INVOCATION 
 
 TO THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Spirit of Beauty ! Thou, 
 
 Beyond imagination ! 
 Spirit whom I have commun'd with, and known 
 In forest-dreams, and by mild ocean's shore. 
 When the last lingering day-beam died beneath ' 
 
 Tlie blue and burnish' d billows : — 
 
 Soul of delight! \ 
 
 Who, through sensation's avenue, wast wont \ 
 
 To kiss my kindred spirit — Empress ! Queen 
 
 Of Love and Peace i 
 
 And all things beautiful ! | 
 
 Behold ! black penury hath breath'd liis curse — l 
 
 Omnipotent misfortune trampled me ! 
 Despair, led on by tyranny and wrong, ^ | 
 
 Hath scowl'd so savagely before my path, { 
 
 That even thou hast left me. '
 
 53 
 
 Spiiit ! still. 
 As in old hours, 
 Bestow thy presence on my solitude ! 
 Still tell me of thyself in woman's song — 
 Still beam and breathe in childhood's glance and 
 
 tongue — 
 Still, when old friends return, when old thoughts 
 
 nse. 
 Be thou the mistress of our revelries — 
 Oh ! meet me where in boyhood we cHd meet, 
 And there admit me to communion sweet — 
 Dispel vain thoughts of \isionary folly. 
 And cleanse my heart of midnight melancholy ; 
 Smile o'er my couch, when happy slumber lingers. 
 Till morning rouse me with her rosy lingers : — 
 Then let us roam 
 To thine own A\ild home. 
 Where thy cluldren sport in the cataract-foam ! 
 Wliere the red rose blushes, the lilies lave 
 Their purity in the purer wave ! 
 
 Spiiit of Beauty ! thou hast heard my cry ! 
 Spirit of Beauty ! to my succour fly ! 
 
 And make dull Earth again 
 
 Unutterable Heaven ! 
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 Aye, there they smile in rueful pleasantry — 
 
 Mocking at death and time in careless wise ! 
 
 Shadows ! outliving tlieir reality, 
 
 And watcliing still, with their unalter'd eyes 
 
 Our sliiftiug destinies !
 
 54 
 
 The first a grandame — of meek countenance ! 
 
 Religious too, yet mild and venerable — 
 One who had mark'd eternity's advance. 
 
 And joy'd to leave time's pageantries unstable, 
 
 To banquet at God's table ! 
 
 Christian — wife — mother ! — she had been all these ; 
 
 Perfect in each, so far as goes perfection — 
 Having the art and will combin'd to please — 
 
 Metliinks I list her voice of all affection ! 
 
 'Tis a sweet recollection ! 
 
 The next my mother — Reader ! thou hast one ? 
 
 Then ask of thine own heart her character ! 
 Or, if thou hast not, fancy all a son 
 
 Can feel of deepest love — thou wilt not err — 
 
 Such love have I for her. 
 
 And then a couple on one canvass wi'ought — 
 
 Lo ! what a perfect story doth it tell ! 
 Ev'n thus their life was mingled, and o'er-fraught 
 
 With fragrance, as the breeze from some green 
 dell, 
 
 Where honey-suckles dwell ! 
 
 They liv'd and died as if one common breath 
 
 Supplied the twain, and fetter' d them to life — 
 
 They were so intimately bound, that deatli 
 Pitied to sever with destroying scythe 
 
 The husband and the wife ! 
 
 The last a brother — generous, ardent, free. 
 
 The pride of all his kin ! but he hath gone-- 
 
 Perhaps 'tis better that bright visions flee, 
 
 Ere they lose beauty by being gaz'd upon ! 
 
 Farewell ! — the list is done !
 
 55 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Lo ! sunny Phoebus, on light pinions flying, 
 Joyeth to triunipli o'er tlic morning grey ! 
 
 Behold his sniiles, Yoluptuously dying- 
 Forest and fountain with their golden ray ! 
 
 In the red east a glory glows afar — 
 
 Such as encompasseth a Spirit's tlu'one : 
 
 Wliile yet remains the solitary star, 
 
 Which beauty's goddess hath proclaim'd her own- 
 
 Biight as a gem of Jove's imperial crown ; 
 
 Mild as a mother's eye her infant watching ; 
 
 When on its gentleness she gazeth down, 
 
 And, ever and anon, its light form catching 
 
 Unto her bosom, bendeth o'er it there, 
 
 And breathes in silent eloquence a mother's pray'r ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Juliet ! dear Juliet! in \hi\t far land 
 
 Where freedom hatli lier liome, and love is free- 
 
 — Blest in my Inmible circumstance — with thee 
 To soothe sad memoiies by thine accents bland — 
 — And smile away fell sorrow from our door. 
 
 To seek his place in proud mens' palaces — 
 Then will I ask of niggard fate no more, 
 
 But sladlv bear our lowh' destinies ! 
 Ambition I did covet, and my dreams 
 
 Were all of climbing to some eminence ; 
 That I might spuni humanity's dull streams. 
 
 And taunt mine enemies witli laughter thence : 
 But thou hast won me to a better part, 
 And reft of all its bitterness mv heart !
 
 56 
 
 III. 
 
 Oil ! Cytherea ! — where Calypso gaz'd 
 
 O'er the hlue waters of the sunlit sea, 
 While nymphic hymns and choral symphony 
 
 Thy beauty and thy glory meetly prais'd — 
 
 Oh ! Cytherea! — where old Paphos rose. 
 
 The dwelling-place of beauty — waft me there! 
 
 Let her thou know'st of sing me to repose, 
 
 She of the bosom deep, and auburn hair — 
 
 Lend me thy doves, whose voices may keep lime 
 With the dear burthen of my Juliet's song- — 
 
 Give me to slumber amid odorous thyme, 
 
 And strew young violets my couch along ! 
 
 Oh ! Cytherea, then thy name shall be 
 
 The first and last of my mythology ! — 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo ! the flush'd Bacchanal — whose purple boAvl 
 Pours forth the vintage of th' imperial Rhine — 
 
 His lieav'n is gain'd ; and his impassion' d soul 
 Swears adoration at the glowing shrine : — 
 
 " Glory to thee for ever, mighty wine ! " — 
 
 For such the carol that his red lips sing — 
 
 " Glory to thee, thou bright and blushing vine ! 
 
 Sole fountain whence delight and pleasure 
 • I " 
 
 spnng ' 
 
 But when the fiend hath left him, what remains ? 
 
 An aged youth ; an enervated frame ; 
 Dull sense ; weak members ; agonizing pains ; 
 
 Nights without slumber, bringing days of shame 
 Drunkard ! — if such thy mortal sufferings be, 
 How wilt thou dare to meet eternity ? —
 
 67 
 
 V. 
 
 I tliiiik upon my Ijoyisli happiness — 
 
 My cloudless heart — my fnends, for ever gone ! 
 
 I know that years of sorrow will come on, 
 Of desolate and dreary wretchedness — 
 That fools mil slandor, and the proud oppress — 
 
 That I must bear contempt and contumely — 
 
 Yet still toil on, and labour wearily, 
 No fiiendly glance my pilgrimage to bless ! 
 Until, perchance, when age and care have thrown 
 
 Their silver clusters o'er my furrow'd brow. 
 Fate may permit me then to call my own 
 
 The joys my lonely spirit pants for now ! — 
 Ah ! tyrant Poverty — Avhoni all men flee — 
 Wliy hast thou chos'n thy residence with me ? — 
 
 VI. 
 
 When I am gone, let these my reveries — 
 
 Tlic kindly friends of many an liour of avoc — 
 Tlie drops tliat sweeten'd sorrow's overflow — 
 
 Let tliese bear witness to mine enemies : — 
 
 That 'mid tlie faults and failings which defil'd 
 
 My reckless youth, and l)oyhoo(l's early days, 
 
 Some gentler qualities and feelings mild 
 
 Lighted the gloom of darksome folly's maze ! 
 
 Alas ! they lack'd but culture, to have shone 
 
 In warm and manifest loveliness ! — 'Tis past — 
 
 The menial sunnner of m\ life is uone. 
 Its very memory is fadiug fast — 
 
 I have loved — I have courted pleasure — and thereby 
 
 Have only learn'd how sweet it is to die !-- 
 
 H
 
 58 
 
 TO WHOM? 
 
 Wlien the tints of the rainbow sliall fade from the sky. 
 As the hopes of limnanity glitter and die — 
 When riches, when beauty, wlien gladness decay — 
 When sorrow and sadness are wearing away — 
 
 When the sun in liis splendour — the mountains of 
 
 Earth- 
 Are lost in the chaos which groan'd at their birth — 
 And a million red planets, distractedly driven. 
 As warriors to battle, rush through the dark heaven — 
 
 When the deeds of a wild world are reckoned in hell — 
 When the children of Time in Eternity dwell — 
 When Satan rejoices o'er sinners undone — 
 And angels exult in the souls they have won — 
 
 In the mansions of glory, my glory shall be 
 To join hallelujahs for ever mth thee ; 
 Or, if doom'd in the dej)ths of perdition to dwell. 
 Thy presence shall brighten the uttermost hell ! 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 What have I to do with thee, 
 Laugliter-lo\dng gaiety ? 
 Fain my spirit would be free 
 
 From the bonds of folly — - 
 Leave me to my sombre cell. 
 Meditation's citadel. 
 Where in loving- wise I dwell 
 
 With sweet melanclioly !
 
 69 
 
 What have I to do Avith ye. 
 Rout and revel, mirth and glee ? 
 Harbingers of misery, 
 
 Gilded baits of sorrow ! 
 From my solitude, away ! 
 Mingle witli the lich and gay. 
 In perpetual lioliday. 
 
 Heedless of to-morrow ! 
 
 As for me — mine hour is done — 
 Friends and merry faces gone — 
 I am now the onlv one 
 
 Of a joyous many — 
 I have left the city's hum. 
 Where my steps were wont to roam. 
 For my passion's eve hath come — 
 
 Sweetest time of any ! 
 
 Let me, wlnle its moments last, 
 Ponder o'er the blissful past — 
 Earth itself is not so vast 
 
 As man's recollection 
 Of the countless myriad hours 
 Wliilome spent in boyhood's bowers ; 
 Or amid maturcr flowers 
 
 Of long-lost affection ! 
 
 Welcome then, fair solitude ! 
 
 E'en 'mid rocks and torrents mde — 
 
 Here together let us brood. 
 
 In our humour dreaming ! 
 Hark ! the breeze, that wantons by, 
 Lends a fitting synii)liony — 
 Lo ! the sun in puii)le sky 
 
 Beautifully beaming ! 
 
 Pleasure, passion, madness, woe, 
 Link'd togetlier ever go ; 
 I at least have found it so, 
 
 To mine own undoing —
 
 GO 
 
 Love indeed may briefly shine, 
 Hearts may burn as once did mine. 
 And, like it, in secret pine 
 
 O'er a fruitless wooing !- 
 
 Leave me, in my wayward mood, 
 To my tears and solitude — 
 I will cull me, from the wood. 
 
 Willow and green holly- 
 — Emblems of this heart of mine !- 
 Whence a votive wreath I'll twine. 
 For the honour of thy shrine. 
 
 Sweetest melancholy ! 
 
 NIGHT HYMN 
 
 OF THE WANDERING ITALIAN. 
 
 King of Grace ! Whose mortal face 
 
 Was dim'd on Calvary — 
 Thou ! Whose frame could suffer shame 
 
 On the torture-tree — 
 Thou ! Whose cry was agony. 
 
 Grant a voice to me — ■ 
 Thou ! Whose breath was prayer in death. 
 
 List my prayer to Thee ! 
 
 Guard, and bless with happiness. 
 
 My home in Italy ! 
 Let Thine eye be ever nigh 
 
 All that mourn for me — 
 Hear my prayer for lov'd ones there. 
 
 Kindred hearts tliat be — 
 Haply some, in Thy bright home. 
 
 Plead and pray for me.
 
 61 
 
 Home ! my home ! — ali, wlievefore roam 
 
 As I have clone from thee ? 
 Bounteous Power ! Thy mercy shower 
 
 On distant Italy ! 
 Lovelier there the morning air 
 
 Breathes forth luxuiiantly — 
 Ah ! beauteous clime ! the gem of time ! 
 
 Italy !— Italy !— 
 
 Brighter far yon vesper-star 
 
 Beams o'er my native sea — 
 Sweeter swells, from convent-bells, 
 
 Love's orison to Thee ! — 
 Spirit ador'tl ! — Whose miglity word 
 
 Hath fiird eternity- 
 Father in Heaven ! all praise be given 
 
 Eternally to Thee ! — 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 -She never told her love, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek ! 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 She never told her love ! — no tear bedim'd her gentle 
 
 eye, 
 Nor a single murnuir'd accent spoke the false one's 
 
 perhdy — 
 But, when sad evening-shadows fell among the willows 
 
 green, 
 She pin'd thro' solitary hours — unpitied, and unseen ! 
 
 She never told lior love ! — alas ! what language cmdd 
 
 have told 
 The thousand rapturous hopes thai warm'd her buoyant 
 
 heart of old ?
 
 62 
 
 Or wliat deep eloquence impart tlie very faintest gleam 
 Of all tlie bliss tliat sparkled thro' her love's delicious 
 dream ? 
 
 She never told that love — but when blythe faces gather' d 
 
 nigh, 
 A smile was on li#r fading cheek, and gladness in her 
 
 eye; 
 But the very sweetness of that smile — that glance of 
 
 liapj)iness — 
 Breath'd forth a tale of agony, words never could 
 
 express ! 
 
 She never told her love ! — for still, as lingering days 
 
 roU'd on, 
 She brooded o'er the joyous past, and wept her cares 
 
 alone — 
 But a trembling prayer for one dear name hung on her 
 
 dying breath. 
 And told, too late, her changeless love — ^lier constancy 
 
 in death ! 
 
 TO THE DEITY. 
 
 Spirit omnipotent ! to whom 
 
 We bend the supj^liant knee — 
 Who mak'st the universe Thy home — 
 Whose wondrous light dispell'd the gloom 
 
 Of dark eternity — 
 
 Enlighten Thou mine erring eyes 
 With Tliy creative rays ! 
 Oh f teach my longing soul to rise 
 Above dull creeds and phantasies — 
 Thy mightiness to praise !
 
 63 
 
 Tlie cant of Phaiisaic pride 
 
 I cast in scorn away — 
 For Thou, who mad'st creation wide. 
 Hast not to lowly hearts denied 
 The glory of Thy day ! 
 
 I cannot think the humble prayer, 
 Which gratitude has given 
 
 To the poor savage in his lair. 
 
 Floats idly on the desert- air. 
 
 Nor finds a way to Heaven ! 
 
 Nor is the liard-Avning' tear uuhlest 
 
 Of mortal agony — 
 Nor is the sigh, that rends the breast 
 By sorrow and remorse opprest, 
 
 Umnark'd — unknown by Thee ! 
 
 For all the myriad hosts I ^iew. 
 
 That bow before Thy throne — 
 — The sons of Christ, the scatter'd Jew, 
 The Moslemah, the far Hindu — 
 Are equally Thine own ! 
 
 Whether beyond the grave there be 
 
 Another, better land — 
 Or, happier still, the spirit free 
 Mingle with its Creator, Tliee — 
 I may not understand — 
 
 Unfctter'd by devices vain, — 
 
 Till life's fleet hour be done — 
 
 To Thee shall rise my votive strain ; 
 
 To Thee — Who dost for ever reitiu 
 
 The GOD — The mighty one !-
 
 64 
 
 TO JULIET. 
 
 Beautiful one ! — I tliink of thee, 
 When sails the lark in his azure sea — 
 When noon exults in her sunlit ray — 
 When evening weeps the death of day — 
 When friends are gather'd for mirth and glee, 
 I slight them all — to think of thee ! 
 
 By forest dim — hy valley fair — 
 By every stream that wantons there — 
 In hrightest field — in hrownest dell — 
 By goblin-haunt, and fairy-well — 
 Wliile round me hums the happy hee 
 Her honey-song — I think of thee ! 
 
 Where hlythely blooms the heather-bell — 
 Where lilies of the valley dwell — 
 In many a copse — by many a rill. 
 Where silence hath her utmost will — 
 With many a blessing deep and free, 
 And many a tear— I think of thee ! 
 
 Oh ! I think of thee — when summer hours 
 Have warm'd young buds to blushing flowers- 
 When heaven displays her deepest dyes, 
 And earth is one licli Paradise — 
 At home— abroad — by shore, and sea — 
 Beautiful one ! I think of thee ! 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 How exquisitely beautiful to lie 
 
 Beneath the foliage of an ancient tree.
 
 65 
 
 In tlie full hour of noon — and drcaniilie 
 To picture pleasure to our fancy's eye ! 
 To deem — while througli the very eyelids' mail 
 
 Blazes, and almost burns, the torrid ray — 
 
 Our feet are wandering- where perpetual day 
 Beams over many a solitary vale, 
 And undiscover'd forest ! — where, perchance, 
 
 Some yet unheard-of beings idly dwell — 
 
 Guiltless of all the passion-storms that swell 
 The hearts of this world's myriads, and enhance 
 The rigour of disease, the bitterest clime — 
 
 — Living in that secluded Eden-land; 
 
 Haply but waiting the Divine command 
 To rise the parents of a future Time ! 
 For who th' Almghty One's intent can see ? 
 
 Shall not this race of Adam pass away ? — 
 
 What mortal prophet shall presume to say — 
 When this brief Time becomes Eternity ; 
 When the devouring fire has fiercely curl'd 
 
 O'er city, palace, plain, with awful gleam ; 
 
 And, as a drop, burn'd up the ocean-stream — 
 What tongue shall say, "here perisheth the world. 
 For ever and for ever" ? — Can not He, 
 
 AVhose infinite mightiness and terrible hand 
 
 Tliis complex earth in one brief moment plann'd, 
 Breathe, and a host of worlds shall instant be ? — 
 
 How sweet beneath a nillow-shade at eve, 
 
 When all is peace and mournful solitude. 
 With gushing eyes and soften'd heart to brood 
 O'er the sad memories that past joys leave ! — 
 The friends of early bovhood — and the scene 
 
 Of our then blooming hopes, and fearless hours — 
 When our young spirits had a love for flowers, 
 And woods were darker, fields a fresher green, 
 And all tilings else more beautiful than now ! — 
 
 How sweet o'er such departed hours to weep — 
 The while low murmuriiigs thro' the branches creep, 
 Wliistling v>i]d music round each s^^i^giIlg liougli; 
 
 I
 
 06 
 
 And breatliiiig out a tiistful liannony, 
 
 Tliat, with tlie bubble of tlie happy spring, 
 Accordeth well to the awaken' d string 
 
 Which vibrates in the heart's deep sanctuary ! — 
 
 Oh ! then if thou hast lov'd — and lov'd like me — 
 And recollection busily the wliile 
 Be giving to thine eye that lost one's smile — 
 
 Oh ! then it is a holy hour to thee ! 
 
 Then weep thy fill ! — who hath not felt indeed 
 The luxury of sorrow freely spent ? 
 When pain and pleasure are so finely blent, 
 
 That even the cause from which they both proceed 
 
 Is for the time forgotten ! — God of Heaven ! 
 What boundless gratitude we owe to Thee, 
 Who with our passion's deepest agony 
 
 A solace and relief hast ever given ! 
 
 THE ARAB MAIDEN'S SONG. 
 
 Husband ! lover ! — do not hover 
 
 Near the camp of Zarah's kin — 
 
 Though no stranger, court not danger — 
 
 Foes have sworn thy death to win ! 
 
 Mount thy steed ! — the hour of need 
 Cometh when wc least desire — 
 
 Haste then, haste, across the waste. 
 From the tents of Zarah's Sii*e — 
 
 Heads are toiling — blood is boiling — 
 Snares are lurking in thy way — 
 
 Hearts that hate thee near await thee — 
 Ismael ! Ismael ! — do not stay !
 
 67 
 
 Friend and brother ! — let none other 
 Triumpli over love and me ! 
 
 Love me duly — win me truly — 
 Happier moments yet sliall be ! 
 
 Tones of feeling — all revealing 
 
 That my foolish heart would hide — 
 
 These may prove my fears, my love — 
 Urge no further woman's pride ! 
 
 Leaves are djdng — breezes sigliing — 
 O'er the hill far voices swell — 
 
 Louder — stronger ! — list no longer — 
 Husband ! brother ! — fare thee well ! 
 
 TO MY GOOD SPIRIT. 
 
 Guardian of mine happiness ! 
 
 Ever gentle spirit! — 
 All the thanks I can express 
 
 Thou dost richly merit ; 
 Who, in mine unguarded hours, 
 
 Carest for my doings ; 
 When misfortune grimly lours. 
 Or 'mid pleasure's wooings ! 
 
 Blessed one ! — to me declare — 
 
 If indeed thou knowest — 
 Wlierefore hopes most bright and fair 
 
 Ever come tlie slowest ? 
 Wherefore doth my soul so long 
 
 Sorrow's burthen carry ? 
 Why deliglit, obscur'd by wrong, 
 
 Doth so briefly tarry ?
 
 08 
 
 I would fain a glimpse obtain 
 
 Of my future being- — 
 Be it pleasure — be it pain — 
 
 Well 'twere Avortli the seeing ! 
 Past and present are to me 
 
 Disappointment hollow — 
 Surely with futurity 
 
 Better things shall follow ! 
 
 Did'st thou spring to life with me ? 
 
 Wilt thou with mo perish ? 
 Is my spirit part of thee ? 
 
 Do we jointly flourish ? 
 Tell me, can mysterious death 
 
 Thy pure essence smotlier — 
 Or, when flits my latest breath. 
 
 Wilt tliou guard another ? — 
 
 Spirit ! — whether 'neath the waves 
 
 Of the deep thou rovest — 
 Sporting in the coral-caves 
 
 With the nymph thou lovest — 
 Or, upon the zephyr borne, 
 
 'Mid the noonday splendour — 
 Hasten to thy charge forlorn. 
 
 And thy duty render — 
 
 I have watch'd in solitude 
 
 Hours and moments many ; 
 Sought for thee in this dim wood, 
 
 Loneliest of any ! 
 By the swift and matchless power 
 
 Which tliou dost inherit, 
 Hasten ! hasten ! to my bower. 
 
 Most propitious spirit !
 
 C9 
 
 THE DEATH-BED OF BYRON. 
 
 Fainting and pale the wariior lies — tlic noble and the 
 
 free ! 
 The strife is closing fast, for death has won the \ictory — 
 He who hath borne such cruel wrong — despis'd, ma- 
 
 lign'd, oppress'd — 
 Sinketh from all liis sorroAvings to everlasting rest ! 
 
 None of his high-born kindred — liis summer friends—are 
 there. 
 
 To tend the suffering exile's couch — liis dying thouglits 
 to sliare — 
 
 Spurn'd by the Pharisaic crowd, he cross'd the bound- 
 ing wave. 
 
 To seek the peace liis home denied — 'twas in an alien 
 grave ! 
 
 The sons of ancient Attica are gather'd round liis bod ; 
 
 And the mightiest there is sadly proud to hold the hero's 
 liead ! — 
 
 And tears o'erwhelm their manly eyes, and every lieart 
 doth swell. 
 
 As, with the kiss of brotherhood, he biddetli them fare- 
 well ! 
 
 Not one but would have gladly died that generous one 
 
 to save, 
 Who had striven to liberate their land— to free the fetter'd 
 
 slave ! 
 Whose voice had rous'd them to repel oppression's 
 
 galling laws — 
 Wliose liaiid, and sword, and wry soul, were wedded 
 
 to their cause !
 
 70 
 
 The shades of death are closing fast o'er that uncoii- 
 
 quer'd brow. 
 And scarcely throbs the weary heart which never 
 
 quail'd till now — 
 'Tis the last struggle of his soul — and, this one trial 
 
 o'er, 
 The scoffing of a heartless world shall torture him no 
 
 more ! 
 
 His thoughts are in that distant land of vaunted liberty — 
 
 'Twas ever but a cheerless home, lone wanderer, to thee ! 
 
 Yet some green spots were scatter'd o'er its dreary 
 wilderness, 
 
 And these are muster'd up once more, in all their love- 
 liness — 
 
 At one full glance liis fatherland — his boyhood's home 
 he sees. 
 
 And hears the moaning of the wind tlirough liis ances- 
 tral trees — 
 
 The voices in his father's hall of friends that long have 
 slept — 
 
 Hearts, that have lov'd him thro' the past — eyes that 
 for him have wept ! 
 
 He dieth in his manhood's prime — for passionate 
 
 thoughts and mid 
 Have early laid their withering hand upon the gallant 
 
 Childe ! 
 Oh ! bliss, to leave the sordid world, and the slaves that 
 
 ne'er could prize 
 The yeanlings of liis mighty mind — its fearless energies! 
 
 " Ada ! — my child ! — for Greece and thee — "the mur- 
 mur died away, 
 
 As the voice of distant melody, the tint of fading day — 
 
 And the angel, who had wing'd from heaven to meet 
 the coming pray'r, 
 
 Beareth his liberated soul— to dwell for ever there !
 
 71 
 
 SOLITARY HOURS. 
 
 Oil ! 'tis a joy surpassing liumaii S2)eecli 
 
 In some ancestral avenue to linger ; 
 Musing beneatli a melancholy beech, 
 
 Twisted and twin'd by time's fantastic finger ; 
 To see the leaves in yellow autumn dying. 
 
 Like boyhood's dreams, that wither'd one by one — 
 To spend an hour in tributary sigliing 
 
 O'er hopes that, like the leaves, are dead and gone ! 
 And happier still, to nature's eloquence 
 
 Of bird and brook in sunny hours to listen ; 
 The melodies which wake our slumb'rins: sense. 
 
 Making the cold heart throb — the light eye glisten ! 
 
 There is a joy in solitary tears. 
 
 When God and memory are with us only, 
 And a strange feeling, born of other years, 
 
 Is on our spiiit as we wander lonely — 
 When some green valley's quiet loveliness. 
 
 Or pebbly stream, or happy woodbird singing. 
 Calls up a tide of mournful liappiness 
 
 So pure, we notice not the wann tears sprln<nnf^ ! 
 Is it indeed that fiiends and brothers gone 
 
 Are then permitted round our steps to hover ? 
 Leaving awhile their bliss, to look upon 
 
 The earthly haunts of parent, cliild, or lover — 
 Is it indeed that we have liv'd ere now 
 
 In some far world bevond our recollection : 
 Whose dubious memory still will overflow 
 
 With tearful vestiges of old aflection ? 
 Oh ! thought too deep for man's intelligence ! 
 
 Visions whose truth is oidy known to heaven — 
 Lock'd in the bosom of Onniiscionce — 
 
 Or but to mortal hearts in mercv uiven. 
 To light and cheer us on our desolate way. 
 Fit us for brighter worlds, and everlasliui;- dav !
 
 72 
 
 WOMAN— A SONG. 
 
 Women !— help, Heaven ! men their creation mar, 
 In profiting by them ! 
 
 Frailty ! thy name is Woman ! 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Oil ! trust not woman's whisper bland. 
 
 Nor licecl her swelling sigh ; 
 The faithless pressure of her hand. 
 
 Her still more faithless eye — 
 Though passing sweet, I warn ye well 
 
 Her syren looks beware ; 
 And, while ye may, resist the spell — 
 
 For woman's false as fair ! 
 
 Her heart, that beats so buoyantly. 
 Is fill'd with bitter guile — 
 
 Danger is lurking in her eye. 
 Destruction in her smile — 
 
 Her plighted word — her promise vain- 
 Are light as summer air — 
 
 Were only made to break again — 
 — For woman's false as fair 
 
 Train' d up to practice fatal wiles, 
 
 E'en from her earliest days — 
 Tutor'd in Love's delicious smiles. 
 
 In all his winning ways ; 
 With seeming truth she leads us on 
 
 From passion to desjiair — 
 And tlien we find, when peace is gone. 
 
 That woman's false as fair ! —
 
 73 
 
 HYPOCRISY. 
 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 
 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, 
 
 All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 
 Unmixt with baser matter ! 
 
 Thrift may follow fawning. 
 
 I. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Oil ! Love — wliose grief I sliall for ever bear — 
 Oh ! Beauty — which liast won me to despair — 
 Oh ! Friendship — fleeting as a summer shower, 
 Li\ing^ and dying in one little hour — 
 Oh ! Fortune — whom I never yet coukl win — 
 Oh ! Pleasure — deadly but delicious sin — 
 Oh ! Mirth — of sublunary tilings the saddest — 
 Oh ! Hope — the last, the vainest, and the mad- 
 dest — 
 Oh ! Pride and Poverty, my foster-brothers. 
 Who seem to love myself beyond all others — 
 Oh ! foolish Honour — whom I cherish' d well — 
 Oh ! passions perilous, and feelings fell ! 
 Leave, leave my heart, and from my presence flee, 
 That I may worship blest Hypocrisy ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Henceforth Til tutor my unfuriiisird heart 
 
 To bear new thoughts, and act a Aviser part — 
 
 Insulted truth no anger shall inspire. 
 
 Nor Airtue wrong'd mine indignation fire — 
 
 My wit no more at liberty shall sport ; 
 
 My lips no longer Crame the keen retort ; 
 
 My feet shall amble at a saintly pace ; 
 
 Mine eyes leer upward with dissembled grace 3
 
 74 
 
 My knees, that once to heaven alone could how. 
 
 Shall pliant hend to niig-htier Mammon now; 
 
 Old recollections from my new heart torn ; 
 
 My needy kindred shun'd with prudent scorn ; 
 
 My love forgotten ; my affections fled ; 
 
 The hopes my young heart cherish' d cold and dead ^ 
 
 Farewell the past — the future is for thee. 
 
 Bright idol of my soul, Hypocrisy ! 
 
 THE EMIGRANT 
 
 TO HIS WIFE, ON THEIR VOYAGE. 
 
 Our home is forsaken — our footsteps flee 
 To a stranger land o'er the desert sea — 
 Unmark'd, unknown, hy the world forgot — 
 Who shall complain of the Exile's lot ? 
 
 I look on thy beauty — tliou dost not sigh ; 
 No tear is dimming tliy downcast eye ; 
 For love hath forbidden thy soul to wear 
 One look of sorrow when I am near ! 
 
 But I know thou feelest an inward gloom 
 As fadeth the land of thv childliood's liome — 
 For thy lips are press'd to my burning cheek. 
 In a kiss far sadder than words can speak ! 
 
 Cheer thee, beloved ! — at least we find 
 No slanderous voice in the ocean-wind — 
 And what though it bringeth no friendly sighs ? 
 It beareth us far from our enemies !
 
 75 
 
 Our home is forsaken — yet oh ! Avcep not — 
 We seek but a biiglitcr, a better lot — 
 And He, Who hatli bound me to love and thee, 
 Watclieth our track o'er the long lone sea. 
 
 Shall not our children in beauty rise 
 To gladden the j^atli of our destinies ? 
 Sliall we not feel, as tlicir names we bless, 
 Our exile is reft of its bitterness ? 
 
 Dear indeed is that distant strand — 
 Fair are the liills of our native land — 
 But memory is clouded by sorrow's swell, 
 And beauty forgotten where false friends dwell ! 
 
 Cliecr thee, my own one ! the land we seek 
 Sliall give new bloom to thy fading cheek — 
 And hope, ere long, will again unfold 
 The dreams we have lov'd in our home of old ! 
 
 JANUARY FIRST, 183 J. 
 
 Mc ncc fccmina, nee pucr 
 
 Jam, ncc spcs animi creduhi mutui, 
 
 Ncc ecrtare juvat mcro — 
 
 Nee vinciic novis tempora floribus ! 
 
 Have they not all deceiv'd me ? Is there one 
 
 Hath kept the faith his lyhig tongue had plighted ? 
 
 Are not the hearts that lov'd me cold and gone ? 
 
 Is not my truthcondemn'd, my friendship slighted? 
 
 Have I not struggled witli a cursed lot, 
 
 Wliicli not mine own but others' madness brought 
 me ?
 
 76 
 
 Is there one folly I Lave done, forgot ? 
 
 Is there one sorrow slander hath not wrought me ? 
 
 Have I not striven to gild misfortune's chain 
 By servile hearing, which my spirit hated ? 
 
 Have I not how'd myself, and how'd in vain, 
 
 To the rank bondage Mammon hath created ? 
 
 Is not my constancy a theme of scorn ? 
 
 My love, reproach — a very curse upon me ? 
 Hath not swoln ignorance my trophies worn? 
 
 Hath not my pride of intellect undone me ? 
 
 Oh ! Death, whom men may well attempt to fly, 
 
 Wlio art not hrib'd by gold to stay thy finger — 
 
 Life hatli no zest, no relish in mine eye. 
 
 The soul no respite, save what thou shalt bring her. 
 
 Ev'n now in youth I sicken of the world. 
 
 And hate the Fortune I have fail'd in wooing ; 
 
 But may the curse men's ci-uelty hath hurl'd 
 Upon my heart rebound to their undoing ! 
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. 
 
 Stringing my lyre in boyhood's hour, 
 I swept the chords along ; 
 
 And oh ! delicious was its pow'r, 
 For Love inspir'd my song ! 
 
 But time and toil have mar'd my hand- 
 For dark hath been my lot — 
 
 My lyre obeys not my command. 
 Love's music is forgot :
 
 77 
 
 Day after day I linger on, 
 
 Hoping 't will mend to-morrow ; 
 In vain, in vain ! for Love is gone. 
 
 And all that's left is Sorrow ! 
 
 THE BEQUEST. 
 
 When that pure piinciple men call the soul 
 
 Hath mingled with the elements, that roll 
 
 Through uni^'ersal space — no more in chains, 
 
 Nor basely burden' d by corporeal pains — 
 
 When the vile prison-house alone is left. 
 
 Of life— ^thought — feeling — every sense bereft — 
 
 A loathsome clod — a livid heap of clay — 
 
 A mass of foul corruption and decay — 
 
 Let not false qualms, nor weak affection's tear, 
 
 With noble science dare to interfere — 
 
 Remember now exists no spark of life, 
 
 And give my body to the skilful knife. 
 
 Let one who hath my friend and partner been 
 
 With cautious hand inspect the vast macliine — 
 
 That heart, in bless'd repose for ever hung. 
 
 Too oft, alas ! by bitterest trials wrung — 
 
 That troubled bnuu, Avhere gaiety and love 
 
 With sombre care and mclanclioly strove — 
 
 That wondrous organ — that sublimest seat. 
 
 Where every passion — every feeling meet — 
 
 In whose in\isible and awful cells 
 
 That nameless essence of th' Almiglity dwells j 
 
 That soul — that spirit — the Creator gave, 
 
 Wliich fears not death, which triumphs o'er the grave ! 
 
 And let mine enemies — for such there be — 
 
 Here bid farewell to enmity and me : 
 
 Let them witli shame l)ehold that sunken eye, 
 
 Whose glance could wake re^ enge and jealousy—
 
 78 
 
 Tliat tongue, whose tliouglitless word tbeii* souls could 
 
 madden — 
 Those ears, which music never more may gladden — 
 The tumid lip, no more in passion curl'd. 
 And bitter scorn of an unworthy world — 
 The arm that gave, or warded off the blow. 
 Stiff, cold, and pow^erless ! — who shall fear it n ow ? 
 Yes ! let the worms the ruin'd fabric see. 
 And know — themselves shall shortly rot with me .' 
 Let conscious blushes veil each guilty brow 
 To think they envied once a thing so low ! 
 Let them that lesson ponder deeply o'er. 
 And learn from errors past to sin no more ! 
 
 THE BYGONE DAYS. 
 
 Oh ! I have held communion j 
 
 With spring's delicious flowers — ! 
 
 I have slumber' d 'mid full blossoms, | 
 
 In summer hours ! '< 
 
 I have spoken to the rivulet, 
 
 That pass'd my father's hall — 
 And heard a voice in the murmuring 
 
 Of the waterfall. 
 
 I have warbled with the v/arbling birds | 
 
 By the happy forest-side ; j 
 
 And wept to hear the nightingale ] 
 
 At eventide ! ! 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 I ever lov'd to ramble 
 
 O'er the fields of sunny grain ; 
 
 Listing the rustic song, that clieer'd ' 
 
 The harvest train— I
 
 79 
 
 I have joined the band of idlers, 
 
 Who sonii^ht the luizel-wood ; 
 And have cleft with them the billows 
 
 Of the pure flood — 
 
 I have wander' d by the water-course, 
 
 Where the blue bells sniil'd ; 
 And the lilies hung their sinless heads — 
 
 — Happy child ! 
 
 I have listen' d to the lowing 
 
 Of the homeward-wending cows, 
 As it came in mellow' d richness 
 
 Through the autumn boughs. 
 
 By my father's hearth have I gaily sung 
 
 Through many a winter- day ; 
 Anil no one turn'd to lidicule 
 
 My roundelay. 
 
 Oh ! then I sought my pillow 
 
 By friendly wishes blest — 
 But noAV my home is desolate, 
 
 My friends at rest ! 
 
 Then, half in slumber lying, 
 
 To hear through the willow tree 
 The hollow night-wind sighing — 
 
 'Twas ecstacy ! 
 
 But life 'mid crowded cities 
 
 To me no pleasure yields ; 
 I pine for my native mountain stream — 
 
 My native lields ! 
 
 I think of all the agony 
 
 My weary eyes have seen — 
 They fdl with tears when I think how blest 
 
 I might have been !
 
 80 
 
 But those lioiirs, and they who sliar'd them, 
 
 Shall return to me no more ; 
 I feel as one deserted 
 
 On some lone shore- 
 
 Oh ! Time, whom men call fleeting, 
 
 Why laggest thou with me ? — 
 Haste ! Haste ! I fain would leave thee. 
 
 To seek eternity ! 
 
 YOUTH AND PLEASURE. 
 
 Oh ! say, my beloved, since youth's blest hours 
 
 Fade ever too briefly away ; 
 Is't not wisdom to gather love's brightest flow'rs, 
 
 Ere their richness and beauty decay ? 
 
 Let us in life's morning seek only delight. 
 Let draughts of deep pleasure abound ! 
 
 And tender affection her loveliest light 
 Shed in glo^ving profusion around ! 
 
 The warm moments of youth we can never recall. 
 Shall we linger till sorrow come on ? 
 
 Till time's sable pinions have darken'd life's hall. 
 And delight to new regions be gone ? — 
 
 Oh ! never — no, never ! we'll pluck the bright rose 
 That love to young passion hath given ; 
 
 And oh ! may the pleasures that earth can disclose 
 Be a type of the pleasures in heaven !
 
 81 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE. 
 
 'Twas a fitting scene for painter's hand, 
 
 Or gifted poet's song ; 
 So lightsome o'er the the goklen sand 
 
 The wavelets leap along — 
 So calm was the blessed face of heaven. 
 
 So fair the fir-trees tall ; 
 While from the mountains, thunder-riven, 
 
 Sang many a waterfall — 
 And the moniing sun-beams mildly shone 
 O'er the bosom of the silver Rhone ; 
 And the distant convent-bell was ringing, 
 And the moimtain maiden gaily singing — 
 
 Warbled note and melting lay 
 
 Welcom'd the delicious May ! — 
 
 And on that morn the forest queen. 
 
 The warbling Nightingale, 
 Through thicket cool, o'er meadow green, 
 
 Roam'd in the sunny vale — 
 Yet not as usual did she pour 
 
 Her dulcet melody, 
 But fluttered on from ilowcr to flower. 
 
 Drooping all pensively — 
 And many a bud and blossom fair 
 
 She staid awhile to view. 
 But, discontented every where, 
 
 Just gazed — then onward (lew ! — 
 She folded her wings on a jessamine bougli 
 
 That strcam'd from a gay parterre; 
 Tnily a blight and gorgeous sliow 
 
 Greeted her coming there — 
 There was the wavy light woodI)ine 
 Mingled ^^•ith rustic eglantine ; 
 
 L
 
 82 
 
 Violets from the bank beneatli 
 Wafted upward their kiscioiis breath ; 
 More than eastern odours fell 
 From gemlike bud, and tinted bell ; 
 Wliile the honey-loving bee ,.,/. 
 Plied her calling merrily ; 
 Keenly searching every part, 
 
 Humming loud the while — 
 As a maiden, light of heart, 
 Singeth o'er her toil — 
 Sinless, soulless, summer bee. 
 Oh ! that I were like to thee ! 
 
 Doubtfully and sad awhile 
 
 O'er their sweets she hung j 
 Heedless of the genial smile 
 
 From their blossoms flung — 
 *Twas not that her heart was void 
 
 Of sympathy and feeling — 
 Though she seem'd not overjoy' d, 
 Though her heart was not decoy' d 
 
 By the odours stealing 
 Spirit-like on every side 
 
 Abo^e her and below — 
 Not on this account she sigh'd 
 On the jessamine bough ! 
 All their various charms she felt. 
 
 All their power confess'd ; 
 Yet a pensive feeling dwelt — 
 
 Rankled — in her breast — 
 Urg'd her thus to roam along, 
 Heedless of her wonted song. 
 With a dull and doAvncast eye. 
 Clouded as a thunder sky : 
 For of all the flowers which grac'd 
 
 That glorious parterre. 
 That she sought, and lov'd the best, 
 Was not blooming there.
 
 83 
 
 Across the wave, and along- the shore, 
 Many a rood she travelled o'er 3 
 Wearily winging her woeful way 
 Tln-ough heechen grove and vineyard gay j 
 Till the sun began to recline liis head, 
 And below the horizon vanislied — 
 Nature in sober beauty smil'd, 
 
 And the dew was on the trees. 
 From whose dark foliage music wild 
 
 Roird with the rolling breeze — 
 Insects hummed, and birds were singing. 
 All the earth with pleasure ringing ! 
 
 At length she came to a gentle scene 
 
 , As ever met gazer's eye — 
 E'en Paradise could scarce, I ween. 
 
 Have liop'd with it to vie ! 
 'Twas a green spot encompass' d round 
 
 With forest-verdure dim. 
 And holy silence breath' d profound 
 
 A far more toucliing hymn 
 Than ever flow'd from mortal tongue. 
 
 Or mortal soul conceiv'd. 
 Though rapturous be the worship-song 
 
 From a tliousand bosoms lieav'd — 
 But here it was sucli solitude — 
 
 So far remote from all 
 That savour' d of the passions rude 
 
 Of earth, and sorrow's tluall — 
 So solemnly the forest frown' d, 
 
 So deathlike still the air ; 
 'Twas felt above, beneath, around. 
 
 That Peace was surely tliore — 
 Oh ! such a resting-place to find 
 
 When life is nearly done ; 
 To cast til' accursed world behind, 
 
 And live with God ulonc! —
 
 84 
 
 A solitary mansion stood 
 
 111 modest loneliness — 
 Half hidden by the bordering wood 
 
 Of that green wilderness : 
 While gorgeous flowers in painted pride. 
 
 Of various scent and hue, 
 Blush'd in bright groups on every side. 
 
 Luxuriant to the view — 
 The wandering shrubs were deftly twin'd. 
 And in many a mazy wreath combin'd. 
 Tutor' d by tasteful art to meet, 
 And clasp their boughs in union sweet ; 
 Till all their mingled beauty fell 
 In rich festoons of bud and bell ; 
 Embowering, from the noontide glow. 
 The rustic benches plac'd beloAV ; 
 Or mounting, with ambitious crawl, 
 Bedeck'd in leafy garb the wall ; 
 And, round the cottage windows flung. 
 In lavish heaps profusely hung — 
 In careless wise — and yet 't was seen 
 The hand of elegance had been 
 Full busy there, and taught to rise 
 That small but lovely Paradise ! 
 
 Here, from her weary flight to rest. 
 
 The Nightingale alighted ; 
 And suddenly rais'd her drooping crest. 
 
 And gaz'd with an eye delighted — 
 For at her feet was her favourite flower. 
 
 Half- wrapt in soft repose ; 
 The cause of her toil in field and bower — 
 
 The royal ruby rose — 
 Her search was o'er, her treasure found. 
 
 Her sorrows pass'd away — 
 And the voice of her melody flow'd around 
 
 In a glad and grateful lay — 
 While, as she sang, so joyously 
 
 The lightsome moments fled.
 
 85 
 
 Thai she heeded not, in tlie western sky, 
 
 The last faint bhish of red, 
 Whicli, loath to fly, was lingering still 
 
 With a fair though feeble glow — 
 And tlie clouds that crown'd each distant hill, 
 
 Sank o'er the vale below — 
 And the mists began her frame to cliill 
 
 Ere her music ceas'd to flow — 
 Then she fashion' d a hasty nest. 
 Near to the flower that her heart lov'd best ; 
 And forgetting her travail, and all her woes. 
 
 Sweetly that night she slumber' d ; 
 Fancied happiness bless'd her repose, 
 
 And visions of joy unnumber'd — 
 And waking oft, her tuneful throat 
 
 Her tenderness express' d — 
 Till, sooth' d with her own delicious note, 
 ' She sank again to rest ! 
 
 Morning dawn'd in silver-grey — 
 
 Up rose the Nightingale ! 
 The lark was winging his heavenward way. 
 And the sun bestowing his richest ray 
 
 On river, hill, and dale — 
 She roam'd all day on airy wing. 
 
 But, still at evening's close. 
 With a beatini? heart rcturn'd to sinc^ 
 
 To her best beloved rose — 
 As a maiden soft, in her beauty's spring. 
 When all her charms are blossoming. 
 
 In the twilight dimness goes. 
 With timid haste — unseen — alone — 
 To meet her lov'd — her chosen one ! 
 
 So days roll'd on in happiness 
 
 And passionate ecslacy — 
 But love, which was given the world to bless, 
 
 Leads ever to misery ;
 
 86 
 
 Racking the soul witli biirniiig throes, 
 
 And dehisions false as fair ; 
 Oh ! ye that fain would enjoy repose, 
 And escape despair, and the wildest woes, 
 Of the tyrant Love beware ! 
 
 One beauteous eve she was carolling 
 
 Her wonted dulcet song. 
 When, lo ! where the flowers were blossoming, 
 A youth and a maid came wandering 
 
 In loving-wise along — 
 In passion's young devotedness 
 
 Their mutual accents fell ; 
 Her head reclin'd on her lover's breast. 
 And the glance of her eloquent eyes confest 
 
 What words could never tell — 
 Ye who have lov'd may best conceive 
 Their bliss on that delicious eve — 
 Till came at last the tmlight hour. 
 And the dew-drops kiss'd each closing flow'r 
 And the woods, which wav'd so fair by day, 
 
 Were lost in dubious gloom — 
 Lingering then they turn'd away 
 
 To seek their cottage-home — 
 
 The lovers staid awhile to listen 
 
 To the amorous nightingale — 
 Till the silver moon had risen. 
 And stars began to glisten. 
 
 In beauty o'er the vale — 
 " — Oh ! sweet is woman's melody ! " 
 
 The youth enraptur'd cried — 
 '* That maketh the coldest heart to sigli. 
 And calls up tears in the warrior's eye 
 
 Which burn'd in the battle-tide ! 
 But woman's song, and music's pow'r, 
 
 And the richest symphonies. 
 Are naught to the hymn of the vesper-hour.
 
 87 
 
 Wlilcli yon pure bird, in its sinless bow'r, 
 
 Cliaunts 'mid the linden-trees ! 
 Oh ! Marguerite ! — my worshipp'd one — ^ ^ 
 
 My vow'd — my plighted bride ! 
 My heart hath lov'd but thee alone 
 
 From all the world beside — 
 And our hope is fair that we shall share 
 
 Life's joys and sorrows ever — 
 But mortal bonds full many a care 
 
 And stem misfortune sever — 
 So should we part, in evil hour, 
 
 On life's uncertain sea — 
 Then, Marguerite, look upon this flow'r — 
 
 And think — oh ! think of me ! — " 
 He pluck'd the rose from its parent spray, 
 
 And in her bosom placed it — 
 Then kiss'd from her gentle cheek away 
 
 ' The one bright tear tliat graced it — 
 And then, with his heart's belov'd, pass'd on, 
 Nor reck'd of the ruin his hand had done ! 
 Ah ! luckless rose ! — thou hadst done no crime. 
 Thus to be torn, in thy beauty's prime. 
 From thy home 'mid kindred gems away — 
 Awhile to languish, and then decay ! 
 Yet scarcely my heart can pity thee, 
 
 To die in a place so fair ! 
 Oh ! that my own deathbed may be 
 As soft as thine — and my soul as free 
 
 From ev'ry guilty care ! 
 
 But the nightingale ? oh ! her heart was toni 
 
 Witli utter agony — 
 Madden'd with grief — accurst — forlorn — 
 
 She flew from tree to tree ! 
 Far from that glowing but fatal scene. 
 Where all she lov'd upon earth had been ; 
 Where she had join'd with the soaring throng. 
 And sported so joyously all day long ;
 
 88 
 
 Where slie had carol'd lier matin lay. 
 
 And warbled her pray'r in the twilight grey ! 
 
 But rous'd at length, she told her woes 
 
 In a song of mid despair — 
 Never a strain so plaintive rose 
 
 On the wing of the midnight air : 
 But morning found her, all alone. 
 
 In moping solitude, 
 Her peace was fled, her gladness gone — 
 
 And her eye no longer view'd 
 In all creation haj)piness. 
 
 Which she dream' d not might decay — 
 She had lov'd — and felt love's wretchedness — 
 
 Wliich earth can ne'er allay ! — 
 But still, when day hath pass'd away, 
 
 And pensive evening closes — 
 When elf and fay are sporting gay, 
 
 But earth in peace reposes — 
 With piteous tale, she wakes the vale 
 
 Where affection's flame was lighted — 
 And tells of her love to the stars above — 
 
 And her hopes — for ever blighted ! 
 
 This is an old theme of the Eastern Poets — The author merely takes the 
 liberty of bringing it nearer home.
 
 89 
 
 THE AGE OF GOLD. 
 
 Oh ! mortal pride — man's fellest enemy ! 
 
 Who bringest him all care and crosses hard ; 
 
 I pray thee mark what I shall offer thee ; 
 
 Nor scorn the lesson of a lowly bard, 
 
 Who, though from rank and opulence debar'd, 
 
 — For some good purpose, as he doubteth not — 
 
 Hath wont, while others their oAvn pleasure mar'd 
 
 By games of vicious lust, in some green spot 
 
 To ponder o'er old themes, by the gross world forgot ! 
 
 And who, that knoweth bashful solitude. 
 And in dim woods hath been her losing fere, 
 But liateth from his heart the passions rude 
 Which, more than night, ingulph each hemisphere 
 Of this mad earth ? — or who, that in the clear 
 And mellowed moonlit eve, when summer dies, 
 Hath wander' d in lone paths, but draweth near 
 In spirit and in trutli to those briglit skies ; 
 And learneth from their voice most heavenly 
 mysteries ? — 
 
 For, though no longer, as in days of old. 
 
 The Spirit of Creation putteth on 
 
 The form of man created — nor doth hold 
 
 With our fall'n race di\iuc communion — 
 
 Yet, go thou to the wilderness, alone, 
 
 Where human eye nor voice, save tliine, intrude ; 
 
 And lo ! each object, speaking in its o^vn 
 
 Especial voice, with harmony imbued, 
 
 Shall tell thine inmost heart how blest is solitude ! 
 
 M
 
 90 
 
 Ev'n yet, where nature bloometh ever young, 
 In the far forests of the boundless west, 
 Immortal words from the Great Spirit's tongue 
 Divinely bless the painted warrior's rest : 
 The warrior ? — aye, for, ev'n where life is blest 
 With natural poverty, red war hath grown — 
 And hellish slaughter rears her gory crest 
 Where'er the very name of man is known ! 
 Well may'st thou boast, Humanity, thine intellectual 
 crown ! 
 
 But, in our land of commerce and of gold. 
 Men's hearts deny themselves all intercourse 
 With aught save avarice — that demon bold — 
 Wlio ranges earth with never-dying force ; 
 Though countless ages have proclaim'd his curse 
 With tears of blood and agonizing groans — 
 But reason and experience both wax hoarse ; 
 Men's hearts indeed are adamantine stones. 
 Whereon stem Mammon joys to build his children's 
 thrones ! 
 
 Hath gold no pleasure for its votaries — 
 No special bliss to justify their care ? 
 Surely it hath — for who would sacrifice 
 Youth, health, and happiness beyond compare, 
 For the mean pleasure of the vulgar stare 
 That heralds wealth's approach ? — while manhood flies. 
 And dull infirmity, the wrinkled heir 
 Of all that gold in its profusion buys. 
 Creeps round the rich man's couch with unavailing 
 sighs ! 
 
 ** Knowledge is wealth " — how mournfully untnie ! 
 At least it is not gold, nor should it be — 
 Knowledge indeed unfolds to mortal view 
 Mines of far richer price than thine, Chili !
 
 91 
 
 Where tliy dark children toil in slavery. 
 
 To raise the millions they shall never share — 
 
 Half-mingled with the soil they cannot flee. 
 
 No intellectual Ophir gleameth there ! 
 
 The fahled Hades theirs — grim Pluto's sov'reign care ! 
 
 Give them — give all men knowledge — and no more 
 Amhjtion, reeking from her myriads slain, 
 Shall sound her trumpet cry from shore to shore, 
 And hlend with hlood the hillows of the main — 
 No longer then shall genius plead in vain 
 Neglected truth's and pining \irtue's cause — 
 No longer nations hear a captive's chain — 
 Nor man torment himself with fiendish laws — 
 Nor murder be rever'd, nor glory gain applause ! 
 
 Too blest millennium for a world like tliis ! 
 
 Wliich bcareth in its breast the cause of all — 
 
 The one eternal bane of mortal bliss — 
 
 The curse, that lack'd not our first father's fall 
 
 To breed all compounds of as bitter gall 
 
 As Satan knoweth on his midnight throne ; 
 
 When, gazing round hell's dreary presence-hall. 
 
 Listening his kindred angels' restless moan. 
 
 He feels himself, though chief, the most accursed one ! 
 
 But thou, whose soul can sicken at the tale 
 
 Of soiTow springing from the sordid ore — 
 
 Wliose heart can feel for crippled cliildhood's wail, 
 
 And scorn the vassal-sceptre wielded o'er 
 
 The infant-labourer for a tyrant's store, 
 
 Ev'n in this land miscall'd the only free — 
 
 Whose spirit wearies of the maniac roar. 
 
 The Mammon-worshipper's idolatry — 
 
 Come thou to quiet fields, and meditate witli me !
 
 92 
 
 Look, as thou wanderest on thy gentle way, 
 
 Into thine o^vn heart's temple — and -within 
 
 Its holiest veil some solitary ray 
 
 Of heauty, heaming through the mists of sin, 
 
 Shall gladden thy new being, as the din 
 
 Of courts and camps, in lawless riot's hour. 
 
 Hath never gladden' d it — and thou shalt win 
 
 A nobler pleasure for thyself than power 
 
 And wealth can ever find in passion's harlot-bower ! 
 
 Thou shalt converse with beauty-beaming spring. 
 
 The glorious infancy of nature's life — 
 
 And thou shalt hear glad insects murmuring 
 
 O'er the green earth, with all her blessings rife — 
 
 No voice discordant — and no greater strife 
 
 Than amorous birds for some fair mate contending ; 
 
 Or bleating lambs, unprescient of the knife. 
 
 With their white dams among the mountains wending ; 
 
 All that is good on earth with tliine own spirit blending. 
 
 What carest thou for glory ? — ^what for fame ? 
 In the far wilderness, unseen, alone — 
 What is to thee the bloody victor's name. 
 Climbing o'er slaughter' d thousands to his throne ? 
 Hath the glad sun as innocently shone 
 O'er his uprising as it doth o'er tliine ? 
 Or rather, 'mid the conquest's gathering gi'oan. 
 Forgets he not that still the sun doth shine ? 
 Wliile roars the cannon-flash — and springs the murder- 
 ous mine ! 
 
 Or hath his spirit, on its eminence, 
 A nearer neighbourhood to heavenly things ? 
 Can he shut out the consciousness from thence 
 That blood defileth ev'n the hands of kings ?
 
 93 
 
 Can he forget that many a warm tear springs 
 From aged penury — from widows' eyes ? 
 Can he remove the secret gloom that flings . 
 Its dusky mantle o'er his victories — 
 And, to its monstrous face, tells Jubilee — it lies 
 
 f 
 
 Or can he feel the rapturous delight 
 
 Wliich all hannonious nature givetli thee ? 
 
 Hath liis soul pleasure in the starry night. 
 
 When heaven unfolds her jewell'd brilliancy ? 
 
 Looketh he gladly on the sunny sea, 
 
 Or vernal field ^^ith morning tears bedew'd ? 
 
 Hath he delight in joyous infancy ? 
 
 No ! — in the life's-blood of their sire imbrued. 
 
 How can the coward meet the lisping oi'phan-brood ? 
 
 Away ! — return we to our citadel 
 Of guileless thoughts and rural innocence — 
 Wliere young simplicity and virtue dwell. 
 And earth's productions are our competence ! 
 Wliere no Promethean slaughter* gluts the sense, 
 Nor nature loaths the meal of kindred blood — 
 Still be our host, voluptuous temperance — 
 Still furnish forth, fair earth, our simple food. 
 Herbs and the chrystal spring — luxuriantly good ! 
 
 So shall we gain health's rich inheritance. 
 And ruddy vigour in our bodies grow — 
 Not tlie flush'd fever of intemperance. 
 The bloated epicure's unwholesome glow — 
 But the calm current in our veins shall flow 
 Pure, as the fountain wliich its flood supplies — 
 Skmiber shall hover o'er om* couclies low. 
 Blessing fniil nature "vvith fresh energies, 
 Wliile troublous dreams shall flee to sensual sleepers' 
 eyes — 
 
 • Prometheus primus bovem occidit.
 
 94 
 
 Th' ethereal intellect — that brighter part 
 Of dark humaiiitj — wax brighter still — 
 Nor indolence, nor melancholy swart, 
 Fetter the freedom of the wearied will — 
 Til' imprison' d God within us holier thrill 
 Through every sense that binds us yet to clay — 
 And inspiration from her sacred liill 
 Descend, to light us on our placid way 
 With holy prayers by night, and poesy by day ! 
 
 Tliink ye the poet hath no purer bliss 
 
 Than man's faint praise, which, wliile it gilds, defiles ? 
 
 Deem ye no brighter heritage is his ' 
 
 Than even beauty's laudatory smiles ? 
 
 Oh ! not the sweetest of sweet woman's wiles. 
 
 Nor glory's breath, nor wild ambition's dream, 
 
 Can match th' ecstatic rapture which beguiles 
 
 His lonely moments, by the mountain-stream 
 
 Where fairy bands rejoice beneath the pale moonbeam ! 
 
 For God is with him — and the world behind, 
 With all its heresies of hellish leaven — 
 Music is breathing in the zephyr-wind — 
 Can angels feel, than this, a deeper heaven ? 
 Doth not already his unfetter' d mind — 
 Forgetting formal creed, and dogmas dim — 
 Banquet on spiritual bliss, refin'd 
 As ev'n the being of the serapliim ? 
 Doth he not almost hear their never-dying hymn ? 
 
 Religion ! who hath known thee ?— not the crowd 
 Who carry fashion to the Godhead's fane — 
 Wliose hearts have slumber'd wliile theii' bodies bow'd- 
 Whose frigid pray'rs are meaningless and vain !
 
 95 
 
 But he, who, rending the fanatic cliain 
 Which custom riveteth on freedom's soul, 
 Hath heard Ids Maker on the mountain main — 
 Hath studied nature's ever open scroll — 
 And learn'd from her to praise that God who gave tlie 
 whole ! 
 
 Boundless, and infinitely rolling spheres, 
 
 Wlio gem created space — and ye far train, 
 
 Whose forms are hidden, hut whose light appears 
 
 I' the milky helt of your celestial plain — 
 
 Say, doth old tyranny in hloodshed reign. 
 
 Doth higotry's red torch hang over ye ? 
 
 Or are ye not exempt from mortal pain — 
 
 The dwelling-place of spiiits ever free — 
 
 Whose creed is conscious truth — whose laws arc lil)erty ' 
 
 Know your inhahitants the hitter cry 
 
 That famine. raises in her agony, 
 
 To taunt the sons of opulence — whose eye 
 
 Still turneth from her tears to luxury ? 
 
 Have they heen civiliz'd, as wordliugs be, 
 
 By murder, rapine, and tlie Chiistian's steel ? 
 
 Have they heen purified by hlood to see 
 
 How gold contributes to the public weal ? 
 
 Doth sensual lust invite — or bloated Bacchus reel ? 
 
 No ! — 'mid the thrice ten thousand orbs that fill 
 Yon universe, and glitter through its gloom. 
 Peace, who hath left terrestrial haunts, may still 
 Fold her white pinions in the spirits' home — 
 And blue-eyed Love — God's essence — from the doom 
 Escap'd, which waits her in the track of time. 
 There 'mid (}thereal continents may roam, 
 Expectant of eteniity — and climb 
 By sweet degi-ees to Heav'n — her only native clime !
 
 96 
 
 Oh ! Love, that I could join thee — leaving here 
 
 The body's burthen, as it might, to die ! 
 
 Hast thou not beckon'd me to thy bright sphere. 
 
 And rous'd my spirit's immortality 
 
 From the dull dream of other years to fly. 
 
 Nor aim at less than thee ? — Have I not done 
 
 The slightest bidding of thine eloquent eye — 
 
 Have I not lov'cl thee, Love, and thee alone ? 
 
 Then take me to thyself, thou solely- worshipp'd one ! 
 
 Green are the vallies of my native land — 
 
 Her homes how beautiful, 'mid mountains blue ! 
 
 Old ocean ripples o'er no fairer strand — 
 
 Though richer be thy golden streams, Peru ! 
 
 Though mild Ausonia boast a deeper hue 
 
 Of crimson skies, and odorous orange-bowers — 
 
 Here no volcano — no Sirocco strew 
 
 The blighted land with mingled fire and flowers — 
 
 Though passion dwell with them, security is ours ! — 
 
 Yet here, as there — and in earth's every clime — 
 
 Man's black pollution hath defil'd the well 
 
 Of beauty and of joy with many a crime — 
 
 And gold created its congenial hell — ■ 
 
 Even, as I write, the few their voices swell 
 
 In songs, which angels emulate in heaven ; 
 
 Songs of thanksgiving, ringing slavery's knell ; 
 
 For Britain's hand the sable chain hath riven. 
 
 And freedom to the free at length has freedom given ! 
 
 Man hath freed Man ! — for, not content to hold 
 
 Himself a bargain for the purchaser 
 
 Of life, love, loyalty — the demon gold 
 
 Hath manag'd in times past man's heart to stir —
 
 97 
 
 — So far can avarice goad her worshipper — 
 
 To harter ev'n his fellow men for gain ! 
 
 Blush ! Britons, for your country ! — blush for her, 
 
 Whose wealth was wrung from tortur'd manhood's pain, 
 
 Whose boast was liberty — whose liberty a chain ! 
 
 And ye, th' United Free ! — the citizens 
 
 Of a new world — fast verging, like our own, 
 
 To boasts of blood — where, in a thousand dens, 
 
 Tlie fiend Oppression rears his hateful tlirone — 
 
 Where human herds in degradation ffroan— 
 
 The coward scourge your brutal, sole reply 
 
 To weak infirmity — to sorrow's moan — 
 
 Nay, to the very plaint of infancy, 
 
 Raising in helpless grief its unforgiven cry — 
 
 Where — for ev'n this with man is possible — 
 
 The wife, the mother, has been doom'd to share 
 
 Th' insulting torture ! — list, delighted Hell, 
 
 Whose parallel on earth is surely there — 
 
 Still vaunt, free citizens, if still ye dare. 
 
 Your homes unthreaten'd and your freedom's fame ! 
 
 Spirit of Wasliington ! — for thou didst bear 
 
 On earth a portion of celestial flame — 
 
 Look on thy country's deeds, and execrate her name ! 
 
 Nor let my lyre withold the tribute due 
 
 To that good spirit, now in happiness — * 
 
 If ancient tales of after joy be true. 
 
 And heaven indeed doth mortal virtue bless — 
 
 * WiLBERFORCE — whosc nanic has been assumed by a settlement of coloured 
 peiple (C/ir*s<irtns) in Upper Canada; who have been driven from the United 
 States bv tiic hatrcl und iniiiitice of their wl)ite brethren.
 
 93 
 
 Lo ! 'mid the far Canadian wilderness, 
 
 A name that dieth not is liuk'd with tliine — 
 
 There neither stripes, nor white mens' liate oppress ; 
 
 But a glad nation, at Jehovah's shrine, 
 
 Upraise their prayers for thee — the saviour of their line \ 
 
 Leave we the crowd — for poverty, forsaken, 
 Falleth to tyranny an easy prey — 
 Seek we the wild, where happiness unshaken 
 Owns nor hypocrisy's nor Mammon's sway ! 
 First cause of universe ! Eternal ray 
 Of life and light incomprehensible ! 
 Be Thou the beacon of each better day — 
 Thou the companion of oiu' humble cell. 
 Where holy thoughts shall rise, and meek devotion 
 dwell ! 
 
 Spirit ! Thou knowest that lone w^atercourse, 
 
 "Where I have knelt in solitude to Thee — 
 
 When nature, pointing to her sacred source. 
 
 Lifted my soul at once to Deity ! 
 
 Thine was th' impassion' d thrill of mystery 
 
 Which then I fell, reponsive to my prayer — 
 
 Thine is the love hath taught my poverty 
 
 To brook reproach — to battle with despair — 
 
 The light of mercy Thine, that beams o'er ev'ry care ! 
 
 Thou hast not left me ! — brethren have I none. 
 
 Yet more than brothers' hearts have throb' d for mine — 
 
 And music-breathing voices — mute and gone— 
 
 Linger' d in melody and love divine 
 
 About my presence — but affection's shrine 
 
 No longer glows, but as a dream is broken — 
 
 No incense-Avreaths among the ruins twine 
 
 Of cherish'd vows, and sweet words fondly spoken — 
 
 Of all wliich once was bright, remains no single token !
 
 09 
 
 But through the desolate and dreary void 
 
 Which death, and sorrows worse than death, created, 
 
 A glorious light my spirit hath decoy'd 
 
 To better realms, where peace my heart awaited — • 
 
 Wearied with vanities, with pleasure sated. 
 
 My feet fain wander from the world away ; 
 
 The swell of youth and passion's tide, abated. 
 
 Lure me no more from gentler haunts away — 
 
 While hope again relumes her long extinguish' d ray. 
 
 Then marvel not that by a qidet river, 
 Watching the sunset o'er the purple hill. 
 The poet loves his spirit to deliver 
 To its own glorious course — while, deeper still 
 In sable beauty, twilight shadows fill 
 The drowsy woods — and, for his greater bliss, 
 Blossom and bud their morning dews chstill 
 Into night- odours, which his senses kiss ! — 
 Wealth's eldest-born, black Pride ! what joy hast thou 
 like this ? 
 
 Then, young enthusiast, on the stony mountain 
 
 Wander thou cheerily — tlic world forgot — 
 
 Wooing the spirit of the fairy-fountain 
 
 Whose waters echo through their chrystal grot — 
 
 8weet voices haunt each solitary spot ; 
 
 Or God's, or nature's, 'tis the same to thee — 
 
 Whate'er thy portion, or Avhere'er thy lot, 
 
 Be thou in thought, in heart, in reason free — 
 
 And conscious right shall prove thy soul's security !-
 
 100 
 
 A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 SIR PHILIP, a young Knight. 
 
 THE LADY EDITH, his betrothed. 
 
 Scene. — The Interior of a Prison — Present, Sir Philip, 
 and Lady Edith. 
 
 Sir Philip. Editli ! 
 
 How little tliought we as of old we lay, 
 
 Watcliin^ tlie sunset, on the turfy bank 
 
 Beneath the spring laburnum's foliage ; 
 
 While, humming o'er the wealth of golden flowers, 
 
 Revelled the honey-bee — how little then 
 
 "We deem'd existence had a pang so keen 
 
 As we have now to bear ! — yet weep not Edith ! 
 
 But rather let the memory of those hours 
 
 Dwell in thine heart ; that when in after time 
 
 Such nights return in ancient loveliness. 
 
 And all the varied circumstance of beauty ; 
 
 Thou too in happy meditation straying 
 
 Through the wood copses, and the odorous lawns, 
 
 Mayst think of him, who, in like wanderings 
 
 On such delicious evenings, taught thine heart — 
 
 As yet unoccupied, save by the pure 
 
 And hallow' d feelings of thine innocent youth — 
 
 To know — what even bright angels are denied — 
 
 The bliss of mortal love ! — My beautiful one ! 
 
 Oh ! torture not my soul with thy full tears ! 
 
 Which in their current bring a maddening flood 
 
 Of such old scenes and most voluptuous hours. 
 
 As whelms me in despair ! — sweetest, to die
 
 101 
 
 Is less than naught compared with leaving tliec !— 
 
 Yet thougli we part amid the tempest-whirl 
 
 Of passionate endearment — and our fate 
 
 Seemeth far darker than the wonted lot 
 
 Of man's convicted progeny — we shall meet 
 
 Wliere tyrants glut not their unnatural sense 
 
 With hanquet-rites of hlood — nor misery 
 
 Flings her black vesture o'er tli' unhurthen'd souls 
 
 Of "just men render'd perfect " — in high heaven ! 
 
 Farewell! — no hope is of deliverance 
 
 From these unworthy chains : and I have learn' d. 
 From the rife perils of these troublous times. 
 So hard a lesson of adversity, 
 That, but for one deep bond which holds me still 
 To life and tliee, dear Edith ! I could well 
 Lay tliis poor head in patience on the block. 
 And bless the gentle deathsman — Once again, 
 In spite of justice waip'd, and tyrannous wrong, 
 With their unrighteous train, I pray thee smile — 
 That when I kneel me to receive the blow 
 Which severeth time from vast eternity ; 
 Thinking upon the beauty of thy smile. 
 All else shall vanish, and my heaven begin, 
 Ere earth be barely past ! 
 
 Lady E. Oh ! ask mc not 
 
 In such an hour as this to smile on thee ! 
 The sun is dying in tlie cloudful west, 
 Givinsr the world to night's dominion — 
 The desolate Avind steals music from the trees — 
 And clouds weep down a chrystal dewy shower 
 Of sorrow at his fall ! — so I for thee. 
 The sun — the splendour of my bosom's heaven ! 
 Whose love hatli lent a tinge so beantifid 
 To every scene of earth — a richer Idooni 
 To the blue ocean, and fair firmament — 
 A freslicr perfume to tlie fragrant flowers — 
 A sweeter melody to tlie niglilingale, 
 Warbling in ancient woods his evensong !
 
 102 
 
 Oh ! can I, tliiiiking- of these long sweet lioiu's 
 We spent in fields, or 'mid the forest hush, 
 Wliile I did listen to thine eloquent tongue, 
 Discoursing still of love — and with fond words 
 Quelling the sigh which but too truly rose 
 Prophetic of our sorrow — can I smile ? 
 When thou — forgive, oh God ! my murmurings ! 
 
 But, Philip, we shall meet in that bright home. 
 Where, joined for ever in ev'n purer bliss 
 Than we have yet conceiv'd, our song shall blend 
 With the full choir of sinless seraphim. 
 Who breathe th' eternal hymn of prayer and praise ! 
 Yet life is — oh ! how sweet — and thus to leave 
 In glorious youth the happiness we dream' d 
 Would fill our future years — oh ! bitter thought ! 
 Is there no mercy ? — no deliverance 
 From this deep agony unspeakable ? 
 I will arise — and kneeling at the feet 
 Of this relentless king, will sue for thee — 
 And, speaking of the tenour of our loves. 
 Thy guiltless life and honourable thought. 
 Will either move him by th' unvarnish'd liistory 
 To spare that life, or let me share with thee 
 A death of boundless joy ! 
 
 -Father of Love ! 
 
 Whose arm extendeth o'er the desolate — 
 Wlio temper est the ^vind, which hurteth not 
 The weak and tender lamb — hear Thou my prayer ! 
 And give my tongue such influence o'er his heart, 
 That its determined pui-pose be withdrawn. 
 And pity enter in ! — Dear Pliilip, kneel — 
 And let us at, the throne of infinite might, 
 Seek mercy and protection ! 
 
 (They pray.) 
 
 Enter from behind. The King. 
 
 The King. Rise, innocence ! 
 
 He whom thou worshippest hath heard thy prayer —
 
 103 
 
 Nay calm thyself, g-ood Pliilip, and attend 
 
 Here, a still witness, I have seen such proof 
 
 Of admirahle love, and manifest virtue, 
 
 As dwell not save in pure unsullied hearts — 
 
 And filleth them with such a rapturous flood 
 
 There is no room for treachery — Thou art free ! 
 
 Nay, thank me not — but in your orisons 
 
 To Him who ruleth kings, oh ! pray that He 
 
 Will fashion all my thoughts, my deeds, and feelings. 
 
 As noble as your own ! 
 
 LOVE'S HOUR. 
 
 There is an hour, so beautiful ! 
 
 When youth in passion's lap lies dreaming ; 
 When plighted hearts are swelling full. 
 
 When gentle eyes are on us beaming — 
 
 Tliere is, when first love's tale is told, 
 A timid glance that love returning ; 
 
 There is a sigh can all unfold 
 
 Of hopes, and fears, and wishes biu'ning ! 
 
 May those who prize Eternity 
 Its immaterial hopes inherit ; 
 
 But, wliile the body fetters me, 
 
 At least I'll spurn the tyrant spirit ! 
 
 I ask no heaven, no brighter clime, 
 
 Where bliss iumiortal fadeth never ; 
 
 Give me that hour of matchless Time 
 
 Once more to feel, then die for ever \
 
 104 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 Ye say tliis earth lias happiness — oh ! tell me, tell me 
 
 where ? — 
 And my feet, tho' worn with wandering, shall gladly 
 
 hear me there ! 
 For I have sought her — oh ! how long — and a weary 
 
 way have sped — 
 While raidi misfortune, as I went, still gathered o'er my 
 
 head ! — 
 
 Methought that happiness 'mid crowds and painted courts 
 
 might dwell, 
 Wliere wealth and huge magnificence invok'd theu* 
 
 mingled spell 
 Where silken robes and pearly croAvns on high honi 
 
 damsels shone. 
 And a gUttering tlu'ong of lordly men begirt the golden 
 
 throne ! — 
 
 But I look'd beyond this pageantry — and a piteous scene 
 was there — 
 
 A gallant youth in wrongful chains for love of his lady 
 fau' — 
 
 For the monarch's eye had glanc'd on her, as she min- 
 gled in the ball. 
 
 So kingly lust, and a lying charge, had plac'd her lord 
 in thrall ! — 
 
 I saw the very men who stood so loyal round the throne — 
 They came to a rendezvous by night — disguis'd — and 
 
 each alone — 
 And they plotted deep against their king — to take his 
 
 life away — 
 To part liis langdom to themselves, and rule with sov'- 
 
 reign sway — >
 
 105 
 
 And I knew, tlio' thus in fellowship their treason they 
 
 devis'cl, 
 Each in his dark deceitful heart liis colleagues there 
 
 despis'd — 
 Yet these were nobles in the land — of old illustrious 
 
 name — 
 And rancorous scandal ne'er had dar'd to breathe upon 
 
 their fame ! — 
 
 I sought her on the tented plain where banners wav'd on 
 high. 
 
 And the thoughtless warriors quaff 'd the bowl, and rev- 
 ell' d merrily — 
 
 Many a trumpet sounded high — peal'd many a stormy 
 drum — 
 
 For the mighty host, exultingly, from victory had come — 
 
 But I look'd upon the vanquished — and I saw a gentle 
 
 dame. 
 Who, led by love, from a far-off land with her soldier 
 
 husband came — 
 For she felt 'twas better far with him in a foreign grave 
 
 to lie, 
 Tlian to pine alone in her desolate home — to wither — 
 
 and to die ! — 
 
 That morning had he don'd his anns, and away to the 
 
 battle gone — 
 Hoping in triumph to return, as he had ever done — 
 Oh ! blythsome was his young wife's heart his gallant 
 
 port to see — 
 That night she sate beside his corse in utter misery ! 
 
 I travell'd to those gorgeous lands where droops the 
 
 blushing vine — 
 Where the myrtle and the orange-flower voluptuously 
 
 combine — 
 
 o
 
 106 
 
 Where generous nature all her hest — her choicest store 
 
 liath given — 
 And never-ending summer glows beneath the crimson 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 I stood before a temple-gate — a venerable fane — 
 And here, methought, religion mild may well be deem'd 
 
 to reign — 
 Here will I cease my Avandering — and in full possession 
 
 blest 
 Of all the peace I panted for, my weary soul shall 
 
 rest! 
 
 But, as I pass'd the vestibule, I saw a casement small — 
 The light scarce pierc'd through grated steel, deep sunk 
 
 within the wall — 
 And looking in, I dimly saw — ev'n now it thrills my 
 
 soul — 
 A prison-house — the hellish wheel — the dagger, and 
 
 the bowl ! 
 
 The camp — the court's hypocrisy — the smooth sect- 
 arian's bliss — 
 
 Are but the whited Avails which hide the sepulchre's 
 abyss ! — 
 
 Convinc'd at last that happiness was ne'er to mortal 
 given — 
 
 My heart is fill'd with a holy hope that we shall meet in 
 heaven !
 
 107 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 He wholiath lov'd unhappily — 
 
 He who hath seen liis last friend flee — 
 
 He Avho Iiath come to poverty — 
 
 — Though horn and nurtur'd well- 
 Hath felt as hitter pangs I ween — 
 Hath look'd upo;i as curs'd a scene — 
 Hath suffer' d torture full as keen 
 
 As sinners bear in hell ! — 
 
 He, who hath plenteous gold at will, 
 Of love may dare to take his fill — 
 And shall have trusty friends — until 
 
 His wealth from him be riven : 
 His heart shall overflow ^^'itll glee — 
 His halls be wann with company — 
 His happiness as sweet shall be 
 
 As angels feel in heaven ! 
 
 JULIET'S PLEDGE j 
 
 I 
 
 She parted a lock from her sun-bright hair, 
 And lean'd on my bosom to bind it there — 
 And she bade me to wear it by night and day, 
 Till the love it recorded were pass'd away ! 
 
 Then she kiss'd my cheek witli a long impress, 
 
 Tliat held whole ages of happiness — 
 
 Oh ! words of fire would be far too cold 
 
 To breathe of the passion that one kiss told ! I
 
 108 
 
 And thus we parted — my heart was full, 
 My own, my heloved, my beautiful ! 
 For I knew too surely thou couldst not share 
 The bosom which pillows thy braided hair. 
 
 My youth is wither'd, my dreams gone by. 
 My love — ah ! no, that cannot die ! 
 But the light of thy presence hath long since fled, 
 And the hopes it illumined at least are dead ! 
 
 I have worn thy token — my morning prayer 
 Hath ever been breath'd o'er thy plighted hair — 
 It hath soften'd my heart, it hath bow'd my knee 
 In midnight orisons, sweet, for thee ! 
 
 Years have departed — and years shall fly — 
 The spring of existence itself run dry — 
 But oh ! till the last drop be cold in this heart. 
 Thy pledge, and thine image, shall never depart ! 
 
 FINIS PHILOSOPHItI^. 
 
 Since this vale of tears ] 
 
 Hath but toil and trouble — ! 
 
 Since, with manhood's years, \ 
 
 Miseries redouble — ■ i 
 
 If, as I believe — 
 
 — Though a creed unpleasant- 
 Future hopes deceive, 
 
 Like the past and present — 
 
 Since, as sages say- — 
 
 — And 'tis m}/ opinion — 
 
 Pleasure leads the way 
 
 To despair's dominion —
 
 109 
 
 T'were better to decay 
 
 Than linger lierc in sorrow — 
 Better die to-day 
 
 Tlian live to weep to-morrow ! 
 
 THE CHIEFS LAMENT. 
 
 The bugle is ringing o'er flood and fell ; 
 The sun is wooing the heather bell. 
 And kissing- away, from the mountain's head, 
 The chrystal tears by the morning shed; 
 My joyous hounds are leaping free. 
 Frantic with sport and liberty ; 
 As they scent rich draughts of the tainted air 
 That fatally sweeps o'er the fallow deer's lair : 
 Yet I — the lord of the gladsome land — 
 Have turn'd away from the vassal-band ; 
 In the darkest nook of the loneliest dell 
 To weep the passion I cannot quell ! — 
 
 My steed hangs down his nol)le head. 
 
 And wanders on with a careless tread ; 
 
 Nor gaily raises his wonted cry 
 
 AVhen echoes the hunters' symphony — 
 
 My slightest word — a nnn-nuir'd sigh — 
 
 Quenches the fire of his beaming eye — 
 
 — Ev'n he, mine untaught friend, can see 
 
 'Tis not as it hath wont to be, 
 
 When, merrily leading the jocund throng, 
 
 We wanton' d green vallies and woods among— 
 
 And I knew not vet of that mournful dell, 
 
 Nor felt the love that I cannot (]ucll ! —
 
 no 
 
 THE ITINERANT MUSICIAN. 
 
 Doubtless 'tis beautiful to feel the flow of polish'd song 
 In a tide of golden harmony roll rapturously along ; 
 While the deep harp's melodious voice, obedient to 
 
 command, 
 Pours forth its rich magnificence beneath the minstrel's 
 
 hand — 
 
 But oh ! it hath not lialf the pow'r, the magic influence — 
 It cannot to my list'ning ear such luxury dispense — 
 Such mournful thrills of happiness witliin my bosom 
 
 stir — 
 As the ■wild note notes which humbly spring from yon 
 
 poor wanderer ! 
 
 His sunburnt mien, and, most of all, the dark and speak- 
 ing eye 
 
 Proclaim at once the ardent child of gorgeous Italy ; 
 
 Fair clime ! where beauty ever dwells, and science lin- 
 gers on. 
 
 Loth to desert her native land, her once-resplendent 
 tln'one ! 
 
 His looks, his melody, combin'd, my sympathy create. 
 Perchance because his life, like mine, is drear and deso- 
 late— 
 Condemn'd to wander wearily beneath an alien sky — 
 To live despis'd and comfortless — in poverty to die ! —
 
 Ill 
 
 All ! wherefore, while the mellow notes deliclously roll 
 by. 
 
 Bursts from my bosom's wilderness the melancholy sigh ? 
 Why do I feel so sweet desire a happier home to seek ; 
 And, spite of manhood's vaunted pow'r, warm tears 
 bedew my cheek ? 
 
 'Tis that his music conjures up my boyhood's hour 
 
 again — 
 The memory of my father's hall — my brethren of the 
 
 plain — 
 The joyous friends, now chang'd and gone, that warni'd 
 
 my native home — 
 The heart that only beat for me — 'tis mouldering in the 
 
 tomb ! 
 
 My blighted hopes — my spirit wrong'd by fools who 
 knew me not — 
 
 Can these, while lingers life's last fire, be buried and 
 forgot ? 
 
 Or, when in manhood's prime is heard youth's half-re- 
 member' d lay, 
 
 Can the sweet tears of memory be roughly dash'd away ? 
 
 Perchance by some — whose hearts are cast in sterner 
 
 mould than mine — 
 Who feel not music's nameless charm — her influence 
 
 divine — 
 But ever may my spirit melt beneath her gentle swell — 
 And may such feeling in my heart for ever deeply dwell !
 
 112 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 When captive in a stranger-land 
 
 The sahle savage pines — 
 Far from his native coral-strand — 
 
 His home's luxuriant vines — 
 However beautifully bright 
 
 That stranger-climate be— 
 'Tis felt in vain — the captive's heart 
 
 Longs but for liberty ! 
 
 The linnet in his willow cage 
 
 Dreams of the forest far — 
 The lion spurns, in bootless rage, 
 
 His cruel dungeon bar 
 Earth's very elements delight 
 
 In their existence free — 
 The fire — the field — the mountain air- 
 
 Th' unfathomable sea ! 
 
 So, fetter'd in the body's den, 
 
 My spirit fondly mourns — 
 And, 'mid the busy haunts of men, 
 
 For life celestial burns — 
 Though mortal friends be constant — though 
 
 The light of love be nigh — 
 My soul within its prison pines 
 
 For immortality ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 WILLIAM ILLINGWORTH, PRINTER, BRIGGATE, LEEDS, '^
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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