THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 j^-
 
 li^
 
 %-3t -7^.
 
 VERSES, &c.
 
 VERSES 
 
 WITH 
 
 IMITATIONS AND TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 By a. M. W. 
 
 BtoTow fiEXntx) yaXrfvtjv." 
 
 MDCCCXXXVI.
 
 LONDON : J. RIDEllj I4j BA ETH OI>OM SW CLOSIC.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The followinj^ slight verses are printed that they 
 may be more easily read by the friends — " two, or 
 one" — who have liked them in MS. 
 
 The original pieces are monotonous, as they ex- 
 press but the (piiet enjoyment of quiet scenery, and 
 the simple emotions of a life that has known little 
 variety but much tranquillity, and to which 
 
 " die ray 
 Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday." 
 
 The sensations which were delightful iu their 
 existence arc grateful in recollection, and these 
 
 853935
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 memorials of them have been retained as we pre- 
 serve the spray of Eglantine gathered in our walk, 
 for the sake of the pleasure of which it reminds us 
 by the fragrance that lingers in its leaves. 
 
 " Xapitv poSwv Si ytjpag 
 Nforjjrof iffxtv oSfirjv." 
 
 Southend, June, 1836.
 
 S T A N Z A S, Jicc. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 ON LEAVING PORTUGAL 
 
 Though smiles on every face I see, 
 Yet still my thoughts revert to thee, 
 Land of my earliest memory ! 
 
 Where passed away 
 My careless yeai-s, from clouds as free 
 
 As summer day. 
 
 In thee again I seem to be. 
 Again am idly pleased to see 
 The patient ox that quietly 
 
 Treads out the corn, 
 With spell from which the evil flee, 
 
 Twined round his horn.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Again I rest beneath the vine, 
 Again on hieezy hill recline, 
 And list the murmurs of the pine, 
 
 That waves on high, 
 While calm in evening's golden shine 
 
 The valleys lie. 
 
 Now quenched the fervid light that fell 
 On chestnut grove and olive dell, 
 I hear the convent's solemn bell 
 
 Borne on the air, 
 The pensive hour of vespers tell, 
 
 And warn to prayer. 
 
 Then through the shades as I retire. 
 And twilight's dewy breath respire, 
 Glows, 'mid the gloom, the fly of fire, 
 
 On viewless wing. 
 And sweetly to their simple lyre. 
 
 The peasants sing. 
 
 Oh! as the child from home lirst sent. 
 That home recals with fond lament, 
 Dwells on each bliss its precincts lent 
 
 With sad delight — 
 Sighs as each thought is thither bent 
 
 To share its flight —
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 So parted froiu thy azure sky, 
 Forced from thy genial sun to fly 
 To the cold north, where bitterly 
 
 Blows the keen air, 
 So for thy cherished scenes I sigh, 
 
 Thy scenes so fair I 
 
 January, 1808.
 
 4 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Virtue, like the sun, goes on with her work, be the air ever so 
 cloudy, and finishes her course." — Seneca. 
 
 Lo ! heaven's first orb, whom rays unfading crown, 
 
 In bright serenity pursues his course : 
 Nor heeds of gathering clouds the lowering frown. 
 
 Nor the dark tempest's overwhelming force : 
 But at his journey's end he sinks to rest, 
 Calm and resplendent in the glowing west. 
 
 So with the virtuous man — his innate light 
 
 Life's storms quench not, nor envy's shades destroy ; 
 
 But in unchangeable cflulgence, bright 
 It burns within his breast : at length with joy 
 
 His pilgrimage concludes — he quits the scene, 
 
 And on earth's peaceful bosom sleeps serene. 
 
 March 7, 1809.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Sundai/, November lU, 1809. 
 
 Clear dawns the mom— the orient rays 
 Gild the grey mists that lightly float, 
 And wide a stream of glory plays 
 On faded woods and hills remote. 
 
 But lo ! the orient beams are fled, 
 And chilling rains are falling fast — 
 While the far mountain's shadowy head 
 With storm-clouds dark is overcast. 
 
 Yet shines again the golden ray — 
 And heaven's blue arch again appears — 
 Emblem of man's uncertain day, 
 A varying scene of smiles and tears.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Passed is the cloud — the gloom — the shower- 
 Soft are the gale's expiring sighs — 
 And sweetly beams the evening hour, 
 And sound its closing harmonies. 
 
 Is not this tranquil close of even, 
 This sacred calm on all impressed, 
 An emblem of the peace of heaven, 
 The sabbath of eternal rest ?
 
 SONNET. 
 
 January, 1810. 
 
 Sad on our hearts thy parting accents fell, 
 My father! yet when fading from our sight, 
 Tremhled thy dim sail on th' horizon's light. 
 
 Thought wc that we had heard thy last farewell ? 
 
 Alas ! when aching throbs ray bosom swell, 
 
 And doubt and fear the bloom of feeling blight. 
 On that kind voice that gently taught the right, 
 
 with what yearning vain doth memory dwell ! 
 
 But thou art past all danger and all care, 
 Safe in the deep serenity of heaven ! 
 
 And though my youth a saddened aspect wear, 
 And the bright flowers be from its chaplet riven. 
 
 Yet bliss is in the hope to meet thee there. 
 All tears forgot, and every fault forgiven.
 
 STANZAS. 
 October 19, 1810. 
 
 Yon awful sky that cloudless spreads 
 Its arch immense of azure bright — 
 Yon sinking glowing orb that sheds 
 A dazzling flood of golden light — 
 
 The dew-wet flower, the fading leaf. 
 That trembles on the forest tree — 
 Renew the tears of pensive grief 
 That flowed, my parted friend ! for thee. 
 
 With thee I marked the fading trees. 
 The autumn sky in gold arrayed — 
 And when I felt the evening breeze. 
 Around thy pleasant brow it played.
 
 STANZAS. 9 
 
 Now does deep gloom thine eyes enfold — 
 They slumber in the silent ground — 
 Thy smooth, fair brow, all icy cold. 
 Is now with death's pale fillets bound — 
 
 Now on thy tomb the sun-beams play, 
 And fragrant breathes the evening air — 
 Fall the light dews at close of day, 
 And the sere leaf now withers there.
 
 10 
 
 STANZAS. 
 June, 1812. 
 
 Lo ! as the sun declines to rest, 
 What splendour calm illumes the west ! 
 Yon stream with flowing gold it fills, 
 In brightness veils the purpled hills, 
 And kindles wide the mists that float 
 O'er the blue vales and woods remote. 
 Now let me climb the mountain height, 
 While fades the^flood of fervid light. 
 And mark the gradual close of day, 
 While gales of life around me play. 
 And the grey turret's outlines rise 
 In contrast with the twilight skies : 
 Then, as displays the evening star. 
 His beaming circlet from afar. 
 And o'er the hamlet deep below 
 The darkening shadows gather slow. 
 How sweet the dying notes to hear 
 Of woodland music lingering near,
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Till the clear dews refresh the g:rouucl, 
 And mystic silence reigns around. 
 Mild evening hour ! how dear to me, 
 This doubtful light's tranquillity I 
 For o'er its stillness steal the lays, 
 That memory breathes of former days, 
 Wlien from the fragrant morning's glow, 
 Diffused upon the mountain's brow, 
 To the last rays that evening gave. 
 Faint gleaming on the sleeping wave. 
 Each circling hour that o'er me fled, 
 Peace from its white-plumed pinions shed : 
 Of days with studious pleasure fraught, 
 Of tempered feeling, wakened thought ; 
 Of solitude from languor free. 
 Of glad spontaneous piety. 
 That simple faith and love inspire — 
 O still while memory's fine-strung lyre 
 Unbroken, to her touch replies, 
 The sweetest notes that thence arise, 
 And the rapt soul to tears subdue. 
 Days of my love ! shall breathe of you !
 
 12 
 
 STANZAS. 
 Psalm 104. 
 
 Jehovah, my God ! may I worship thy name, 
 
 From the dawning of mom to tlie sun's setting ray ; 
 
 For the heavens in their splendour thy glory proclaim, 
 And thy presence while shrouding, thy greatness display. 
 
 On the wings of the storm in thy power dost tliou ride. 
 In the roar of the ocean thy footsteps resound ; 
 
 And when calmy and silent the green billows glide, 
 O'er the hush of the waters thy pathway is found. 
 
 Thou bidst the pure wave steal through channels of night. 
 Till it springs witli clear gush to the day's welcome beams— 
 
 The beasts of the desert rejoice at the sight, 
 
 And the flocks in their pastures feed glad by its streams. 
 
 O'er the mountains thy cedars their shadows extend. 
 Thou leadest the vine o'er the slope of the hills \ 
 
 Thy dews on the corn-fields, in ripeness, descend. 
 And thy sun to the olive its richness instils.
 
 STANZAS. 13 
 
 The herds on a thousand hills, tameless and free, 
 
 The folds wliose soft fleeces spread fair o'er the plains, 
 
 All that wing the wide air, all that float in the sea. 
 By thy goodness created, thy goodness sustains. 
 
 All wait upon Thee ! all thy providence claim 
 
 Through the shadows of night— in the hrightnessof day — 
 
 Upheld by thy power, may I worship thy name, 
 Thy goodness adore, thy commandments obey !
 
 14 
 
 STANZAS. 
 April, 1813. 
 
 While slowly in the fading west 
 
 Yon wreath of golden clouds subsides, 
 And twilight, in her shadowy vest. 
 
 O'er earth with hushing murmur glides — 
 Yon star its quiet beams effusing, 
 
 Those notes of dying melody. 
 Subdue the soul to pensive musing, 
 
 And saddened thought reverts to thee ! 
 
 Alas ! thy early urn around 
 
 The winds of winter thrice have mourncd- 
 And thrice, to strew the hallowed ground. 
 
 Has summer with her flowers returned. 
 Now spring his dewy garlands weaving, 
 
 Again recals thee to my view. 
 With fond belief his smile receiving 
 
 As pledge of life, and vigour new.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 As last we met I see thee now, 
 
 Worn with long pain, and languor slow, 
 Yet fleeting still across thy brow 
 
 Of lingering hope the flushing glow. 
 Illusion fond of ardent feeling — 
 
 Soon will its transient spell be past ! 
 O'er its fair pictured scenes dark stealing. 
 
 The shades of death are gathering fast ! 
 
 thou ! on earth not duly loved, 
 
 But wept with many a contrite tear — 
 If tliose to happier climes removed. 
 
 Can still commune with spirits here — 
 Oft hast thou known, when evening closes, 
 
 And of its star serene, the shine 
 Bright on the slumbering wave reposes, 
 
 The thought of thee my soul refine. 
 
 For as in morning light, appear 
 
 The idle pageantries of dreams, 
 Each hope or fear that centres here, 
 
 At thought of thee, so idle seems. 
 Each scene of fancied bliss retiring, 
 
 Fades like the cloud that melts in air, 
 And my rapt soul to heaven aspiring, 
 
 Breathes but the wisli to meet thee there '. 
 
 15
 
 16 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Hum mover de ollios brando e piedoso." — Ca.moens. 
 
 A BLAND and quiet movement of the eyes 
 
 That looked like pity, though no grief were near ; 
 
 A calm, sweet smile, slow-wakened but sincere ; 
 A mild humility, unapt to rise 
 To joy, but when inspired by glad surprise; 
 
 A bashful freedom and a guiltless fear ; 
 
 And dignity and gentleness, the clear 
 Reflection of a soul without disguise ; 
 And long submission, patient and serene : 
 
 These were the graces that composed tlie charm 
 In her angelic loveliness confessed — 
 
 As Circe's spell all potent to disarm. 
 Yet changing, but to elevate the mien, 
 
 And witching but to purify the breast.
 
 17 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 April, 1813. 
 
 Sunk is the orb of clay — 
 Yet fading splendour tracks his downward course- 
 And in the blue expansion floats sublime 
 
 The cloud of crimson glow. 
 
 Yet to the mountain's brow, 
 The distant turret and the loftier trees, 
 The warm reflection of his latest rays 
 
 A heightened tint imparts. 
 
 So calm the evening air 
 It scarcely moves o'er the laburnum rich, 
 A\niose yellow flowers, with wavy gracefulness. 
 
 Play in the lightest breeze. 
 c
 
 18 STANZAS. 
 
 And while my channed sense 
 Inhales sweet odours from each closing (lower, 
 But sweetest from the carmine blushing rose 
 
 With fragrant moss embossed, 
 
 Bright in the east appears 
 The moon, unclouded, save when dimly seen 
 Within the veiling mist of roseate hue 
 
 That drinks her dewy beams. 
 
 Now, while the twilight shade 
 In sober grey each wanner colour blends, 
 And all is hushed, save when some liquid note 
 
 Falls faintly on the ear — 
 
 From the more vivid joys 
 Of social converse, pleased let me retire, 
 Entranced to list the retrospective strain 
 
 That memory loves to breathe. 
 
 Lo ! to her varying tones 
 Tremble responsive chords within my breast. 
 O'er which mysterious feelings softly steal 
 
 fit tmno'linnr' irwr oviri nfMi*!" 
 
 Of mingling joy and grief.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 19 
 
 And though her rapi<>l hand 
 While liglitly wandering o'er her faithful lyre, 
 May sometimes touch the deep resounding chord 
 
 That vibrates agony — 
 
 Her song strange magic fills — 
 It melts my heart e'en with such sad delight 
 As yields the harp, whose melancholy wires 
 
 Mourn to the passing wind.
 
 20 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Las penas returnbavan al gemido." — Camoens. 
 
 The barren hills re-echoed the lament 
 
 Poured by a lonely shepherd wan and pale, 
 Whose accents unrequited love bewail, 
 
 And hope indulged in vain, and lost content. 
 
 The surge against the rocks in caverns rent, 
 Dashed^and resounded through the hollow vale : 
 Its mourning voice the cold and shuddering gale 
 
 Through the dark clefts in lengthened murmurs sent. 
 
 " The barren hills respond to my despair — 
 
 " Alas ! " he cried, " the echoes sad complain — 
 
 A hoarser moaning answers from the deep — 
 But thou — for whom the hue of death I wear, 
 
 To listen to my anguish dost disdain. 
 And more obdurate art, the more I weep."
 
 21 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 June, 1814. 
 
 How beautiful thy coming is, eve ! 
 Mild when thou smilest in the cloudless sky, 
 Whose fervid glories from the charmed eye 
 
 In the blue a;ther melt, yet melting, leave 
 
 A roseate colouring in the tranquil vale ; 
 
 Where clustering lilacs, the laburnum flowers 
 That pensile wave, and all that summer showers 
 
 Frinn her full horn of fragrance, sweets exhale. 
 
 How grateful is the deepening shade that steals 
 Diflusing freshness with the twilight gleam, 
 
 While dimly in the east thy star reveals 
 The trembling lustre of his dewy beam : 
 
 But the blest stillness that the spirit feels 
 
 Calmed by thy breath, more dear than all I deem.
 
 22 
 
 SONNET. 
 October H, 1814. 
 
 Thou art liefore me, silent, in ray dreams — 
 Thy cheek is pallid, and thy dark eye's light 
 No more as I approach, dilating bright, 
 
 Now sadly turns to earth its shaded beams. 
 
 Thy brows are smooth, and waves thy silky hair 
 Round thy fair forehead, as when last we met : 
 But hope's faint ray that played on it, is set, 
 
 And melancholy's calm is settled there. 
 
 And art thou come, in all their tints to raise 
 
 Sweet and sad visions of departed days ? 
 
 O gentle shade ! here could I fix thy stay, 
 How fast all images of earth would flee — 
 
 And thoughts and feelings that now vainly stray, 
 Recalled and elevate, would rest on thee.
 
 23 
 
 STANZAS. 
 September, 1814. 
 
 Pale is the leaf that floats upon tlic air, 
 And faded are the flowers that fair evolved 
 Beneath the cloudless light 
 Of summer's beamy days. 
 
 The myrtle blossoms rich with starry rays, 
 The roses that in fragrant clusters hung. 
 The sweet-briar's delicate hues 
 Are mingled with the dust. 
 
 But though departed summer's .soft farewell 
 Has touched with sadness the declining year, 
 A vivid beauty oft 
 Kindles th' autumnal scene,
 
 24 STANZAS. 
 
 When after passing showers, the landsca})e smiles 
 With freshness new, and on each quivering spray 
 The trembling rain-drops glance 
 In many-coloured light. 
 
 And linger still amid the ruins sear 
 
 The pea's sweet fragrance and its purple bloom, 
 
 The honey-suckle's flowers 
 
 And the nasturtium's glow. 
 
 How pleasant now, some wood's deep solitude 
 To seek, and hear the wind among the trees, 
 Loud as the surge that sounds 
 Along the echoing shore : 
 
 To view the evening's slanting radiance stream 
 In crimson lustre on their summits high, 
 While from their mossy trunks 
 Long shadows darken round : 
 
 Then, 'mid the heath and withering fern reclined. 
 To mark the frequent fall of the red leaf 
 That through the opening glade 
 Gleams faintly in the ])eam !
 
 25 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 The air of summer fragrant strays 
 
 O'er skies iu cloudless azure bright, 
 And evening o'er the earth displays 
 
 Her tempered glow of golden light — 
 As fragrant breathed the summer air 
 
 That bore thy death-bell's echoes stern — 
 And beamed the evening light as fair 
 
 That lingered on thy early urn. 
 
 Yet o'er the past, when memory flings 
 
 The lustre of her softening rays, 
 How swiftly to my heart she brings 
 
 The feelings of departed days '. 
 My spirit tranced, th' illusion takes — 
 
 With thine communes — with thine it blends- 
 Till from the cherished dream it wakes 
 
 To weep — that the enchantment ends.
 
 26 STANZAS, 
 
 I canuot tell thee now, how dear — 
 
 How sacred — is thy name to me ! — 
 How frequent falls th' impassioned tear 
 
 For each neglect that saddened thee. 
 Thou seest not on my soul impressed, 
 
 Contrition with regret combine — 
 Nor how each pang that rent thy breast 
 
 Now deeply agonizes mine. 
 
 O! I could wish like thee to die — 
 
 To see the hues of health decay 
 As slow as in the twilight sky 
 
 Subsides the sun-set's glowing ray. 
 And then, while o'er my languid frame 
 
 The wasting fire would silent steal, 
 It were a bliss I cannot name 
 
 To think I felt as thou didst feel. 
 
 July 16<A, 1815.
 
 27 
 
 STANZAS. 
 December, 1815. 
 
 Though faded every blooming hue 
 
 That glowed in summer's ardent ray, 
 And autumn's varied glories too 
 
 Have yielded to December's sway, 
 Yet is it sweet again to stray 
 
 From all the gloom of cities free, 
 Thy reign, O Nature, to survey, 
 
 And (ind unblemished joys with thee ! 
 
 For still to those who fondly trace 
 
 Each aspect of the earth and skies. 
 Thy every hour reveals a grace 
 
 Unseen but by thy votai-y's eyes. 
 Dear are to him thy morning dyes,— 
 
 Thy noon's dear blue in which they niclt,- 
 While the dim light of eve supplies 
 
 A charm unnamed, but deeply felt.
 
 28 ST.4NZAS. 
 
 E'eu uovv, to nie bow fair the day 
 
 When morn her purpled radiance throws 
 On frostwork, glancing in the ray, 
 
 Or wave that through the valley flows. 
 And when the hills are white with snows, 
 
 And evening's splendoursfaintly fall, 
 I love to mark the cold repose 
 
 Its powerless lustre sheds o'er all. 
 
 The forest's leafy pride is low — 
 
 And fled each tint that bloomed around; — 
 Yet can I see the gorse-flower blow. 
 
 And fringe the hills with fir-trees crowned ;- 
 And hear the while, the rushing sound ' 
 
 Of winds that o'er their summits sweep. 
 And view the far horizon bound 
 
 The dark blue waters of the deep. 
 
 If wintry skies be bright and cold, — 
 
 If summer smile in sunny dress — 
 If vernal blossoms fair unfold, 
 
 Or autumn's rich luxuriance bless, 
 O Nature ! in thy loneliness 
 
 Some unseen spirit ever dwells, 
 Whose sacred influence can repress 
 
 Each silent grief the breast that swells !
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Nor come its hallowed precincts near 
 
 The cares that throng in folly's ways— 
 Of worldly blame the servile fear, 
 
 The idle wish for worldly praise. 
 A nobler aim my bosom sways 
 
 Wlnle o'er me steals its blest controul— 
 And every gale that round me plays, 
 
 Breathes virtue to my strengthened soul. 
 
 29
 
 30 
 
 STANZAS. 
 June, 1816. 
 
 When mom illumes the forest green, 
 
 The glittei-irig waves, the glowing skies, 
 With spirits light, with soul serene, 
 
 With renovated strength I rise : 
 And while my raptured eye surveys 
 
 The azure dome that boundless swells, 
 My prayer to thee, God ! I raise. 
 
 Whose presence in this temple dwells. 
 
 Thee with ray earliest thought I bless 
 
 For every good thy hands bestow : 
 For every friend, whose tenderness 
 
 Can brighten joy, and soften woe : 
 I bless thee for the guiding ray 
 
 Thy day-star o'er my path has slied — 
 For giving me, each cheerful day. 
 
 In peace to eat my daily bread.
 
 STANZAS. 31 
 
 Parent divine ! my footsteps guide 
 
 To walk in wisdom's pleasant way — 
 Nor, sliouldst thou see them turn aside, 
 
 Let me unchecked in error, stray ! 
 Clear to my mind thy will reveal — 
 
 To do that will, my own incline — 
 Till all I wish, or think, or fed, 
 
 Shall hlend in harmony with thine. 
 
 And when, unheard by other ears. 
 The noiseless summons calls away, 
 
 Assuage dissolving nature's fears, 
 Gently my trembling spirit stay — 
 
 Then strengthen faith's prospective ray- 
 Herald of bliss, let hope be given — 
 
 let them gild my closing day. 
 
 And light the awful path to heaven ! 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 32 
 
 SONNET. 
 Sunday, June 8th, 1817. 
 
 Hail to thy tranquil dawning, hallowed day ! 
 'Neath the blue light of tliy unsullied sky 
 Brightening o'er earth in peace and sanctity, 
 
 Glad let my spirit rise and wing its way, 
 
 Far from the cares of life, on Sion's hill, 
 To rest in holy thought, and seem to hear 
 The strain of angel harps yet breathing near 
 
 " Glory to God on high — to man, good- will ;" 
 
 And while th' aerial tones in music still 
 
 Blend with the rushing of sad Cedron's stream, 
 Whose shadowing cedars darken o'er its gleam ; 
 
 Let faith, and hope, and love, my bosom fill. 
 And heaven's sereneness silently diffuse, 
 As steals the twilight hour, and ftill its freshening dews. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 33 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Mai/, 1817. 
 
 Where late I marked the parting clay 
 
 Its farewell splendours bright effuse, 
 Each amber tint and golden ray 
 
 Is quenched in twilight's falling dews : 
 The voices sweet of even close 
 
 Float faintly on the wavy air, 
 Till furls its wing in soft repose 
 
 Each joyous bird that hovered there. 
 
 As calm as is the scene, the hour. 
 
 Within my heart each feeling be, 
 While rise ray thoughts to bless the power 
 
 Who breathes this deep serenity ! 
 For all his goodness gives to bloom 
 
 Around my path, his name be blest : — 
 For all that memory's rays illume 
 
 Of vernal bliss, or sacred rest. 
 1)
 
 34 STANZAS. 
 
 O rather than mine eyes should trace 
 
 Thy works, nor there thy presence view, 
 Dark may they be to every grace 
 
 That smiles in Nature's every hue ! 
 Great source whence bliss and good derive. 
 
 Thee should my heart e'er cease to know, 
 Stilled be its pulse, nor life survive 
 
 When grateful love forgets to glow ! 
 
 And when my sun shall low decline, 
 
 And shadows darken o'er the scene, 
 O let thy day-star rise, and shine 
 
 Athwart the gathering dusk, serene ! 
 When " life's last shade" that dims mine eye 
 
 Before thy summons shall retire. 
 Let faith in raptured vision die, 
 
 And hope, in transport deep, expire ! 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 35 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 May \e,th, 1818. 
 
 Thy soul was like a vernal day 
 
 Of gleamy lin^hts and transient shade : — 
 It shed o'er earth a gilded ray, 
 
 And revelled in the glow it made : — 
 Thy feelings, in their varying sway, 
 
 Like streams in restless movement played. 
 
 The stream is dry — the day is set : — 
 But not forgotten shalt tlioii he ! 
 
 With holiest thought and long regret, 
 Thy name shall he revered hy me. 
 
 could I love and truth forget, 
 I then might cease to think on thee !
 
 36 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 October, 1818. 
 
 Again along the sky of azure deep, 
 
 Lit with autumnal splendour slowly stray 
 
 Bright floating clouds, that now with shadows grey 
 
 Darken yon glimmering hills, now lightly sweep 
 
 O'er the hlue waves that in their hosom sleep : 
 While in the lustrous hues of setting day 
 Glows the tinged forest, and with crescent ray 
 
 Rises the moon, her vigil still to keep, 
 Filling with brilliance clear the orient air. 
 
 How beautiful is nature ! o'er my mind 
 
 Wlien steals her power, it wakes sweet music tliere. 
 
 As from aerial harps the breathing wind 
 Wakes melody — and inspirations fair 
 
 Suspend my soul, to peace and bliss resigned. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 37 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 December 8th, 1818. 
 
 How beautiful along the orient height 
 
 The opening morn dilated, till its rays 
 
 Fell on the pure fresh dews in sparkling blaze 
 And tinged the broken cliff with crimson light. 
 Gleamed o'er the grove of pines in sounding flight 
 
 The dove's white wings, and mid the sere decays 
 
 Of the brown woods, the ivy's verdant sprays 
 With quivering leaves, glanced in the sunshine bright 
 That glory shed e'en o'er the wintry scene. 
 
 Now from the twilight of the eastern sky 
 Streams the faint radiance of the crescent fair 
 
 On clouds where sun-set hues yet lingering lie : 
 Cold, grey and silent is the hour serene 
 
 Save when the owl's long cry floats tremulous on the air. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 38 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 •Brandas aguas do Tejo, que passando."— Camoens. 
 
 Bland waters of the Tejo ! through these plains 
 Glidiug o'er sparkling sands in limpid flow 
 Mid fragrant plants, and wild buds sweet that blow 
 
 Along your banks, where verdant freshness reigns 
 
 Gladdening the folds and shepherds— with sad sUains 
 Ah waters bland ! I hail you ! for so slow 
 My parting steps turn from you — with such woe 
 
 My heart is fraught, that scarce a hope remains 
 
 To whisper, yet again these mournful eyes 
 Shall view you — yet again in happier years. 
 
 Exiled by fortune stern from all I prize, 
 
 Farewell ye scenes ! that parting more endears. 
 
 I go, in other airs to breathe my sighs, 
 
 And other streams make turbid by my tears.
 
 39 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 February, 1819. 
 
 Yon clouds rose-linteil, whose soft heights appear 
 
 Like peaceful hills circling the evening sky, 
 
 Retain faint glowing yet, the sun-set dye ; 
 Wliile darkly rising in the twilight clear 
 Shadowy the cliffs their purple summits rear, 
 
 And hushed in roscid dusk the valleys lie. 
 
 Now li(iuid strains of woodland melody 
 Fall with entrancing sweetness on my ear ; 
 To my rapt soul recalling memories fair 
 
 Of days, whose white and silent pinions shed 
 Lustre and bloom on each familiar scene — 
 
 Of the fii^ prospect fading into air 
 With mingling hues in bright confusion spread — 
 
 And, o'er my head, the cloudless heavens serene. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 40 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Alma miiilui gentil cjue tc partiste."— Camoens. 
 
 Thou gentle shade ! tliat with this earthly sphere 
 Dissatisfied, didst wing thy early flight, 
 Tranquil to dwell in heaven's eternal light, 
 
 Sweet be thy rest as thou to me wert dear ! 
 
 While I sustain with mournful thought severe 
 A lone existence. Yet amid the bright 
 Celestial scenes that now thy soul delight, 
 
 Should memory linger of thy feeliugs here, 
 
 O think upon that ardent love, so pure. 
 Which i]i my eyes, thine own were wont to see ! 
 
 And if my sufi'erings pity may obtain, 
 
 Plead thou the hopeless anguish I endure — 
 
 That early as thou hence wert called from rae, 
 I too, may hence be called, to look on thee again !
 
 41 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 October, 1819. 
 
 I'lioM skies of deepening blue, a tempered beam 
 Falls fainter on the earth, and round the hill 
 Wreathes the slow mist, and dews at eve are chill ; 
 
 Vet Summer lingers, and more fragrant seem 
 
 The scents that from her fading chaplet stream ; 
 And feelings bland my pensive spirit fill 
 While from yon grove sweet rising, music still 
 
 Around me floats, and evening's flushing gleam 
 
 On rocks, above whose rifted fragments grey 
 Waves the young ash, illumed with berries red, 
 
 And ferny dells, where gorsc of odorous spray. 
 Glows mid the purple light by heath bells shed — 
 
 Kindles each shaded tint and golden ray 
 That autumn's stealing touch h;is richly spread. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 42 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " A formasuia desta fiesca seiTa." — Camoens. 
 
 The beauty of this wild and breezy height — 
 
 This chestnut grove whose clustering branches green 
 Cast their broad shadows o'er th' illumined scene — 
 
 Behind the hills the sun's retiring light : 
 
 The clouds commingling soft — their fleeces bright 
 In pomp slow floating in the sky serene — 
 The echoing shore — the ocean's azure sheen 
 
 Curled by the heaving billows, rippling white — 
 
 The quiet flowing of this limpid rill — 
 
 The lingering flocks that seek their evening fold — 
 
 All Nature's treasures — her sweet sounds that thrill 
 The senses — all she gives us to behold — 
 
 When thou art far, no pleasure can instil — 
 My eyes averted are, my heart is cold. 
 
 Febrmn/, 1820.
 
 43 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Agora ja que o Tejo nos rodea." — Camoens. 
 
 This hill around whose base the waters play 
 
 With murmurs bland, shall be our pleasant seat ; 
 
 And while the verdant turf beneath our feet 
 And buds and flowers, tinted with various ray, 
 Glow brighter in the Hush of setting day. 
 
 Exhaling their fresh scents and fragrance sweet — 
 
 Mark the soft airs crisp the small waves they meet 
 Winding in azure light their tranquil way. 
 And from yon height, with vernal foliage crowned, 
 
 See through the moss the gushing founttiin rise, 
 Then o'er the pebbly beach with lulling sound 
 
 Seek the smooth river and reflect the skies. 
 O blest is he who in these scenes has found 
 
 That settled peace the haunt of man denies.
 
 44 
 
 SONNET. 
 April 4th, 1820. 
 
 As when of music soft some distant strain 
 Tranquil and sweet falls doubtful on the ear, 
 Wakening with mystic power the sudden tear 
 
 Of strange emotion, mingling joy and pain, 
 
 We pause to catch the wafted tones again — 
 
 So when of life's fresh spring, some memory dear 
 Comes like a dream of bliss from happier sphere, 
 
 I pause, and would recal alas ! full fain, 
 
 The thoughts and hopes that o'er my youthful way 
 Shone like the light of vernal skies serene, 
 
 While all of life was like the dawning day 
 
 When music breathes from groves of tender green, 
 
 And fragrant blossoms blush on every spray, 
 And iris tints wave dewy o'er the scene. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 45 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 • O ceo, a terra o vento sougado."— Camoens. 
 
 Stillness is on the earth and on the deep — 
 The niglit has breathed on all her cool repose — • 
 The ripplinpr tide with hushing murmur flows 
 
 O'er the smooth sands diffused in liquid sweep. 
 
 The stars in heaven their brilliant vigil keep — 
 
 Through the blue depths their tremulous lustre glows- 
 While on a rock, calling on her who knows 
 
 Her name no more — Aonio wakes to weep. 
 
 " Ye billows," he exclaims, " ere to the tomb 
 Sorrow conduct me, render to these eyes 
 
 Her whom to death ye gave in early bloom." 
 
 No voice responds — the grove soft rustling sighs — 
 
 The dash of waves comes distant through the gloom, 
 And on the tranquil air his cry of anguish dies.
 
 46 
 
 SONNET. 
 November ]st, 1820. 
 
 Clear o'er the eastern promontory bold 
 In the gray hour of silence and repose, 
 November dawned serene — to hues of rose 
 
 The dusky cloud slow kindling : now uprolled, 
 
 The sun his slanting rays of dewy gold 
 
 Darts o'er the coloured woods, whose leaves disclose 
 Each lustrous hue that in fair evening glows 
 
 Warm in the west. In many a glossy fold 
 
 The ivy witli its tufted blossoms twines 
 
 Mid withering foliage ; — flushed with ruddy light 
 
 Rises the beech o'er bluely glimmering pines, 
 And alder's pui-ple buds, and birch stems white ; 
 
 And there, in loveliest contrast, darkly shines 
 The holly with its crimson berries bright. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 47 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 November 29th, 1820. 
 
 Yet lovely is the landscape, though the glow 
 Of Autumn's flushing hues with swift decay 
 Fades from the groves ; for yet the tempered day 
 
 Serenely shines o'er the hushed earth below : 
 
 Or clouds slow floating, puii)led shadows throw 
 On the far hills that skirt the sheltered bay, 
 Wliere, brightly sparkling in the partial ray, 
 
 With gentle curl the azure billows flow. 
 
 Tis grateful now through woodland paths to stray, 
 While leaves fall silent in the yellow beam 
 
 That tints the broidery pale the lichen weaves 
 O'er the rude branch with tufted mosses gray — 
 
 And hear lone music sweet from murmuring stream 
 Like dirge that for departing autumn grieves. 
 
 C'uddra.
 
 48 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 June \7th, 1820. 
 
 I DO not weep that ere the bloom 
 
 The dewy bloom of life had fled, 
 I saw the shadows of the tomb 
 
 Athwart thy beamy prospect spread : — 
 For had I knelt beside thy bed, 
 
 And watched thine eyes on me declined, 
 Their dying lustre kindly shed — 
 
 I should have wept — but wept resigned. 
 
 For future scenes before thee lay 
 
 With hues as warm and rich imprest 
 As stream from evening's flushing ray 
 
 And kindle o'er the golden west : 
 Nor didst thou live to mark, unblest ! 
 
 In dim decay those hues expire — 
 Nor Time with ashes cold invest 
 
 The shrinking glow of fancy's (ho.
 
 STANZAS. 49 
 
 Alul thougli I'roni pictuied scenes so biiglit 
 
 Thy fond regards were soon to turn — 
 And cherished ihonghts of dear delight 
 
 To sleep within thy silent urn ; — 
 Yet pleasing to thy soul was borne 
 
 Though faint, yet sweet, Hope's lingering song : — 
 Sweet as the fleeting tones that mourn 
 
 The harp's jEolian strings along. 
 
 The mists, whose wavy skirts uprollcd. 
 
 In stillness from the valley rise — 
 The fragrant flowers that late unfold 
 
 Their purple blossoms to the skies — 
 The fading woodland's changing dyes — 
 
 The leaf, slow quivering in its fall — 
 Recal the scene where last, thine eyes 
 
 With saddened gaze, beheld them all. 
 
 Ah then I weep, that love so pure 
 
 With coldness or neglect was met — 
 That clouds should e'er those suns obscure 
 
 So soon upon thy grave to set ! 
 in thy heart, if memory yet 
 
 Of human bliss or anguish live — 
 May these sad tears of long regiet 
 
 My fault eff'acc — and thou, forgive! 
 
 Cnddra. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Januai-y Wth, 1821. 
 
 Hushed is the sounding stonn— the coming tide 
 
 Flows fresh and sparkling to the level bay ; 
 
 The air is balmy as the breath of jMay, 
 Filling the sails of little skifls that glide 
 O'er the smooth deep : on gleaming pinions wide 
 
 The sea-birds float amid the azure day, 
 
 Then sinking slow, like wreath of feathery spray 
 Cresting the billow green they graceful ride. 
 No vernal blooms their silken leaves unfold, 
 
 But splendours mild brighten the wintry scene, 
 Kindle the lime-buds red, and tint with gold 
 
 The verdant pines, while strains so sweet and still 
 Breathes the poised lark, that sunny thoughts serene 
 
 And visions of delight my spirit fill. 
 
 Ciuldm.
 
 51 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " O Cysne quundo seule ser clienada." — Camoens 
 
 I'liF. dyiiif;' swan wlio feels thai now no more 
 The western sun, sinking witli golden gleam 
 Beneath the blue and level wave serene, 
 
 To him shall gladness, life and light restore — 
 
 Lifts up his voice along the lonely shore 
 To mourn each favourite haunt and islet green, 
 While strains, than all the past that sweeter seem, 
 
 His lost delights and ebbing life deplore. 
 
 Thus, from my love since deepening soitows spring, 
 And Lady ! wake in thee but rigours new — 
 
 O'er life's fair joys my heart yet lingering. 
 Though near and sad my coming fate I view, 
 
 In tones of softer harmony I sing 
 
 Thy broken faith, and my allcctiou true. 
 
 1820.
 
 52 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE 
 
 APPREHENSION OF 
 
 LEAVING CUDDRA, APRIL 2nd, 1821. 
 
 Glad o'er tlie earth the vernal flowers are springing, 
 And tints of tenderest verdure meet my sight 
 And buds, and blooms— The sun, through vapours bright, 
 
 On glittering dews his orient rays is flinging. 
 
 Sweet mid the opening leaves the birds are singing, 
 Or spread their glancing wings in joyous flight- 
 While to my raptured spirit fresh delight 
 
 The sun, the dews, the birds, the flowers are bringing. 
 
 O let me grateful hail the welcome feeling, — 
 
 Nor watch, with anxious eye, the threatening gloom 
 
 That o'er the az.ure of my life seems stealing : 
 
 E'en should it come— scenes yet for me may bloom 
 
 Fragrant as these and beauty thus revealing ; 
 Or the dark cloud may shadow but my tomb. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 53 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 April 2Ut, 1821. 
 
 O THAT thou could'st return ! ere Time bereaves 
 
 Of Spring's first freshness thy sequestered bower; 
 
 Ere fades the early lily's golden flower 
 That lifts its head mid Vinca's* glossy leaves 
 And stars of purple light : the woodbine weaves 
 
 Its flexile sprays around, and at the hour 
 
 Of dewy prime, or when the transient shower 
 Falls in the sunshine, every leaf receives 
 A blazing gem to deck it. To the air 
 
 Light waves the graceful larch, whose branches pale 
 With crimson cones and tufts of tender green 
 
 Are brightened — but while leaves and blossoms fair 
 Breathe fragrance,— in thy heart, far from this scene 
 
 Dear friend ! sad thoughts and anxious cares prevail ! 
 
 Cuddra. 
 
 * The periwinkle.
 
 54 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 ON nETURNING TO 
 
 CUDDRA, AUGUST 4th, 1821. 
 
 Nature '. after exile long- 
 
 From thee, of sad and weary hours, — 
 Again I hear thy woodland song, 
 
 Again repose within thy bowers. 
 While partial fall the sparkling showers 
 
 From transient eloud, in iris light, 
 And Summer's pomp of leaves and flowers 
 
 In endless beauty meets my sight. 
 
 O'er hedge-rows rich in living green, 
 
 Bright as the tint of orient skies 
 The wild rose waves, — and twine between 
 
 The pea's small blooms of purple dyes. 
 And there, diffused, the woodbine lies 
 
 And sweetest fragrance breathes around- 
 And tufts of scallopped oak leaves rise. 
 
 And trailing ivies clasp the ground.
 
 STANZAS. 55 
 
 Again I view, with transport deep, 
 
 The ripening corn, the flowering hay, — 
 And o'er them as the breezes sweep, 
 
 The unduhiting shadows grey : — 
 And when the morning lustres plav 
 
 On glittering dews and mist veiled height, 
 My spirit wakens with the day 
 
 To music, freshness, and delight. 
 
 When in the boundless arch of blue 
 
 The sun-set glow no more is seen. 
 And roscid tints of chaster hue 
 
 Shed o'er the groves a deepening green — 
 And silent on the shaded scene 
 
 The crescent rises o'er the hill — 
 My spirit drinks the deep serene. 
 
 And thought subsides in rapture still. 
 
 Then lovely, from their hallowed urns, 
 
 Forms of the cherished dead appear ; — 
 The beamy morn of youth returns 
 
 When life was new, and these were near. 
 O sacred held ! emotions dear 
 
 More sweet than pleasure e'er hath known, 
 With melting thouglit — with tender tear — 
 
 Your loss lament — your presence own! 
 
 Cudflra.
 
 56 
 
 STANZAS. 
 September 2\st, 1821. 
 
 Farewell ye cliffs! on which these eyes 
 
 Shall now no more delighted rest, 
 To watch at morning's dewy rise 
 
 Your summits with its hues imprest— 
 Or mark them dark and shadowy, drest 
 
 By floating cloud in transient gloom, 
 While billows that your base invest 
 
 Roll clear and blue as summer noon. 
 
 Ye groves ! that o'er this tranquil scene 
 
 In leafy pomp are waving high. 
 Contrasting with your deeper green 
 
 The brilliant azure of the sky- 
 Soft on your tufted heads, when lie 
 
 Slow kindling, Autumn's earliest rays, 
 And gentle breezes o'er you sigh. 
 
 And lightly lift your quivering sprays-
 
 STANZAS. 57 
 
 Or Autumn winds with bolder swell 
 
 Loud o'er your bending branches sweep, 
 No more, as held by magic spell. 
 
 Suspended thought shall idly sleep, 
 And nature's charms my spirit steep 
 
 In bliss effused by her alone ; — 
 But far away must memory keep 
 
 Her record dear of pleasures flown. 
 
 Still shall she view in cherished dream 
 
 The scene as now it meets my sight, 
 *Yon clustered blooms of rosy gleam, 
 
 The myrtle's starry blossoms white — 
 Like wreathing flames, the garlands bright 
 
 The slight nasturtium's flowers entwine. 
 And every shade of rainbow light 
 
 From beds of glowing asters shine. 
 
 Still shall she haimt the lonely way 
 
 Where the giey moss and lichen cling 
 To moss in verdure's rich array. 
 
 And buds and wild flowei-s endless spring ; — 
 And hear the woodland vespers ring — 
 
 The bleatings faint of distant fold — 
 And mark o'er all the sunset fling 
 
 Its haze of crimson, waved with gold. 
 
 * Hydrangeas.
 
 58 STANZAS. 
 
 These hours shall memory still recall 
 
 That glide like brook of liquid chime- 
 Calm as the twilight's dewy fall 
 
 Yet glad as morning's cheering prime. 
 Her power shall foil the flight of time — 
 
 To fading tints duration give, — 
 And, though remote in joyless clime. 
 
 Shall bid these scenes return and live. 
 
 Ciiddra.
 
 59 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 November, 1821. 
 
 While life in thee burns bright and hi<>;h, 
 Should mine be quenched in slumbers chill ;- 
 
 When Death shall shroud the rayless eye 
 Which grief or joy no more shall fill, — 
 
 This weak and trembling heart be still- 
 Cold and unmoved beneath the pall,— 
 
 Let memory then, with tender thrill. 
 Its faithful love to thee recall. 
 
 Recall the hours for ever flown. 
 
 In bland communion swiftly sped, 
 When gladness on our spirits shone 
 
 Like mcn-ning on the mountains shed ; — 
 Or when, by solemn musing led, 
 
 Dejected thought would onward go 
 To meet those widowed liours of dread 
 
 Which one, with riven heart, must know.
 
 60 STANZAS. 
 
 Then, though on earth no more we meet, 
 
 Remembered words of friendship dear, 
 Like music's echoes, faint and sweet, 
 
 With gentle spell shall haunt thine ear, 
 And breathe of love, when feelings drear 
 
 In loneliness have on thee prest — 
 Till fast shall fall the soothing tear, 
 
 And sacred peace thy soul invest. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 61 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER READING 
 
 CHAPTER XL V 111. OF RASSELAS. 
 
 Imlac ! when in the shadowy mansions drear 
 Where rest,of ages past, the great and wise, 
 Silent with thee I stand, and my sad eyes 
 
 View but of humbled man the ruins sear ; 
 
 Solemn and full, like organ echoing clear 
 
 O'er cloistered tombs, thy powerful accents rise. 
 Proving that the pure spirit never dies. 
 
 But seeks through mystic paths an unknown sphere. 
 
 Thee too, has Death shrouded in awful sleep — 
 
 Thy voice from earth ha.s ceased — thy frame is dust- 
 But the convictions of thy mighty mind. 
 As evidence of truth, my faith can keep 
 
 Unshaken, that thy lofty thought was just — 
 And that the spirit lives, immortal, unconlined. 
 
 Cuddra, January 26M, 1822.
 
 62 
 
 SONNET. 
 January -Idth, 1822. 
 
 The stonn is past — the winds their rule resign, 
 And sighing round the leafless wood, expire 
 Soft as the murmurs of ^olian lyre ; 
 
 While o'er the shadowy grove of quivering pine 
 
 Stream the rich hues of Evening's calm decline, 
 And dusky clouds, convolving, slow retire, 
 Till on the orient's verge, like kindled pyre, ■* 
 
 In the blue light their flamy summits shine. 
 
 Now on hushed air rises a liquid strain 
 As sweet and still as that which, sages say, 
 
 Harmonious breathes for ever from the skies— 
 By men unheeded 'mid their tumult vain, 
 
 But heard when Reason holds her tranquil sway, 
 And passion, subjugated, silent dies. 
 
 Cuddra.
 
 63 
 STANZAS. 
 
 February Zrd, 1822. 
 
 When future sceues tluil Fancy's <,roldoii ray 
 
 Kindled to brightness, from our pensive eyes 
 Dim and discoloured slowly fade away, 
 
 As Evening splendours fade along the skies : 
 When the glad thoughts serene that wont to rise 
 
 Like tranquil music on the youthful mind, 
 Unfrcquent now, are like the strain that dies 
 
 In distant sweetness on the passing wind — 
 Scarce heard its fleeting tones, and soon as heard, resigned- 
 
 Wlien Time, with shadowy pinion silent spread. 
 
 O'er the clear intellect a shade has cast, — 
 W'hen Memory's star its setting beams has shed, 
 
 And Reason's lustre faintly shines at last ; — 
 O who could bear the gloom thus deepening fast. 
 
 But for the hope that, rising from the tomb 
 With each pure feeling of existence past 
 
 Renewed and pcnnanent, the soul shall bloom, 
 And Truth's eternal light her conscious ])owcrs illume. 
 
 Cvddra.
 
 64 
 
 STANZAS. 
 July 21 th, 1822. 
 
 * Peruvian flowers of flamy liglit, 
 
 This trelliced Porch that richly wreathe '.— 
 f And ye, whose purple blossoms bright 
 
 Around their fragrant incense breathe ! 
 I love ye for the tranquil days 
 
 Your blended colours yet recall : — 
 For ne'er can Memory's softening rays 
 
 On scenes more glad and peaceful, fall. 
 
 No sorrow then my heart had known 
 
 Which Nature's charms could not cff"ace :- 
 No rapture, but to gaze alone 
 
 With fixed devotion on her face, 
 Whose placid beauty, calm and bright. 
 
 Its tincture to my mind had given : — 
 As in the waves cerulean light 
 
 Reflected smiles the hue of heaven. 
 
 * The Nasturtium. + 'I'he sweet Pea.
 
 STANZAS. 65 
 
 But Other days your tiuts recall, 
 
 Aud scenes, by sadness shaded, bring, — 
 I see you o'er the time-worn wall 
 
 In brilliant drapery mingling cling ; — 
 The dark and pensive eyes I see 
 
 That on you looked, and seemed to say, 
 " Ere these again shall bloom for thee, 
 
 This ebbing life shall pass away." 
 
 And thou art gone — but may I ne'er 
 
 Thy fervour pure, thy worth forget ! 
 For holiest thoughts attend the tear 
 
 Of contrite grief and deep regret. 
 And still bright flowers ! for Memory's shrine 
 
 An offering meet I'll bid you bloom — 
 Sacred to peace that once was mine, 
 
 And buried friendship's hallowed tomb.
 
 66 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 V i: R S 1 F I C A T I O N O 1- 
 
 A NOTE 
 UECEIVEO IN AUGUST, lW-'2. 
 
 When night has veiled the azure dome, 
 
 Aud silenee reigns, and I am free, 
 Fancy restores my quiet home, 
 
 My quiet home and thee. 
 Restores the eyes on me that dwell 
 
 With playful glance, or serious thought, 
 And on mine ear thine accents swell 
 
 With gentle fondness fraught. 
 
 Then glows my heart, and ardent springs 
 
 The earnest wish that thou wert here — 
 But day returning, trouble brings 
 
 Thy bosom must not share. 
 Thy spirit glad, dcprcst with care 
 
 Or grief, I could not l)rook to see — 
 No ! let me still disquiet bear 
 
 Alone, and far from thee.
 
 STANZAS. 67 
 
 And tliuu, amid tliy i'avouritc ilowers, 
 
 Stillness, and shades, and odours sweet, 
 Rejoice, though heavy pass my hours 
 
 Till we again shall meet. 
 Yet think of me, by evil ways 
 
 Of men, and strife of tongues opprest — 
 Soothed but by this, through weary days, 
 
 That thou with peace art blest. 
 
 Truro, August, 1822.
 
 68 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Juhj, 182-2. 
 
 At this still hour I oonio with feeling dcej) 
 
 To worship at yonr shrine, ye hallowed Dead ! 
 
 Till, memory's kindling lustre round you shed, 
 Lovely ye waken from your mystic sleep. 
 From orient skies as dusky vapours sweep, 
 
 Death's shadowy veil falls from each sacred head, 
 
 Revealing looks with such pure peace o'erspread 
 That sorrow touched by awe, forgets to weep — 
 And tender recollections 1)land subdue 
 
 Murmuring and idle thoughts, and vain desires — 
 While o'er my spirit steals such chastened liue 
 
 As dims the heavens when glowing day retires, 
 And in the awful arch of deepening blue 
 
 The beaming stars eifuse their silent fires.
 
 69 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 August, 1S22. 
 
 Though evil men against thy fame combine 
 
 Reproaching thee with wrong thon hast not wrought, 
 Let not thy spirit with indignation fraught 
 
 Its quiet consciousness of truth resign. 
 
 But, laved in innocence, approach the shrine 
 
 Of Him who knows the pureness of thy thought — 
 Implore that heavenly peace ne'er vainly sought, 
 
 And round thy soul serene its light shall shine. 
 
 Thin thy best refuge in the hour of sadness — 
 Yet, though of merit small, be not the friend 
 
 Forgotten, who with thee through various years. 
 For salutary grief, for cloudless gladness 
 
 In grateful orisons has wont to bend. 
 And who for thee now sheds tender though useless tears.
 
 70 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 • Uela depouille de nos bois." — Millevoye. 
 
 The foliage of the forest glades 
 
 Had Autumn scattered o'er the plains, 
 The bowers had lost their mystic shades, 
 
 The nightingale had hushed her strains, 
 When, fading like the faded year, 
 
 A youth with faltering footsteps roved 
 To trace the scene to memory dear. 
 
 The haunt by earliest feeling loved. 
 
 " Ye groves ! your pallid hue recalls 
 
 The mournful fate that waits for me — 
 And in each withered leaf that falls, 
 
 A presage of my death I see. 
 Prophetic voice — my doom that gave 
 
 Thou saidst ' though once, in yellow dyes 
 ' I'hcsc woods again for thee may wave, 
 
 ' No leaf of spring shall greet thine eyes.
 
 STANZAS. 71 
 
 ' Its branches doth the cypress spread 
 ' In gloomy stillness o'er thy head — 
 ' The changing foliage of the vine 
 ' A bloom less transient has than thine. 
 
 " I die — Autumnal winds that moan 
 
 With chilling breath have o'er mc past ; 
 The brightness of my youth is flown 
 
 Like vernal skies by clouds o'ercast. 
 Fall, fall ephemeral leaf! efface 
 
 The pathway drear which now I tread — 
 Hide from my mother's grief, the place 
 
 Where I shall lie, to-morrow, dead. 
 
 But should my Love, dishevelled, seek 
 The lonely grove, with tear wet cheek, 
 When Evening's shadowy veil around 
 
 Has dim and tender twilight made — 
 Then, with thy light and rustling sound, 
 
 Wake, for one moment soothed, my shade !" 
 
 He said. — and, never to return, 
 He left that forest pathway drear. 
 
 When neath the oak was placed his urn, 
 Fell the last lingering foliage sere.
 
 72 STANZAS. 
 
 But to the solitary stone 
 
 Came not his Love in Evening's gloom- 
 The shepherd's step disturbed alone 
 
 The silence of the torab. 
 
 January, 1823.
 
 7;j 
 
 ROMANCE. 
 
 "Dans ia solitaire boiirsrade." — M illevoy E. 
 
 To lingering sickness long a prey, 
 In melancholy thought reclined, 
 Near hamlet still, at close of day, 
 
 A dying youth thus spake, resigned, 
 " Ye gentle villagers — who come 
 To pray mid Evening's falling glocnn 
 While the vesper bell tolls o'er the lea. 
 Ye who are praying, pray for me ! 
 
 But when to this gushing waterfall 
 
 Spring shall its pensive shade restore. 
 Ye then shall say ' the sufferings all 
 
 Of the poor youth', are now no more.' 
 Then on these banks repeat at Eve 
 The artless plaint whicli now I weave, 
 And when the bell tolls o'er the lea 
 Ye who are praying, pray for me !
 
 74 ROMANCE. 
 
 Young — unto hatred and deceit 
 
 Time, and my suft'eiings I oppose — 
 With spirit calm and firm I meet 
 
 My unstained life's approaching close. 
 Short has it been — my pilgrimage — 
 I wither in my vernal age. — 
 But I submit to heaven's decree. 
 Ye who are praying, pray for me ! 
 
 To thee ! dear partner of my fate, 
 Faithful companion of my way, 
 My life I vowed to consecrate — 
 Alas ! and scarce I live a day ! 
 When lone and sad she comes to pray. 
 The bell sweet tolling o'er the lea, 
 O pity her, when she too shall say 
 Ye who arc praying, pray for me ! "
 
 75 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Eke thou thy soul to slumhers deep 
 
 " Death's lesser mysteries" — resign, 
 Let thought a solemn vigil keep 
 
 While yet to will and act is thine ; 
 While yet repentance may be felt, 
 
 And mercy sought, and pardon given ; 
 The heart in contrite sorrow melt, 
 
 Or rise in grateful love, to heaven. 
 
 Reflect ! hast thou from duty's way 
 
 Thy course in wilful error bent — 
 Or strayed, unmindful of the ray 
 
 As guidance to thy footsteps lent ? 
 Turn — while thy path thou canst descry 
 
 And all its devious windings view ; 
 Nor let temptation lure thine eye 
 
 Or snare thy heedless steps anew.
 
 76 STANZAS. 
 
 Dost thou thyself with awe prepare 
 
 To meet the day of final fate, 
 Yet, for thy mirth, let others dare 
 
 The dangers that on folly wait ? 
 Ah tempt them not to idly waste 
 
 The powers for nobler ends designed, — 
 Virtue's ambrosial fruits to taste, 
 
 And wisdom's " nectared sweets" refined. 
 
 Hast thou observed the law divine 
 
 That bids thee with thy brother grieve — 
 To all his plaints thine ear incline 
 
 And soothe, if thou canst not relieve ? 
 That bids thee mark with kind delight 
 
 His cup o'erflow with pleasure pure. 
 Nor intercept the sunshine bright 
 
 Thou canst not give, but may'st obscure. 
 
 But if with cliilling words luikind. 
 
 Where kindness should be most displayed. 
 Thou hast distressed the gentle mind 
 
 And cast o'er life a needless shade — 
 O haste ! the ruthless deed repair — 
 
 Dispel the gloom, and joy impart — 
 Lest late remoisc thy bosom sluuc 
 
 And fruitless anguish rend thy heart !
 
 STANZAS. 77 
 
 Shall for thy brother wrath be kept ! 
 
 At morn the field thou shalt explore — 
 In vain — the wind hath o'er him swept — 
 
 Thou shalt behold his face no more. 
 Beyond thy reach for ever gone — 
 
 Unseen thy tears, unheard thy moan — 
 Thou canst no more inflict a wrong, 
 
 Nor for repented wrongs, atone ! 
 
 Reflect how oft in dreary hours 
 
 When death or danger hovered nigh, 
 The ministry of angel powers 
 
 Has bid th' impending horror fly. 
 Then still let grateful love inspire 
 
 Obedience to commandments given ; 
 While ho])c, that purifies desire. 
 
 Shall fit thee for the bliss of heaven. 
 
 March ISth, 1822.
 
 78 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 •Padre del Ciel: doppo i perduti gioini."— Petrarca. 
 
 Father of Heaven ! after neglected days 
 Consumed in fancies wild and vain desire, 
 Kindling to fiercer power love's wasting fire 
 
 By gazing on the charms I yet must praise : — 
 
 To holier aims do thou my efforts raise — 
 With loftier enterprise my soul inspire, 
 Till from his baffled snare my foe retire 
 
 Foiled, and abashed that it no more betrays. 
 
 Ten summers have revolved since I have borne 
 The yoke that ruthless in its pressure stern 
 
 On the submitted mind is wont to be : 
 
 Have mercy ! though unworthily I mourn — 
 Recall my wandering thoughts and bid them turn 
 
 To Him who on the cross expired for me ! 
 
 November Uth, 1825.
 
 79 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 'Tenemmi Araoranni ventuno ardendo." — Petbarca. 
 
 Years twenty one, my mistress to adore, 
 
 Love made me joy in pain, and hope mid fears ;- 
 And summers ten have faded, dimmed by tears, 
 
 Since to her grave my blighted heart she bore. 
 
 And now my life's long error I deplore. 
 Outworn : — for virtue's energy appears 
 Almost extinct : — and my remaining years 
 
 High God ! to thee devoutly I restore ! 
 
 Sad and repentant for the many spent 
 
 So idly, that should better aim have known — 
 
 Vain grief to shun, and cherish meek content. 
 Lord! who these fetters hast around me thrown , 
 
 Save me from ills for guilt obdurate meant, 
 For I my fault perceive, and routrilo, own.
 
 80 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Ripeusando a quel rh' oggi il ciel onora." — Petrarca. 
 
 When I reflect upon that lovely mien 
 
 Translated now to heaven, and honored there— 
 The head fair bending, and the golden hair — 
 
 The voice angelic that with power serene 
 
 Once calmed, but now awakens anguish keen — 
 I wonder that I live ! nor life could bear — 
 But that to save she comes with watchful care. 
 
 When morning in the East is dimly seen. 
 
 O with what bland reception sweet and pure 
 She meets me ! and with pitying look attends 
 
 Benignant, while the history sad I speak 
 Of the long changeless sorrow I endure: — 
 
 Till day dilates, when she t(t heaven ascends. 
 Humid her beaming eves and each soft check. 
 
 •o 
 
 December \3t/i, 1825.
 
 81 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ' Tvo piangfiulo i mici passati tempi."— Petrarca. 
 
 Irrevocablk hours I miw lament 
 
 That I have lost in loving earthly thing — 
 
 Heedless of powers that on no feeble wing 
 Me might have borne, and high example lent. 
 And Thou ! who know'st my years how idly spent, 
 
 Of heaven Invisible Eternal King! 
 
 My erring soul back from her wanderings bring, 
 And be thy grace, to aid her weakness, sent. 
 That so my life, in storm and conflict past, 
 
 May find a peaceful haven — and though vain 
 Its course — yet calm and decent be its close. 
 
 O'er my few waning days, and chief, the last, 
 Shed Thou thy lustre, and the soul susUiin 
 
 That trusts in Thee ! nor other refuge knows. 
 
 December 31s<, 1825. 
 G
 
 82 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Dolci durezze e placide repulse." — Petrarch. 
 
 Placid repulses and austereness sweet — 
 
 Compassion soft and chastest love concealing — 
 
 Graceful disdain, bidding each wilder feeling 
 Each wish or " thought infirm" abashed retreat ; 
 Eloquent words with courtesy replete, 
 
 Decision firm in gentlest guise revealing ; 
 
 And looks, from heaven divine expression stealing 
 Now daring hojie to check with rigor meet, 
 And now with virtuous aim my fainting mind 
 
 Again inspiring ; — Memory these reviews 
 In changeful beauty blending, nor in vain 
 
 F(nming tlie varied discipline designed 
 From error's ways my footsteps to restrain. 
 
 And make me wise Salvation's path to choose. 
 
 Decetnber, 1825.
 
 83 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Donna clie tunto al mio bel sol pia cesti." — Zappi. 
 
 Lady ! whose graces pleased so well awhile 
 
 Him whom I love, that still doth he repeat 
 
 The praises of thy tresses dark, thy smile, 
 Thy words informed by wisdom pure and sweet, 
 Say, when with his, thine eyes have chanced to meet, 
 
 Unconscious was the look he turned on thee ? 
 
 And saw'st thou e'er tlic lofty glance replete 
 With troubled thought that flashes oft on me ? 
 I'ired by thy star-like beauty once I know 
 
 He loved thee, and I know that tlien — but see ! 
 Thine eloquent eyes decline — rose hues are met 
 
 Bright on thy cheek, and brightening still they glow ! 
 Answer me — speak — but no ! ah silent be. 
 
 Speak not — if thou must say he loves thee yet ! 
 
 Tonhridijc Wrl/s, Jime, 1827.
 
 84 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 The throbbing pulse that heaved thy breast 
 
 Has trembled since in mine; — 
 Tlie grief has on my S2)irit prest 
 
 That, heavy, weighed on thine ; — 
 My heart was calm when thine was wrung ;- 
 When clouds upon thy prospect hung 
 
 O'er mine was azure shine : 
 But pangs no more thy bosom thrill — 
 My heart is wrung, and thine is still ! 
 
 Yet while these pages traced by thee 
 
 Thy fervid feelings show, 
 While here thy thoughts like currents free 
 
 From gushing fountains flow; 
 I scarce can think that so much life. 
 Of hope and fear such restless strife 
 
 Could cold extinction know : 
 That quenched in dark funereal urn 
 'J'li' ethereal fire has ceased to burn.
 
 STAN /AS, 85 
 
 O'er visions briglit when hopes serene 
 
 Like vernal radiance played, — 
 When fear and doubt each future scene 
 
 In life long gloom arrayed ; — 
 Hadst thou but known thy shroud how nigh, — 
 How soon each fluttering pulse would lie 
 
 And rest beneath its shade- 
 Bliss had but faint emotion given. 
 Nor sorrow then thy heart had riven. 
 
 Wliat anguish wild, what fond desire 
 
 Alternate swayed thy mind, 
 In vain ! — Yet shall thy fate inspire 
 
 The calm thou didst not find. 
 I'll think how soon this troubled breast 
 Within the tomb, like thine, to rest 
 
 May tran([uil be resigned : 
 Till peace shall come, to death soft leading, 
 Like the hushed hour night's silence deep preceding.
 
 86 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Quel caro, dolce, vago, e onesto sguardo."'— Petrarca. 
 
 That lovely look with pure affection fraught, 
 " Gaze while thou mayst behold me" seemed to say, 
 " For when thy steps which hence reluctant stray, 
 
 Again return, I shall in vain be sought." 
 
 Swifter than Leopard's spring why then was thouglit 
 So slow impending evil to pourtray, 
 While o'er her features, the prophetic ray 
 
 That showed my coming doom, sweet sadness brought. 
 
 Silently beaming with expression new, 
 
 Then understood not, but remembered now 
 
 And still recalled with anguish and with tears. 
 Her eyes thus said " friend beloved and true ! 
 
 The silver cord is loosed — I go — while thou 
 Lonely must linger in the vale of years." 
 
 February, 182(>.
 
 87 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 When at the midnight hour I speak 
 
 Tliy welcome home, with playful smile, 
 If bloom be biighteuing o'er my cheek, 
 
 And gladness light mine eyes the while, 
 Thou'rt pleased, nor dost thou seek to know 
 
 If festive hours with otliers spent, 
 Have kindled on my cheek the glow. 
 
 And lustre to mine eyes have lent. 
 
 But when my vigil lone I keep. 
 
 And through the hours that linger drear, 
 While reigns around me tranquil sleep 
 
 Intensely watch thy steps to hear, 
 Till wayward doubt and 'wildering fear 
 
 A veil of gloom have o'er me wove, 
 Then dost thou chide the falling tear. 
 
 And say that sadness is not love.
 
 88 STANZAS. 
 
 Yet others may have lit the bloom 
 
 And waked the smile thou'it pleased to see- 
 But thou alone canst spread the gloom, 
 
 And falls each anxious tear for thee ! 
 Unkind ! thy steps no more delay — 
 
 But quiet to my breast restore — 
 Think if I love thee much when gay, 
 
 When I am sad I love thee more. 
 
 October I6th, 1826.
 
 89 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Care dell' alma stanca albergatrice."— Maggi 
 
 Dear to the wearied spirit balmy air! 
 
 Fountains and forest, hills and verdant glade ! 
 
 Where e'en the gi-iefs of harshest semblance fade, 
 And viewed afar a softened aspect wear — 
 Here as to sheltered haven I repair, 
 
 Nor fear again the wreck by tempest made — 
 
 O sweet to find within your friendly shade 
 That peace the wise in heart seek only there ! 
 Here Poverty and Innocence allied. 
 
 Trace out the path that leads to placid rest, 
 And yields through all its course a gladdening cluirm- 
 
 And while retiring storms remote subside 
 Life of its blandishments I here divest, 
 
 And death of all its terrors I disann. 
 
 August 28th, 1827.
 
 90 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 August 3rd, 1830. 
 
 Though lovely glooms of Summer Eve enfold 
 
 In puq^le softness all the distant scene, 
 
 The tufted columns of the grove between, 
 Like floods of sun-set colouring I behold 
 The corn-field's floating waves of ruddy gold 
 
 Bright mid the shadowy hues of darkening green. 
 
 Star-like amid the sprays, with quivering sheen 
 Sparkles the moon, till in the heavens uproUed, 
 Her steady splendour fills the cloudless blue. 
 
 Sighs o'er the tremulous leaves tlie balmy wind, 
 Frajrrant from bowers where luscious woodbine wreathes : 
 
 Hail hour of peace ! thy spirit, like the dew 
 Silently shedding freshness, o'er my mind 
 
 Its own beatitude of stillness breathes. 
 
 Bnck/and.
 
 91 
 
 SONN ET. 
 
 October 2nd, 1830. 
 
 Three lustres o'er our path have noiseless flown, 
 On pinions niany-hued, since, at the shrine, 
 Ardent in youth, thy faith was pledged to mine ; — 
 
 Yet not thy love and truth were then so known, 
 
 Tliough on thy brow and in thine eyes they shone, 
 As now, when like the Summer's pale decline. 
 My fading years each blooming grace resign, 
 
 And sliades, advancing dim, arc o'er them thrown. 
 
 Thy love unvarying, like the orb wliose rays, 
 
 Through changing seasons still imchanged alone, 
 
 Beneficent, with fostering influence shine, 
 Brightness serene diffuses o'er my days. 
 
 Oft by the fault of others, or my own, 
 
 My tears have flowed, but never yet by thine ! 
 
 Bnchland.
 
 92 
 
 PISCATORY ECLOGUE, 
 
 FROM CAMOENS. 
 
 When his light bark beyond the billow's reach 
 
 Palemon had secured ; with busy care 
 
 WTiile Lycou and Alcaon on the beach 
 
 Coil the dark cords, and to the sunny air 
 
 Their nets unfold ; — He, gazing from the steep 
 
 Whose rooky base repels the baffled deep, 
 
 Thus calls on Galatea. " Leave" he cries, 
 
 The liquid chrystal, and while round thee waves 
 
 Thy veil of golden tresses, beauteous rise. 
 
 Fairer than the white foam thy form that laves. 
 
 The purple that within the murex lies, 
 
 The polished shells whose varying colours shine 
 
 Like clouds reflecting bright the morning skies, — 
 
 The song of syrens, o'er the level brine 
 
 When floats my bark wafted by Evening's sighs, 
 
 Though beautiful and sweet their charm resign, 
 
 Thy voice when heard, when seen thy careless eyes.
 
 ECLOGUK. 93 
 
 The genial hours to snare the finny prey 
 
 By thee pass unregarded. Lo ! the bay 
 
 Is silent— cahnness hovers o'er the sea ; 
 
 Cool breathes the zephyr from this rock and curls 
 
 The glittering surface. Come! and I for thee 
 
 More lonely shores will roam, where hidden pearls 
 
 In the brown oysters gleam like morning dew. 
 
 These will I give thee, and a wreath of shells, 
 
 Equal in shape, but differing in their hue. 
 
 Some like the tint that on the rose leaf dwells. 
 
 Others like Summer noon's unsullied blue : 
 
 Such as I've seen tlicc with thy candid hand. 
 
 Seek in the crimson weeds that fringe the tide, 
 
 While thy small foot prints marked the yellow sand. 
 
 Oh ! should'st thou spurn them in thy wayward pride, 
 
 Because I culled them ! — I of thee have thought 
 
 On moonlight seas, forgetting all beside, 
 
 Till sudden from my languid hold, the oar 
 
 The current has withdrawn : an<l when unfurled 
 
 My ready sail the freshening breeze has caught. 
 
 The helm neglecting, on the dangerous shore 
 
 I've seen it drift, unconscious. Wilt thou still 
 
 And ever, scorn a heart with love so fraught, 
 
 That without thee Nymph ! the spacious world 
 
 No joy could give — an energy of will 
 
 That dares all dangers brave at thy command'.'
 
 94 ECLOGUE. 
 
 Can manly beauty, can poetic skill 
 Please thee ? I yield to none throughout the land. 
 Can wealth ? this boat, and all these nets are mine. 
 My wealth, my form perchance, thou dost despise, 
 And deem'st me mad in naming them — ah ! ne'er 
 Ne'er let him think of love who would be wise ! 
 Wouldst thou some distant period but assign 
 For hope, O thou! than jasmine flowers more fair- 
 Lovelier than Morn with her dishevelled hair 
 In sunny ringlets falling — I could steer 
 Over the swelling surge and stormy main, 
 Serene as he who to the vernal beam 
 Turns with unerring plough the level plain. 
 Ah frantic youth ! while thus I fondly dream. 
 And to deaf winds and reckless waves complain, 
 Those rise unheeded — these unnoticed flow — 
 See ! how by both ray bark — my nets are tost ! 
 Alas ! shall I yet strive to save them ? No ! 
 Lost let them be, since I myself am lost ! 
 
 Buckland, October 9th, 1830.
 
 y:) 
 
 SONNET. 
 Cktobifr Ibth, 1830. 
 
 'Tis mom, and from tlic garden's terraced lieight 
 Strewn with the yellow leaf, where yet the rose 
 Through veil of gleaming dew-drops lovelier blows, 
 
 And waving to the breeze, in crimson light 
 
 Like halo o'er its flowing tresses bright, 
 Graceful as orient palm the Sumach glows, 
 How beautiful the valley's grey repose ! 
 
 And, mid the golden-tufted woodlands, white 
 
 The folds of fleecy mist, in the slant ray 
 Kindled, then melting ! On tlie gentle air 
 
 A lingering fragrance shed from Summer's wing 
 Wakens sweet memories of life's vernal day, 
 
 Now past, with all its hopes and visions fair. 
 Like the fresh blooms of the departed Spring. 
 
 Buckland.
 
 96 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 October 21s/, 1830. 
 
 In cloudless splendour sinks the orb of day 
 Veiled in a tremulous haze of amber bri}>ht, 
 And flushing all the groves with rosy light, 
 
 Whose lustre mingles with the yellow ray 
 
 That tints the leaf : the silent hills display 
 Afar their purple bloom, and glances white 
 
 The gliding sail, where, by the tufted height 
 
 Or verdant plain the river winds away. 
 The hue of heaven, and all the woodland dyes 
 Reflecting. Near its wave yon mouldering Tower, 
 
 And battlement enwreathed with ivy, rise 
 Like nameless sepulchre of humbled power : 
 
 Its record even effiaced by the clear skies 
 That shed the beauty of this peaceful hour. 
 
 Buck/ and.
 
 97 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 October l^ih, 1830. 
 
 Not the first smile of Spring in azure skies, 
 His glory pure of blooms, his leaflets green 
 Their folds unfurling in the dewy sheen. 
 
 Or music of his voice — so charm mine eyes 
 
 Or touch my spirit, as the low breathed sighs 
 Of fading groves, when o'er the silent scene 
 A golden splendour from the heavens serene 
 
 Kiudles their flush of beauty ere it dies. 
 
 * Spring's glad return is like the welcome voice 
 Of friend beloved, dearer for absence past : 
 
 In Autumn's parting brightness we rejoice 
 As when the friend who leaves us, lingers yet ;- 
 
 Each yielded hour is prized as if the last. 
 And all our pleasure hallowed by regret. 
 
 Buchland. 
 
 * " On revolt les beaux jours," hc.—VAbbi rie Lille. 
 H
 
 98 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Negli anni acerbi tuoi purpurea rosa." — Tasso. 
 
 Thou in the blossom of tby years wert seen 
 Like the unfokliug hud of venneil rose, 
 That to the tepid rays will scarce disclose 
 
 Her virgin hlush, veiled in her leaflets green. 
 
 Or rather, for nought earthly hath thy mien, 
 Thou wert Aurora when the mountain glows 
 With kindled gold before her, and she sows 
 
 The plain with pearls, — lucid in sky serene. 
 
 Faded thy spring, thy graces are not less, 
 Nor youthful beauty though in rich array 
 
 Equals thy self-neglected loveliness : 
 
 So when its fragrant leaves unfold, the flower 
 
 Is sweetest, and more splendour at noon day 
 Streams from the sun than at the matin hour. 
 
 January \?ith, 1831.
 
 99 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Formosa nuiiihaaclarae deleitosa." — Camoens. 
 
 Beautiful Morn, deli,s>hltul, pure and lUir '. 
 
 Fresh as the rose amid its foliage green 
 Thou comest, and with loosely flowing hair 
 
 Following thee o'er the hills the Nymphs are seen 
 The night gloom flies before thee— thou hast made 
 
 The thicket beautiful, and the clear fountain— 
 And beautiful the rock, and green-wood shade. 
 
 And beautiful the vale and lofty niount;iin, 
 By thy clear brow, with golden tresses briglit, 
 Thy blush, and azure eyes of " dewy light." 
 By thee awakened, on th' impurpled air 
 
 From joyous birds sweet strains of music rise, 
 While for the callow young with tender care 
 
 They seek the food that the loved nest supplies. 
 Nature's varied goodness ! how her power 
 With stiungely subtile painting, in one hour 
 Enamels with a thousand colours bright 
 The skies, the vales, the flowers, the meads and rocky 
 height !
 
 100 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Fair morn! whose beauty shows 
 Fresh as the opening rose, 
 
 Wlien o'er her leaves the sparkling dews are shed- 
 Lo ! from thine eyes of light, 
 Thy amber tresses bright. 
 
 And vivid bloom the shades of night are fled ! 
 
 The mountain's lofty head, 
 The tufted hillocks green, 
 The balmy air serene. 
 
 The shadowy grove, the gushing spring. 
 
 The birds that sweet among the branches sing, 
 Their glowing hue receive from thee, 
 Their fresh and fragrant scents, their glad amenity. 
 
 O Nature's subtile power ! 
 That in one little hour 
 
 Can thus a thousand different tints display —
 
 STANZAS. 101 
 
 And wake on every side 
 In all their youthful pride 
 
 The buds and leaves, that to the vernal day 
 
 Unfold their rich array. 
 Fair is the cistus flower 
 In beauty of an hour, 
 
 And hyacinths of purple bloom 
 
 Yield to the dewy air their sweet perfume. 
 The odorous musk flower here uncloses, 
 And candid lilies blow, and vcnneil blushing roses.
 
 102 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Che alegie campo <• piaia delcifosa."— Camoens. 
 
 Delicious is this meadow's cheerful green 
 
 And the clear river's margin ! through the leaves 
 What tender pensive light the grove receives 
 From the angelic beauty and serene 
 Of the soft Evening : — gradually subside 
 
 The noon day ardours while the cool breeze sighs - 
 In the deep stream the fishes sportive glide, 
 
 And green and gold enamel tints the skies. 
 Bruising the delicate flowerets of the meed 
 The fleecy flocks follow the shepherd's reed:— 
 Each shepherd as he goes, singing the praise 
 Of her he loves,— her modest aspect ftiir — 
 Her eyes— her tresses bright its golden rays :— 
 And sighs, exhaled in vain, arc lost in air.
 
 103 
 
 SONNET. 
 ON READING " LE MIE PRIGIONE." 
 
 As when Assyria's King in festive hall 
 
 Bade the dark splendour of the flowing wine 
 Sparkle from cups of gold — the law divine 
 
 Scorning — a hand, in silence, on the wall 
 
 Wrote of the empire rent, the Despot's fall, 
 Silvio ! thy words, a portent and a sign. 
 Shall guilt more foul than from the plundered shrine 
 
 The consecrated vessels hore, appal. 
 
 Thy dungeon's gloom a ray of heavenly fire 
 
 Brightening, reveals such deeds of impious Power 
 
 As will not long be borne ; — and who can view 
 Youth, Genius, Virtue in its grasp expire, 
 
 Nor wait with patience stem its final hour 
 
 * Saying " How long O Lord ! Holy and true !" 
 
 * And 1 saw under the altar the souls of tliem that were slain, and tliry 
 cried with a loud voice saying, "How long, O Lord .' holy and true, dost 
 thou not judfic and avenge our blood .'" — Rkv. chap. vi.
 
 CHARON AND MERCURY, 
 
 FKOM 
 
 LUCIAN'S DIALOGUES.
 
 107 
 
 CHARON AND MERCURY. 
 
 Ti yeXdf w Xupwi' ; rj ti to TropOniiov u7ro\i7r<i)i' devpo 
 
 LUCIAN 
 
 DIALOGUE. 
 
 " What in the world h;is brought you hither Charon ! 
 
 And what are you thus hiughing at, I pray?" 
 " Hennas — I wished to see how mortals fare on 
 
 This earth, and what they lose when called away. 
 l'"or sad and lachiyniose we ever find thcni 
 As if some mighty good were left behind them. 
 
 So business for a day aside I've set, 
 
 By Pluto's leave, and hither come for pleasure — 
 And you, since thus so luckily we've met 
 
 Will shew me every thing." " I'm not at leisure 
 (.Hiaron, lor Jove has on an errand sent me — 
 He's soon provoked, and I should quick rc])cnt mc
 
 108 DIALOGUE. 
 
 If dancing after you I kept Him waiting : 
 He'd give me such a fall, as soon as not, 
 
 As He gave Vulcan, who from being straight in 
 Body and limbs, now such a twist has got. 
 
 That when among the Gods, their nectar quaffing, 
 
 He limps about, they almost die with laughing." 
 
 " And would you let me wander undirected 
 Comrade and fellow seaman — Maia's son ! 
 
 Methinks 'twere not amiss that you reflected 
 How on the passage all the work I've done — 
 
 Nor bid you pump the hold — nor pull the oar, 
 
 But suffered you on deck outstretched to snore, 
 
 Broad shouldered as you are — or let you clack 
 With any of the dead disposed to chatter — 
 
 And now, when you might pay my kindness back 
 Wont you oblige me in this little matter ? 
 
 Do ! for by night as others grope and fumble 
 
 In this full day light should I trip and stumble." 
 
 " Well, if I must, I must — tho' I surmise 
 
 I sha'nt conclude th' a flair with unrapped knuckles; 
 
 Yet when a friend intreats, I should despise 
 
 Him who at sight or thought of danger truckles. 
 
 You can't see every thing, so make selection 
 
 Of what vou think most worthy of inspection."
 
 DIALOGUE. 109 
 
 " Hermes, you know wlion in an adverse jyale 
 Our vessel labours, and the waves run liij?li. 
 
 And you now bid me veer, now furl the sail 
 Now drive before the wind — that in reply, 
 
 Knowing alike your is^norance and my skill, 
 
 I l)id you just be silent and sit still ; 
 
 So now, out of my element, to you 
 
 The helm I jield, and by you take my station." 
 " That's right — the first thing then we have to do 
 
 Is to find out a proper elevation. 
 Will Caucasus best suit us ? or Parnassus — 
 Or else Olympus, that the two surpasses 
 
 In height — and apropos, I've recollected 
 That Homer tells us, Otus and his brother 
 
 \\nien to scale heaven a ladder they projected. 
 Piled Ossa and Oljanpus on each other 
 
 And Pelion on them both. — They for their daring 
 
 Received the just reward of impious bearing: 
 
 But since to speculate on earth, the term is 
 
 Of our intent, suppose we do the same ? 
 No harm we mean." " I've no objection Hennes, 
 
 But can we do it, being but two ?" " For shame ! 
 But two ? are we not Gods ? and do you see us 
 Less vigourous than the sons of Aloeus ?"
 
 110 DIALOGUE. 
 
 " No^ — but as to this tale, to lue there seems 
 Something extravagant and doubtful in it." 
 
 " Tis your dull unpoetic mind that deems 
 
 Great deeds untrue. Why Homer, in a minute 
 
 Piles you up mountains from their bases riven 
 
 And in a distich planes a path to heaven. 
 
 " Besides I wonder you should think this strange, 
 Knowing how Atlas bears upon his shoulder 
 
 The world — while once, to give him rest and. change 
 My brother Hercules was our upholder." 
 
 " Hermes, these things I've heard, but whether true 
 
 They are, the Poets know, and so do you." 
 
 " True ! why of falsehood learned men suspect ? 
 
 But let's to work. Here Ossa first upheaves— 
 And next, with Homer as our architect, 
 
 Heap on it Pelion with its rustling leaves. 
 I'll now step up to our observatory 
 To see if we shall want another story. 
 
 Hui ! Charon ! we have nothing done— at least 
 We're scarcely on the outskirts of tlic sky : 
 
 Lydia and Greece are dimly seen in the East, 
 Ausonia on the west and Sicily. 
 
 (Eta must cap Mount Pelion and its trees. 
 
 And then Parnassus (Eta." " As you please —
 
 DIALOGUE. I I 
 
 Only be careful not tx) elevate 
 
 To such tenuity your architecture 
 That down it come, and broken heads too late 
 
 Read us on Homer's plans, a bitter lecture." 
 " Courage — tis safe enough — move (Eta, now 
 Parnassus lift and place on CEta's brow." 
 
 I'll up again. Here's prospect without measure ! 
 
 Follow me." " Give a hand then — I can't whisk 
 Up such a steep as you do." " Well! your pleasure 
 
 You can't obtain without some little risk. 
 But take my hand and clamber on my traces, 
 And mind — dont step upon the slippery places. 
 
 Well done — now, as the hill is double-crested, 
 
 Each sit on one. Look round — what do you see ?" 
 
 " I see that from their base in vain we've wrested 
 CEta, Parnassus, and its Castaly." 
 
 " How so ? Is not the prospect boundless ?" " True — 
 
 But then tis nothing but a bird's eye view ; 
 
 And 'twas my wish just near enough to get 
 
 To mark men's actions and to hear them talking. 
 
 You asked why I was laughing when we met, 
 
 'Twas to see Chance their schemes of pleasure balking. 
 
 One — by a friend to sup, no doubt entreated, 
 
 ' Trust mo, I will not fail to come' repeated
 
 112 DIALOGUE. 
 
 Just as a tile, by some unseen causation, 
 Fell on his head, and killed him on the spot. 
 
 Shall we go down then, to a fitter station ?" 
 " No — sit you still — a remedy I've got — 
 
 A certain sentence from the lay of Ilium 
 
 Pronounced — you'll find a wonderful Collyrium." 
 
 " Say it." " As Pallas then addressed Tydides, 
 ' Lo earth-born mists that dimmed thy vision flee, 
 
 And in clear light both God and man descried is !' 
 
 " How's this"—" So soon ?" " the lynx is blind to me ! " 
 
 Now Hermes — answer my interrogations, 
 
 And if you like, I'll shew you by quotations 
 
 That also / of Homer something know." 
 
 " Wliat can you know of Homer — in your wherry 
 
 Labouring for ever at the oar." " Just so — 
 But when he died, I rowed him o'er the ferry — 
 
 His odes he sang while sitting in the skiff" 
 
 And some I recollect. The srale was stiff — 
 
 8' 
 
 And as he sang how Neptune storm-compelling, 
 Roused all the deeps, dun clouds condensing thick, 
 
 A fierce and sudden squall our canvas swelling 
 Almost upset the boat and made him .sick ; 
 
 When he threw up large portions of his Epics." 
 
 " True — somowliat you might save of such emetics."
 
 DIALOGUE. 11 -3 
 
 " Say — who is He whose figure so replete is 
 
 With vigour — in his height and shoulders broad 
 
 Surpassing all ?" " Tis Milo, the Atliletes, 
 
 Whom for this feat th' assemhled Greeks applaud, 
 
 A Bull uplifting on his neck he laid him, - 
 
 And half across the stadium thus conveyed him." 
 
 " My prowess worthier of applause in the list is, 
 Since MiMs self to bear I shant be slack, 
 
 Wlien Death, unconquerable Agonistes, 
 
 Has tripped him up and laid him on his back. 
 
 Now crowned with wreaths and stunned by aCdamations, 
 
 Think you Death enters in his contemplations ?" 
 
 " How sJwuld he tliink of Death in such an acme ?" 
 " Well — let him pass — soon in my boat he'll be 
 
 Powerless to grasp a Bull or e'en a drachrae. 
 But who is that majestic man I see ? 
 
 No Greek is he — for so his stole advises." 
 
 " Tis Cyrus, Charon — son of King Cambyscs : 
 
 Assyria, Persia, Media coalescing, 
 
 And Babylon submitting to his throne, 
 Lydia he'll next invade, that dispossessing 
 
 Crcesus, o'er Asia he may reign alone." 
 " And where is Croesus ?" " Where the triple guard is 
 Of walls around yon fortress. Tliat is Sardis. 
 
 I
 
 114 DIALOGUE. 
 
 And Croesus there, on golden couch reposing, 
 Addresses Solon — would you like to listen ?" 
 
 " Of all things." ' Lo, my pomp, my wealth disclosing, 
 My heaps of unwrought gold before thee glisten : 
 
 All having seen, tell me, Athenian guest. 
 
 What man, of all mankind, you deem most blest ?' 
 
 ' Few are the blest O King ! among the few, 
 
 Bito and Cleobis, by love allied. 
 And nature, who their Priestess mother drew 
 
 To Juno's Temple, and then, sleeping, died, — 
 Pious and young and pure, must first be reckoned.' 
 ' Well — be they, if you will — and who is second ?' 
 
 ' Tellus, a simple citizen. His days 
 
 Were virtuous. In his country's cause he fell.' 
 
 ' Does not my state then Outcast ! merit praise ? 
 Am not / blest ?' ' Croesus ! I cannot tell. 
 
 The race is doubtful till the goal is won 
 
 And Death proclaims the fortunate.' " Well done 
 
 " Solon ! Importance due to dw attaching 
 As Judge, without appeal, of human things. 
 
 But where go they whom Croesus is despatching ? 
 What do they carry ?" " Golden offerings. 
 
 To * Pythius sent for answers rendered lately — 
 
 The man's to oracles addicted greatly." 
 
 * Pythins — a name i)f Apiillo.
 
 DIALOGUE, 
 
 115 
 
 " Wliat ! is this gold ! half red, half palely gleaming— 
 
 Till now I never saw it in my life." 
 " Yes — this is gold — with ills unnumbered teeming— 
 
 For this, with envy, perfidy and strife 
 Avarice and guilt the heart of man is tainted." 
 " This ! that from brass scarce differs? I'm acquainted 
 
 With brass you know— in farthings I receive it 
 
 From those who cross the river." " Yes— but then 
 Brass is in more abundance, so they leave it 
 
 To toil for gold." " foolishness of men- 
 While easy joys around unvalued spring 
 To labour for this pale and heav7 thing !" 
 
 " Though CrcEsus, Charon, does not seem to relish 
 The words of Solon, soon will he recall them 
 
 When bound, and on the pyre about to perish. 
 Captured by Cyrus. All that shall befall them 
 
 Late in the book of Fate was Clotho reading. 
 
 And this I heard, with other things preceding, 
 
 That Crojsus shall by Cyrus be defeated. 
 And Cyrus fall beneath the Scythian brand. 
 
 She whom you see on the white war-horse seated 
 Is Tomyris, who with vindictive hand 
 
 Severing his head with taunting words shall show ii. 
 
 And in a pail of blood, ironic, throw it."
 
 116 DIALOGUE. 
 
 That youth, Cambyses, after him shall reign, 
 And foiled in all his plans, and having killed 
 
 Apis, th' Egyptian God, shall die insane." 
 
 " Who now would think those eyes with pride so filled 
 
 Shall he, and almost ere you draw your breath, 
 
 Tamed by captivity, and closed in death ?" 
 
 " And who is He adorned (' in sea-girt isle') 
 With purple robes by golden clasps connected, 
 
 And diadem — to whom his cook, the while 
 Presents a ring just from a fish dissected." 
 
 " Polycrates, the Samian King, who deems 
 
 Himself all fortunate, and such he seems ; 
 
 * But by his slave betrayed unto Oroetes, 
 Soon shall he perish, fallen from an estate 
 
 Which now ' full-orbed in all its rays complete is.' 
 This too I heard from Clotho." " Well done Fate ! 
 
 Lift them that they may lower fall, and then 
 
 By death and sufferings teach them they are men." 
 
 * Polycrates was so fortunate in every tliiiif; that his friend Amasis 
 King of Egypt, advised him to inflict some loss on himself lest the Gods 
 should do it. He tlirew into tlie sea a precious ring, and soon after, his 
 <;ook having presented liiiu with a fish of great magnitude, the ring was 
 found in it.
 
 DIALOGUE. 11' 
 
 But what a busy throng of men I see ! 
 
 Their cities are like hives, like bees they labour ; 
 ■Wliile some like drones, upon the industry 
 
 Of others live, and rob their weaker neighbour. 
 But what are all tliose shapes that dim appear 
 Hovering in air above them ?" " Hope and fear. 
 
 Folly and avarice, envy, hatred, pleasure — 
 These all descend aud sojourn with mankind; 
 
 But fear, still hovering, threatens every treasure. 
 And Hope, when to alight she seems inclined, 
 
 Sudden flies off and leaves her votary gaping 
 
 Like Tantalus, when he sees the wave escaping. 
 
 Look up intent, and you'll descry o'er all 
 The Fates on distaffs spinning, and a thread 
 
 Fine as the spider's from each spindle fall 
 On every man." " Yes, like a filmy web 
 
 I see them on each mortal head descending, 
 
 Each crossing each and with another blending." 
 
 " Just so. This man, whose thread is intersected 
 By that man's, by his hand shall die, and where 
 
 The sti'onger with a slenderer line connected 
 You see, that man shall be the other's heir : 
 
 .Vnd so on with the rest whose threads are blended — 
 
 But all are, as you see, alike suspended.
 
 118 DIALOGUE. 
 
 Some high exalted, make the earth resound 
 When the thread severs, by their heavy fall ; 
 
 While others, scarcely lifted from the ground, 
 Noiseless descend, and unobserved by all. 
 
 E'en by their nearest neighbours." " Truly Hermes 
 
 These things are laughable." " What you affirm is 
 
 Short of what you would say, if you but knew 
 How recklessly they waste the present day, 
 
 And eagerly some distant aim pursue 
 
 Till messengers from Death obstruct their way. 
 
 Then, scared and startled, abject lamentations 
 
 Mourn their past good and baffled expectations : 
 
 Whereas, would they but foster the reflection 
 Tliat all they now possess they soon must leave, 
 
 Tlieir course they'd shape with wiser circumspection 
 And when they go, would less ignobly grieve." 
 
 " Well Hermes, much I've seen, but nothing yet 
 
 Worthy when they depart, to wake regret." 
 
 " Then for their kings, though splendid in their station, 
 What with tlic perils that besiege their feet 
 
 From envy, hatred, war, and adulation. 
 Their life has more of bitter than of sweet. 
 
 The c(»inmon ills to which mankind is heir 
 
 Sickness and pain, they too in common share."
 
 DIALOGUE. Ili) 
 
 " Hermes, have you not seen the bubbles shining 
 From gusliing fountain down its rapid stream, 
 
 Some sinking soon as fonned, and some combining 
 An ampler circle and a brighter gleam 
 
 A moment longer on the surface tremble, 
 
 Then sink ? These bubbles mortal man resemble. 
 
 And yet to see how madly they contend 
 For power, distinction and their golden ore ! 
 
 When soon to us they naked must descend, 
 A farthing in their hand of all their store. 
 
 Sup])ose (this mount is a convenient place) 
 
 I thus should call to them ' O human race 
 
 ' Cease from your labour vain, your idle strife ! 
 
 Let thought of death your passions fierce restrain. 
 The pomp and splendours of your earthly life 
 
 All perish with it — profitless and vain !' 
 " If this, or something like it, I should hollow. 
 Would they not, think you — better objects follow ?" 
 
 " Not if you call until you burst, for this is 
 A harder task than you expect, you'd find them 
 
 Deafer than the companions of Ulysises 
 When, having seized their ears, with wax he lined them. 
 
 Error and Pride for them the work have done 
 
 And made them deaf a.s Death. Yet there arc some
 
 120 DIALOGUE. 
 
 Whose ears to Truth attend, whose eyes on all 
 Looking with a perception clear and steady, 
 
 See what things are." " To those then shall I call ?" 
 " Why should you tell them what they know already ? 
 
 Apart they walk, from fools and knaves divided, 
 
 By these detested, and by tliose derided." 
 
 " Now ere we go, shew me their cities grand, 
 
 Nineveh, Ilium, Babylon, Mycene — 
 Once, for ten years, the boat I could not land 
 
 Or snatch an hour for mending it, between the 
 Continual shoals of dead that from them came." 
 " Nineveh, Charon, now is but a name. 
 
 Utterly perished, e'en from its foundations — 
 
 And of proud Babylon the turrets strong 
 And massive walls, shall be by other nations 
 
 Like Nineveh explored in dust, ere long. 
 Troy and her streams I blush to shew. Tis queer 
 But cities die like men, and rivers disappear." 
 
 " But while we speak, who are those warriors fighting i"' 
 
 " Argives and Lacedaemones, and He 
 Who victory on his shield in blood is writing 
 
 * The chief Othryades. The field you see 
 
 * riic Argives and Spartans having (luarrcllctl about soini; land, tlio 
 Am|ihictynnps derrced that the dispute should be decided by a combat 
 between ;illO on eacli side. Two ol the Ai gives alone surviving, nporled
 
 121 
 
 DIALOGUE. 
 
 In which tlicy stand, ihcir mortal wounds receiving, 
 The cause of war." " O folly past believing ! 
 
 Since could each win the whole Peloponnesus 
 Scarcely a foot of ground shall he obtain 
 
 From Eacus, sole granter of long leases; 
 
 While other hands subvert this Trophy vain, 
 
 With shining share the frequent furrow tracing. 
 
 And every vestige where it stood, effacing." 
 
 " So is it Charon. But we now with speed 
 Must roll the mountJiins back to their position, 
 
 And each about his business then proceed, 
 You to your boat, and I upon my mission. 
 
 I'll soon be back and join you at the ferry 
 
 And bring a troop of dead to fill your wherry." 
 
 " Hermes I thank you much. From you I hold 
 The knowledge I've obtained of human things. 
 
 And what a business tis ! offerings of gold. 
 Payments for Oracles, contentions, Kings ! 
 
 And thus absorbed in idle cares they fare on 
 
 Through life to death— and not a word of Charon ! 
 
 tliat they had conquered. When the field was deserted, Othryades, the 
 Spartan chief, having written with his hlood this inscription on his shield, 
 "To Jove, tlie guardian of Trophies" propped it on the lances of the slain 
 and expired. On this the Amphictyones decided the cause in favour of 
 the Lacedsemones.
 
 PASSAGES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 ANIMALl PARLANXr 
 
 OF CASTI.
 
 12.5 
 
 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 " L' anarcbia degli umor' nel corpo umano." — Casti. 
 
 An anarchy of humours in the frame 
 A mortal ailment should avoided be as ; 
 
 And him phrenetic and insane we name 
 Who suffers anarchy in his ideas. 
 
 On ocean's pUiin opposing winds contending, 
 
 Produce an anarchy in shipwreck ending. 
 
 Anarchy is, in short, of all excesses, 
 Of all calamities, germ diabolical ; 
 
 And orthodox antiquity expresses 
 
 — A shrewd hypothesis — belief catholical 
 
 That hell itself, the hot-bed of all evils, 
 
 Is nothing but an anarchy of devils. 
 
 List to Aristocrats — Uiey say democracy 
 Of Anarchy is but the younger brother ; 
 
 While democrats assert that Aristocracy 
 Is eldest born of Oligarchy's mother; 
 
 And that they neither rhyme nor reason see 
 
 In slighting thousands to aggrandise three.
 
 126 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 Mixed governments are all hermaphroditical, 
 Something amphibious, between this and that ; 
 
 A false amalgama, a pie political 
 
 Of warring sauces — sour, sweet, pungent, flat ; 
 
 That wishing of extremes to make identity, 
 
 By their own principles destroy their entity. 
 
 In all republican assemblies, though 
 
 Both Solons and Lycurguses should throng them, 
 Discord her firebrand tossing to and fro, 
 
 Kindles up envy, hatred, strife among them. 
 Subjects are torn or threadbare worn in wrangling, 
 But nothing good concluded by their jangling. 
 
 With aims antipodal for ever teeming, 
 Each pulling in an opposite direction. 
 
 The interest or the malice of the scheming 
 Or eloquent, o'er justice and reflection 
 
 Prevails: — so truly says some book anonymous, 
 
 Disorder and republic are synonymous. 
 
 Authority divided among heads 
 
 Or of plebeian or patrician species, 
 Is like electric fluid when it spreads 
 
 Over a space of ample superficies : 
 The strength of both consisting in their density, 
 Expansion is dilution of intensity.
 
 ANIMALl PARLANTI. 127 
 
 But when the flame electrical amavSses 
 
 Its scattered rays, a tluinder-bolt you find it ; — 
 
 It winffs the storm with terror as it passes, 
 And ruin and amazement leaves behind it : 
 
 So, when the government to (me is yielded, 
 
 With promptitude and vigour is it wielded. 
 
 A sovereign speaks — 'tis as a god had spoken — 
 
 All listen, all obey, and all are still ; 
 Nor dare they breathe or look the slightest token 
 
 Of will, dissentient from the sovereign's will, 
 That seems to be partaker of supernal 
 Authority, like Nature's laws eternal. 
 
 In monarchies a balmy air is breathed, 
 
 The genuine atmosphere of health and pleasure ; 
 
 Corn ripens, vineyards blush, and swords are sheathed ; 
 The cup of joy is sipped in tranquil leisure : 
 
 Privileged race, by heaven are kings protected, 
 
 By special grace each thought, word, deed directed. 
 
 There's something in monarchical condition 
 Aduring, and absorbent, and dissolving; 
 
 Into its proper splendour, like ignition, 
 All vulgar incongruities resolving : 
 
 As water, salt, or sugar, itself residual 
 
 Absorbs, the king absorbs the individual.
 
 128 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 Exempli gratia — place upon the throne 
 
 Some common man, and though the veriest ass he is, 
 No sooner is his change of station known 
 
 Than wit and wisdom follow the metastasis. 
 He judges, plans, directs — at once oraculous 
 His very words become — 'tis just miraculous. 
 
 Nay more — the whim incites, he makes me minister 
 And though I too, be ignorant as a beast, 
 
 I rule the realm from dexter unto sinister. 
 My wisdom famed like Solomon's of the East. 
 
 I'm stamped, like metal issued from the mint. 
 
 To any value by my sovereign's print. 
 
 Therefore, with reason, are those men of learning, 
 Whose lucky stars have placed them near a king, 
 
 Out of their wits transported, still discerning 
 In heads within the diadem's charmed ring, 
 
 Treasures of thought profound, and " ricli and rare,"* 
 
 And " wondering how the devil tliey got tliere." 
 
 PreUy 1 in amber to observe the fonns 
 Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms ; 
 The things, we know are neither rich nor rare, 
 IJut wonder how the devil tliey got there. — Popr.
 
 129 
 
 THE LION PROPOSED AS DESPOTIC 
 KING, BY THE DOG. 
 
 The Dog a rostrum eminent ascended, 
 
 And bold, beyond the orators of yore, 
 Roman or Greek, despotic rule commended ; 
 
 Showing, that sure as two and two make four, 
 Despotic rule was best, as most emphatic — 
 And all he said enforced by eloquence dogmatic. 
 
 " If kings," he said, " have but the epidermis 
 
 " Of royalty, they are not kings in fact ; 
 " Authority, although of aspect firm, is 
 
 " Ridiculous if impotent in act : 
 "And if by laws you would your king enthral, 
 " Better at once to have no king at all. 
 
 " To talk of binding kings by law, a farce is — 
 
 " Are laws observed even by those who make them ? 
 
 " Are they not cobwebs called by Anacharsis, 
 
 " Taking small flies, while all the strong ones break them ? 
 
 " And kings, with laws like fettei-s, if you lade them, 
 
 "Will either burst, or, Proteus-like, evade them. 
 
 K
 
 130 ANIMALI PAKLANTl. 
 
 " To rule despotic, add hereditary ; — 
 
 " The first without the last were not endurable ; 
 
 " Nor fret your minds with fears unnecessary 
 " Of chains, and thence servility incurable : 
 
 " Folly to cant of chains ! for who would bear them 
 
 " Unless, though strange the taste, they liked to wear them ? 
 
 " In power hereditary — 'tis admitted — 
 
 " All requisites for rule, from sire to son 
 " Are through the veins with royal blood transmitted, 
 
 " As rain from pipe to pipe will onward run : 
 " Nor waste one precious drop, expeiience well knows, 
 " The royal pipes, tho' worn and out at elbows. 
 
 " Despotic rule hereditary, ours — 
 
 " We're spared the trouble of investigation 
 
 " As to the moral worth and mental powers 
 " Of candidates, — and e'en of education 
 
 " Th' expense is saved, for Nature's self takes care 
 
 "To furnish cap-a-pie the sceptre's heir." 
 
 Then for such fitness for the crown, he lauded 
 
 The Lion, as but very few arrive at ; 
 All that he said, and thought and did, applauded, 
 
 By day and night, in })ublic and iu private ; 
 Harmonious termed his roar, his teeth benign, 
 Clement his claws, and his gall saccharine.
 
 ANIMALI PARLAN'ii. 131 
 
 He U) this speech his fervent vows appended, 
 That from the frozen poles to the equator 
 
 The Lion's family might be extended, 
 And never fail in king or legislator, 
 
 But that successive centuries might see it 
 
 In splendour undiminished. And so he it.
 
 132 
 
 THE LION ELECTED. 
 
 With empire by the common suffrage gifted, 
 The Lion shook himself, in act to speak ; 
 
 The animals stood round with ears uplifted, 
 Shivering with eagerness, and jowl by cheek: 
 
 'Twas thus th' Achaeans, — round their shrine assembled,- 
 
 The voice expected when the tripod trembled. 
 
 The monarch then so felt himself inflated. 
 
 By an expansion regal and intestine, 
 His conscious pronouns knew it, and dilated 
 
 To plural from the singular, for best in 
 That number his conceptions vast found fuel. 
 As though himself from single were made dual. 
 
 " An4l since," he said, " 'mong noble beasts so many, 
 " Whose claims assert themselves in bright collision, 
 
 " In us you think you have discovered any 
 "Pre-eminent, we yield to your decision; 
 
 " And though we dread the deep responsibility, 
 
 "We sacrifice our peace to your utility.
 
 ANIMALI I'ARLANTI. 133 
 
 " We pledge our royal word to look upon you, 
 " As holding- with our whelps the same relation ; 
 
 " And gladly shall we call for counsel on you, 
 " To aid us in all grave deliberation : 
 
 " Our anxious thoughts shall ever be directed 
 
 " To see the brutal happiness effected. 
 
 " You, in return, must yield a blind submission, 
 " Preceding even of our will th' expression, 
 
 " Knowing, that of it, in our late condition, 
 " We never overlooked the least transgression ; 
 
 " And if so seriously we took the thing 
 
 "As Lion, think yc how we should as king !" 
 
 I, who have always heard the same discourse 
 Ou days of state, perhaps had not believed it : 
 
 But they, who knew not 'twas a thing of course. 
 In frank simplicity of heart received it ; 
 
 And hoped, vvith such a master, to be able 
 
 To taste felicity unmixed and stable. 
 
 A strange phenomenon was then exhibited, 
 But of its truth, whate'er may say the critical, 
 
 All reasonable question is inhibited 
 
 By archives of the brutes pra;-adamitical, 
 
 Which plainly state the liict ; but when or how 
 
 Th' archives were found, I ueed not tell you now.
 
 134 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 ^V^lile heralds the new sovereign's style proclaim, 
 (It sounds apocryphal, hut ^tis historic,) 
 
 Straightway his fur, his whiskers, and his mane 
 Are lighted, but not singed, by flame phosphoric ; 
 
 Sparkle his burning eyes, their lustre showing 
 
 Like Leda's twins in midnight azure glowing. 
 
 So, when escaping from the conflagration 
 That buried in its ashes far-famed Troy, 
 
 ^ueas saw a soft illumination 
 
 Play lambent round the tresses of his boy. 
 
 The scintillating circlet, in th' opinion 
 
 Of Virgil, typified supreme dominion. 
 
 Where'er he treads, a flush of flowers spontaneous 
 Colours the sterile ground, and arid straw 
 
 Becomes again, by impulse consentaneous. 
 Green grass beneath his venerated paw. 
 
 Streams lick it as they gently murmur by, 
 
 " We too have kissed it," the soft breezes sigh. 
 
 If thus by favouring heaven, the regal power, 
 E'en in a brute, is himoured and attested. 
 
 What must it bo, when standing like a tower,* 
 With human dignity a king's invested! 
 
 n 
 
 * Stood like a tower.— Milton.
 
 ANIMALl rARLANTl. 
 
 135 
 
 And inortalis hence, so regal splendours l)lind them, 
 Worship them, even when on beasts they find them. 
 
 Let him his mouth but open, and you deem 
 The god of eloquence himself unlocked it ; 
 
 His very natural secretions seem 
 
 To be more regular and well concocted : 
 
 From all his pores a fragrant dew meanders, 
 
 As Curtius tells us did from Alexander's. 
 
 So redolent is he of food etiierial, 
 
 Nectareous and ambrosial scents exhaling, 
 
 He seems to have lapped from cup of Jove imperial. 
 The draught o'er mortal weaknesses prevailing. 
 
 So like the gods his mien and gestures make him. 
 
 That had theij claws and tiiils, for one of them you'd take 
 him. 
 
 Strange metamorphosis ! yet had th' election 
 
 Of the deliberative bestial college 
 Fallen on the Ass, the same refined correction 
 
 Of all his baser parts you would acknowledge, — 
 And, — though like sleight of hand it comes to pass, — 
 That majesty is awful in an Ass.
 
 136 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 And now the subject-animals come fast in, 
 
 To offer homage to the Lion king ; 
 Admiring much, how, since they saw him last in 
 
 His private rank, he's grown " more every thing :" 
 With meekness he attempers regal gravity. 
 And takes all hearts by Leonine sUavity. 
 
 But when from the assembled brutes he singles 
 The noblest, graciously his paw extending. 
 
 Delight with incredulity commingles. 
 
 Such condescension faith and hope transcending. 
 
 " The monarch gave his paw !" " His paw !" " You 
 see us 
 
 So honoured :" " Sure you jest ! credat Judajus !" 
 
 And etiquette demanding that the king 
 
 In terms adapted to their comprehension. 
 Should of the weather speak, or some such thing 
 
 Requiring neither effort nor attention; 
 " A lovely day," he slightly says, and they 
 Unanimously repeat, " A lovely day." 
 
 "Yet I can well believe," he adds, "you feel, 
 From the procession, through the heat excessive. 
 
 Somewhat fatigued." Forthwith a ready peal 
 
 " Somewhat fatigued" replies, and " heat oppressive :" 
 
 The monarch's words, da capo, closely leagued, 
 
 " Somewhat fatigued" repeat, " somewhat fatigued."
 
 AN IMA LI PARLANTI. 
 
 137 
 
 As from a concave vale, or grot profouiul, 
 In the calm silent night of summer weather, 
 
 Now words articulate, now murmured sound, 
 Echoes return, now mingle altogether ; 
 
 So from all sides reboimd the words " oppressive," 
 
 " Lovely," " heat," " somewhat," " day," " fatigued," 
 
 " excessive." 
 
 Then moving round with winning familiarity. 
 His countenance to all he rendered visible. 
 
 And nodding, becking, winking with hilarity. 
 His terrors laid aside, was only risible. 
 
 In days of yore those mimic kings with ease. 
 
 With toys so light could frivolous courtiers please. 
 
 But blessed be that modern innovation, 
 The march of intellect and common sense, 
 
 \Vliich leads the ruler now of every nation 
 By strictest justice favour to dispense ; 
 
 While courtiers even, learning wisdom by it. 
 
 Ask to be fed with more substautial diet. 
 
 But that original assembly Aulic 
 
 Refreshment from those royal drolleries drew 
 With open mouths, as shells by art hydraulic 
 
 Imbibe the briny wave or morning dew : 
 Seemed round the throne to rise an exhalation, 
 Steeping their senses in sweet delectation.
 
 138 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 Their love for their new sovereign has no measure ; 
 
 In tender tears it gushes from their lids ; 
 Nor can they now imagine greater pleasure 
 
 Than that of doing as their master bids ; 
 To whom, should they fur, skin, life, think of proffering, 
 Though thank them he might not, he'd take the offering. 
 
 Thenceforward in the palace what a bevy 
 Of beasts, upon a single beast attending ! 
 
 To make their court at coucher and at levee, 
 With looks and acts and words officious bending ! 
 
 As if a king could not perform a function 
 
 If other organs moved not in conjunction. 
 
 How many animals of proudest breeding, 
 Or in a corner stretched, or bolt upright, 
 
 Day after day, and month to month succeeding, 
 Yawned in the ante-room from morn to night ; 
 
 And by the air they breathed, as tainted noted, 
 
 With pride and ignorance and sloth were bloated. 
 
 I cannot tell what secret magic wrought 
 Their spirits bold and free to such docility. 
 
 That shunning daring deeds and noble thought, 
 They sought distinction only in servility : 
 
 Philosophy has studied long the question. 
 
 Yet finds it hard as ever of digestion.
 
 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 But cbymists prove, by process analytical, 
 That in all courts effluvia still are found 
 
 Potent with subtile particles mephitical. 
 To taint the pure and to corrupt the sound : 
 
 Nobility of Nature's gift debasing. 
 
 And e'en the memory of itself effacing. 
 
 139
 
 140 
 
 PAW - LICKING. 
 
 And now, the preparations being ended, 
 To lick the paw of the majestic creature, 
 
 The canopy is o'er his head extended— 
 The throne supports his " fundamental feature ;" 
 
 One paw, his glory pectoral keeps steady, 
 
 The other hangs in air, for licking ready. 
 
 The animals of diplomatic classes, 
 
 And every animal of noble race. 
 Each in his turn draws near, and ere he passes, 
 
 Over the pensile paw declines his face, 
 And bends with gentle cadence to the throne ; 
 Then loyally he licks, and passes on. 
 
 Paw-licking was the evidence ostensible 
 By which the quadrupedal race contrived 
 
 Their zeal and their allegiance to make sensible : 
 Whence kissing hands has been to us derived. 
 
 One from the other its prescription draws. 
 
 And kissing hands succeeds to licking paws.
 
 ANIMALl PARLANTl. 141 
 
 Birds express homage by their bills and beaks ; 
 
 By licking, homage bestial is made known ; 
 With man, a kiss the act of homage speaks ; 
 
 And with the mouth, by all, is homage shown. 
 Nor can the mightiest potentate exact 
 More than, of homage, the external act. 
 
 But homage in its essence, and consisting 
 Of gi'atitude, esteem, and love combined. 
 
 Deep in the heart and in the mind existing. 
 Is only paid to worth of heart and mind. 
 
 Meanwhile the exigence of state demands 
 
 The form of licking paws and kissing hands. 
 
 Of kissing hands, the form and e'en the mention 
 Was to Egyptians, Romans, Greeks unknown : 
 
 Of practice so magnanimous, th' invention 
 To modem Europe was reserved alone : 
 
 And of the globe three-fourths, and the isles of ocean 
 
 Of such refinement have not yet a notion. 
 
 The time may come when — what ? nought are to me 
 
 Dreams of astrology and divinations : 
 I only sing of what I touch or see. 
 
 Nor build my castles where I've no foundations. 
 Of past and present we may speak with verity. 
 So let us leave the future to posterity.
 
 142 
 
 DISTINCTION OF RANK. 
 
 Not long the Lion-monarch had presided, 
 
 Of absolute dominion at the helm, 
 Ere into separate classes he divided 
 
 The subjects of his quadrupedal realm ; 
 Classes still found in nations European — 
 The great, the small, the noble, the plebeian. 
 
 The noble class included the voracious, 
 
 The bold, carnivorous, and sanguinary, 
 Th' insatiable, ferocious, and rapacious : 
 
 And offices of state hereditary. 
 Prerogatives, exemptions, these alone 
 Possessed, with right of access to the throne. 
 
 From these the king his ministers selected 
 
 Courtiers and friends, and more to grace " the order," 
 (As senators in after times affected 
 
 To show their honours by a wider border,)* 
 He hung the necks of his most favoured vassals 
 With chains, and decked their tails with tufts and tassels. 
 
 * Laticlavia tunica.
 
 ANIMALI PAULANTI. 143 
 
 Thenceforward to obtain such decoration, 
 
 WLat efforts, strifes, intiigues, and circumventions, 
 
 Till e'en the safety of the state and nation, 
 The nobles peril in their fierce contentions! 
 
 \\liilc noufjht to fill their vast desires avails 
 
 But collars for the neck and tufts for tjiils. 
 
 Yet as the tut't — or neck with chain surrounded 
 Is a distinction, by the Sovereign granted, 
 
 To those who with the crowd might be confounded 
 If to obtain it, worth or sense were wanted ; 
 
 Wliat wonder, since to neither it has reference. 
 
 That they rate high their only claim to deference. 
 
 I'm oft perplexed, when on it I am pondering, 
 Why quadrupeds should arrogate nobility, 
 
 Higher than that of birds through ether wandering. 
 And upwards borne by native volatility; 
 
 Unless some proof of greatness they may view 
 
 In having four legs, while birds have but two. 
 
 'Twill not be called a fanciful hypothesis. 
 
 That in the legs nobility had residence. 
 Since even now in birth and in blood both it is 
 
 Thought to consist, and not on surer evidence : 
 We have but faith ; but thei/ had proof em])hatic — 
 I^cgs may be counted — birth is ])robIematic.
 
 144 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 And further, to support my proposition, 
 
 How strictly are the quarterings four regarded 
 
 By diligent heraldic inquisition, 
 
 Ere claim to pure uohility's awarded ! 
 
 Proof that nobility, as said before, 
 
 Descends from animals of quarters four. 
 
 All those who would some benefit obtain, 
 Or homage pay, fall prostrate at the feet 
 
 Of monarchs — and why so ? biit that 'tis plain, 
 That feet are of nobility the seat ; 
 
 Though these are not the parts, to say tlie least. 
 
 Most clean or polished, or in man or beast. 
 
 Nor will you as sophistical condemn a 
 
 Theory so acute, if but your eye 
 Turn to the other horn of the dilemma : 
 
 Nobility in legs and feet must lie, 
 Or man who kneels to man makes ostentation 
 Of meanness, past my powers of explanation. 
 
 The class ignoble in it comprehended 
 
 Thosie to whom nature usefulness assigned. 
 
 And gentle hearts, but left them undefended : 
 The nobles therefore thouglit them all designed 
 
 Tlieir prey legitimate ; as such they treat them, 
 
 And think thoy honour when thev deign to cat tliem.
 
 ANIMALl T'AllLANTI. 145 
 
 From this fine system the effects resulting 
 .Were, that equality no more was seen : 
 
 But baseness /<«-e, there arrctgancc insulting, 
 Nothing in halance, every thing extreme : 
 
 Pride supercilious — iawning smooth humility, 
 
 Patron and slave— exaction and servility.
 
 146 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE LION. 
 
 Oh, courts ! oh, courts ! what vapour so malignant 
 Floats in your precincts and infects the air, 
 
 That the most upright nature and benignant, 
 The soul most limpid and the mind most fail'. 
 
 By breathing it, become in little time 
 
 Oblique, impure, false, venal, and malign ! 
 
 Already simulated zeal insidious 
 
 Covered intentions fraudulent and base ; 
 
 And scorn, and restless jealousy invidious. 
 And calumny had learned with placid grace, 
 
 As in a veil their livid hues t' enfold. 
 
 And pass their copper-gilt for sterling gold. 
 
 Those, who their brethren of a low condition 
 Disdainful spurned, as of another race, 
 
 With awe ridiculous and vile submission, 
 
 As smiles or frowns passed o'er their master's face, 
 
 Rejoiced or shook, with sudden change elastic, 
 
 While Honour blushed to see such " tricks fantastic."
 
 ANIMALI PAULANl'I. N7 
 
 Tlic Lion too, endowed with some saf^acity 
 
 Ere he was vested with imperial di}>iiity, 
 Pereeptions new found in his new capacity, 
 
 Mistakinp: liaughtiness for magnanimity : 
 And in ephemeral meekness and ideal. 
 Enveloped pride both pennanent and real. 
 
 He fancied of his rank tlio elevation 
 
 His talents must have followed passu pari ; 
 
 That raised above his subjects by his station, 
 So was he by desert, and thought — vuiwary — 
 
 Such proof of merit in his pomp discovering, 
 
 That he was more than animal, as sovereign. 
 
 But 'twas not often he could so forget him.sclf ; 
 
 The memory of his private life would rise, 
 " Damping his brainless ardours," till ho set himself 
 
 To rights, saying, "Go to : I will be wise." 
 The consciousness of common nature keeping 
 Within those bounds, pride would be over-leaping. 
 
 Not such shall his successors be, who Uiuglit 
 
 To boast of royal blood and lineal sway. 
 Shall deem Prometheus for their race has wrought, 
 
 With brighter flame inspired, a purer clay : 
 And— of their arrogance th' extremest line— 
 Of Dei grati^i talk, and right divine.
 
 148 ANIMALI PARLANTI. 
 
 Wlio shall be able, should that time arrive, 
 Th' excesses, crimes and follies to make known 
 
 Of those who think that, Jove -like, they derive 
 Their power from innate privilege alone : 
 
 Who treat responsibility as fiction, 
 
 And kings exempt from mortal jurisdiction ? 
 
 "What fatal, what vertiginous ebriety 
 
 Blinds, with its whirl, the great ones of the land, 
 While scath and woe in every sad variety, 
 
 The servile herd submits to from their hand ! 
 Yet pity not, for Nature's just decree 
 None suffers to be slaves, who dare themselves be free. 
 
 But to our quadrupedal king again. — 
 
 Few faults were in his government detected ; 
 
 He was as just and sapient in the main, 
 As could be from a Lion-king expected : 
 
 Nor is wore looked for, reasonably at least. 
 
 Than Nature gives to monarch or to beast. 
 
 He won applause V>y manners bland and gracious. 
 Nor of his people's toil usurped the fruit : 
 
 Was not extravagant, unjust, rapacious, 
 
 Nor deemed his right to all things absolute : 
 
 In short, his commendation duo to give. 
 
 He lived himself, and let his subjects live.
 
 AXniALI PARLANTI. 149 
 
 And if lu; (lid not all the good he ini^ht do, 
 He did not all tlu' ill he could have done ; 
 
 And if you turn your thought and turn your sight to 
 All that has been and is heneath the sun, 
 
 You'll own that not ironic or satiric 
 
 These praises are, hut sinii)le panegyric. 
 
 And if it bo not praise by affirmation, 
 Yet that he was not false, vindictive, cruel, 
 
 Is surely praise by inference and negation : 
 And if true virtue he so rare a jewel, 
 
 Let each esteem himself to heaven a debtor. 
 
 When Lions are no worse— since they're no better.
 
 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 
 A TRUE STORY.
 
 153 
 
 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 About sixteen years ago I rented a cottage on the 
 southern coast of Cornwall. It stood on the slope of an 
 acclivity that bounded its view on the right : on the left 
 at a short distance, rose the hills and groves of Tregrehan, 
 and in front, a long valley was terminated ])y the lilue 
 and rolling horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. Notwithstand- 
 ing the proverbial barrenness of Cornwall, the scenery 
 here exhibited beauties not often possessed by more fertile 
 counties. The country in the neighbourhood of London 
 is cert;iinly beautiful, and cultivated into as much per- 
 fection as labour and science can produce ; — but when I 
 see the fences and hedges exact, shallow and trim, as 
 though they had been planned by the " cui bono race," 
 who grudge eveiy inch of unproductive ground and every 
 spray of unprofitable luxuriance, I think with regret of 
 the hedges of Cornwall, deep and wide enough to confound 
 witli astonishment a scientific agriculturist, umbrageous
 
 154 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 
 with elms and tangled with wild roses and honeysuckles, 
 while tinder the feathery fern and trailing ivy, the crocus, 
 violet and hyacinth form mosaic 
 
 " More coloured than with stoue 
 
 Of costliest emblem ;" 
 
 these wild beauties being in my eyes as superior to culti- 
 vated charms as was Eve in native loveliness 
 
 " her Unadorned golden tresses 
 
 Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved, 
 As the vine curls her tendrils," 
 
 to any equally beautiful woman of the present day, combed, 
 laced, and shaped into the most approved orthodoxy of 
 fashion. The landscaj)e of which I was speaking was 
 beautiful in Spring, in Summer, in Autumn, and, what 
 was better still, and more uncommon, beautiful in Winter. 
 When the leafy veil which covered it with universal green 
 was withdrawn, the smooth gray trunks of the ash and 
 l)cech and lime then displayed, — the red buds of the lime, 
 and the purple buds of the alders, the groves of burnished 
 ])ines, the crimson berries and glancing leaves of the holly, 
 which grew there in profusion, — and the golden wilds of 
 gorse blossoms fragrant as peaches, glowing amid heath- 
 bells and mosses, made me doubt whether its winter aspect 
 was not more attractive than its summer beauty. I always 
 " gave the apple" to the autumn of the year, and am now 
 quite of Mme. do S^vigne's opinion, that though the fresh
 
 CAiinr. s F 11 SI KVF.Ns. 1.55 
 
 iiud 'lolicate tint both of Sprinj;' and of youth arc ouiiiicnlly 
 (lelii>htfiil 1(1 h)(ik on, yot that, after all, " ricii (iiio <lu vert" 
 is " un ])fu lade" — whilst we 
 
 " Cujus octavum tiepidavit setas 
 t'laiulerc lustrum," 
 
 wc, in whom the maturing suns of summer have produced 
 tlie fertility and variety of Autumn, " nous avons cent 
 inille oouleurs, les unes plus belles que les autres." 
 
 Wishing- to convert a part of the field in which the 
 cottage stood, into a garden, I was recommended to employ 
 an old man in the neighbourhood, who united in his own 
 person the professions of gardener and methodist preacher. 
 I called at his house, and the profusion of laurels that 
 surrounded it with " firm and fragrant leaf" and odorifer- 
 ous spiry flowers, gave good omen of his success in 
 gardening. His handmaiden Honor, a tall and buxom 
 damsel, whose lool<s bespoke a frankness and integrity 
 that harmonised with her name, introduced me to her 
 master. The snows of nearly eighty years were on his 
 head, but his eye, voice, and step indicated health and 
 vigour. He undertook the formation of my garden, and, 
 under his auspices, the front of my cottage was soon 
 mantled with clematis, verbena, and myrtles, which, in 
 the genial clime of Cornwall, " defy the cheek of winter." 
 On one point we differed. I wished that the laburnum, 
 there appropriately called by the peasants "golden
 
 156 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 
 showers," should be accompanied by its usual attendant 
 the lilac ; but, in all its varieties, if 
 
 " White, or sanguine, or its head if set 
 With purple spikes pyramidal," 
 
 he despised and proscribed them all under the name of 
 "Prince's feather." Perhaps his renunciation of the pomps 
 and vanities of the world had inspired him with an associ- 
 ated repugnance to any of the flourish and gaiety of nature 
 tliat seemed to be allied to them, though but in name : — or 
 — but I will not speculate on an objection which may have 
 been as capricious and arbitrary, as was that of his damsel 
 Honor to the designation of a flower which she excused 
 herself from sending to me, on the plea that " it had a 
 ghaistly name — it was called bachelor's buttons." 
 
 I had heard that the life of Gardener Stevens had been 
 eventful, and asked him one day to favor me with a recital 
 of its incidents. After a few disclaiming speeches he laid 
 aside his implements of gardening, and thus began : — 
 
 " When I was about seventeen years of age, I lived as 
 servant with a clergyman in Devonshire. My master was 
 obliged by business to go to Loudon, and I accompanied 
 him. Some days after we arrived my master sent me on 
 an errand. I had never been in London before, and was 
 too young, and tuo ignorant to suspect evil, or to anticipate 
 danger. As I passed through the streets, wondering at 
 every thing I saw, I observed a man standing at a door.
 
 GARDENER STEVENS. 157 
 
 playing on the flute. I stopped to listen, and he invited 
 me to walk in that I might hear the music with less inter- 
 rnption. I accepted the invitation, and, the moment I 
 entered the house, was seized so violently and suddenly, 
 that surprise and consternation deprived me of all power 
 of resistance. My eyes were blindfolded, my arms bound 
 behind my back, and I was thrust into a cellar, which I 
 soon found contained many others blinded and pinioned 
 like myself. After the lapse of several hours, with our 
 eyes still covered and our arms confined, we were escorted 
 by soldiers to some port, and placed on board a ship which 
 weighed anchor immediately. By degrees I understood 
 that we had been kidnapped, and were destined for India. 
 I will not describe the successive feelings of desperation, 
 horror, and disgust, that attended this discovery, and the 
 association to which I was compelled during the voyage. 
 At length we reached India ; I became a soldier, and de- 
 termined to make the best of ray situation by diligently 
 fulfilling its duties. My regularity and sobriety were 
 soon distinguished by my superiors, and I was advanced 
 to the rank of Corporal. I was frequently sent into the 
 interior with small detachments of soldiers, to treat with 
 the natives, and my intercourse with them, united with 
 study during my leisure hours, enabled me to ob- 
 tain some proficiency in the difl'erent dialects of their 
 language. I now forget names and ])lacos, but shall
 
 158 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 
 never forget my deliglif, wlicn, in one of my excursions 
 seven years after I landed in India, I penetrated so far 
 into the interior, that, in the same day, for the first time 
 since I left England, I heard the voice of the Cuckoo, 
 and saw the seven stars. Neither the lapse of years, nor 
 the success which had attended my good conduct, had 
 ever reconciled me to the loss of home and kindred, and 
 of one whom I loved more than either, my fellow-servant 
 Mary. The voice of the Cuckoo and the sight of the 
 seven stars, now caused such renewed and eager yearnings 
 of heart towards home, that I laboured incessantly to 
 procure my discharge, and, at length, after serving for 
 eight years and seven months, I obtained it, and embarked 
 for England in a King's ship, in the character of school- 
 master to two little boys who were to be delivered to their 
 relatives in London. The ship was bound for Portsmouth, 
 but for some reason which I now forget, the Captain 
 anchored off Plymouth. The distance from Plymouth to 
 the residence of my former master, was but twenty three 
 miles, and I l)eggcd to resign the two little boys to the 
 care of the Captain, and to go on shore. The Captain 
 refused to comply with my request, telling me I must go 
 with liim to Portsmouth, and thence proceed to London, 
 and resign the children to their friends. The thought of 
 going again to London so terrified my imagination, and 
 iho vicinitv of my master's house kindled such vehement
 
 GAUnKNEK ST1.VENS. 1 .59 
 
 (losiic to ^o to it, tliat I doteniiincd on cscapiiifr from the 
 ship. I was moreover afraid of being- pressed by the jtrcss- 
 gaug, though to be sure," said the ohl man casting dowji 
 bis eyes, as if such lecollections were inconsistent witli his 
 evangelical profession, " I did not much look like a 
 common person, being completely clothed in yellow silk. 
 I confided my wishes to one of the sailors, who agreed to 
 assist me in effecting them, and he engaged a shoemaker, 
 who came on l)()ard to sell his shoes, to bring a boat at 
 seven in the evening, when the darkness might favor my 
 escape. I had saved a bag full of money during my eight 
 years service : This I determined to take with me, leaving 
 my trunk and clothes to the sailor. Anxiously I watched 
 the deepening shades of evening, and listened to the ship's 
 bells that told the approaching hour of deliverance. It 
 came — and passed — and no boat appeared. I began to 
 suspect that the sailor or shoemaker had betrayed me, and 
 passed a night of fearful apprehensions. The next day 
 wore heavily away, and though I heard nothing of the 
 shoemaker, I again prepared for escape, should he come 
 in llie evening. I took my station, with my friend the 
 sailor, at the ship's stern, and when darkness had settled 
 on the ocean, my heart beat violently, for I heard the 
 dipping of an oar. A little boat approached, — we chal- 
 lenged it softly, and the concerted answer was returned. 
 I gave the bag of money to the sailor to hoUl while I
 
 160 GARDENER STEVr. . 
 
 should spring into the boat. The d.iikness and my agita- 
 tion prevented my taking a good aim, and alighting on 
 the edge of the boat, I upset it. I then gave myself over 
 as lost — the splashing in the water 1 thought must in- 
 evitably be heard, and that if I escaped being drowned, I 
 should certainly be made prisoner. At length, almost 
 miraculously, we righted the boat and got into it. My 
 fears were then awakened for my money, which I concluded 
 the sailor would keep, in the conviction that I should 
 make no noise to demand it — but here again I was 
 agreeably disappointed. The man had silently awaited 
 the issue of our disaster, and when he found the boat was 
 righted, with a better aim than I had taken, he dropped 
 the bag into my hands. We arrived safely on shore, and 
 I passed the night at the shoemaker's. The following 
 morning after depositing my money with a banker, I set 
 out for my master's village, and stopping at a little Inn, 
 about a mile distant from the parsonage, I despatched a 
 messenger to him with this message only that ' William 
 was come home.' Nearly nine years had elapsed since I 
 had been kidnapped, and I learned from the people of the 
 Inn, that as no tidings whatever had been received of me, 
 1 was considered as dead by every one but Mary, who had 
 refused several eligible offers of marriage, and still resided 
 with my master in the assured expectation that I should 
 return. This information had scarcely been given to me.
 
 GAUDENER STEVENS, IHl 
 
 when a horseman trotted to the door, and on a pillion he- 
 hind him sat Mary. Her conntenancc was eager and 
 agitated, but its expression was changed into that of cold 
 disappointment when she entered the house and beheld 
 me. Slie turned away, and bursting into tears exclaimed, 
 ' It is not our William— it is another man.' Love and 
 memory had reUiined so faithful an impression of the 
 blooming youth of seventeen, that they failed to recognise 
 him in the harsher features and altered complexion of the 
 man of six-and-twenty. My master, wlio had sent INIary 
 forward on his horse, soon arrived on foot, and recognized 
 me at once. He took me to his house, and, at the end of 
 six weeks, saw Mary so satisfied of my identity, that he 
 married us. With the money which I Inought from 
 India, I took a farm on the coast, and became a fanner. 
 How it happened I know not — the money was honestly 
 acquired — but nothing that was bought with it prospered. 
 My sheep fell over the cliff, my crops failed, and I was 
 soon a ruined man. In my early youth I liad always 
 wished to be a gardener, or a minister of the gospel, and 
 I now determined to come into Cornwall, and try the 
 former avocation. I was successful in that, and for many 
 years have felt myself called to be a minister of the Gos- 
 pel. Whether my labours have been equally successful in 
 the sacred avocation," said the old man, with a mm nobis 
 Doviine look, in which natural self-ccmiplacency and
 
 162 GARDENER STEVENS. 
 
 superinduced humility were curiously blended, " it is not 
 for me to say. I lived fifty years with my dear wife in 
 equal peace and affection, when, one day at noon, wonder- 
 ing that I had not been called to dinner, I entered the 
 house, and found her speechless on the floor. She never 
 recovered her utterance, but passed silently, from a peace- 
 ful life on earth, to one yet more blessed in heaven." 
 
 Such was the gardener's narrative. I have not attempted 
 to give his peculiarities of expression, which, though pleas- 
 ant to me, like le gout du terrein in wine, might not suit 
 the taste of those who care nothing and know nothing 
 about Cornwall. I never heard him preach, but was told 
 that in the pulpit he was a " son of thunder," and so ener- 
 getic in recommending the particular evangelic grace 
 on which he chanced to be descanting, that he would 
 desire his hearers to wipe from their memories all that 
 they had formerly heard him say, as trivial fond records, 
 in comparison with what he was then enforcing. Thus 
 the theological virtues, iji the revolutions of his discoui-ses, 
 were, like the twins of Leda, alternately exalted and de- 
 pressed, eclipsed and exhibited — but whatever were the 
 defects or the merits of his preaching, the old man was 
 beloved and respected, and when a few years after the 
 time of which I am speaking he was gathered to his fathers, 
 his funeral was attended by thousands.
 
 H)3 
 
 EASTER DAY, 1812. 
 
 " Christian ! suisum corda I rise on tlie wings of contemplation," &c. 
 
 WiLBERFOKCE. 
 
 Christian ai'ise! on contemplation's wing 
 Soar till this nether world in distance fades, 
 Till its tumultuous din 
 Unheeded dies away. 
 
 Here sickly joys that wither while they bloom 
 Mock the illuded hope, and vaiying sounds 
 Of idle praise or blame 
 Fall on the vexed ear : 
 
 Soar on strong pinion ! so shalt thou behold 
 The wreath of deathless bloom reserved for thee, 
 Entranced, shalt hear the tones 
 Of Heaven's sweet harmony.
 
 164 
 
 Cliangeful the atniosphere in which we dwell — 
 Now calumny's cliill gloom our fame involves, 
 And gleams of glory now 
 Dazzle our feeble siglit. 
 
 Soar ! thou shall view skies ever bright and clear- 
 Lo ! far beneath thee now the tempest sweeps, 
 The fearful thunders roll, 
 And forked lightnings play. 
 
 The unseen world so shall thou realize — 
 And when descending from those happier heights 
 Thou seek'st again the plain 
 And minglest with the crowd — 
 
 So blest impressions sliall thy soul retain, 
 That though an undiscerning world may cast 
 In reckless wantonness 
 Reproaches on thy name — 
 
 Powerless its discordant voice shall fall 
 On thy rapt ear, still listening to the sounds 
 Of heavenly harmony 
 That seem to linger near. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 J. BIUEB, 14, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
 
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