5834 W687gc A = — — - A = =i rl — ^^^ IL ^ ^=^ j: m == :c 3 m o 8 m J> 6 m 30 1 = 6 m r~i 6 m 1 ^~ - r-r >u ss €P^ t » >' ^^t i -^% '^ 1 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