THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 POEMS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 GEOKGE DAPiLEY. 
 
 A memorial Volume printed for private 
 circulation. 
 
 ' ' A poet hidden 
 In the light of thought, 
 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not." 
 
 — Shelley. 
 
 Copies may he obtained from A. Holden, Church Street, Liverpool.
 
 PR 
 
 Inscrihed to those in whose memory the 
 Author of these Poems yet lingers, 
 by B. tC- M. J. Livingstone. 
 
 810272
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Memoir. , 
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 I. — To Khodanthe . . . . . . . . 35 
 
 II. — The Temptress of the Promontory . . . , 36 
 
 III. — Heroa .. .. .. .. ... 38 
 
 IV. — Prayer at Burial : to a flower growing by the 
 
 side of the Grave . . . . . . 39 
 
 V. — To mie Tirante .. .. .. .. 40 
 
 VI. — I'm a Rover . . . . . , , . 41 
 
 VII. — To my Lyre . . . . . . . . 42 
 
 VIII. — The Lament . . . . . . . . 44 
 
 IX. — Occasioned by a Lady weeping as she copied 
 
 some verses by the Author . . . , 47 
 
 X. — Written in a leafless bower at Hon. Mrs. 
 
 Westenra's, Dec. 1826.. .. .. 48 
 
 XI. — Hymn to the Sun . . . . . . 50 
 
 XII. — Memento mori : inscribed on a Tombstone . . 52 
 
 XIII. — To Gloriana . . . . . . . . 54 
 
 XIV. — To one who leaned over me whilst I was 
 
 seated at her harp . . . . . . 55 
 
 XV. — "Monet Annus" .. .. .. ,57 
 
 XVI. — To a Lady who would sing only in the 
 
 evening . . . , . . . , ,59
 
 V ± 
 
 K^\J1\ XXjXV XO. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 —Soliloquy among the Toinb.s 
 
 60 
 
 
 Epigram 
 
 66 
 
 xvin. 
 
 — The Cross-examination 
 
 67 
 
 XIX. 
 
 — In an Album : Vix vocante Poesia . . 
 
 69 
 
 XX. 
 
 — A poetical Problem 
 
 70 
 
 
 Answer to the above 
 
 71 
 
 XXT. 
 
 — The Temptress of the Bower 
 
 72 
 
 XXII. 
 
 —On the death of a young Girl 
 
 74 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 —To Heroa 
 
 75 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 — O'er the Valley, o'er the Mountain ! 
 
 76 
 
 XXV. 
 
 — Gayer than Forest Horn . . 
 
 77 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 —The coy Maiden. From Anacreon 
 
 78 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 —The Free-booter . . 
 
 79 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 — To my dead Mistress 
 
 80 
 
 
 My own Epitaph 
 
 87 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 — In an Albvun 
 
 88 
 
 XXX.- 
 
 —On the death of Talma, 
 
 90 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 — Syi'en Chorus 
 
 92 
 
 XXXII.- 
 
 — In an Album 
 
 94 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 —Cupid .sleeping. From Gray after Plato 
 
 96 
 
 XXXIV.- 
 
 -" Dost thou love the blue to see " ? 
 
 97 
 
 XXXVi 
 
 — Departing music 
 
 99 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 — " Ay, thou look'st cold on me " 
 
 100 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 — The lost one 
 
 101 
 
 ifxxvm. 
 
 — Maid Marian's Song 
 
 105 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 — Hymn to the Ocean 
 
 . 107 
 
 
 Epigram written in an Albimi 
 
 112 
 
 XL. 
 
 — Love's Likeness . . 
 
 113 
 
 XLI. 
 
 — Winter . . 
 
 114 
 
 XTpTT. 
 
 — On a young Tree, growing near a tomb 
 
 115 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 — On a Fountain . . 
 
 116 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 —On a Child 
 
 118
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAOF,. 
 
 XLV. — "When nestling' winds the ocean soothe " . . 120 
 
 XLvi. — The Roman Cottager : verbatim from Vii'gil 122 
 
 XLVii.— To Kosella . . . . . . . . 123 
 
 XLViii. — In an Album .. .. .. .. 124 
 
 XLix.—" While the Moon decks herself " . . . . 126 
 
 L. — " Even were hell a fable " . . . . 127 
 
 LI. — Song of the Summer Winds . . . . 129 
 
 Lii. — The Fight of the Forlorn : a romantic Ballad 
 
 founded on the History of Ireland .. 131 
 
 The lay of the Forlorn . . . . . . 141 
 
 Lin. — Dirge by Mermen . . . . . . 144 
 
 LIT. — To a Cypress Tree . . . . . . 146 
 
 Lv. — " Deep in the Ocean's thundering wave " . . 147 
 
 LVi. — The Nightingale and the Thorn . , . . 148 
 
 Lvn. — The Temptress of the Cave .. .. 153 
 
 LViii. — Lament for Love .. .. .. 156 
 
 MX. — " O, I could weep myself into a stream " . . 158 
 Epigram on the " Poet's Corner" of a Literary 
 Journal 
 Lx. — Zephyr among the Flowers 
 LXi. — "Weep not, my Bride ! " 
 
 Epigram 
 LXii. — On the Picture of a Girl . . 
 
 159 
 160 
 163 
 165 
 
 16G 
 
 CHIEFLY FROM "LABOURS OF IDLENESS" AND 
 "ERRORS OF ECSTASIE." 
 
 The Dove's Loneliness ., .. .. .. 171 
 
 Epitaph on a Robin . . . . . . 175 
 
 ' ' We Dryad Sisters exiled be " . . . . . . 176 
 
 Voice of the Rivulet .. .. .. .. 178
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 "You, the choice Minions of the proud-lipt Nine " . . 179 
 
 ' ' In my bower so bright " . . . . . . . . 180 
 
 ' ' Why tell you me to lay the Cittern by ? " . . . . 183 
 
 "Thou, whom of all the beings I have seen " . . ISt 
 
 " I thought that I could ever happy be " .. .. 185 
 
 The wild Bee's Tale . . . . . . . . 186 
 
 Aileen Astore .. ,. .. .. ,. 191 
 
 Ellinore .. .. .. .. .. ..192 
 
 I've been roaming ! . . . . . . . . 195 
 
 The FaUen Star . . 
 
 The Nightingale's Song 
 
 ' ' It is not beautie I demando " 
 
 To Helene — on a Gifte-ring carelesslie lost 
 
 The Kebellion of the Waters 
 
 To a Stream 
 
 196 
 199 
 203 
 
 206 
 208 
 210
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 The general reader of to-day has well-nigh for- 
 gotten the name which ai^pears on our title-page, 
 and for him it would probably be vain to attempt, 
 in the words of an eminent London publisher, 
 " to revive a reputation which has declined from 
 natural causes." We accept this opinion as far 
 as the general public is concerned. But those for 
 whom we write will look leniently on this 
 effort to rescue a literary reputation in which they 
 have the special interest of kinship, from the com- 
 mon decay. The genius of George Darley was 
 clearly discerned and generously recognised by his 
 
 B
 
 2 MEMOIR. 
 
 most illustrious contemporaries in the republic of 
 letters, as will subsequently appear. But his life, 
 like those of too many of the brethren of his craft, 
 was embittered, and his literary reputation im- 
 paired by a constant struggle with small means, 
 and there were other silent influences to mould 
 his melancholy fate, limiting — as far as this world 
 is concerned — the " fine issues " to which so fine 
 a spirit surely tended. 
 
 It is matter for great regret that the late Lord 
 Houghton was prevented by his last illness from 
 carrying out his intention, expressed to the writer 
 in 1882, of reprinting George Darley's poems, 
 with a biographical notice. He retained a vivid 
 recollection of the poet, of whom he spoke with 
 the warmest possible affection and admiration. 
 But soon afterwards his health broke down — and 
 now the task we have set ourselves can only be 
 very imperfectly accomplished, owing both to lack 
 of materials and to inexperienced handling of such
 
 MEMOIR. 3 
 
 as are at our command. They who coukl have 
 furnished the necessary details for a complete and 
 interesting memoir of Greorge Darley have passed, 
 like himself, "behind the veil," and we are obliged 
 to content ourselves with stringing together the 
 few facts we can glean of his sad, though un- 
 eventful, life ; and the notices of his remarkable 
 personality as poet, mathematician and critic which 
 survive from distinguished pens. Of the family 
 circle for whom these lines are especially intended, 
 the few who remember the poet in his prime, 
 will doubtless recall from memory traits and 
 details which will give it an interest the present 
 writer is unable to supply. Others again, to whom 
 the name of George Darley has been from child- 
 hood a household word, will probably learn for 
 the fii'st time how high he stood among his 
 literary contemporaries. Most, we believe, will 
 read the majority of the poems for the first 
 time, and oiu' wish to preserve — at least
 
 * MEMOIR. 
 
 for family archives — such gems of song, has 
 prompted us to collect them in a readable 
 form. f 
 
 Gfeorge Darley, the eldest child of a family re- 
 markable for its physical and intellectual gifts, 
 was born in Dublin in 1795, of Irish parents of 
 independent means. They were cousins, his mother, 
 a woman of singular beauty and intelligence, 
 being a daughter of Mr. John Darley, of Newry. 
 There were four brothers and three sisters. 
 William, Henry and Charles had exquisite musical 
 gifts, and of their singing they who remember 
 it speak somewhat as Dante spoke of that of 
 Casella : 
 
 "La dolcezza aucor dentro mi sxxona." — [Par. ii. 113.) 
 
 William, who lived principally in Paris, was also 
 remarkable for his manly beauty, and had varied 
 literary and artistic taste and talent. We append 
 the notice of him which appeared in the Athtnatcm
 
 MEMOIR. 6 
 
 shortly after his death in 1857*. Henry was a 
 land-agent, and married Miss "Warren Locke, of 
 Athgoe Park, Kildare. Charles, who took orders 
 and held several curacies in England, was the 
 first Professor of English Literature at Cork 
 College. He is described by all who knew him 
 as a singularly loveable and charming person. Of 
 
 * Among the deaths of last month which we ought not 
 to pass over without a word of record, is that of William 
 Darley, brother of George Darley, the poet. Mr. Darley 
 had lived for many years in Paris in close seclusion, dally- 
 ing with the pencil, and the pen, capable of making noble 
 use of either, but restrained by a taste too exquisite, and a 
 sensitiveness too quick, for the rough wear of life. Those 
 only who knew Mr. Darley intimately — and they were few 
 in nvimber — know how deep and delicate was his genius, 
 how much there was of originality in his views, and of 
 knowledge in his criticism ; good judges value his pictures 
 highly, as well for their insight into character, as for their 
 sudden seiziu-e, and ample presentation of pure and heroic 
 feeling. Some of his writings on Ai-t have enriched the 
 columns of the Athciiccuni. We may signalize the profound 
 appreciation of the criticism on the collection at the Paris 
 Exhibition in 1855 ; we fancy these articles were the last 
 of his writings. For a long period his health had been bad. 
 He died at Fontainebleau, that paradise of jiaintei's, on the 
 28th July, in the fifty-ninth year of his age. Peact; be 
 WITH ^^.—{AtliciKeum, Aug., 1857.)
 
 b MEMOIR. 
 
 the claiigliters, Frances, a very gifted girl, died 
 young ; Mary married Mr. Newenliam, ^Yh.o was 
 one of the first settlers in South Australia, and 
 Lecame High Sheriff of the colon}'. They left a 
 large family. 
 
 During the absence of his parents in America, 
 when their children were yet young, George and 
 his two sisters were left with his paternal grand- 
 father, George Darley, of Springfield, co. Wicklow, 
 where he remained till about ten years of age. He 
 was a great favourite with his grandfather, riding 
 about with him on his i^ony, " much more full 
 of thought than able for speech, being afflicted 
 with a hesitation which increased as years went 
 on." On his father's return from America, the 
 family resided in Dublin, where George was 
 placed under a tutor, and proceeded in due 
 course to Trinity College, Dublin, where he 
 graduated in 1820. Soon afterwards he mads 
 Ms way to London, and adopted literatiu-e as
 
 MEMOIR. 7 
 
 his profession, having- been from, his earliest 
 years passionately addicted to science and art, 
 and, indeed, to all literary pursuits. We may 
 apply in this case Horace's poetical description 
 of himself : 
 
 " Inopeinqu.e paterni 
 " Et laris et fundi paupertas impulit audax 
 Ut versus facerem." 
 
 Nor did he fail to penetrate into the charmed 
 circle of choice spirits of the day, •whose names 
 linger delightfully in our ears in these less 
 favoured times. Among those with whom he could 
 claim fellowship, and with many of whom he was 
 on intimate terms, were Southey, Charles Lamb, Tal- 
 fourd Samuel Eogers, Lady Morgan, the late Lord 
 Hoiighton, Sir J. E. Alexander, Tennyson, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Carlyle, Henry Chorley, Miss Mitford, Sir 
 Henry Taylor, Bunsen, Julius Hare, Allan Cunning- 
 ham, and Barry Cornwall. But the hesitation in 
 his speech (of which he spoke as " a hideous mask 
 
 L
 
 8 MEMOIR. 
 
 upon my mind, which not only disfigures but nearly 
 suffocates it,") made him shrink morbidly from 
 general society, and the extreme fastidiousness 
 of his taste also limited the circle of his com- 
 panions. He had, indeed, an excessive share 
 of that sensitiveness which has been called 
 the shadow of genius, and found (in his own 
 words) 
 
 "This dark material world is aU too rough, 
 Too ftdl of painful ways and ruggedness 
 For tender-natur'd souls." 
 
 Cariyle used to quote Darley as an illustration 
 of his theory that hesitation of speech is often 
 associated with thoughtful natures. His lonely 
 habits, engendered partly by this physical in- 
 firmity, must account in great measure for the 
 failure of his genius to obtain the wide recogni- 
 tion it most surely deserved. The charm of his 
 personal a]ppearance and manner still lingers in 
 the memory of those who were privileged to know
 
 MEMOIR. 9 
 
 him, and when completely at ease in conversation 
 with any congenial spirit, or reading aloud, or 
 declaiming passages from his favourite Elizabethan 
 authors, the defect in his speech disappeared. 
 One who knew him well describes him as " tall 
 " and slight, with the stoop of a student; delicate 
 " features, slightly aquiline ; eyes not large but 
 "very earnest, with often a far-away expression; 
 " hair dark brown, and waving. His manner 
 " varied according to his mood and his com- 
 " panions. He was often somewhat of a Dio- 
 " genes, silent and brooding, subject to fits of 
 " gloom and abstraction. At other times he would 
 " be vigorous and sarcastic. But when he chose 
 "it he could be a delightful companion, for 
 " he was brimful of knowledge, and steeped in 
 " poetry. His taste and feeling for music were 
 " exquisite." 
 
 He saw but little of his family during the years 
 (about five-and-twenty) of his life in London,
 
 10 MEilOIK. 
 
 visiting Ireland only two or three times during 
 that period. But some cousins are yet living who 
 knew him in London, and who revere his memory. 
 One of these writes : — 
 
 "His figure was tall and graceful, his natural 
 ' movements very striking as he walked ; his 
 ' thoughts seemed to influence unconsciously every 
 ' movement of his body. His manner had much 
 ' dignity, and conveyed at once that he was a 
 ' man of commanding intellect. His face was 
 
 * decidedly handsome, the features well cut, the 
 ' forehead large, mouth very expressive. The pale 
 ' face bore a melancholy expression, and the intel- 
 ' lect and imagination — both in constant exercise — 
 
 ' left visible traces of their presence I 
 
 ' frequently had the privilege of passing an even- 
 ' ing with him during the years 1841, 1842, and 
 ' 1843. I was then a student at Lincoln's Inn. 
 ' He took a lively interest in young men who came 
 
 * alone, as I did, to study in London, and wished
 
 MEMOIR. 11 
 
 ' to do all he could to influence them for good, 
 ' and to place a high standard of conduct L^fore 
 ' them. His highly intellectual conversation was 
 ' characterised by the utmost purity of tone and 
 ' sentiment. I once heard him say that Tennyson 
 ' urged him to collect and publish all his poems. 
 ' On his replying, ' The public don't care for them, 
 ' and I cannot afford to lose by them,' Tennyson's 
 ' answer was an offer to bear the expense. He 
 ' told me, ' I thought it very generous, but I could 
 ' not accept it.' .... I was much struck by 
 ' the variety of his learning. He used to speak 
 ' to me not only of Blackstone, but of Coke upon 
 ' Littleton ; he had many quaint passages from 
 ' the latter stored in his memory, and in argu- 
 ' ment would meet me with authorities taken from 
 " both." 
 
 His range of knowledge was indeed various. 
 He was a ripe mathematician, and had an exten- 
 sive knowledge of architecture, which was rare
 
 12 MEMOIR. 
 
 at that time outside the profession. Another 
 relative writes : — 
 
 " I acquired from him whatever taste for litera- 
 " ture I have, and my small knowledge of eccle- 
 *' siastical architecture is entirely derived from 
 " him. His literary diligence was extraordinary. 
 " . . . . Of his books, almost every one was 
 
 " covered with annotations Of this I 
 
 " have one example in his 'Eickman's Architecture,' 
 " which he left me as a reminiscence of our fre- 
 " quent antiquarian rambles together. The margins, 
 " fly-leaves, indeed every white spot, are covered 
 " by his peculiar, upright writing." 
 
 Darley was connected with several leading 
 periodicals of that da}', notably with the London 
 Magazine, where articles from his pen (chiefly re- 
 lating to the degenerate condition of contemporary 
 dramatic poetry and art), are t® be found under 
 the signature of "John Lacy," side by side with 
 contributions from "Elia," De Quincey, Hartley
 
 MEMOIR. 13 
 
 Coleridge, Keats, Thos. Hood, etc. Darley was 
 also for years art critic on tlie staff of the 
 AtJwnmim, which bore feeling testimony to his 
 genius in the obituary notice which appeared in 
 its columns 28th November, 184G, and which we re- 
 print at the close of this notice. His work as an art 
 critic was well known and highly valued, and he 
 was one of the first to appreciate the early Itahan 
 painters, with whom he made acc^iiaintance during 
 a visit to Italy. He also formed one of the brilliant 
 circle which gathered round Archdeacon Hare at 
 Hurstmonceux, " the aspect of the jilace itself, as 
 " well as the society, suiting him admirably. . . . • . 
 " He used to speak with great admiration of the 
 " library overflowing the whole house." 
 
 His health, which was never very strong, 
 became seriously affected for some years before 
 his death, which ensued from decline, in November, 
 1846. 
 
 The following is a complete list of his published
 
 14 me:sioir. 
 
 works, in the order in wMch they appeared : — 
 i. " The Errors of Ecstasie, a di-aniatic poem, with 
 other pieces." ii. "The Labours of Idleness; a 
 seven nights' entertainment." iii. " Sylvia, or the 
 May Queen; a Lyrical Drama." iv. "A System 
 of Popular Geometry." v. "A System of Popvdar 
 Trigonometry, both plane and spherical." vi. 
 "Familiar Astronomy." vii. "The Geometrical 
 Companion." viii. " Thomas a Becket ; a Dramatic 
 Chronicle." ix. " Ethelstan, or the Battle of Bru- 
 nanbui-gh; a Dramatic Chronicle." 
 
 Besides these Darley printed for private 
 circulation, "Nepenthe," "Olympian Eevels," 
 and "The Liimmergeier." His minor poems, 
 collected for the first time in the present 
 volume were scattered through various publica- 
 tions. 
 
 In the "Errors of Ecstasie," a di-amatic dialogue 
 between a Mystic and the Moon, published in 1822, 
 we have evidently a sketch of the poet him-
 
 MEMOIR. 15 
 
 self, with his morbid introspection and solf- 
 tormenting. 
 
 "I'm framed the fool of sensibility ! " 
 
 he says, when rebuked for neglecting those 
 
 "more active energies 
 WMch fill the ciip and spread the board of life 
 To follow vain, seductive meditation," 
 
 and xoassionately defends the over-wrought and 
 fantastical temper of mind to which he yet ajDpears 
 to ascribe his "misery." 
 
 "I would not change the temper of my ndud 
 For that which stagnates in an idiot's veins, 
 To gain the sad salvation of a fool." 
 
 O" 
 
 This fi-agment abounds in passages of great beauty 
 and the personal element which pervades it must 
 have a pathetic interest for those who remember 
 the author, though they may regret the egotism 
 which it betrays. "It is," says a contemporary 
 critic, ' ' a work as well of intellect as of tern-
 
 16 
 
 MEMOIE. 
 
 " perament, althougli his fancy has been inade- 
 " quately controlled. . . . His poetry is to be 
 " blamed for the wildness of imagination, not the 
 " weakness of sensuality. . . . His are not the 
 " tones of a discontented infidel or an emasculated 
 " melodist." 
 
 In 1826 appeared "The Labours of Idleness, or 
 seven nights' entertainments," by Guy Penseval. 
 Besides very graceful prose, it contains some 
 charming lyrics (reprinted in this volume) one of 
 which "I've been roaming" enjoyed an immense 
 popularity. Few songs in its day were more 
 widely known. It occui-s in a prose-poem 
 of great beauty, entitled "Lilian of the 
 Vale."^' 
 
 In 1827 Darley published "Sylvia, or the 
 May Queen — a lyrical drama," described by 
 
 * This song, set to music by C. E. Horn, may be found 
 — ascribed to George Soane— in the " Songs of England," 
 edited by J. Hatton, and published by Boosey.
 
 MEMOIR. 17 
 
 lilrs. Browning as "a beautiful, tuneful pas- 
 toral." '•' 
 
 The poet himself said of it : " The grotesque 
 
 ' parts offend grievously against good taste 
 
 ' But the truth is, my mind was born among the 
 ' rude old di-amatists and has imbibed some of 
 ' their ogre milk, which gave more of it's coarse- 
 ' ness than strength to my efforts. And again, 
 ' ' Sjdvia ' was written in the gasping times of 
 ' laborious scientific engagements. All its prose 
 ' especially was what a boiling brain first threw 
 ' up to the surface — mere scum which I never 
 ' intended to pass for cream." f 
 
 * Friendsliips of M. E. Mitford. Vol. ii. Miss Mitford 
 speaks also of Coleridge's feeling for this poem. In Sir 
 Henry Taylor's Autobiography occurs the following passage : 
 ' ' I had a feeling which I have never seen expressed except 
 in these lines of George Darley's : 
 
 "There is a melancholy in sunbright fields, 
 Deeper to me than gloom ; I am ne'er so sad 
 As when I sit amid bright scenes alone." 
 
 [Barley'' s '' SijMa.") 
 t Friendships of M. R. Mitford. Vol. ii. 
 
 C
 
 18 MEilOIR. 
 
 In 1840 and 1841 appeared " Thomas a Becket" 
 and "Ethelstan, or tlie Battle of Brunanbui-gh," 
 described as dramatic clironicles. They were never 
 intended for representation, as may be gathered 
 from the preface to "Thomas a Becket," where 
 the author records his impression " that the age 
 " of legitimate acting drama has long gone by — 
 " that means to reproduce such a species of 
 " literature do not exist in our present cast of 
 " mind, manners and language," and that he has 
 therefore "spent no time in efforts to fit 'Thomas 
 " a Becket' for the public scene." 
 
 These plays testify to their writer's intimate 
 knowledge of the stately dramatists who formed 
 the chief glory of " the spacious times of Great 
 Elizabeth" — to his familiarity with "rare Ben 
 Jonson," "Marlowe's mighty line," with Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher, Matthew Dekker, Ford, Mas- 
 singer and last, greatest of all with the 
 "Dear son of memory, great heir of fame."
 
 MEMOIR. 19 
 
 They show considerable dramatic power, and 
 vindicate in practice the author's axiom that "the 
 " true language of the drama is that species of 
 " poetry which is accommodated to action. This," 
 he continues, " is what logicians call the essential 
 " difference which distinguishes the species drama 
 " from the genics poetry. So indispensable is this 
 " quality that if it were demanded. What is the 
 " first requisite for effective drama ? I should 
 " answer, Action. What the second? Action. 
 " What the third ? Action, — as Demosthenes said 
 " in a somewhat different sense of oratory." 
 
 In 1840 Darley took Southey's place in editing 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, and added some severe 
 though valuable criticism. He was also the chief 
 contributor to the notes in Gary's Dante at a time 
 when the " Divina Commedia" was a sealed book 
 to the great majority of English readers. In the 
 previous year was printed, for private circulation, a 
 poem entitled "Nepenthe," the general scope of
 
 20 MEMOIR. 
 
 which was explained by the author in a letter to 
 H. Chorley, given below. 
 
 Of the poems contained in the present volume, most 
 are printed from the aiitograph MSS., exquisitely 
 written in a singular and beautiful hand (familiar to 
 how few survivors ! ) and preserved by one intimately 
 connected with and well able to appreciate the gifted 
 being who composed many of his choicest IjtIcs in 
 her home. Some appeared during the author's 
 life-time in various periodicals, others are reprinted 
 from the " Labours of Idleness," some few have never 
 seen the light. The new " English Dictionary of 
 Biography " mentions, in its notice of Darley, two 
 poems, " Olympian Eevels," and "TheLiimmergeier," 
 which we are unable to trace. 
 
 We have now discharged our task, which has 
 been indeed a labour of love. The life of the man 
 of thought, as distinguished from the man of action, 
 is generally uneventful, and certainly this life was 
 an emphatic illustration of the rule, though George
 
 MEMOIR. 21 
 
 Darley cannot be said to have enjoyed the hap- 
 piness commonly ascribed to a life that has no 
 annals. This must be our apology for a brief and 
 meagre sketch, which, slight as it is, gathers up, 
 we believe, all that can be told of this ' ' inheritor 
 of unfulfilled renown," forty years after his death, 
 when those who knew him best have past, or are 
 passing away. 
 
 AVe append a few notices by Barley's contem- 
 poraries, as evidence of the estimation in which his 
 genius was held by those most capable of appre- 
 ciating it. 
 
 BuNSEN writes thus : — 
 
 " The Literary Gazette has printed my paper on 
 the Pyramids. I have written to Darley to offer 
 my second article for the Athenmim. Darley is 
 poor, but the editor of the Literary Gazette is 
 making money by his paper. The literary world 
 has not its proper position." — (^Extract from a letter 
 of Baron Bunsen, April, 1838).
 
 22 MEMOIR. 
 
 Baroness BuTsrsEN adds : — 
 
 " A man of truly poetical mind, and fi^esh., un- 
 spoiled disposition, whom those who have known 
 him will remember with affection ; an Irishman 
 known to Bunsen in Rome. He was an habitual 
 contributor to the Athenmum.'''' — {Bunseri's '•'■ Memoir ^^"^ 
 vol. i., page 521.) 
 
 Carlyle says : — 
 
 "Darley (George) from Dublin, mathematician, 
 considerable actually, and also poet ; an amiable, 
 modest, veracious and intelligent man — much loved 
 here — though he stammered dreadfully." 
 
 " There is a trick of sham Elizabethan writing 
 now prevalent that looks plausible, but in most cases 
 means nothing at all. Darley has real lyrical 
 genius ; Taylor, wonderful sense, clearness, and 
 weight of purpose ; Tennyson a rich and exquisite 
 fancy. All the other men of our tiny generation 
 that I know of are, in poetry, either feeble or 
 fraudulent." — [Note by Thos. Carlyle in Mrs. CarlyWs 
 Letters, vol. i., p. 248.) 
 
 Sir F. H. Doyle writes : — 
 
 " . . . . My friend, Sir Henry Taylor, .... 
 pointed out to me those whom he called his four 
 unknown, but real contemporary poets. The first of 
 these was Darley, a man of true genius, and not of 
 poetical genius alone, for he distinguished himself
 
 MEMOIR. 23 
 
 also as a mathematician and as a man of science. 
 The second was Hanmer. The names of the third 
 and fourth have escaped me." — {^^Reminiscences and 
 Opinions of Sir F. H. Boyle,''^ p. 45.) 
 
 The following are extracts from the Life of 
 H. F. CiiORLEY : — 
 " On another man of yet greater power and pecu- 
 liarity, who belonged to the same set, abused as 
 cockney by the immaculate Tory critics of Edin- 
 burgh, I must dwell more in detail : this was George 
 Darley, one of the most original human beings 
 whom I have ever known, and who cannot be for- 
 gotten by any of the few who had the opportunity, 
 which chance gave me, of studying so gifted, yet so 
 eccentric a man, near at hand. Many years ago, 
 when Miss Paton, the singer, was in her prime, divi- 
 ding honours as a first-class English singer with Miss 
 Stephens, she used to make one of her great effects 
 in a ballad, ' I've been Roaming.' The words — odd, 
 fantastic, and full of suggestion, were by Darley, 
 from a curious pastoral, ' Sylvia, or the May Queen,' 
 a sort of half fairy, half sylvan masque, almost as 
 charming and quite as little intelligible as a certain 
 tale, 'Phantasmion,' published some years ago, and 
 attributed to the gifted Sara Coleridge. At the time 
 when my connection with the Athencstmi began, this 
 strange, reserved man, who conceived himself largely
 
 24 MEMOIR. 
 
 shut out from companionsliip "with, his brother poets 
 by an impediment in his speech, was wandering in 
 Italy, and sending home to the journal in question a 
 series of letters on art, written in a forced style, but 
 pregnant with research, unborrowed speculation, 
 excellent touches by which the nature of a work 
 and of its maker are characterised. The taste in 
 composition, the general severity of the judgments 
 pronounced, might be questioned ; but no one could 
 read them without being stirred to compare and to 
 think. In particular he laid stress upon the elder 
 painters whose day had not yet come to England, as 
 Giotto, or Perugino, or Francesco Francia, and on 
 Leonardo da Vinci. To myself, as to a then un- 
 travelled man, the value of these letters was great 
 indeed. On the return of Darley to London he took 
 up in the Athenceum the position of dramatic reviewer. 
 
 iSr ^ ^* ^ 
 
 " To Miss Mitford I was indebted for some of the 
 most valued of my literary acquaintances and per- 
 sonal friendships, notably those which I formed 
 with Mr. Justice Talfourd, Darley, Browning, etc., 
 etc., etc. 
 
 iv" *'ir ^ ^' 
 
 "The names of Greorge Darley and Mr. Justice 
 Talfourd have already been coupled together in a 
 passage connected with a circumstance early in his 
 literary career. Had the narrative been continued
 
 HEMOIR. 25 
 
 there would doubtless have been reference made to 
 the friendly relation that subsequently existed 
 between them. From Darley, to whose remarkable 
 attainments in the contrasted spheres of, poetry, 
 criticism, and mathematics the world has yet, per- 
 haps, hardly done justice, Chorley preserved two 
 letters, both characteristic of the writer, and testify- 
 ing to his appreciation of a kindred spirit in hi 
 correspondent. 
 
 "27, Upper Eaton Street, 
 
 "16 August, 1836 (?) 1846 (?) 
 
 " My dear Sir, — Forgive me when I confess that 
 most ignorantly and unjustly, thinking you alto- 
 gether devoted to the popular literature of the day, 
 and that little sympathy could therefore exist 
 between us, I have let pass opportunities for culti- 
 vating your acquaintance. Miss Mitford, by her 
 letter, has shown me how far I was mistaken. My 
 error will be excused, I have no doubt, as freely as 
 it is acknowledged. Yours can be no common mind 
 to be in such amity with her's. I regret my inability 
 to give you any better proof of my conversion than 
 the accompanying little pamphlet of a poem, printed 
 for friends, " Nepenthe ; " but the same encouraging 
 spirit tells me it wiU not be unacceptable. Some 
 friends have complained, naturally enough, that an 
 incomplete poem is rather unintelligible. I have
 
 26 MEMOIR. 
 
 therefore written explanatory headings, and may 
 add what is the general object or mythos of the 
 poem, viz., to show the folly of discontent with the 
 natural tone of human life. Canto I. attempts to 
 paint the ill- effects of over-joy ; Canto II. those of 
 excessive melancholy. Part of the latter object re- 
 mains to be worked out in Canto III., which should 
 likewise show — if I could. ever find confidence, and 
 health and leisure to finish it — that contentment 
 with the mingled cup of humanity is the true 
 ' Nepenthe.' I would call, or ask you to call, but 
 that conversation with me is a painful effort, and to 
 others painful and profitless. I am an involuntary 
 misanthrope, by reason of an impediment which 
 renders society and me burdensome to each other. 
 My works, whatever be their merit, are the better 
 part of me — the only one I can at all commend to 
 your notice. I alone have to regret my state of 
 interdiction. 
 
 " Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 " With respect and the best impressions towards you, 
 
 "George Darley." 
 
 "My Dear Chorley, — All my best thanks for 
 your kind and careful remarks, which shall have 
 my deepest consideration. They are the only 
 ones I have ever yet obtained wliich enable me
 
 MEMOIR. 2. 1 
 
 to turn my niiud upon itself. Would they had 
 come before I was dead in hope, energy, and 
 ambition! If the ' Liimmergeier,' now ten years 
 old, be ever published, it will owe to you much 
 of any success it may obtain, though I have not 
 the slightest belief it will ever take even a very 
 low place among our select romantic poems. You 
 are perfectly right about ' Alboin.' The simple 
 truth is it was written as a mock-heroic tragedy, 
 called ' The Eevisal,' by an imaginary mad drama- 
 tist, with a running prose critique by a manager, in 
 which all your opinions of it were given. I, how- 
 ever, thought this plan foolish, and put one act into 
 its present form merely as an experiment, because it 
 seemed to contain some few good lines. "\Vhenever 
 you please to put me in the chair, I promise to be as 
 sincere as you, though not so judicious. Being such 
 near neighbours, I think we should try the extent of 
 each other's hospitality. Mine goes as far as a 
 breakfast of tea and coffee, two eggs, or an equiva- 
 lent broil, and buttered rolls ad libitum. Will you 
 come Saturday, and at what hour ? Or shall I put 
 your ' barbarian virtue ' to the test, as you are upon 
 
 the first floor ? 
 
 " Ever yours obliged, 
 
 "George Darley." 
 {''Life of B. F. Chorleyr)
 
 28 MEMOIR. 
 
 OBITUAEY NOTICE. 
 
 From the AthoKBum. 
 
 " GrEORGE Darley. — It is with, the sorrow which 
 attends at once the departure of an old friend and 
 the loss of a valued feUow-labourer, that we record 
 the decease of George Darley, which took place on 
 Monday last, at an age when many are — as he was 
 — in the jplenitude of their imagination and intel- 
 lectual vigour. His health, always delicate, had 
 been for some months decaying ; and the event 
 which adds an especial sadness to our own chronicle 
 of the year was rather the gentle going out of the 
 flame of life, than a sudden or suffering severance 
 of soul and body. 
 
 " Mr. Darley was a native of Ireland. He came to 
 London when young; connected himself with the 
 London Magazine ; and gave his life up, thenceforth, 
 to literature, science and art — but without entering 
 sufficiently into the struggle to gain the prominence 
 to which his genius, and his exact and various 
 acquirements, entitled him. A Poet, in the highest 
 sense of the word — which, as Milton has warned us, 
 includes ' the honourablest things ' — it was his 
 princix^le, no less than his pleasure, to make his 
 desires conform to his modest fortunes, and thus 
 secure to himseK the undisturbed exercise of his 
 powers. In this exercise, perhaps, he was too fas-
 
 MEMOIR. 29 
 
 ticlious. But a sadder reason rendered his life un- 
 eventful and retired — and, it may be, gave their 
 colour to his literary efforts. An impediment in his 
 speech was felt by him to be so severe a disqualifica- 
 tion, that he escaped from society as perseveringly 
 as many others, with fewer qualifi.cations either to 
 shine or to please there, would have courted it. His 
 life was divided, for the last fifteen years, between 
 foreign travel, the intimacy of a very few dear and 
 chosen friends, and his dreams and labours of 
 literature. By many of the last the Athenceum has 
 profited: — and their cessation we have reason to 
 know, will be long and widely regretted. As an 
 illustration of the strength of the ' ruling passion, 
 we may call attention to the note on ' Dante's 
 Beatrice,' published by us only last week [ante, p. 
 1189], and written from his death-bed. 
 
 " Without attempting to reclaim or enumerate 
 fugitive contributions to periodicals, or small edi- 
 torial tasks, we believe the following will be nearly 
 a complete list of Mr. Barley's published writings. 
 ' The Errors of Extasie, ' a poem ; ' The Labours of 
 Idleness,' a miscellany of prose and verse, — which, 
 though in its day little successful, has furnished many 
 a page to the borrowers, — and been, we are told, 
 ascribed to others than its author ; ' Sylvia, or the 
 May Queen,' a quaint, faery legend, — containing 
 some exquisite descriptive and lyrical poetry ; ' The
 
 30 MEMOIR. 
 
 Nepentlie ' ; — of which, two cantos only were privately 
 published, — a visionary mystical poem, only too rich, 
 in thought and allusion; and the two dramatic 
 chronicles, 'Thomas a Becket,' and 'Ethelstan.' 
 The other works by Mr. Darley that we can name, 
 are his Introduction to Mr. Moxon's edition of 
 ' Beaumont and Fletcher ' — hastily undertaken to 
 svipply the place of Mr. Southey ; and two or three 
 small popular treatises on mathematics and 
 astronomy. 
 
 "That the attention which Mr. Darley 's poems 
 commanded has been unequal to their merits, every 
 true lover of poetry to whom they are familiar will 
 feel : for a true lover, as we understand the word, 
 will allow for an almost bewildering exuberance of 
 fancies, the offspring of self-indulgent loneliness — 
 for occasional singularities of humour and language, 
 as natural to one who had "commerced" so inti- 
 mately with ancient literature, — and for a knowledge 
 of passion and insight into character, greater than 
 such experience of life as leads the imaginative 
 creator to prefer what is probable for his subjects 
 and symmetrical in their elaboration. These pecu- 
 liarities granted, — there remain excursiveness of in- 
 vention, vigour of expression, and deHcious sweet- 
 ness of versification — rare in any day, — in right of 
 which, the name of George Darley ought to stand 
 high among the poets of his time.
 
 :UEMOIR. 31 
 
 " As a critic, it would be difficult to rate liim too 
 highly. Though his manner might be too uncom- 
 promising, and his language made perhaps too 
 poignant by characteristic allusions, distinctions, and 
 similes to suit those who shrink from the more severe 
 asjiect of truth — though his periods were at times 
 "freaked" with eccentricities of phrase which in 
 most other persons would have been conceit — his fine 
 and liberal organization, which made him sensitive to 
 Poetry, Painting, and Music, and to their connexion 
 — his exact and industriously gathered knowledge — 
 above all, his resolution to uphold the loftiest 
 standard and recommend the noblest aims — gave to 
 his essays a vitality and an authority which will be 
 long felt. Intolerant of pretension, disdainful of 
 mercenary ambition, and indignant at sluggishness 
 or conceit, — he will be often referred to, by the 
 sincere and generous spirits of literature and art, as 
 one whose love of truth was equalled by his jDorfect 
 preparation for every task that he undertook ; and 
 whose praise was worth having — not because it was 
 rarely given, but because it was never withheld sav 
 upon good grounds." 
 
 — Athenceum, 28th Nov., 1846.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM, 
 
 No attempt has been made to alter the authorh arrange- 
 ment of this group of poems. They stand numbered 
 precisely as he left them. 
 
 D
 
 LEXniIXA LABOKU.M. 35 
 
 I.-'" 
 
 TO EHODANTHE. 
 
 NYMPH ! release me from this rich attire ! 
 
 Take off tliis crown thy artful fingers wove ; 
 And let tlic wild-rose linger on the brier 
 
 Its last, sweet days, my Love ! 
 
 For me shalt thou, with thy nice-handed care, 
 
 Nought hut tlie simplest wreath of myrtle twine: 
 Such too, high-pouring Hebe's self must wear, 
 Serving my bower with wine ! 
 
 *VideHor.,Car. I., 38.
 
 36 LEIs'IMIXA LABORUM. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE TEMPTEESS OF THE PEOMONTOEY. 
 
 From a MS. : " The Sea-Bride." 
 
 STEP ! and try how along the smooth ocean, 
 As safe as the sea-bird thou'lt wander to me ! 
 
 step ! and feel how supreme the emotion, 
 
 To tread like an elve the green ooze of the sea ! 
 
 Eear not, sweet youth! — there's no guile in these 
 numbers, 
 "With me all the long summer's day shalt thou 
 roam. 
 On the sweet-rocking waves of the west, — for thy 
 slumbers 
 A couch of red coral swings light in the foam.
 
 LENIMIXA LABORUM. 37 
 
 With songs I will lull thee, so dulcet, so tender, 
 The bee cannot mvu'mur as soft to the rose ; 
 
 With my bright golden harp, gentle youth, I will 
 render 
 Thy slumbers as calm as ian Angel's repose! 
 
 Step then, step ! and Ave'll tread a wild measure 
 As far as the sunbeams Ke smooth on the main ! 
 
 step ! and try if so blissful a pleasiu-e 
 
 Will ne'er tempt thee o'er the bright waters 
 again !
 
 38 LENIillNA LABOEUar. 
 
 Ill, 
 
 HEEOA. 
 
 Beauty's bloom is on her cheek, 
 Heaven's sweet lustre in her eyes, 
 
 Yet her lips, that blush to speak, 
 Tell me the sad maiden dies ! 
 
 This they tell me in mine ear. 
 Sideways, like an amorous dove, 
 
 And so soft, I scarce can hear, 
 That the maiden dies for love. 
 
 So much will the sweet-one say. 
 But no more ! — perversely she — 
 
 Press her warmly as I may — 
 Will not say she dies for me !
 
 LENIMINA LABOBUJl. 39 
 
 IV. 
 
 PEAYEE AT BUEIAL. 
 
 To A Flower growing by the side of the Gtrate. 
 
 Pretty flower ! moui'n for me : 
 
 I'd rather hear thee sigh 
 Than friends that counterfeit a grief, 
 
 They feel no more than I ! 
 
 Pretty flower ! mourn for me : 
 
 I'd rather have thy tear, 
 Than aU a hj^ocritic world 
 
 Could waste upon my bier ! 
 
 Pretty flower ! mourn for me : 
 
 And dirger's time to save, 
 Hang down thy little passing-bell 
 
 And ring me to my grave !
 
 40 i,e:vimina laboeum. 
 
 TO MIE TIEANTE. 
 
 Thou, att whose feete I waste mie soule in sighes, 
 Before whose beautie mie proude hearte is meeke, 
 
 Thou who make'st dove-like mie fierce falcon-cies, 
 And pale'st the rose of mie Lancastrian cheeke 
 
 With one colde smyle about this budded mouth : 
 Oh ! that mie harmlesse vengeaunce I could 
 wreake, 
 
 On that pale rival bloome of thine ! — the South 
 
 Eaves not more fell, prisoned an Aprill weeke, 
 To feede on lilie-banks, than I to prey 
 
 Some greedie minutes on that blossome whyte. 
 Whose gentle ravage thou'dst too long delaie ! — 
 
 when these Eoses of our cheekes unite, 
 WiU't not a summer-happie season be 
 
 If not for Englande, in sweete soothe for me ! 
 
 Rogicr de jDerley, 1594.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 41 
 
 VI. 
 
 I'm a rover ! I'm a rover 
 
 Of the greenwood and the glade ! 
 And I'U teach you to discover 
 
 Every Beauty of the shade ! 
 
 I'm a rover ! I'm a rover 
 
 Of the woodland and the dell ! 
 
 And I know the leafy cover 
 Where the maiden-roses dwell! 
 
 I'm a rover! I'm a rover! 
 
 Where her couch the lily keeps ; 
 And I'U bring you slily over — 
 
 You may kiss her as she sleeps! 
 
 I'm a rover ! I'm a rover ! 
 
 Where the cowslip quaffs the dew, 
 Where the bee delights to hover, 
 
 Come ! I'U choose a cup for you !
 
 42 LENIiIi:N-A LABORUM. 
 
 VII.' 
 
 TO MY LYEE. 
 
 Hast thou upon the idle branches hung, 
 
 L}Tfe ! this livelong clay, 
 Nor, as the sweet wind thro' the rose-leaves sung, 
 
 Uttered one dulcet lay? — 
 Come down! and by my rival touch be rung, 
 
 As tenderly as they ! 
 
 Did not Alcseus with blood-streaming hand 
 
 Range o'er his trembling wire, 
 Stealing forth sounds more eloquently bland 
 
 Than softness could desire ; 
 
 As if with myrtle-bough sweet Venus fanned 
 
 His rapt Lesboan lyre ? 
 
 ( 
 
 *VideHor. Car. I., 02.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 43 
 
 And shall not I, that never will imbrue 
 
 This hand except in wine ; 
 My battle-field, a bed of violets blue, 
 
 Where conquered nymphs recline ; 
 Shall not I wake the soul of sweetness too. 
 
 Thou gentle Lyi-e of mine ?
 
 44 LENIMOA LABORini. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE LAMENT. 
 
 I've heard indeed of laappy those 
 Whom funeral winds hushed to repose, 
 Of showers that fell when piteous Heaven 
 Was forced to take what it had given, — 
 
 But nought for me will care to weep 
 The fields will don their usual green, 
 The mountains keep their changeless mien, 
 And every tree will toss his plumes 
 As brave as erst, — the day that dooms 
 
 Me to my everlasting sleep ! 
 
 Above my earth the flowers will blow, 
 As gay, or gayer still than now !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 45 
 
 And o'er my turf as merrily 
 
 Will roam the sun-streak' d giddy bee, 
 
 Nor wing in silence past my gi-ave : 
 The bird that loves the morning rise, 
 "Whose light soul lifts him to the skies, 
 Will beat the hollow heaven as loud, 
 While I lie moistening my shroud 
 
 With all the cruel tears I have ! 
 
 No friend, no mistress dear, will come 
 To strew a death-flower on my tomb ; 
 But robin's self, from of£ my breast. 
 Will pick the dry leaves for his nest 
 
 That • careless winds had carried there : 
 All, but the stream, — compelled to mourn. 
 Aye since he left his parent urn, — 
 Will sport and smile about my bed 
 As joyfid. as I were not dead. 
 
 Neglect more hard than death to bear!
 
 46 ' LEMIMINA LABOKUM. 
 
 Alive, I would he loved of One, 
 I would be wept when I am gone ; 
 Methinks a tear from Beauty's eye 
 Would make me even wish to die — 
 
 To know what I have never known! 
 But on this pallid-cheek, a ray 
 Of kindred ne'er was cast away. 
 And as I lived most broken-hearted 
 80 shall I die, aU — all deserted, 
 ' Without one sigh — except my own !
 
 LENIMINA LABOBUM. 47 
 
 IX. 
 
 Occasioned by a "Lady" ■ weeping as she copied 
 SOME Verses by ihe Author. 
 
 One Angel on the sin lie did record 
 Dropt a sweet tear and blotted out the word : 
 'Twere well the tears another shed this day 
 Had washed the sins she registered away !
 
 48 LEI^IMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 Written in a Leafless Bower at 
 Hon. Mrs. Westenra's, December, 1826. 
 
 Fair as the flower is, it will yet decay; 
 
 Q-reen as the leaf is, it will yet be sere ; 
 Night has a pall to wind the gaiidiest day, 
 
 And AVinter wraps in shrouds the loveliest year : 
 For those the gale mom-ns in loud accents drear, 
 
 The blooms that gave it sweeter breath are gone ; 
 Heaven's glistening eyes with many a silent tear 
 
 Beweep the nightly biuial of the sun; 
 Nature herself the lifeless year deplores, 
 
 Sad Mother, lapng all her children low. 
 From her deep heartspring grief's wild torrent pours. 
 
 Hill, vale, and desolate woodland speak her woe :
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 49 
 
 Thou too must fade like year — day — leaf — and 
 
 bloom, 
 Pale moralist! — wilt have like mourners at thy 
 
 tomb ? 
 
 E
 
 50 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XI. 
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 From a MS., " The Sea-Bride." 
 
 Bkhold the world's great wonder, 
 The Sovereign Star arise! 
 
 'Midst Ocean's sweet dead thunder, 
 Earth's silence and the skies'. 
 
 The sea's rough slo^^e ascending, 
 He steps in all his beams, 
 
 Each wave beneath him bending, 
 His throne of glory seems. 
 
 Of red clouds roimd and o'er him 
 
 His canopy is roll'd. 
 The broad ooze burns before him, 
 
 A field of cloth of gold.
 
 LENIMLN-l. LABORUM. 51 
 
 Now strike his proud pavilion ! 
 
 He mounts the bhie outline, 
 And throws in many a million 
 
 His wealth from clime to clime.
 
 52 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XII. 
 
 MEMENTO MOEI: 
 
 Inscribed on a Tombstone. 
 
 When you look on my grave 
 And behold how they wave,— 
 
 The cypress, the yew, and the willow; 
 You think 'tis the breeze 
 That gives motion to these, — 
 
 'Tis the laughter that's shaking my pillow! 
 
 I must laugh when I see 
 
 A x^oor insect like thee 
 Dare to pity the fate thou must own; 
 
 Let a few seasons glide, 
 
 We may lie side by side, 
 And crumble to dust, bone for bone.
 
 LENIMINA L^iBORUM. 53 
 
 Go weep thine own doom! 
 
 Thou wert born for the tomb, 
 Thou hast lived, like myself, but to die; 
 
 When thou pity'st my lot 
 
 Secure fool! thou'st forgot 
 Thou art no more immortal than I!
 
 54 LENIillXA LABORUir. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 TO GLOEIANA. 
 
 To THEE, bright Lady! whom all hearts confess 
 Their queen, as thou dost highly pace along, 
 
 Like the Night's pale and lovely snltaness 
 Walking the wonder-silent stars among! 
 
 Beyond my lowly hopes — take thon no wrong- 
 It" in a perilous vein of liberty, 
 
 Nymph of the splendid brow and raven tress, 
 This humble strain I dedicate to thee. 
 
 Cold in thy loveliness, as that fond stone 
 Which vainly emulates thy purity. 
 
 Standing in Beauty's temple all alone, — 
 Do not despise the God of Song in me ; 
 
 Do not, because thou art, we justly own, 
 Above all praise, above all homage be !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 55 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE FAIR WARNING. 
 
 To ONE WHO LEANED OVER ME "WHILST I WAS 
 SEATED AT HER HaRP. 
 
 Lady! bend not over me 
 
 Such, lips, such blooming lips as those, 
 Lest in my dream of ecstasy 
 
 I might mistake them for a rose. 
 
 Lady, stoop not near my breast, 
 That bosom heaped with virgin snow, 
 
 Lest that, perchance, it might be prest. 
 Ere I myself the truth did know. 
 
 Ah! keep that dazzling, restless arm 
 Down by thine own decorous side ; 
 
 One single kiss might break the charm 
 Which now is all thy maiden pride!
 
 56 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 
 
 Gaze not in mine with those sweet eyes, 
 As if the orbs of Heaven stood near; 
 
 Lest thou might'st never gain those skies 
 Which should be thy angehc sphere!
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 57 
 
 XV. 
 
 "MONET ANNUS." 
 
 The snows are fled upon their watery wings, 
 
 Greenness again returns, 
 And now no more tlie bounty of the springs 
 
 O'erflows their frugal lu'ns : 
 Now might the unclad Grraces dance their rings, 
 
 So warm the welkin bui-ns! 
 
 Yet take the thought fi-om the swift-changing 
 year 
 
 (For simple things make wise), 
 
 Two months — and Spring was wreathing violets 
 here, 
 
 Two more — and Summer dies. 
 
 Then will brown Autumn change her golden 
 cheer 
 
 At "Winter's freezing eyes.
 
 58 LENIMINA LABOKTJM. 
 
 But rapid suns repair the year's decay, 
 
 Spring-tide -will come again, 
 We, when to earth oiir crumbling bones we lay, 
 
 Ev'n lose the mould of men. 
 Life has but one short lease of mortal clay, 
 
 Why not enjoy it then? 
 
 Live not so thoughtless as the miser bee, 
 
 Nor starve amid a store! 
 When Death shall lead thee to Destruction's sea 
 
 And push thee from the shore, 
 Of all thy worldly goods, but one to thee 
 
 ShaU cleave — a shroud — no more!
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 59 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To A Lady who would Sing only in 
 THE Evening. 
 
 Like the bird-minstrel, votress of the Moon, 
 
 Who will not pour her misanthropic lay 
 Until the night grows upward to its noon, 
 
 And the winds hymn the death-song of the day. 
 But silent all — in woodlands far away, 
 
 A little hermit sits within her cell 
 Mossy and dim, where no intruding ray 
 
 Peeps thi'o' the solitude she loves so well: 
 Like her, the sweet Enchantress of the dell, 
 
 Thou wilt not sing until the stars arise ; 
 And then, like her, for ever wilt thou dwell 
 
 On tender themes that drench sweet Pity's eyes. 
 Sure that old Samian fable sooth must be, 
 
 And some dead nightingale revives in thee!
 
 60 le:n^imina labobum. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 SOLILOQUY AMONG THE TOMBS. 
 Written in Beddington Churchyard. 
 
 I STAND upon the sod must lie on me, 
 Ere yon red rose in odour sliall expire ; 
 
 I think upon the time that soon shall be 
 Wlaen my soul mingles with immortal fire. 
 
 I muse on my new kindred of the tomb, 
 Brothers and sisters I must shortly know ; 
 
 Few, few the hours, and fleet, ere I become 
 One of the pale society below ! 
 
 Another Sabbath, and this sacred tower 
 
 Shall, in deep words, have tolled — his course 
 is done ! 
 Another Moon shall look into my bower, 
 
 And weeping lucid tears, say — he is gone !
 
 LENIMINA LABORU^J. 61 
 
 Gone, where the proud are lowly as the meek, 
 Where simple ones are subtle as the sage, 
 
 Gone, where the strong are feeble as the weak, 
 "V\niere rank no right, power has no privilege. 
 
 Where wealth is stripped as bare as wretchedness, 
 And Tyranny is fettered like his slave, 
 
 Where Beauty weeps her strange unloveliness, 
 Wliere Eloquence is dumb, and Folly grave. 
 
 Six foot of common, caitiff-making earth, 
 Often much less, and very seldom more. 
 
 Encompasses within its narrow girth, 
 
 Him whom a world could scarce contain before ! 
 
 Ev'n on a spot as small — perchance as gi-een, — 
 As this where I shall rest in unrenown, 
 
 The Conqueror of half the poles between, 
 Must lay himself and all his glory down.
 
 62 LENIMIIVA LABOEUM. 
 
 Lone in the far Atlantic Isle he sleeps, 
 
 The modern Charlemagne, but mightier still ; 
 
 A wretched willow o'er his tombstone weeps, 
 And round it mourns a miserable rill. 
 
 Upon his desolate couch the Homeless Star 
 Looks with a sjonpathetic sister eye ; 
 
 As if she breathed these pitying words afar, 
 Outcast of Earth art thou, of Heaven, I ! 
 
 The Wind-Grod haunting that sepulchral hiU, 
 Pipes a vrild coronach around the grave ; 
 
 But none are there with martial voice to fill 
 His own loved trumpet o'er the biu-ied brave. 
 
 There sleeps he, most forlorn, — almost forgot, — 
 
 In a cli'ear Island, distant o'er the foam, 
 
 Here shall I sleep, laid in this quiet spot. 
 
 And find how svreet, in deatli itself, is 
 Home!
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 63 
 
 Close l)y tlio foot of this gray Abbey Avail, 
 Where leans the buttress that is leant upon, 
 
 (Like old companions fearing both to fall, 
 Each with its shoulder props the other one:) 
 
 Here would I wish my final bed of rest, 
 Tranquil and sheltry, ivy-overgi'own. 
 
 With a green pall to spread upon my breast. 
 This is the spot I've fixed on as my own. 
 
 The dewy-throated nightingale sings here 
 
 Till midnight blends complexions with the 
 morn ; 
 And robin, in his crimson stomacher, 
 
 Sits challenging the woods on yonder thorn. 
 
 Circling around, the turret-swallow stoops 
 
 With sweet, weak whistle to salute her young ; 
 
 Here, from their evening feast the crows in 
 troops. 
 Come with hoarse music heavily along.
 
 64 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 Now that her dusky robe the Night unfolds, 
 Thro' its light gauze wanders the aiixdess fly, 
 
 Homeward the bee her steady passage holds, 
 The stumbling beetle booms him headlong by. 
 
 Now from beneath the ivy-woven cowl, 
 
 Mufiling the head of each tall pinnacle, 
 
 With solemn whirr comes forth the moody owl, 
 
 And flickering bat which loves the gloom as 
 well. 
 
 How calm ! how still ! — nor is the glare of day, 
 
 Less sobered by the shadow of the pile. 
 
 It seems to frown the sun's rude light away, 
 
 And tempers ev'n the Moon's most pallid 
 smile. 
 
 Sweet village church ! — remote from village strife, 
 Yet still to home and heart's affection near. 
 
 If here so peaceful be the dream of life. 
 
 How peaceful must the sleep of death be here !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 65 
 
 let the proud, the wealthy, aud the g-reat, 
 Wliere huge cathedrals ope the venal choir, 
 
 Beneath their vain mausolea lie in state, 
 Give me a grave beneath the village spire ! 
 
 ^
 
 66 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 On being rallied by a Beautiful Woman for 
 DuLNESs IN Conversation. 
 
 Ask me not tliou, can I no thought afford 
 Mirth to create or sadness to beguile ; 
 
 Thou smil'st so sweet ere I have spoke a word, 
 Why should I speak a word to make thee 
 smile ?
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 67 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE CEOSS-EXAMINATION. 
 
 Silly maiden ! tell me why 
 Grows your cheek so red, 
 
 When young Allan passes by ? 
 SiUy, silly maid ! 
 
 Witless creature! what is this 
 Turns your cheek to pearl '? 
 
 Has he stol'n your fancy? — "Yes!" 
 Witless, witless girl ! 
 
 Simple lassie ! where and when 
 Did it come to pass? — 
 "While he woo'd me in the glen'' — 
 Simple, simple lass !
 
 B8 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 Thoughtless fair one ! so the youth 
 Vowed? — "0 yes! and swore!" — 
 
 You believed him? — "A3', in sooth!" 
 Thoughtless, thoughtless fair ! 
 
 Hapless victim! — better dead 
 Than love-lorn for life ! — 
 "Yes — but we have just been wed ! "— 
 Happy, happy wife I
 
 LENIMmA LABORUAI. 69 
 
 XIX. 
 
 IN AN ALBUM : VIX VOOANTE POESIA. 
 
 I, LIKE tlie shaded uiglitingale, would sing 
 
 lu some far bower, amidst tlie woods, alone. 
 With nought but the wild streamlet's murmuring 
 
 To give my bosom-strings their plaintive tone ; 
 Or the bleak winds that thro' the forest moan 
 
 To prompt with their rude minstrelsy my lay, 
 When to pale Dian on her silver throne 
 
 My unbesought addi-esses I can pay. 
 But expectation chills my vein of song ; 
 
 Even the prayer of beauty or desert. 
 Breathed e'er so warm, so fervently, and long, 
 
 Freezes the well of passion at my heart ! 
 What then ? — I chant some worthless strain, until 
 Deep- ear' d attention quickly has her fill.
 
 70 LEXIMIKA LABOKXra. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A POETICAL PEOBLEM. 
 
 Once on a time, at evening hour, 
 A sweet, and dewy-bosom'd Flower, 
 
 Was cradling- up to rest ; 
 A Pilgrim, wandering near her bed, 
 Eaised, with his staff, her drooping head, 
 
 And thus the Flower addi-est : 
 
 ' ' From matin-rise to moonlight hoiu-. 
 Tell me, my pearly-crested Flower, 
 
 How many a lucid gem 
 Hath left the high, cavernal air, 
 To form upon thy queenly hair 
 
 A rainbow diadem ? "
 
 LENIMIXA LABORUil. 
 
 The pouting Flower looked up, aud cried, 
 " Hadst thou no worthier cause beside 
 
 For rousing me from slumber? 
 Half half the square, less half the truth, 
 Twice halved, less half three score in sooth. 
 
 Is half, half, half the number!^'' 
 
 Answer to the above. 
 
 Should a Pilgrim e'er meet on the wearisome plain 
 Such a pert mathematical Flower again, 
 And receive the same answer, I'll give him a rule 
 Will prevent him at least fi-om appearing a fool : 
 If he muster an eye on each side of his nose. 
 And the vulgar provision of fingers and toes. 
 Let him add all of these ; and if these will not do, 
 Should he have but two teeth, let him add these 
 teeth too !
 
 72 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE TEMPTEESS OF THE BOWEE. 
 
 From a MS.: "The Sea-Bkede." 
 
 Quaff! quaff the coral wine, 
 
 Prest in our sea-vintage yearly, 
 Every crimson-berried vine 
 
 Melts as lusciously and clearly; 
 Quaff ! quaff the coral wine. 
 Bower and all within are thine ! 
 
 Lays of love and hymns divine, 
 
 I will sing, the couch attending, 
 With the perfume of the wine 
 
 The sweet breath of music blending; 
 Quaff ! quaff the coral wine, 
 Bower and all within are thine !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 73 
 
 Thrilling soft this harp of mine, 
 
 Strewing boughs with coral laden, 
 Pouring high the crested wine ; 
 I will be thy Bower-Maiden ; 
 Quaff ! quaff the coral wine. 
 Bower and all within are thine!
 
 74 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIEL. 
 
 Beauty and Virtue crown'cl tliee, 
 Death in tliy Youth, has found thee, 
 
 Thou'rt gone to thy grave 
 
 By the soft willow wave, 
 That hums its sweet circuit around thee. 
 
 Heaven's fond tears bedew thee ! 
 
 Flowers and fresh garlands strew thee ! 
 A xmll for thy tomb 
 From her green-weaving loom 
 
 Kind Nature will ever renew thee. 
 
 Cheerly the lark sings o'er thee, 
 Light trip the elves before thee, 
 
 Then why should we mourn 
 
 When, so far from forlorn. 
 Thou must smile at the friends who deplore 
 
 thee ?
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 75 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 TO HEEOA. 
 
 As THE brook's song that lulls the quiet lawn, 
 
 As meadowy music heard on mountains liigh, 
 As cherubs' hymns sung in the ear of Dawn, 
 
 When the entranced stars go lingering by, — 
 80 sweet the tremulous voice of her I love ! 
 
 It seems as if thy bosom, all too weak 
 To utter the rude murmur of a dove, 
 
 Were framed almost too delicate to speak. 
 Hast thou a little lyre hung in thy breast, 
 
 Thy fine heart-strings weft for its slender chords? 
 Methinks, so sweetly are thy thoughts exprest, 
 
 'Tis this that makes the music of thy words ! 
 Even in thy tones that are, or would be gay. 
 The sigh-swept lyre but seems at melancholy play.
 
 76 
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 O'er the valley, o'er the mountain ! 
 
 By the pathway of the foam 
 Leading down fi-om yonder fountain, — 
 
 Like a honey-bird, I roam ! 
 
 Tlu'o' the wild wood and the hower, 
 
 Like the golden-coated fly 
 Kissing ev'ry lady-flower, 
 
 As I pass her beauty by ; 
 
 Tripping round and round the blossoms 
 That bespeek the grassy steep, 
 
 Into all their rosy bosoms 
 As I run away, I peep ! 
 
 O'er the meadows gaily winging 
 
 Like an idle elf I rove, 
 My unheeded song a-singing 
 
 To the melody I love !
 
 LEXI^riNA LABORUM. 77 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "Who can see worse days than he that, yet living, doth 
 follow at the funeral of his own reputation ? ''—Lord Verulam. 
 
 Gf-AYER than forest horn 
 
 As Fame's approaching trumpet sweetly blows 
 In young Ambition's ear; so when its breath 
 Pines to an echo, far from grievous Age, 
 (Like Eevelry deserting ruined towers) 
 To our forsakenness as sad it seems 
 As to the dying wretch his burial knell 
 Rung ere its time; the sounds fleet with his 
 soul.
 
 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 THE COY MAIDEN. 
 
 From Anacreon. 
 
 Ah, fly me not, beholding 
 
 My locks are blanched by time. 
 Nor yet, because yonr beauty 
 
 Is blooming in its prime, 
 Despise my fond caresses; 
 
 Behold the lilies rare, 
 Crowned with the red, red roses, 
 
 How excellent they are !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 79 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE FEEE-BOOTEE. 
 
 As the prey-freiglited eagle cleaves the storm 
 With potent wing ; while, at his scream and 
 
 clang 
 To warn liis famished brood, the hollow hills 
 Eeverherate far and near; beneath his flight 
 The valley darkens, and his cloudy form 
 Swims up the sward to meet him as he glides 
 Into his mountain-nest : so comes Manrique 
 The single fear of many a province round. 
 Eobber and outlaw ! — a mere jot of life 
 'Mid the still-standing rocks and precipices, 
 He moves right upward to his craggy dome 
 Scooped in the pinnacle. His horn, by times, 
 Shrill-throated, splits its voice among the rocks, 
 And sooty visages look out and smile !
 
 80 
 
 LENIMINA LABORUII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 TO ^^TY DEAD MISTEESS. 
 
 Piango la sua morte, e la mia vita. — Fetr. 
 
 Em sonlios aquella alma me aparece, 
 
 Que para mi foy sonho nesta vida. — Camoen* 
 
 Buried for ever in my heart shall be 
 The image of that form I once adored, 
 
 Clasping it as a shrine on bended knee, 
 
 To gain one smile or sweet auspicious word : 
 
 In sooth it was more fond idolatry 
 
 Than woman should accept or man accord 
 To aught but One — and death avenged the 
 Lord! 
 
 Her spirit hastens in my dreams to rise, 
 Who was in life but as a dream to me. 
 
 — JIayle]ps trans.
 
 LENIMIMA LABORUM. 81 
 
 Yes; thou wert my Supreme Good — my All-wise, 
 Whose lightest syllable to me was law, 
 
 My acts out-went the wishes of thine eyes, 
 Aucl inspiration from their glance did draw : 
 
 With a strange kind of satisfied siu'prise 
 At the swift potency of zeal, they saw 
 More done from love than millions do from 
 awe. 
 
 The speech-beginning smile thy lips put on 
 
 Which ever made entreaty of command, 
 Ere into sweet slow words thy breath had gone — 
 
 Behold ! thy dear desire was in thy hand ! 
 A light intelligential round me shone, 
 
 Those eyes' blue effluence, whose flash, tho' 
 bland, 
 
 Broke on my forehead like a lightning brand ! 
 
 That moment I became all mind, heart, soul. 
 Danger and difficulty rose in vain; 
 
 G
 
 82 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 Ev'n Destiny could scarce my deeds control, 
 Nor Prudence bind me in her brittle chain : 
 
 Methought I could have grasped each whirling 
 pole, 
 And Earth's great axle bent or broke in twain ! 
 For all, to Love, seem'd possible and plain. 
 
 WeU that thy lowly, weak, and passionless breast, 
 Swelled with its own sweet feelings ! and in those 
 
 Found all its joy ; nor heaved with more unrest 
 Than the soft bosom of a maiden rose, 
 
 When Zephyr stoops to kiss the fringed vest; 
 So pure was thy chaste bosom, that the snows 
 FaU darker when the wintry ice-wind blows ! 
 
 Full many a time didst thou tny votary pray. 
 Not — not to love so well ! and many a time 
 
 Said'st thou wert but a slight, frail thing of clay, 
 And Heav'n would punish both for my one 
 crime.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 88 
 
 Ah! me it punished, hurrying thee away, 
 
 In thy sweet blooming-hood and beauteous prime, 
 Translated thro' the toml) to life's last clime. 
 
 I knew — I knew it would be so ! for thou 
 
 Wert far too much of saint for this sad sphere ; 
 
 How often did I search, with pain enow, 
 
 For some small touch of earth to keep thee 
 here ! 
 
 But no ! — the fatal brightness of thy brow, 
 The lambent glory round thy temples dear. 
 Told thy election to the skies was near! 
 
 That halo, glimmering from each golden braid. 
 The vision of thy l)right immortal crown, 
 
 Too plainly to my woe-strvick heart betrayed 
 Heaven had already writ thee Angel down ! 
 
 I saw thee early for the skies arrayed 
 In Purity's white veil and spotless gowai. 
 Nor Hope would help me tliat sad image drown.
 
 84 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 But for this creed, — I had not at thy sluiiie 
 
 Bowed my idolatrous heart and stubborn knee ; 
 I thought thou wert so kindred to divine 
 
 'Twere no wrong piety to worship thee ! 
 Beatitude and sanctity both thine, 
 
 What could'st thou less than a blest spirit 
 be ?— 
 
 So love of goodness bred great ill in me. 
 
 The blow that laid thee in the arms of Death, 
 That ver}' night thou should' st have lain in 
 these ; 
 Time's thrilling watchword that chained up thy 
 breath, 
 And with mere horror th}- warm cheek did 
 freeze 
 To bloodless alabaster; Conscience saith, 
 These are the visitations Heaven decrees 
 Wlien man on earth his sole Elysium sees!
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 85 
 
 Ay me ! 'tis true ! — I did indeed forget 
 
 Flowers of trm bliss on earth could never 
 bloom : 
 
 But since my worsliipt star of beauty set, 
 My joy is woe, my glory is in gloom. 
 
 Dark, noisome, dismal, with rank vapors wet. 
 This globe is like an universal tomb, 
 With doors down-leading to the caves of doom. 
 
 Fain would I choose me my small charnel-space, 
 Fain would I lie down blindly with the blind 
 
 Whose eyes are dust; fain would I take my 
 place 
 In the vast catacomb of all mankind. 
 
 that in Euin's eyes I had found grace ! 
 
 That my death-warrant tedious Fate had signed, 
 The charter of immortal life to mind! 
 
 Then would my spirit, on empyreal wings, 
 Soar up to Heaven, if sin would let it soar.
 
 86 LENIMINA LABOKUM. 
 
 And bird-like, fluttering where its sweet mate sings, 
 Beat for admittance at the mercy door! 
 
 If great compassion touched the King of kings, 
 My mate and I His goodness might adore — 
 One voice, one soul, one essence, evermore!
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. Q_7 
 
 MY OWN EPITAPH. 
 
 Mortal pass on ! — leave me my desolate home ! 
 
 I care not for thy sigh; I scorn thy tear; 
 To this wild spot let no intruder come, 
 
 The winds and rains of Heaven alone shall mourn 
 me here !
 
 88 LENIjMINA laboeum. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Day-deeaming one-tide, upon a sunny moun- 
 tain, 
 When nought but the wild-birds and waterfalls 
 were near. 
 Heard I a voice like the music of a fountain, 
 Its language as liquid, its melody as clear. 
 
 Mui-mui-ing deeply, the stream methought addrest 
 me, 
 (If that which addrest me indeed were but a 
 stream) : 
 "Say, hath ill-fortune, or idleness, possest thee, 
 To lose all thy life in a melancholy dream ? "
 
 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 89 
 
 "Buoyant and gladsome, my step was free as thine 
 is, 
 Wlien fresh from the life-spring of Nature," I 
 replied ; 
 "Streamlet! thy course will perchance be slow as 
 mine is. 
 And lonely like me thro' the valleys thou wilt 
 glide : 
 
 Oft at a green bank delaying thy blue motion, 
 Thou'lt stretch thee to sleep, with a scarcely- 
 heaving breast ; 
 World-wearied, sun-sick, thou'lt wind at length 
 to ocean. 
 And seek in the loss of thy being to be blest ! "
 
 90 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF TALMA. 
 
 The deathless sons of Greece have died once 
 more, 
 And Rome's proud heroes perished once again: 
 The world was ne'er so desolate before, 
 
 For thou the s^Dirit wert of those great men! 
 Their several forms thy single nature wore 
 
 Talma! — while thou didst live, they could not 
 die; 
 Ere they again burst their sepulchral door, 
 
 Time may run on a whole Eternity ! 
 Thy life contracted many a glorious age, 
 
 Thou made'st the virtues of all years thine 
 own;
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 91 
 
 By turns the Prince, tlie Warrior, and the Sage. 
 We had their greatness still, though they were 
 gone. 
 Familiar with high thoughts thou must have 
 soared 
 Where the Arch-spirits sublime look upward 
 to the Lord!
 
 92 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 8YEEN CHOEUS IN THE " SEA-BKIDE." 
 
 (MS.) 
 
 Troop home to silent grots and caves, 
 Troop home ! and mimic as you go 
 
 The mournful winding of the waves 
 Which to their dark abysses flow. 
 
 At this sweet hour, all things beside 
 In amorous pairs to covert creep ; 
 
 The swans that brush the evening tide 
 Homeward in snowy couples keep ; 
 
 In his green den the murmuring seal 
 Close by his sleek companion lies ; 
 
 While singly we to bedward steal. 
 And close in fruitless sleep our eyes.
 
 LENIMINA LABOKUM. 93 
 
 In bowers of love men take their rest, 
 
 In loveless bowers we sigh alone, 
 With bosom-friends are others blest, — 
 
 But we have none ! but we have none !
 
 94 LENIMI^fA LABOEUM. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Hither the wise, the witty, and the gay, 
 Bid to the flow of soul — bid me away! 
 Fool in all else, iu this not worldly wise 
 That all the world's vain wisdom I despise ; 
 AVitty in nought, but with sardonic leer, 
 Mutely to scoff at half the wit I hear; 
 And only gay, when those I would deride 
 Who think to fathom what I fain woxdd hide ; 
 So rare my mood what gentleness approves, 
 My verse so seldom what a Lady loves, — 
 Why should, fair Girl ! one melancholy line 
 Trace my soul's darkness on this page of thine? 
 This snowy page, that scares another's gloom. 
 To mine suggests the tablet of a tomb :
 
 LENIMINA LABOETJM. 95 
 
 And here would I, as on that pallid stone, 
 Grave some sad history — perchance my own ! 
 Like the fond bird, that in her darkling bourne 
 AVith sweet perversity, still loves to mourn. 
 Like her, whose pleasiu'e all in grief appears, 
 My wilful strains are ever steeped in tears ; 
 I've talked so long familiarly with woe 
 That her sad language is the sole I know ; 
 And Hope, that erst danced forward on the wind, 
 I've passed long since, and left far — far behind ! 
 Horror's black plumage ever round me waves, 
 I tread on skulls, I totter among graves, 
 A Fate pursues me, shrieking in mine ear. 
 That death, or something far more dread, is near; 
 Nor will this Terror cease her howl, before 
 I rest too deep in earth to hear her more. 
 Ask then the gay, the witty, and the wise, 
 Nymph of the rosy lips and violet eyes. 
 For flowers or fruits of poesy, I pra}-. 
 And cast this worthless, withering Leaf away!
 
 96 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 CUPID SLEEPING. 
 
 Prom Gray,^' after Plato. 
 
 In blest Idalia's realm, where forests green 
 
 Of myrtle, interweave their massy hair, 
 
 Buried chin-deep in bloom young Love was seen, 
 
 Pressing with rosy lip his rosy lair. 
 
 On the high branch his quiver hung,— the whUe 
 
 His darts slipt from his languid little hand; 
 
 And o'er his scented lips, half -oped to smile, 
 
 Hovered a ceaseless bee with murmur bland. 
 
 * Itue in Idalios tractus, felicia regna, 
 
 Fundit ubi densam myrtea sylva comam, 
 inter Amor teneram visus spirare qiiietem 
 
 Dum roseo roseos imprimit ore toros; 
 Sublimem procul a ramis pendere pharetram, 
 
 Et de languidula spicula lapsa manu, 
 Vidimus, et visu moUi diducta labella, 
 
 Murmure quo assiduo pervolitabat apes.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 97 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Dost thou love the blue to see 
 In a boundless summer sky ? 
 
 Sweeter blue I'll show to thee 
 In the orbit of an eye ! 
 
 Eoses of the purest red 
 
 Thou in every clime dost seek; 
 I can show a richer bed 
 
 In a single damask cheek! 
 
 Thou wilt talk of virgin snow 
 Seen in icy Norway land; 
 
 Brighter, purer, I can show 
 In a little virgin hand! 
 
 Still for glittering locks and gay 
 Thou wilt ever cite the Sim ;
 
 98 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 Here's a simple tress — I pray, 
 Has he such a golden one? 
 
 Choose each vaunted gem and flower 
 That must, sure! with triumph meet; 
 
 Come then to my Beauty's bower, 
 Come — and cast them at her feet!
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 99 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 DEPAETING MUSIC. 
 
 Its sweetness feU away 
 
 Into the calm of uight, like the last wave 
 
 That, as the rustling wind blows smoothly o'er, 
 
 Spreads wide and wider, — till it lose itself 
 
 Upon the heaveless bosom of the sea. 
 
 I listened — it was gone ! And yet methought 
 
 Its echoes, by the ether still undrowned, 
 
 Made some far ocean-music in mine ear : 
 
 But no! — 'twas Memory, so fond to raise 
 
 Vain semblances of joys now sepulchred 
 
 In the great gloomy Past, the gorge of Time— 
 
 Then came one sound, one lost, forgotten sound. 
 
 That vanished by me, as a midnight bird 
 
 Fleeting upon its dark wing fast away!
 
 100 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Ay ! thou look'st cold on me, pomp-loving Moon, 
 
 Thy courtier stars following in bright array, 
 Like some proud queen, when Meekness begs a 
 boon, 
 With upraised brow wondering what he should 
 
 say,— 
 Then passing in her slow and silent scorn away ! 
 Blank- visaged, wan, high-pacing Dame ! I come 
 
 No suitor to thy pity; nor to crave 
 One beam to gild the darkness of my doom, 
 Not even a tear to weep me in the grave ; 
 Think' st thou I'd wear thy tinsel on my pall. 
 
 Or deck my shroud with sorry gems like thine r" 
 No, let me die, unseen, unwept of all, 
 Let not a dog over my ashes whine, — 
 And sweep thou on thy worldly way, Moon! 
 nor glance at mine !
 
 LE>^IMINA LABORUM. 101 
 
 XXXYII. 
 
 THE LOST ONE. 
 
 WAS it fair? 
 Fair, kind, or pitiful to one 
 Quite Iieart-subdued — all bravery done, 
 Coyness to deep devotion tiu'ned, 
 Yet pure the flame with which she biu-ned,- 
 was it fair that thou should'st come, 
 Strong in this weakness, to my home, 
 And at my most defenceless hoiu*, 
 Midnight, should'st steal into my bowei-, 
 In thy triumphant beauty more 
 Fatal that night than e'er before ; 
 Angel of my destruction ! say 
 What drew thy demon steps that way ?
 
 102 LEXlillN-A LABORUM. 
 
 At such an lioiii — ungenerous youtli, 
 'Twas a most landless cleed in sooth — 
 Thou know'st my woman's heart was weak, 
 Yet still would' st that frail moment seek, 
 Protective age to slumber gone, 
 Thou knew'st, thou knew'st I was alone, 
 Loose-girded, warm, suspicion-free, 
 Mj bosom full of love and thee I 
 At my green arboiu'-window I 
 Drank the Night's balm voluptuously 
 And all surrendered to my harm ; 
 Looked moonward, leaning on my arm, 
 "With eyes upon that lonely star 
 "Wandering Heaven's blue wastes afar ; 
 The musk-wind kist the tendrils young 
 That round my glimmering lattice hung. 
 And seemed with treacherous sighs to sa}^ 
 How blissful, sweet, was that fond play ! 
 O'er my flushed cheeks at times the air 
 Bwex^t like a passing Zephyi-'s hair.
 
 LENIAIINA LABORUM. 103 
 
 As it would by caresses bland 
 Inure me to a wanton hand : 
 Thou knew'st the peril of this hour, 
 Yet seized it — to invade my bower ! 
 
 Inhuman! — and was this the time 
 To tempt my soul with passion's crime? 
 How could'st thou, bent on virtue's death, 
 Woo me with such delicious breath, 
 Tliat mine was held in holy fear, 
 Lest one faint word might 'scape my ear? 
 How could'st thou, with those suppliant eyes, 
 Locked hands, and most unhappy sighs, 
 Luplore me for thy sacrifice? 
 Was it a tender lover's i^art 
 To plead with such entrancing art? 
 Was it not merciless in thee 
 So fond, so gently fond to be ? 
 So winning, soft to speak and smile. 
 The guilt was hidden in the guile ;
 
 104 LEXIMIXA LABORUM. 
 
 So glorious in tliy beauty's might, 
 That sense grew dizzy at the sight, 
 In voice, form, face, resistless all, 
 That victim Virtue needs must fall. 
 
 Ah ! in a less unguarded hour-. 
 Thou should' st have come into my bower ; 
 Or come with speech, and heart and brow, 
 As cold and passionless as now!
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 105 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 MAID ]\IAEIAN'S SONG. 
 
 Hie away to Sherwood forest 
 
 Where the leaves are fresh and green! 
 Where my lover, jolly Eobin, 
 
 Full a month and more has been. 
 
 With my bow upon my shoulder 
 
 And my arrows in my hand, 
 Such a merry little outlaw 
 
 Never roamed this happy laud. 
 
 Both the red deer and the fallow 
 Chasing all the summer's day, 
 
 I make hill and dale and dingle. 
 Echo loud my merry lay.
 
 106 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 And what care I for the peril? 
 
 Suuud my bugle 1 and see then 
 How they'll bown them to defend me, 
 
 Full two hvmdred merry men!
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 107 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 Roll ou vasty Ocean ! 
 
 Like mountains in motion 
 
 Your grey waters rise 
 
 Till they melt in the skies, 
 
 And mingle the azure of Heav'n with their 
 
 own; 
 'Mid the roll of her drums 
 Queen Amphitrite comes, 
 And her white horses prance 
 In an Apennine dance, 
 As they wheel her about on her hollow-shell 
 
 throne ! 
 
 O'er the green furrows dashing, 
 Thro' the heavy ooze splashing,
 
 108 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 Down the snow-hillocks sliding, 
 
 In the vallied deeps hiding, 
 
 They mark out their flight in a pathway of 
 
 foam: 
 The gleaming-hair'd Daughters 
 And Sons of the Waters, 
 With shout follow after, 
 With song and with laughter, — 
 Then sink all at once to their coralline 
 
 home. 
 
 Foot and foot far asunder, 
 
 Wind-Gods step in thunder 
 
 From billow to billow, 
 
 Kicking up a white pillow 
 
 For him who will sleep stiff and stark on the 
 
 sea! 
 Viewless and vapoury, 
 Their sea-green drapery 
 Down their backs flowing
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 109 
 
 Keep the gazer from knowing 
 Of what form, of what face, of what fashion 
 they he ! 
 
 How glorious the sight ! 
 
 But no less than the Night 
 
 From her couch up-risen 
 
 Like the Moon out of prison 
 
 To roam her wild hour, her lone vigil to 
 
 keep, — 
 O'er the still waters blazing. 
 Where the green stars are gazing, 
 As if each were an eye 
 Of a creature on high, 
 That saw such a gem as itself in the deep. 
 
 Then, then the low tolling 
 Of swift waves wide rolling, 
 And whelming and coiling; — 
 Like a serpent-brood boiling
 
 110 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 
 
 In Hell's ample cauldi'on, tliey writhe and 
 
 they hiss ! 
 Sin's Son laughs to hear it, 
 And longs to be near it, 
 That for each whishing eddy 
 He might have a ship ready 
 To heave with a — Ho ! down the Joyous 
 
 ahyss ! 
 
 this is the hour 
 To look out from the tower, 
 Looming dim o'er the siu'ge, 
 And behold how they urge. 
 The rack-riders each, his blue courser afar : 
 How in ranks o'er the plain 
 Of the steadiless main, 
 They tilt and they joust 
 Till they're scattered to dust, 
 With a roar that rings round the wild Ocean 
 of war !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. Ill 
 
 Yet wend tliee there too 
 
 Wlien the calm sea is hlue, 
 
 When the sweet summer-wave 
 
 Has forgotten to rave, 
 
 And smooth o'er its ripple tlie Mer-maiden 
 
 glides ; 
 Thine eyes at the sight 
 Will half-close with delight, 
 For in rage or at rest, 
 Like a proud beauty's breast, 
 A charm with great Ocean forever abides!
 
 112 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 EPIGEAM. 
 
 Written in an Album. 
 
 Dear Eeader ! if by any chance you look 
 Into this tribute to this pretty book, 
 Forget my name, forget my verses too, 
 And if yo^(■ write, I'll do the same by you !
 
 LEN-IMINA LABOEUM. 1]3 
 
 XL. 
 
 LOYE'S LIKENESS. 
 
 0, MARK yon Eose-tree! when the "West 
 Breathed on her with too warm a zest 
 
 She ttirns her cheek away 
 Yet, if one moment he refi'ain, 
 She turns her cheek to him again, 
 
 And woos him still to stay! 
 
 Is she not like a maiden coy, 
 
 Prest by some amorous-breathing boy? 
 
 Tho' coy, she courts him too: 
 Winding away her slender form, 
 She will not have him woo so warm 
 
 And yet will have him woo !
 
 114 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 WINTEE. 
 
 The merciful sweet influence of the Soutli, 
 
 Cheereth the hardy winter-buds no more ; 
 No scented breath hovers around their mouth, 
 
 No beauty in their bosoms to adore. 
 With icy foot the rude North treads them down, 
 
 And tells them they shaU never greet the 
 Spring, 
 But perish at the line of Winter's frown. 
 
 That kills the very hope of blossoming. 
 Thus while he fans them with his frosty wing 
 
 They scatter all their leaves upon the earth, 
 Not worth the hapless ruddock's* gathering. 
 
 And die upon the spot that gave them birth. 
 How like in fate the winter-bud and I ! 
 
 We live in sorrow, and in sorrow die. 
 
 * Robin.
 
 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 115 
 
 XLII. 
 
 ON A YOUNG TEEE 
 
 G-ROWINO NEAR A ToMB, 1812. 
 
 Tree ! Tree ! Tree ! Kttle Tree ! 
 
 Growing as thou dost grow, 
 
 Thou shalt be high as the tomb 
 
 When I shall be just as low ! 
 
 "Wliile I am returning to earth, 
 
 Earth will be turning to thee ; 
 
 Of the very same earth I am 
 
 Thy beautiful growth may be ! 
 And so, neither mistress nor friend need I crave. 
 But shade my own relics, and show my own 
 grave. '
 
 116 LENIMINA LABOBUM. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 ON A FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Fountain ! in whose depths of silver green 
 The boughs that shade thee, beaded thick are 
 
 seen, 
 And the white dove, nestling their heads between, 
 
 Drops chrystal from her wings ; 
 While sparkling orbs upon thy surface swim, 
 Or lie in seedy rows about thy rim, 
 Spreading a shore of pearls around thy brim, 
 To tempt the faery things ! 
 
 Thee never doth the fiery noontide seethe, 
 But here the scented violets moistly breathe, 
 And oft the candid bee doth warp beneath 
 Thy roof with echoing hum.
 
 LENIMINA LABOETBI. 117 
 
 Fountain ! thy flow is melody to me ! 
 Thon shalt my well of inspii-ation be! 
 And to drink deep of thy translucency 
 Shall future poets come.
 
 118 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 ON A CHILD: 
 
 The Daughter of Hon. Mrs. R. Westenra. 
 
 Cherub ! that from thy own Heaven seem'st to 
 borrow 
 The lovely blue that gleams in thy young 
 eyes, 
 Why art thou here in this dim vale of sorrow, 
 This earth, so far beneath thy kindred skies ? 
 
 To show what innocent, bright, happy creatures. 
 Circle with smiles like thine the eternal throne, 
 
 To tell mankind by what angelic features 
 
 The children of Heaven's kingdom may be 
 known.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 119 
 
 And yet, for all the cherub that's within thee, 
 
 Sorrow may wait upon thy coming years, 
 Deceit may to destruction strive to win thee, 
 
 And mortal pain may cause thee human tears. 
 Ah ! be thy woes the lightest can befall thee, 
 
 Let "Sinless" still be written on thy brow; 
 And when thy sister spirits heaven-ward call thee. 
 
 Be still as fit for Paradise as now.
 
 120 LEXIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 From the " Sea-Bbide." (MS.) 
 
 When nestling winds the ocean soothe, 
 Till calm as Heaven's blue waste it be, 
 
 How sweet to glide from smooth to smooth, 
 Like halcyons of the under sea! 
 
 How brave to tread the glistening sands 
 That lie in amber wreaths below : 
 
 The twisted toil of faery hands 
 
 Condemned to swing them to and fro ! 
 
 My bright harp with its golden tongue, 
 Speaks sweetly thro' the lucid wave, 
 
 And says its chords need scarce be rung. 
 While floods so soft its bosom lave.
 
 LENIMINA LABOBUM. 121 
 
 Broad-handed Neptune aye will beat 
 In milder mood this harp of mine ; 
 
 So think not, if the song be sweet, 
 Think not the melody is mine !
 
 122 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 THE EOMAN COTTAGEE. 
 
 Verbatim from Yirgil. 
 
 Happy old Man ! — here mid thy well-kuown 
 
 streams 
 And sacred founts, shalt thou the coolness dim 
 Inhale! — This neighboui' hedge, stiU pastui-ing 
 Hybloean bees on willow flowers, shaU oft 
 With a light murmur Im-e thee to repose ! 
 Here shall the woodman sing unto the winds 
 Beneath the lofty rock : nor shall they care, 
 The deep-voiced doves, nor shall the turtle cease, 
 From the aerial elm-tree to complain.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 123 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 TO EOSELLA. 
 
 Beauty like thine 
 
 Is a wilderness flower, 
 
 That would lose half its charms 
 
 If removed to a bower. 
 
 In its own wild vale 
 It grows simple and fair, 
 And it never can bloom 
 Half so lovely as there. 
 
 Then smile, sweet rose ! 
 But to feast on that smile, 
 There is many a bee 
 Would come many a mile !
 
 124 LEjSriMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 On Eeceiving a Sketch in Pencil from the 
 
 Owner. 
 
 One evening, fi-om the dewy South, 
 
 The spirit of the Eainbow came. 
 And with her moist vermilion mouth 
 
 Close at my lattice, breathed my name : 
 
 " Either of these rich presents chuse," 
 Methought I heard the Eadiance say ; 
 
 This magic pen or pencil vise 
 As deftly as thy talent may." 
 
 Both ! both ! — too covetous I cried — 
 The plume flew past me on the winds ! 
 
 "Enough for him," the Sylph replied, 
 " Whoe'er that winged pencil finds ! "
 
 LENIMINA LABOBUM. 125 
 
 "To a fair earthly Sylph I'll give 
 
 This other — graphic pen divine ! — 
 Think thyself happy to receive 
 
 One sketch by it for one by thine ! "
 
 126 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 While the Moon decks herself in Neptune's glass, 
 
 And ponders o'er her image in the sea, 
 Her cloudy locks smoothing from off her face 
 
 That she may aU as bright as Beauty he; 
 It is my wont to sit upon the shore 
 
 And mark with what an even grace she glides 
 Her two concurrent paths of azure o'er, 
 
 One in the heavens, the other in the tides; 
 Now with a transient veil her face she hides, 
 
 And Ocean blackens with a human frown, 
 Now her fine screen of vapour she divides. 
 
 And looks with all her light of beauty down ! 
 Her splendid smile, wide-spreading o'er the main. 
 
 Brightens the glass she gazes at again !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 127 
 
 L. 
 
 Even were Hell a fable, 'twere a wise one 
 
 And yet it is as great a truth as Heaven, 
 
 Tho' neither be what Mahomet would make them ; 
 
 Ay ! and Mahometans of other Creeds ; 
 
 Who, with their fancies ever full of Earth, 
 
 Worship the Crescent tho' they kiss the Cross ! 
 
 How fine so-e'er these visionary scenes, 
 
 We must still shew them with their tapestry-backs 
 
 To the gross people with its hydra head, 
 
 The multitude hath scarce a Cyclop's eye! 
 
 See, with what awe, his simple mouth and ear. 
 
 Yon pale wretch drinks up the soul-shaking 
 
 sounds 
 Of rack ! and scourge ! and flame ! Dire eloquence ! 
 And when the pitying orator allays
 
 128 LENIMINA LABORUM- 
 
 His burning lips in horrid tales of Heaven, 
 Bounteously poured into the caitiff's heart, 
 He melts in rapture as he heard the strain 
 That angels move to !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 129 
 
 LI. 
 
 SONG OF THE SUMMEE-WINDS. 
 
 Up the dale and down the boiu-ne, 
 O'er the meadow swift we fly, 
 
 Now we sing, and now we moui'n. 
 Now we whistle, now we sigh. 
 
 By the grassy-fringed river, 
 
 Thro' the murmiu-ing reeds we sweep, 
 Mid the lily leaves we quiver. 
 
 To theii* very hearts we creep. 
 
 Now the maiden-rose is blushing 
 At the wanton things we say. 
 
 Whilst aside her cheek we're rushing 
 Like some truant bees at play. 
 
 K
 
 130 LEXIHINA LABORUM. 
 
 Through the blooming groves we rustle 
 Kissing every bud we pass, 
 
 As we did it in the bustle 
 
 Scarcely knowing how it was ! 
 
 Down the glen, across the mountain, 
 O'er the yellow heath to roam, 
 
 Whirling round about the fountain 
 Till its little breakers foam. 
 
 ±Jending down the weeping willows 
 while OLir vesper hymn we sigh; 
 
 Then into our rosy pillows 
 un OTU" weary wings we hie. 
 
 Then of idle hours dreaming 
 Scarce from waking we refrain, 
 
 Moments long as ages deeming 
 Till we're at our play again !
 
 LENIMmA LABORUM. 181 
 
 LII. 
 
 THE FIGHT OF THE FORLOEN. 
 
 A Romantic Ballad founded on the History of 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 Scene: A Cave overhanging the Shannon. 
 
 Bard. 
 
 SiiooTH Slian-avon ! Eirin's glory ! 
 
 Of thy calm my heart would borrow; 
 Still inspire my cbeam's sweet story, 
 
 Wake me not so soon to sorrow ! 
 
 Grreen Shan-avon, wild and lonely ! 
 
 Rave not while the Minstrel slumbers ; 
 Soothe Ms heart of sadness only 
 
 By thy melancholy numbers.
 
 132 
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 Hear the woodquest^-- softly moaning 
 Thro' her honeysuckle bowers, 
 
 Hear the wind-bell sweetly toning 
 In the simple ear of flowers. 
 
 Son of the far distant fountain ! 
 
 What rude blast awakes thy willows? 
 Strong descendant of the mountain ! 
 
 Why these winter-swollen billows? 
 
 Broad Shan-avon ! Island-sund'rer ! f 
 Now I see what burdens press thee, 
 
 Loud Shan-avon! streamy thund'rer! 
 For thy warning voice I bless thee. 
 
 * lu Gaelic, com (pronounced hase) means darkness, obscurity ; 
 and thence, sadness, sorrow. Ceasacht (pron. kasacht or kcst) 
 signifies complainvit/. Hence the wood pigeon is denominated 
 the ceasacht or quest. Latin, questus (complaint). 
 
 t In G-aelic Sean (pron. Shan) means old, as semes in Latin. 
 Likewise avon, or awn, signifies river. Hence Shan-avon, or 
 Shannon, means the old river. Ptolemy calls the Shannon 
 Sen us. 
 
 This river nearly sunders Ireland into two unequal parts, 
 being the largest island river in the world.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 133 
 
 Lo ! aclown the valley steering, 
 
 With their pennons dyed for slaughter, 
 
 Fnll two hundred barques appearing, 
 Trample thy bright road of water ! 
 
 Like a brood of swans together 
 Proudly breasting thro' the rushes, 
 
 On they come! while each beneath her. 
 Heaving high, the billow crushes. 
 
 Round the woody headland booming 
 
 Toward my cavern-cliff they bend them; 
 
 Shadowy o'er the waters looming, 
 This shall its dark shelter lend them. 
 
 Bard. 
 
 Welcome! — Why the Eed-branch waving, 
 Flower of heroes ! Young Hidallan ? *^ 
 
 * Hi-Dallan (like Hi-Nial, Hi-Bi-ian) means tribe or terri- 
 torj' of Dalian.
 
 134 LENIMINA LABORUM. ' 
 
 Wherefore these ■vrilcl trumpets raving 
 Call to arms green Inisfallan?*" 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Bard ! to battle I have bound me — 
 
 Eirin's red-branch now must shade her — 
 
 With my young- war-breathers round me, 
 To repel the bold invader! 
 
 Lochlin'sf roving sons of Ocean 
 
 Crowd Shan-avon's bay with galleys ; 
 
 Sword and brand in fiery motion 
 Waste Momonia's:]: peaceful valleys! 
 
 Prophet ! skilled in battle-omen, 
 Read his fate for young Hidallau ; 
 
 Shall we triumph o'er the foemen ? 
 Shall we save green InisfaUan ? 
 
 * Inis-f allan, from inis an island and fallan beautiful. This 
 name was general, but is now appropriated to an islet in the 
 Lake of Killamey. 
 
 t Loch-lcm, i.e. Lake-land, the land of lakes, or Scandinavia. 
 
 X Momonia is the old name for Munster.
 
 lenimina laboeum. 135 
 
 Bard. 
 Ai ! alas my heart foretold it I 
 
 This the secret of my sadness; 
 that ere thou didst unfold it 
 
 Melancholy turned to madness ! 
 
 Phantoms, choakt with hideous laughter, 
 Nightly troop around my dwelling. 
 
 Visions dim come bleeding after, 
 Woe to Inisfail foretelling ! 
 
 Lochlin's sons shall triumph o'er her, 
 Shed her own best blood upon her; 
 
 Long in chains shall she deplore her, 
 Long shall weep her foul dishonor! 
 
 Chief. 
 Bard ! to no brave chief belonging, 
 Hath green Eirin* no defenders? 
 
 *Mriun (or properly Erin), from the Gaelic iar west, or 
 perhaps eirr snow.
 
 136 LENIMEfA LABORUM. 
 
 See ! her sons to battle thronging, 
 Gael's broad-swords and Ir's^' bow benders! 
 
 Clan Tir-oen ! f Clan Tir-conel ! 
 
 Atha's:]; royal sept of Conacbt! 
 Desmond red ! and dark O'Donel ! 
 
 Fierce O'More ! and stout M'Donacht ! 
 
 Hear the sounding spears of Tara, || 
 On the blue shields how they rattle ! 
 
 "Hear the reckless Lord of Lara 
 
 Humming his short song of battle ! 
 
 * Ir, a prince of the Belgse who settled in Ireland. They 
 •were Scoti (from sciitten to shoot). 
 
 t Tir (Latin terra) means land. Tir-oen, land of Owen. 
 XAtha, palace of the Belgse. 
 
 II Teaeh-inor (Lat. teeta majora) i.e., the great Souse, or 
 palace of the Irish kings. It is contracted into Tcmra, and 
 thence into Tara, by ancient writers. Lara is in Conacht 
 (Connaught).
 
 LEXIMINA LABORTTM. 137 
 
 Ullin's* Chief, the great O'Nial, 
 
 Sternly with his brown axe playing, 
 
 Mourns for the far hoiu" of trial 
 And disdains this long delaying ! 
 
 Gray O'Euark's f self doth chide me, 
 
 Thro' his iron beard and hoary, 
 Miu-muring in his breast beside me — 
 
 "On to our old fields of glory!" 
 
 Eed-branch crests, like roses flaming. 
 Toss with scorn around Hi-dallan, 
 
 Battle, blood, and death proclaiming, — 
 Fear'st thou still for Inisfallan? 
 
 Bard. 
 Mighty -hearted ! mighty -handed ! 
 Ne'er lerne | nourished braver. 
 
 * TTlUn and Tllladh {acliamel-house) are Gaelic names for 
 Ulster. 
 
 fO'EuarJc, now spelled 0''Eourke, Prince of Breifne. 
 Properly Hi-Euarach. 
 
 X Icriie is another name for Ireland, derived from iar, west : 
 thus Claudian— ^zt/'i^ glacialis lerne.
 
 138 LENIMLN^A LABOETJM. 
 
 Yet in vain to battle banded, 
 
 Die they may, but cannot save her. 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Woe ! and must the green lerne 
 Yield her to the Ocean-rangers? 
 
 Say! by skill accurst, discern ye 
 She must ever yield to strangers ? 
 
 Baed. 
 
 Many a sun shall set in sadness, 
 
 Many a moon shall rise in mourning, 
 
 Ere a distant note of gladness 
 Breathe of Liberty retiu'ning. 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Say! should we, despite thy omen, 
 Onward move, to battle bending. 
 
 Shall we fall without our foemen ? 
 Shall we die without defending?
 
 lenimina laboeum. 139 
 
 Bard. 
 
 Scern shall be tho strife, and bloody, 
 Ere our fate shall own a stronger, 
 
 Streams with slaughter shall run ruddj^ 
 Eirin's fields be green no longer ! 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Die then ! in thy cave unnoted, 
 
 Thou that would' st from battle warn • 
 us ! 
 Tho' we may be death- devoted, 
 
 Glory's wreath shall still adorn us! 
 
 Souls of fire ! for battle sighing. 
 
 Bend your white sails round Hi-daUau 
 
 What desire we more than dying. 
 If we die for Inisfallan ? 
 
 Bard. 
 
 Stay ! stay ! Shan-avon's billows 
 In a shroud of water wind them;
 
 140 LEXnilNA LABOETJM. 
 
 Bloodless be their frothy pillows, 
 If they leave the Bard behind them 
 
 Chief. 
 
 Son of the same Land that bore us, 
 Beats thy kindred pulse so proudly ? 
 
 Strike thy war-harp then before us, 
 Raise the song of battle loudly ! 
 
 Though forlorn and doomed to slaughter, 
 Chant some gay and gallant ditty, 
 
 Lest Shan-avon's murmuring water 
 Drown our triumph in its pity'
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 141 
 
 LAY OF THE FOELOEN. 
 
 Farewell to Sliev Morua,* 
 The hills of the winds ! 
 Where the hunters of Ullin, 
 Pursue the brown hinds ! 
 Farewell to Loch Ern where the wild eagles dwell ! 
 Farewell to Shan-avon, Shan-avon, farewell ! 
 
 Farewell to bright tresses, 
 Farewell to bright eyes, 
 To the snow-covered bosoms 
 That heave with their sighs ! 
 Long, long for their heroes in vain may they swell, 
 Farewell to fair maidens, fair maidens farewell! 
 
 * Sliev, properly slialh, is the Gaelic for mountain. Sliev 
 Morna are the Mountaim of Mournc, in Boivnshire.
 
 142 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 Farewell to our castles, 
 Our oak-blazing halls, 
 Wliere the red fox is prowling 
 Alone in the walls! 
 Farewell to the joys of the harp and the shell, 
 Farewell to lerne, lerne, farewell. 
 
 'Twas a wild and reckless measure, 
 Yet, the Minstrel's heart relenting, 
 
 Tho' he kept the tone of pleasure, 
 (Still his mirth was like lamenting. 
 
 On they rushed to death, undaunted, 
 Tow'rds the van of Loehlin striding, 
 
 Where her dusky pennons flaunted. 
 
 Where her mountain ships were riding! 
 
 Furious was the fight, and deadly. 
 Whilst the sun in blood descended; 
 
 When next morn he rose as redly, 
 Scarce the cruel fight was ended.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 143 
 
 Long, lerne's fate delaying, 
 
 Fell her sons in battle glorious ! 
 
 Less subdued than tired of slaying, 
 Ev'n as victims still victorious. 
 
 There they sank, opprest by numbers, 
 There, where this brave fortune found 
 him. 
 
 Every son of Eirin slumbers, 
 
 With, at least, five foes around him! 
 
 Knight, and Chief, and Bard, and Bonacht,"^' 
 Died with young, with brave Hi-dallan, 
 
 Ullin's hope, and flower of Conacht, 
 All the pride of Innisfallan! 
 
 * A Common Soldier.
 
 144 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 DIEGE. 
 
 By Mermen in the " Sea Bride." (M.S.) 
 
 Prayer unsaid, and mass unsung, 
 Deadman's dirge must still be rung: 
 
 Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound! 
 
 Mermen chant his dii-ge around ! 
 
 Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair, 
 Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair: 
 
 Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go! 
 
 Mermen swing them to and fro ! 
 
 In the wormless sands shall he 
 
 Feast for no foul gluttons be : 
 
 Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime 
 Mermen keep the tone and time !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 145 
 
 We must with a tombstone brave 
 iShut the shark out from his grave : 
 
 Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll! 
 
 Mermen dirgers ring his knoll! 
 
 Such a slab will we lay o'er him 
 All the dead shall rise before him! 
 
 Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom! 
 
 Mermen lay him in his tomb !
 
 146 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 TO A CYPEESS TEEE. 
 
 MELANCHOLY Tree ! thou who dost stand 
 Like a sad mourner in liis sable skroud 
 Fast by the grave of her he loved, too proud 
 In his deep mufl3.ed woe, to have it scanned. 
 Whilst on each side of that dear s]pace of land 
 (Too sacred for the common weeping crowd,) 
 The attendant woods, remote, on either hand, 
 Eave and lament in murmui's low or loud : 
 Wilt thou, russet Tree! lend me thy shade 
 Each noontide, when the sun inflames the sky 
 And glares with hideous splendoiu' from on high 
 Taking the sweet green sadness from the glade ? 
 Wilt thou keep full with tears the floweret's eye 
 That weeps alone where I am lonely laid?
 
 leni:mina laborum. 147 
 
 LV. 
 
 Deep in tlie ocean's thundering wave 
 O that I sank into my grave ! 
 
 Where my knell shall be 
 
 The groans of the sea 
 Tolling within some hollow cave. 
 
 that I lay in my narrow bed 
 
 With the ocean weeds to pillow my head, 
 
 Its foam for my shroud, 
 
 While its lullaby loud 
 Deepened the sleep of the happy dead !
 
 148 , LEIsaMINA LABORUM. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE THORN. 
 
 It is a popular legend, that the nightingale, when singing, 
 leans upon a thorn. 
 
 Night's curtains are faUinsj: 
 
 Around her wide dome, 
 And mother-birds calling 
 
 Young wanderers home. 
 
 The humble-bee singing 
 
 Comes out of the rose, 
 And thro' the wood ringing 
 
 His curfew, he goes.
 
 liENIJkllNA LABORUM. 149 
 
 No pipe on the mountain, 
 
 No step in the vale, 
 The moon in the fountain 
 
 Looks silent and pale : 
 
 "Hush! hush! — the flood's daughter 
 She visits by night. 
 Begins 'neath the water 
 To mourn with dehght." 
 
 "0 no ! 'tis the wild-flowers 
 Sighing for morn, 
 When the sun their green bowers 
 With gold shaU adorn." 
 
 "Yon grove of sweet rushes, 
 'Tis they who complain ! 
 As the wind in soft flushes 
 Comes o'er them again."
 
 150 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 "Sweet sound! — far sweeter 
 Than these could have birth ; 
 Such notes are far meeter 
 For heaven than earth ! " 
 
 "Say, whence are those numbers? 
 Why waken they, when 
 Even sorrow hath slumbers'?" — 
 Look down in the glen : 
 
 The moon on the ripples 
 
 That wander below, 
 AVith her tender lip tipples 
 
 The waves as they flow : 
 
 There's a tree bending over 
 The roar of the stream, 
 
 Where its bright sparkles hover 
 Like rain in the beam :
 
 LENIMINA LABORITM:. 151 
 
 That bower of roses, 
 
 That sweet-brier tree, 
 A Minstrel encloses 
 
 Whom sight may not see. 
 
 "Come down to the valley! 
 Come onward a-pace ! 
 This willow-walled alley 
 Leads up to the place ! " 
 
 She's gone! — Ah! unthinking! — 
 "What's here?— Is it blood. 
 
 The leaves redly-inking 
 As deep as the bud?" 
 
 Know you not the wild story ? — 
 
 Our villagers tell, 
 That this bird hath such glory 
 
 In wailing so well,
 
 152 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 To deej)en her sadness 
 Of ecstasy born, 
 
 In fine and fond madness 
 She leans on a thorn I
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 153 
 
 LVII. 
 
 THE TEMPTEESS OF THE CAVE. 
 From a M.S.: "The Sea-Bride." 
 
 LiSTEK youth! listen, listen, 
 
 To my dittying lyre and song, . 
 She whose eyes so gently glisten, 
 Cannot will thee wrong. 
 
 that unto thee, as me. 
 Deep dominion of the sea, 
 Did, sweet youth, belong. 
 
 'Neath the wave there is no sorrow. 
 Love the only pain we know,
 
 154 LENIMINA LABOKUM. 
 
 Jocund night brings joyful morrow, 
 To the bowers below. 
 
 At the green foot of this weU, 
 Lies my glassy bower and cell, 
 WiU the Mortal go? 
 
 I will give thee green shell-armour, 
 Chrystal spear, and helm of gold, 
 Sword of proof against the charmer, 
 Like a knight of old. 
 
 Thou shalt in a chariot brave, 
 Eoam the deep, and ride the wave; 
 Dare thou be so bold? 
 
 O'er the wave-blue waters sliding, 
 What proud pleasure it will be. 
 Thy wild ocean-coursers guiding. 
 To be-lord the sea. 
 
 Down the rocky ladder steep, 
 Winding to the wondrous deep. 
 Come, come with me !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 155 
 
 Treasures past the power of telling, 
 
 Eichly shall the deed repay, 
 Come ! I hear the sea-caves knelling, 
 "Come! come away!" 
 
 Come and boast thee to have been 
 "Wanderer of the sea-bed green, 
 Till thy dying day!
 
 156 LENIMINA LABORITM. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 LAMENT EOE LOVE. 
 
 Once on a time, when Love was young, 
 While light, as his own dart, he flew ; 
 
 Where-e'er a gentle lay was sung, 
 
 Ev'n there would Love be singing too. 
 
 Where-e'er a maiden sighed, he'd sigh, 
 Where-e'er she smiled, he'd smile as gay, 
 
 Where-e'er she wept, he flew to dry 
 With cherub-lips her tears away. 
 
 But now, alas ! that Love is old, 
 Beauty may e'en lay down her lute. 
 
 His wings are stiff, his heart is cold. 
 He will not come and warble to't.
 
 LENIMINA LABORTJM. 157 
 
 Or like a tottering tiny sire, 
 
 With false voice and false -feathered wing, 
 Will only to a golden lyre, 
 
 And for a golden penny sing. 
 
 Keen-sighted grown, but deaf and lame, 
 All changed from what he wont to be, — 
 
 Vilely transformed in very name, — 
 Not Cupid, but Cupidity. 
 
 Now on his bags, behind, the knave 
 Cradles like silkworm in its crust, 
 
 Content to sink into the grave. 
 Might he be buried in gold dust. 
 
 Now maids must sigh, or smile, alone 
 
 Like roses in the desert bed. 
 Or bleed, on rocky bosoms thrown. 
 
 Or die, — for Love himself is dead.
 
 158 LEXIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 0, I could weep myself into a stream, 
 
 Making eternal fountains of mine eyes ; 
 AVould that the ancient mythologic di'eam, 
 
 "Were true, that peopled earth with deities 
 Then might some God, compassioning my cries, 
 
 Turn me into an ever-weeping riU, 
 Or hend me to a willow that with sighs 
 
 The very region of the vale doth fill. 
 For I have woes too mighty for such tears. 
 
 As these I shed, but am compelled to hide ; 
 Their burning bitterness mine eyeballs sears. 
 
 And I am forced to drink the scalding tide ; 
 Lest the orbs melt to brine, and leave me more 
 Desolate and darkly-fortuned than before.
 
 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 159 
 
 EPIGEAM. 
 
 On the "Poet's Coener " of a Liteeaey 
 
 JOUENAL. 
 
 Steange insjpiration breathes o'er all who peep 
 
 Into this Corner where we Poets keep : 
 
 We sleep ourselves, and make the peepers sleep.
 
 160 LENIMINA LABORITM. 
 
 LX. 
 
 ZEPHYE AMONG THE ELOWEES. 
 
 When tlie brigh.t-h.air'd. Morn 
 
 With her dropping horn 
 
 Blows sweet on the mountain-side, 
 
 Where the dale-queens lie 
 
 With a light foot, I 
 
 O'er their green tiaras glide. 
 
 I waken each flower 
 
 In her grassy bower, 
 
 But I do not, — dare not stay. 
 
 For I must begone 
 
 To attend the Sun 
 
 At the eastern gate of the day.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 161 
 
 Fare thee well ! farewell ! 
 
 As I leave her cell, 
 
 I can hear the young rose sigh : 
 
 And the harebell too 
 
 Bids me oft adieu, 
 
 With a tear in her dim blue eye. 
 
 As pale as the snow 
 
 Doth the lily grow 
 
 When my wild feet near her rove; 
 
 Yet she lets me sij) 
 
 Of her nectarous lip 
 
 As long and as deep as I love. 
 
 To make me her prize 
 
 Pretty primrose tries, 
 
 Kissing and clasping my feet; 
 
 But violets cling 
 
 So fast by my wing. 
 
 That my feathers are full of them yet ! 
 
 M
 
 162 LENIMINA LABOEUM. 
 
 Each flower of the lea 
 
 Has a bed for me, 
 
 But I will not, — cannot stay ; 
 
 For I must begone 
 
 To attend the Sun 
 
 At the western gate of the day.
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 163 
 
 LXI. 
 
 WEEP NOT, MY BEIDE! 
 
 "Weep not, my Bride ! to be my bride, 
 
 Say not that love is o'er, 
 That joy with maiden-hood has died, 
 And thou'lt be wooed no more! 
 
 I'll love thee, husband like, my bride, 
 And like a lover woo beside ! 
 
 The roebuck loves the mountain steep. 
 
 The cushat loves the glen, 
 The eagle loves his craggy keep, 
 Her russet hedge the wren : 
 
 But dearer far I'll love my bride. 
 Whatever weal or woe betide !
 
 164 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 The wild bee loves the heather-bell, 
 
 The blossom loves the tree, 
 The daisy loves the spring-time well, 
 But not as I love thee. 
 
 As I love thee, my bonnie bride, 
 My joy, my passion, and my pride! 
 
 When loves the breeze to sigh no more, 
 
 To wave his locks the pine. 
 When lovers love to die no more 
 For beauty such as thine, 
 
 I'll love thee then no more, my bride, 
 For then will Love himself have died I
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 165 
 
 EPIGEAM 
 
 On a blockhead who censured a man of genius for his want 
 of presence of mind. 
 
 Presence of mind he lias not, I agree; 
 Had'st thou his absence it were well for thee: 
 His thoughts are o'er the universe ! vain elf, 
 Thine never quit that little world, — thyself!
 
 166 LENIMINA LABORUM. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 ON THE PICTUEE OF A GIEL, 
 
 Seen in an Album. 
 
 Tnoi', prithee what art thou, 
 With thy forward-bending brow, 
 
 And thy half -uncurtained eyes! 
 Sweet orbs ! and yet within 
 Fear I much some baby sin 
 
 Nursed by Passion lies ! 
 
 Ay ! such cymar of snow 
 Oft veils a nun I know, 
 
 And thou may'st indeed be one ; 
 Yet her cymar I swear 
 Never saw I novice wear 
 
 So unlike a nun !
 
 LENIMINA LABORUM. 167 
 
 True! that's a fairer waist 
 
 Than could e'er have been embraced 
 
 Save by it's own silken band ; 
 Yet, Maiden as thou art, 
 'Neath it throbs no little heart 
 
 That it may be spanned! 
 
 Pure thoLi as any saint, 
 
 Art, perchance, from earthly taint. 
 
 And an angel fit to be ; 
 But, prithee, if 'tis given 
 That I too should go to Heaven, 
 
 Stay thou far from me ! 
 
 By Pride the angels fell. 
 
 And by Love they might as well, 
 
 'Tis in sooth the apter way ! 
 Sweet, then bestow thy love 
 On some icy Saint above, 
 
 INot on me, I pray I
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Chiefly from "Labours of Idleness" axd 
 "Errors of Ecstasie."
 
 POEMS. 171 
 
 THE DOVE'S LONELINESS. 
 
 Beeak not my loneliness, Wanderer! 
 There's nothing sweet but Melancholy, here. — 
 'Mid these dim walks and grassy wynds are seen 
 No gaudy flowers, undarkening the green : 
 No wanton bird chirrups from tree to tree, 
 Not a disturber of the woods but me ! 
 Scarce in a summer doth a wild bee come 
 To wake my sylvan echo with his hum: 
 But for my weeping lullaby I have 
 The everlasting cadence of the wave 
 That falls in little breakers on the shore, 
 And rather seems to strive to roar — than roar; 
 Light Zephyr, too, spreads out his silver wings 
 On each green leaf, and in a whisper sings
 
 172 POEMS. 
 
 His love to every blossom in her ear, 
 
 Too low, too soft, too sweet for me to hear ! 
 
 The soiil of Peace breathes a wide calm around, 
 
 And hallows for her shrine this sacred spot of 
 ground. 
 
 Her bird am I — and rule the shade for her, 
 A timid guard, and trembling minister ; 
 My cradling palace hung amid the leaves 
 Of a wide-swaying beech : a woodbine weaves 
 Fine spinster of the groves! my canopy 
 Of purpling trellis and embroidery : 
 My pendant chair, lined with the velvet green 
 That nature clothes her russet children in, 
 Moss of the silkiest thread : This is my throne, 
 Here I do sit, queen of the woods, alone ! 
 And as the winds come swooning through the 
 
 trees, 
 I join my murmurs to their melodies ; 
 Murmurs of joy, — for I am pleased to find 
 No visitors more constant than the wind :
 
 POEMS. 17o 
 
 My heart beats high at every step you come 
 Nearer the hosom of my woodland home ; 
 And blame me not, if when you turn away 
 I wish that to some other scenes you'd stray, 
 Some brighter, loveHer scenes ; these are too sad. 
 Too still, and deepen into deeper shade. — 
 See ! the gay hillocks on the neighbouring shore, 
 Nodding their tufted crowns, invite thee o'er; 
 The daisy winks, and the pale cowslip throws 
 Her jealous looks ascant — red burns the rose — 
 Spare hawthorn all her glittering wealth displays, 
 Stars, blossoms, buds, and hangs them in the blaze, 
 To lure thine eye — the slope as fresh and sweet. 
 Spreads her lush carpet to entice thy feet. 
 Here are but weeds, and a few sorry gems 
 Scattered upon the straggling woodbine's stems. 
 Hoar trees and withered fern — Ah, stranger, go ! 
 I would not stay to make thee tremble so 
 Were I a man, and thou a little dove; 
 I would, at thy least prayer, at once remove.
 
 174 POEMS. 
 
 Then, stranger, turn ! — and sliould'st tliou hear 
 me coo, 
 
 From this deep-bosomed wood, a hoarse adieu — 
 
 The secret satisfaction of my mind, 
 
 Tliat thou art gone, and I am left behind — 
 
 Smile thou, and say Farewell! — the bird of Peace, 
 
 Hope, Innocence, and Love, and Loveliness, 
 
 Thy sweet Egeria's bird of birds doth pray 
 
 By the name best-beloved, thou 'It wend thy way, 
 
 In pity of her pain — Though I know well 
 
 Thou would' st not harm me, I must tremble still : 
 
 My heart's the home of fear — Ah! turn thee 
 
 then. 
 
 And leave me to my loneliness again !
 
 POEMS. 176 
 
 EOBIN'S CEOSS. 
 
 A LITTLE cross, 
 
 To tell my loss ; 
 A little bed 
 To rest my head ; 
 A little tear is all I crave 
 Upon my very little grave. 
 
 I strew thy bed 
 
 Wlio loved thy lays ; 
 
 The tear I shed, 
 
 The cross I raise, 
 With nothing more npon it than — 
 Here lies the little friend of Man !
 
 176 POEMS. 
 
 We Dryad Sisters exiled be 
 
 From our sweet groves in Thessaly : 
 
 Green Tempe calls us back again, 
 
 And Peneus weeps for us, in vain; 
 
 But here our oracles we breathe, 
 
 And here our oaken crowns we wreathe, 
 
 Or fleet along the slippery stream. 
 
 Or wander through the greenwood dim, 
 
 Or to its inmost haunts repair, 
 
 To comb our dark- green tresses there, 
 
 Or loose them to the whistling wind. 
 
 And then with flowers and ivy bind. 
 
 We've danced and sung on yonder glade 
 
 AVhilst Pan on his rush-organ played. 
 
 And Satyr gambol' d and young Paun 
 
 Whirled us around the reeling lawn.
 
 POEMS. IT'S 
 
 Till Echo, whoopirLg under ground, 
 
 Bid us to cease otu* antic round. 
 
 Else she would raise the hill with noise. 
 
 Then why should we for Tempo mourn, 
 
 Although we never can return ? 
 
 This torrent rolls a wave as sweet 
 
 As ever Peneus uttered yet : 
 
 This Father oak which shelters me. 
 
 Hath not his peer in Thessaty ; 
 
 This vale as deep, as wild, as green, 
 
 As Tempo is, or e'er hath been. 
 
 So like in wood, and stream, and air, 
 
 That oft we seem re- exiled there : 
 
 And scarce a Dryad here has flown, 
 
 But takes this Tempe for her own. 
 
 N
 
 178 POEMS. 
 
 O'ee golden sands my waters flow, 
 
 "With pearls my road is paven wMte ; 
 Upon my banks sweet flowers blow, 
 
 And amber rocks direct me right. 
 Look in my mother-spring : how deep 
 
 Her dark-green waters, yet how clear! 
 For joy the pale-eyed stars do weep 
 
 To see themselves so beauteous here. 
 Her pebbles all to emeralds turn, 
 
 Her mosses fine as Nereid's hair ; 
 Bright leaps the crystal from her urn. 
 
 As pure as dew, and twice as rare. 
 Taste of the wave : 'twill charm thy blood, 
 
 And make thy cheek out-bloom the rose, 
 'Twill calm thy heart, and clear thy mood 
 
 Come ! sip it freshly as it flows !
 
 poEiis. 179 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 You, the choice minions of the proud-lipt Nine 
 
 Who Avarble at the great Apollo's knee, 
 Why do yon laugh at these rude lays of mine? 
 
 I seek not of your brotherhood to he ! — 
 I do not play the public swan, nor try 
 
 To curve my proud neck on your vocal streams ; 
 In my own little isle retreated, I 
 
 Lose myself in, my waters and my dreams. 
 Forgetful of the world, — forgotten too! — 
 
 The cygnet of my own secluded wave, 
 I sing — whilst dashing up their silver dew 
 
 For Joy — the i^etty billows try to rave ; 
 There is a still applause in solitude 
 Fitting alike my merits and my mood.
 
 180 POEMS. 
 
 In my bower so bright 
 
 As I lay last night, 
 The moon through the fresh leaves streaming, 
 
 There were sounds i' the air, 
 
 But I could not tell where. 
 Nor if I were thinking or dreaming. 
 
 'Twas the sound of a lute, 
 
 To a voice half mute. 
 That sunk when I thought it was swelling, 
 
 And it came to my ears. 
 
 As if drowned in the tears 
 Of the being whose woes it was telling. 
 
 Some accents I heard 
 AVere like those of the bird 
 Who the lee-long night is mourning;
 
 POEMS. 181 
 
 And some were like those 
 That we hear, when the rose 
 Sighs for her Zephyr's returning. 
 
 The tones were so sweet, 
 
 I thought it most meet 
 They shoukl not be tones of gladness ; 
 
 There are notes so fine, 
 
 That were melody mine. 
 They should only belong to sadness. 
 
 And the air-creature sung, 
 
 And the wild lute rung. 
 Like the bell when a cherub is dying; 
 
 I can tell no mo. 
 
 But the tale was of woe. 
 For the sounds were all lost in the sighing. 
 
 And still it sung on 
 Till the stars were gone. 
 And the sun through the dews was peeping;
 
 182 POEMS. 
 
 When I Avoke in my bow'r, 
 Ev'iy leaf, ev'ry flo-wer, 
 Ev'ry bud, ev'ry blossom — "svas weeping!
 
 POEMS. 
 
 US 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 "Why tell you me to lay the cittern by, 
 And vex no more its disobedient strings ; 
 That every clash the soul of Sweetness wrings 
 
 Quenching the lamp of bright Attention's eye ? 
 
 Wliat though the tender ear of Harmony 
 
 Shrinks, as the plant draws up its leaf}' wings 
 With a fine sense of pain ! — the woodman sings 
 
 High in the rocky air, as rude as I ; 
 
 Yon shepherd pipes upon a reed as shrill 
 
 As ever blew in Arcady of yore ; 
 
 They sing and play to please their passion's will, 
 
 And waste the tedious hour ; — I do no more ! 
 Then leave me to my harp and to my lay, 
 Eebukable, yet unrebuked as they.
 
 184 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO 
 
 Thou whom of all the beings I have seen 
 I could adore most truly, — if our fate 
 
 Had so permitted it; but now I ween 
 
 To love were far more cruel than to hate : 
 0, had we met at some more happy date ! 
 
 I might have won thee for my angel bride; 
 And thou in me hadst found a truer mate 
 
 Than Constancy had ever known beside 
 
 Our bodies as our kindred souls allied ; 
 I know no state of happiness more blest ; 
 
 For thee, deserting all, I could have died. 
 Or have died, all-deserted, on thy breast ! 
 
 But, fare thee well ! — I know that I am one 
 
 Condemned alike to live and die alone
 
 POEMS. 185 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 I THOUGHT that I coiild ever happy he, 
 
 Married to meditation, and my lyre. 
 Charming the moments on with melody. 
 
 That fills the ear with musical desire; 
 
 But now far other thoughts my breast inspire ; 
 I find no happiness in poesy ; 
 
 Within my soul burns a diviner fire, 
 For now my heart is full of love and Thee : 
 
 Yet 'tis a melancholy thing to love 
 When Fate or Expectation shuts the door, 
 
 When all the mercy I can hope, above 
 Mere friendship, is thy ]pity, — and no more, 
 
 For who could love a being such as me, 
 
 Thy most unhappy son. Fatality f
 
 186 POEMS. 
 
 THE WILD BEE'S TALE. 
 
 WuEx the sun steps from the billow 
 On the steep and stairless sky, 
 
 "Up!" I say, and quit my pillow, 
 "Bed, for many an hour, good-bye!" 
 
 Swiftly to the East I turn me, 
 
 Where the world's great lustre beams. 
 
 Warm to bathe, but not to burn me. 
 In its radiant fount of streams. 
 
 Then unto the glittering valley, 
 Where Aurora strews her pearls, 
 
 With my favourite flowers to dally. 
 Jewelled all, like princely girls !
 
 POEMS. 187 
 
 There I hiim amid tlie bushes, 
 
 Eating honey, as it grows. 
 Off the cheek of maiden blushes, 
 
 And the red lip of the rose. 
 
 In the ear of every flower 
 
 Buzzing many a secret thing, 
 Every bright belle of the bower 
 
 Thinks it is for her I sing. 
 
 But the valley and the river. 
 
 That go with me as I go, 
 Know me for a grand deceiver ; 
 
 All my pretty pranks they know. 
 
 Hovr I lull'd a rose with humming 
 
 Gentle ditties in her ear, 
 Then into her bosom coming, 
 
 Eifled all the treasure there. 
 
 How I kiss'd a pair of sisters 
 Hanging from one parent tree,
 
 188 POEMS. 
 
 Whilst each TDiid-mouth as I kist her's, 
 Called me — Her own little bee ! 
 
 Now my Flower-gentle, sighing 
 
 To so wild a lover true, 
 Tells me she is just a-dying, — 
 
 So I must go kiss her too. 
 
 Down the honeysuckle bending. 
 As I light upon her crest. 
 
 And her silken tucker rendinjr. 
 Creep I bold into her breast. 
 
 There entranced, but scarcely sleeping. 
 For one odorous while I lie ; 
 
 But for all her woe and weeping, 
 In a moment out I fly. 
 
 Golden-chain, with all her tresses, 
 Cannot bind me for an hour; 
 
 Soon I break her amorous jesses, 
 And desert the drooping flower.
 
 POEMS. 189 
 
 Tliey may talk of Happy Heaven, 
 
 Of another world of bliss ; 
 Were I choice and freedom given, 
 
 I would ask no world but this. 
 
 Have they lawns so wide and sunny ? 
 
 Have they such sweet valleys there ? 
 Are their fields so full of honey? 
 
 "What care I for fields of air! 
 
 Grive me earth's rich sun and flowers, 
 Give me earth's green fields and groves ; 
 
 Let him fly to Eden's bowers, 
 He who such cold bowers loves. 
 
 O'er the broom and furze and heather. 
 
 That betuft the mountain side. 
 In the sweet sun-shiny weather. 
 
 Let me here for ever glide. 
 
 Let me o'er the woodland wander. 
 On my wild bassooning wing,
 
 190 POEMS, 
 
 Let me, as the streams meander, 
 Murmur to their murmuring. 
 
 I can dream of nothing sweeter 
 
 Under or above the moon ; 
 Tell me any thing that's better, 
 
 And I'll change my song as soon. 
 
 But if Heaven must be, — I pr'ythee, 
 
 God of woodlands ! grant my prayer- 
 Let me bring my woodland with me, 
 Or find such another there !
 
 poe:ms. 191 
 
 AILEEN ASTOEE; 
 OR, THE GLEN OF THE GRAVE. 
 
 Lay me down, lay me down by the stream, 
 Wliere the willow droops over the wave, 
 
 And the heavy-headed daffodils dream, — 
 
 There I'll make my last couch in the grave. 
 
 And the winds a soft chorus shall keep 
 "With the robin that sings me my dirge. 
 
 While the streamlet shall lull me to sleep 
 With the noise of its own little surge. 
 
 Pretty flow'rets above me shall grow, 
 Breathing softly, to break not my rest; 
 
 And each dewy morn, as they blow, 
 
 Drop a tear, bright and pure, on my breast!
 
 192 POEMS. 
 
 ELLINOEE. 
 
 Upon a still and breathless night, 
 
 When Heav'n was hush'd and Earth was 
 sleeping, 
 The green hills wet with dewy light, 
 
 And silver tears fresh flowerets weeping; 
 
 Young Ellinore sped forth to meet 
 In the still moon-lit vale her lover ; 
 
 The turf scarce gush'd beneath her feet 
 As she ran up the hill and over. 
 
 Lovely and lonely vale it was, 
 
 One hollow glade of glimmering bowers. 
 
 And winding alleys smooth with moss, 
 The green repose of humble flowers. 
 
 A shallow stream roved through the dell. 
 
 With small discourse and rimpliug laughter,
 
 POEMS. 193 
 
 Wooing the reeds : — then wept farewell ! 
 And mourn' d and murmured ever after. 
 
 Soft mossy hanks and rushy beds 
 Border'd this slow delaying river ; 
 
 Too perilous a place for maids 
 
 When they are seized with love's sweet fever ! 
 
 Young Ellinore look'd up the glen, 
 Yoimg Ellinore look'd down the valley, 
 
 Young Ellinore look'd homeward, — when 
 A youth sprung o'er the greenwood alley. 
 
 The moonbeams kissed the sleeping trees, 
 The moonbeams kissed the sleeping flowers; 
 
 "Oh!" said the youth, "shall lips like these 
 Kiss,— and not kiss such lips as ours?" 
 
 He strewed his couch of rush and reed. 
 
 He strewed it o'er with bough and blossom, 
 
 He lay that night upon that bed,— 
 Young Ellinore lay in his bosom.
 
 194 POEMS. 
 
 Ah ! luckless night ! Ah, luckless hour ! 
 
 Oh, had she loved less well, or never ! 
 She blooms no more, a stainless flower, — 
 
 Young Ellinore is lost for ever!
 
 POEMS. 195 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I'\t: been roaming! I've been roaming 
 Wliere the meadow dew is sweet, 
 
 And like a queen I'm coming 
 With its pearls upon my feet. 
 
 I've been roaming ! I've been roaming ! 
 
 O'er red rose and lily fair, 
 And like a sylph I'm coming 
 
 "With their blossoms in my hair. 
 
 I've been roaming ! I've been roaming ! 
 
 Where the honeysuckle creeps, 
 And like a bee I'm coming 
 
 With its kisses on my lips. 
 
 I've been roaming ! I've been roaming ! 
 
 Over hill and over plain, 
 And like a bird I'm coming 
 
 To my bower back again !
 
 196 POEMS. 
 
 THE FALLEN STAE. 
 
 A STAB is gone ! a star is gone ! 
 
 There is a blank in Heav'n, 
 One of the cherub choir has done 
 
 His airy course this ev'n. 
 
 He sat upon the orb of fire 
 
 That hung for ages there, 
 And lent his music to the choir 
 
 That haunts the nightly air. 
 
 But when his thousand years are passed, 
 
 With a cherubic sigh 
 He vanished with his car at last. 
 
 For even cherubs die!
 
 POEMS. 197 
 
 Hear how his angel-brothers mourn — 
 
 The minstrels of the spheres — 
 Each chiming sadly in his turn 
 
 And dropping splendid tears. 
 
 The planetary sisters all 
 
 Join in the fatal song, 
 And weep this hapless brother's fall 
 
 Who sang with them so long. 
 
 But deepest of the choral band 
 
 The Lunar Spirit sings, 
 And with a bass according hand 
 
 Sweeps all her sullen strings. 
 
 From the deep chambers of the dome 
 
 Where sleepless Uriel lies, 
 His rude harmonic thunders come 
 
 Mingled with mighty sighs.
 
 198 POEMS. 
 
 The thousand car-borne cherubim, 
 
 The wandering eleven, 
 All join to chant the dirge of him 
 
 Who fell just now from Heav'n..
 
 POEias. 199 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE'S SONG. 
 
 The night wind had sung the wild flow'rs to their 
 slumbers 
 And rock'd their green cradles all over the 
 lea, 
 Whilst they wept, in their sleep, to the pitiful 
 numbers 
 That came from the Nightingale-tree. 
 
 The Nightingale told such a tale of disaster 
 
 That it well might have pass'd for a dream 
 with the flow'rs, 
 
 And still as she sung, they wept faster and faster 
 Tears — not drop by drop — but in show'rs.
 
 200 POEMS. 
 
 For she told — wliat she still loved to tell — tho' the 
 story 
 
 Was painfully sad — e'en too sad to be sweet ; 
 But the bird hath in sadness a sorrowful glory, 
 
 A joy in the depth of regret. 
 
 'Twas a tale of fierce cruelty, red desperation, 
 That stain' d the dark forest she sung in 
 before, 
 She had witness' d the deed in her green habita- 
 tion — 
 Her green habitation no more ! 
 
 'Twas of shrieks, and vain struggles, and fainting 
 endeavour, 
 And cries for sweet mercy, and passion, and 
 pray'r ; 
 'Twas of maidenly bosom-snow sullied for ever 
 With blood that had sullied it there>
 
 POEMS. 201 
 
 She had fled far away from so gxiilty a dwelling 
 To these lonelier, lovelier, shadier bowers, 
 
 And the tale that she trembles so sweetly in 
 telling. 
 She tells every night to the flowers. 
 
 If the matin-lark sung it, whilst cheering the 
 bright sun, 
 The skies had wept down the gay warbler to 
 earth ; 
 Then what must it be, when 'twas told to the 
 night-sun. 
 In notes so far distant from mirth ? 
 
 And so oft the sad chronicler chanted her ditty, 
 The trees 'gan to sigh, and the rushes to 
 wail, 
 
 And the flowerets to murmur a chorus of pity 
 To shew they were moved at the tale.
 
 202 -POEMS. 
 
 With weeping the moon became blind, and the 
 duty 
 Of lighting the earth, was forgot in the spheres. 
 When the ocean-born sun rose, indeed -' in his 
 beauty, — - 
 
 But rose in the beauty of tears!
 
 POEMS. 203 
 
 A EYGHTE PYTHIE SONGIE.* 
 
 It is not beautie I demande, 
 
 A clirystalle browe, the moone's des^jaire, 
 Nor the snowe's daughter, a whyte hand, 
 
 Nor mermaide's yellowe pryde of haire. 
 
 Tell me not of youre starrie eies, 
 
 Your lippes that seeme on roses fedde, 
 
 Your breastes where Cupide tremblinge lies, 
 Nor sleepes for kissing of his bedde. . 
 
 A bloomie paire of vermeil cheekes. 
 Like Hebe's in her ruddiest houres, 
 
 * Published in Ai-chbishop Trench's "Household Book of 
 Eng-lish Poetry," but without the author's name.
 
 204 POEMS. 
 
 A breath tliat softer musicke s^^eakes 
 Than summer windes a-wooing flowers. 
 
 These are but gawdes: nay — what are lips? 
 
 Corall beneathe the ocean streame, 
 "Whose brinke when youre adventiu'er sips 
 
 Full oft hee perisheth on themme. 
 
 And what are cheekes but ensignes ofte 
 That wave hot youthes to fieldes of bloode? 
 
 Did Helene's breaste, though e'er so softe, 
 Do Greece or Ilium anie goode? 
 
 Eies can with balefulle ardoure burne, 
 Poison can breathe that erste perfumede, 
 
 There's manie a whyte hande holds an urne 
 With lovers' heartes to duste consumede. 
 
 For chrystalle browes — there's naught within, 
 They are but emptie celles for j)^y<ie> 
 
 Hee who the syrenne's haire would winue 
 Is mostKe stranglede in the tyde.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 205 
 
 Give me, insteacle of beautie's buste, 
 A tender bearte, a loyal minde, 
 
 Wbicb witb temptation I could trust 
 Yet never linkede witb erroure finde. 
 
 One in wbose gentle bosome, I 
 
 Could pour my secrete bearte of woes, 
 
 Like tbe care-burtbenede bonie flie 
 Tbat bides bis murmurres in tbe rose. 
 
 Mie eartblie comfortoure! wbose love 
 
 So indefeasible mygbte bee 
 Tbat, wben mie spirite wonne above, 
 
 Her's could not staye for sympatbie.
 
 206 POEMS. 
 
 TO HELENE— ON A OIFTE-EING CAEELESS- 
 
 LIE LOST. 
 
 I SENTE a ringe — a little bande 
 
 Of emeraud and rubie stone 
 And bade it sparklinge onne thy bande, 
 Telle thee sweete tales of one 
 Whose constante memorie 
 Was fuU of loveliness and thee! 
 
 A spelle was gravenne on its golde— 
 
 'Twas Cupide fixede without his winges ; 
 To Helene once it would have tolde 
 
 More thanne was everre told bie ringes, 
 But now alle's past and gone, 
 Her love is buriede with thatte stone.
 
 POEMS. 207 
 
 Thou slialt not see the teares thatte starte 
 
 From eies bie thoughtes like those begiiilde, 
 Thou shalt not knowe the beatinge hearte, 
 Ever a victime ande a childe. 
 Yet, Helene, love — believe 
 The hearte thatte never could deceive. 
 
 I'D. heare thy voice of nielodie 
 
 In the sweete whisperres of the aire, 
 I'll see the brightnesse of thine eye 
 In the blue evening's dewie starre ; 
 In chrystalle streames thy puritie, 
 And looke on Heavenne to look on thee.
 
 208 POEMS. 
 
 THE EEBELLION OF THE WATERS. 
 
 The Sea, in tremendous commotion, calls on its tributary 
 stream for succour, whilst Triton blows his threatening comet 
 in vain. Simois and Scamander awake from their dream of 
 ages into pristine glory, and the floods subside not even at the 
 rebuke of Neptime. 
 
 "Akise! the sea-god's groaning shell 
 
 Cries madly from his breathless eaves, 
 And staring rocks it's echoes tell 
 
 Along the wild and shouting waves. 
 Arise! awake! ye other streams, 
 
 That wear the plains of ruined Troy, 
 Ida's dark sons have burst their dreams, 
 
 And shake the very hills for joy."
 
 POEMS. 2<'9 
 
 Press'd by the king of tides from far, 
 
 Witli nostril split and blood-shot eye, 
 The web-foot minions of his ear 
 
 Shriek at the wave they lighten by. 
 The noise of total hell was there, 
 
 As fled the rebel deeps along ; 
 A reckless, joyous prank they dare. 
 
 Though thunder fall from Neptune's tongue.
 
 210 POEMS. 
 
 TO A STEEAM. 
 
 "Whither, tell me, stream ! 
 
 Roil these idle rills, 
 Down the rocks where Echo lies, 
 
 From the bleeding hills : 
 Kissing ev'r}^ heedless flow'r 
 As it drops thy waters o'er, 
 
 With a liquid lip of foam. 
 
 "From the mountain brow 
 
 O'er the heath I go, 
 When the wild linnet sings 
 
 To the woods below. 
 O'er the meadow's golden dress. 
 Rover of the wilderness. 
 
 And the sleeping vale, I roam."
 
 POEMS. 211 
 
 Wild and silly stream! 
 
 Ere the wish be vain, 
 Turn to thy grassy spring, 
 
 Murmurer, again. 
 Tears, tears of* sorrow deep 
 Eovers o'er their follies weep. 
 
 For a dear and distant home. 
 
 THE END.
 
 PRINTKI) BY PEKRY, GARDNER AND CO., 
 CURSITOR STREET, LONDON. 
 
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