TK A^^ A^ : c/5 — ^ =^ X = ^^ 2 3 = ^ ■—r -r> ^^■^ / — ^^— ( — H = ^ ■ — j:; 4 == =^^ :> 3 = 7 P* Travers Random rhymes from Paris THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ' ~'r: :.■• •'!:.■ >■■ ■' V-.. . .'•.'';.'•■. -■ 4^^ RANDOM RHYMES. t. U. UAKMARI), PBINTKR, SKINNER BTU£11T, LU.SUUN. RANDOM RHYMES FROM PARIS: WITH OTHER POEMS. BY DENNIS TRAVERS. Puisque les choses sont ainsi, je pretends moi avoir aussi mon franc-parler. CoRRESPONDANCE d' AlEMBERT. LONDON: PRINTED FOR T, AND J. ALLMAN, PRINCES-STREET, H ANOVER-SQCABE. 1822. PR •5G7I ■ ADVERTISEMENT. THE following Stanzas do not affect any method or arrangement, and originate altogether in accident. They are addressed to the British Ambassador, as presenting the most obvious mark and point of union be- tween the politics of the two countries ; or for any better reason that a sagacious reader can invent. At first, it was the Author's design to print in Paris; but he had mounted Pegasus in a snaffle-bit, and soon found himself ex^tra limites curiarum. Their publication has been accidentally delayed ; but it is hazarded, even at this lateness of the season, rather than wait for another year. Paris, Julyl, 1822. oernvoo,^ 10 WILLIAM CHARLES KEPPEL, EARL OF ALBEMARLE. My Lord, All dedications are, or ought to be, marks of honour. They are the distinctions which genius reserves to reward public virtue and private worth; and when they are bestowed uncor- ruptly, and with discrimination, reflect a reciprocal lustre upon both parties. We will not inquire, whether the Most Honourable Order of the Bath — when it is conferred upon an intriguing civilian — can do as much. But intriguing civilians wear it. vii In my search after a name to prefix to these pag-es^ I have made choice of your's, for two reasons : first, because I do not know you ; and secondly, because the country does. In the midst of her agitations, and distresses unparalleled and omnigenous, the voice of the Earl of Albemarle has come frequently upon her ear, to console and cheer her. In the senate and in the multitude, in her town-halls and her open places, you have been ever found at your post, a champion superior to detrac- tion, imperturbable in danger: alike unmoved by the yells of party, and unintimidated by the '^vultus instantis tj/ranni.' „• *» Of the following stanzas I will only say, that, like most similar performances, they are better in- tended than achieved. Composed rather desultorily than hastily, they bear the marks of the various tempers in which I seized the pen. Too volatile Vlll for a serious poem, and too serious for a squib, they partake of the nature of both, without affecting the character of either. The suggesting locahties are foreign, but the generalities must come home : the verses may be evanescent, but their principles are taking root. It is the cause of the people against their oppressors, of freedom against arbitrary power : the great question, which the swords of our ances- tors have so often been unscabbarded to settle, but which is yet left for their children to deter- mine. An iniquitous league of kings, without a parallel for its hypocrisy and impiety, threatens the political existence of nations — the general rights of mankind. Drained of her blood and money, Eu- rope endures till she can fetch her breath ; but her silence is as the dead still which precedes an earth- quake, and a terrible convulsion is at hand. In Italy, every arm is nerved, every breast is boihng; in Spain, the love of liberty is a passion; in Ger- IX many, it is fast expanding ; in France, a spark will precipitate it into explosion. Legitimity, my Lord, must soon renounce her pretensions, or reign by a better title than Divine Right : magni sunt populi et prcevalehunt. I should die of despair, if I thought otherwise. These are sounding reflections at the head of a piece of fugitive poetry ; but their subject will vin- dicate the verses from insignificance, if not from oblivion. I have long followed you with my silent admiration : accept now these stanzas, in testimony of a feeling which I only participate in common with every lover of freedom and mankind. RANDOM RHYMES. I. It may seem strange, in such a land as this, And under such a government — where strife With power is vain, and all the rod must kiss — It may seem strange that I, who ail my life Breathed flames against a despotism, and yet Could never write two pages, but my pen Betrayed itself by some impatient fret — Stuart ! should write to thee, of all our public men. 12 II. But whispers are gone forth, that thou'rt 21 whig: I hope 'tis no vile slander! if thou'rt one Of those, whose eldest triumph was to dig And fix the state's foundations — not a son Of party, but the patriot's true descender — Though ill such virtue and such place agree, I'd hail thee — no close copy of thy sender — But fit for thine high state, as kings' deputes should be. 111. We will not talk more narrowly : enough, That I throw out a hint, just not too dark To be mistaken — for I know the stuff Ye're made of, and I keep within my mark. 'Tis true, I've handled monarchs at discretion, Saying plain things without much fear of fetters : I never looked on truth as a transgression, And could be frank with thcc — as I've been with thy betters. 13 IV. But this it is which makes a change of air So needful oft to patriots: this the cause, Which makes it dangerous to do or dare, And shuts the lips that would uphold the laws. For this — oh, shame ! — in his own Apennines The high harp of the Piedmontese is quelled : And the tamed Switzer cedes the burning lines Of Milton and the Scot, o'er which his bosom swelled. V. Pellico, too — Pellico — glorious child Of poesy and freedom ! — he was born Heir to Alfieri's harp and spirit wild, But death was in his cup, and withering scorn. •The axe was lifted, but — too mild for him ! — Vienna's craven vengeance changed the doom, To pine, with hectic cheek and fettered limb. Debarred of light and sound — in Spielberg's living tomb. 14 VI. 1 do not ask what makes Cornaro here, Lost in the crowd — and glad to be lost — when He should be Doge of Venice. Question queer, To the power-mongers ! — but I check my pen. Nor ask I for what crime, untold as yet. But worthy of his virtues — like a star, Launched from the spheres to dazzle, not to set — Fell that blood-sparing chief, Deliverer hailed afar. VIL \ saw him late in England, as beside Our buried queen — my mistress, and his own — At Brandenburgh he stood: less in the pride Of chief than citizen — yet there he shone. With his nine orders on : Crescent and Cross — The Tower and Sword — Black Eagle, and the Red — Theresa's badge, thrice brilliant from its loss — And George's and St. Anne's their blended glories shed. I 15 VIII. J3ut vainly did mine anxious eye con over That glowing galaxy, in search for some Ribbon or star, or aught that might discover His sovereign's approbation: — that's to come. Oh, transitory gratitude of kings, For crown, or life preserved — how cheap they pay The saviour of a sceptre ! yet their strings And trinkets, tell how poor — without such men — were they IX. When Xaviek was recalled, there came among The rest, an exile on his faith relying : * They say that through the town a musket rung, And bonds were broke, while yet their ink was drying. I judge not of such deeds — but I regret That thrones should be thought safer, blood-cemented : They never stood the steadier for it yet. And such red cabinet crimes at last shall be repented. Nay. 16 X. Mercy may come too late — at least to bless, If not to save : hark to that maniac shriek, Followed by the loud laugh, that awes not less The pitying listener ; and that altered cheek, Furrowed — but not with age — it tells a tale Of tearless grief, which never more shall wet It's parching paleness! but her prison wail Sounds from the lattice bar: weep, weep for Lavalette. SONG OF THE COUNTESS OF LAVALETTE. 1. 1 GAVE my love my cloak and hood. To hide his face, and fly : And in his prison-place I stood. When he was doomed to die. They came to fetch my love away. But only found his bride : They made a bloody tomb for Ney, And dug my love's beside. 17 2. I heard them dig the live long night, I knew their spades — and screamed ; But he was far beyond their spite Before the morning beamed. My love had gained the frontier land — God bless the English name ! An' 'twere not for their helping hand I'd been a widowed dame. 3. But Wilson was a gallant man, My saving angel he ; And back the baffled death-hounds ran, — They did not come for me. And Bruce and Hutchinson are dear To my poor memory yet ; But the soul they cheer is dark and drear: Weep, weep for Lav alette ! B 18 XI. 'Twas said that vvitli her life her woes were past, But oil Montmartre's height she sings them still ; And there a wild guitar speaks in the blast, And strangers yet hear sweet complainings thrill. And sometimes with her song, there comes a name Unuttered long in France — but which may be Utterable yet, when some young stripling frame Shall spring — matured to man — from Schoenbrun's nur- sery free. XII. By Jena's Bridge, which fronts the Champ de Mars, The ground has been broke up, and long there lay- Irregularly scattered — jousts and spars, Mortar and stones — not yet all cleared away. Once as I passed, a veteran whom war's ills Had seared, stood gazing ; and his lips did quiver. And old eyes rain, as they drank in that hill's Amphithei\tral form, rising beside the river. 19 Xlll. I felt a gush as if mine own were swimming With the poor soldier's — 'twas a sudden thing : And thoughts I could not check my sight were dimming, Like Rapp, whose tears respected not the king. For there the imperial prisoner of the seas Had founded his boy's palace : but the spite Of ultraists hath planted sapling trees, That withering mock their task, and ne'er shall shroud the site. XIV. Ideots ! — as if such paltriness could sting The splendid heritor whom yet they fear. Or pluck one feather from the eaglet's wing : As if their sorry shrubbery, sick and sear. Might wake no thought of HIM, whose coffined sire- Still dear to France — sleeps in his island grave : While the loud ocean, beating o'er the pyre. Prolongs his requiem note with everlasting wave. B 2 20 XV. « How blindly still do princes go to work, As if men had not hearts ! — as if no goad Had oft unscabbarded the murderer's dirk, When despots dally where in blood they rode ! But kings are seldom warned : when danger cries, Aye with some fatal drug their ears are stopt; And some fresh victim for their pleasure dies, 'Till — in their mid career — the cannibals are cropt. XVI. So Stuart ! — so the Bourbon ! — so, than all The Bourbons and the Stuarts greater He In field or cabinet, whose thundering fall Shook the slaved world, but not to leave it free ! For kings became gregarious from that day. And trooped like wolves to slake their jaws in gore : From far they spring upon their parcelled prey, And war upon their kind as kind ne'er warred before. 21 XVIL They talked of blood in Troppau's dark divan. Making and marring destinies — till then, Not their's to make or mar — and hurled their ban Far to the South, from Laybach's deadly den. Imperious and imperial — right and left — Ukase, ordonnance, manifesto poured ; Old Ferdinand stood at their bar bereft, And Austria spoke his doom, and Pep 6 sheathed the sword. XVIII. Rare was the sight — though rarer it shall be. And great advantage to a young beginner In court chicane — to stand concealed, and see The four confederated crowns at dinner. Monarch and minister, from state unbent. To their loud mirth full scope and chorus gave : And — aye some mystery in it's burden blent — Burst from their winy lips this bacchanalian stave. 22 SONG OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 1. We are the fellows to fetter the world, Huzza for the lads of Laybach : Time on his course muy for ages be hurled, Before he shall bring suqU, a. ;iay->back ! Pass, brothers, pass, Fill up the glass — Drink to the toast of the sword and the ass ! 2. Bourbon is back, let the multitude hiss— If a patriot's wanted, he'll ape one : He sits in the Tuileries, guarded by Swiss, And feeds on his fricass6e capon ! Good at high mass, But a fool with his lass — Drink to the toast of the sword and the ASS ! 23 3. Faggot and stake are established in Spain, And justice, a shadow and sport is : Her best liberaUs are scattered or slain. And Ferdinand fudges the Cortes ! See him to mass, Like a milliner pass : — Drink to the toast of the sword and the ass 1 4. Greece may display insurrectional airs ; They move the Alliance to laughter: Let her battle it out with the Ottoman bears, And we'll fall on the conquerors after ! We are the class For a levee en masse : — Drink to the toast of the sword and the ass ! 24 5. Fill the full tankard to Wellington's name, Him — that capsized the capsizer : Let sly Londonderry come in for his fame, And George — with his able adviser! The best of his class At a girl, or a glass : — Drink to the toast of the sword and the ASS ! XIX. As died the song, rose hiccup, laugh, and roar. Till Laybach's congress like a cabaret seemed; And broken glass, and orders strewed the floor. That late on royal breasts augustly beamed. Kings, half seas over, must be pleasant fellows — I would that the whole seas were over some ! The modern Midases are grown so jealous. And play such antic tricks with bayonet and bomb. 25 XX. But soft — I said I'd handle matters lightly: And tho' my muse be a hard-riding jade, And press sometimes her Pegasus too tightly — Not Cecil in her prime, nor masculine Lade Sate firmer in their saddles, when the chase Was hot and hale thro' Hatfield's conscious cover — Yet can she curb him, even in middle race, And tame the unruly beast — as Conyngham tames her lover. XXI. Come, then, Sir Knight — nor fear lest I transgress The ultr^ and the citrd of decorum: I know the kind protectors of the press, Honour and hate — but bow not down before 'em. No ! — long as protean words can so be blent, To smite the maker, yet elude the law — Before power's Baal shrine I'll stand unbent, And my bold patriot pen for truth and freedom draw. 26 XXII. Let Berton gird the sword upon his thigh — • Good speed him with it — while the emulous schools, In capital and province, join the cry Of shame upon the missionary tools. Have exile and dethronement taught thy king No sounder policy, ill-fated France, Than from his people their just rights to wring. And battle with brute force the impassive mind's advance! XXIll. Saint Eustace, then, no warning lesson reads To a decapitated king's successor ! But power — encroaching, as her fraud proceeds — Usurps the rights of censor and confessor. Bourbon ! in every age thou'rt Bourhon still — Ninth or nineteenth — thy breed defies improving: Like the doomed stone that never cleared the hill, Thou and the Pope roll back, while all the world is moving ! 27 XXIV. I heard a tumult in the house of prayer— A din of swords — and wet, but not with wine, The blushing temple-steps gave earnest there Of rivers yet to flow at Moloch's shrine. The hired gendarmerie at a gallop rode. Charging the crowd, that ran for life and limb : While, mist with dissonant yells in Christ's abode — By halberds hedged around — Intolerance poured her hymn. XXV. Barthelemy and the Vespers — Nantes and Nismes Rushed to my mind — while there I stood alone 'Mid blows and blaspliemies, 'mid chants and screams. Doubting the time's identity — and mine own. Oh ! keyed impostress, drunk with lust and gore From eldest days — girl-faced and harpy-clawed : Scourge of a sinful world for evermore, Hath Ferney's gong been heard, and art thou found abroad I 28 XXVI. Enough of such at present. Let the times Work their own reformation — as they shall, In church and state — and purge the earth of crimes, Albeit high culprits in the purging fall ! A sun for public virtue yet shall shine — A day shall dawn for purity : meanwhile. Pay thou from that sex-loving heart of thine The tribute that thou canst — for here thou hast no guile. XXVII. I could not close this desultory lay. Nor speak of Violante ! she was not Sunk into disrepute, yet stole away From the world's honours — lost, but unforgot. 'Tis sweet her sad and simple tale to tell, While the full bosom at her mention warms ; And thoughts, like magic, on the memory swell. As fancy calls her back, drcst in her thousand charms. 29 XXVIII. She died in a strange land — heartbroken died— Left in her worse than widowhood — the tie Of twenty summers snapt for a young bride — Younger than her young daughter ! none was nigh To smooth the desolate couch, whereon she lay Withering; but — like the tempest-stricken leaf, That waits not Nature's summons to decay — She shrank before the fury of her grief. XXIX. I stood beside her grave ; her grave — whose tone Was melody to millions — and I wept; Remembering that even that was not her own, But there — by casual charity — she slept ! For she died destitute, nor left withal To buy the rites of sepulture ; yes, she — Whose life was one rich bounty — lacked a pall. While HE, that should have mourned — kept bridal revelryi 30 XXX. There be some natures dead to shame and feeline. And his is such : yet moved he long and far, A satellite in her bright orbit wheeling, And waited on the path of that sweet star. Year after year fled by, and pledges came. And grew in loveliness ; meantime, the sire — A princely pauper fattening on her fame — Lived like a drone in sloth, and drew his nightly hire. XXXI. It was not all ; he left her : Iier — whose breast Was tenderest love — whose purse was as his own. TiLNEY and Hamlet ! — Wickuam I — tell the rest. Tell, how ye put the sordid suitor down. For he turned pedlar in the land, and priced His diadem to her daughters, proud and free — Who scorned to share it with him ; uuenticed ^ By Shame's imperial bait— tho' thatn crown might be! 31 XXXll. Poor Violante! there she lies at last With all the Perditas : but one strange hand, To twine a coronal for all the past, And one chance pilgrim at her stone to stand! His conscience be his curse, who left her so — I name him not — his name would stain my page : Swept down oblivion's gulf I let him go, Mixt with the meaner base who scandalize the age. XXXIII. And now, Sir Knight, ere yet the muse wind up Her compound heterogeny of verse — Permit she pledge thee in one stirrup cup, And part, as one who came not to asperse. 'Tis thine, almost at will, to forge or break A country's chains — to bless her, or to ban : Try, then, the grand experiment — to make Some madmen hear the truth, and count mankind for man. 32 XXXIV. 1 am grown tired of lashing kingly crime, Since it makes kings no better. For the rest — I feel my caution ripening with my rhyme, And love the windy side of Newgate best! Though there I've walked with Hobhouse on the leads, Listing his ardent periods ; while the air Came like a wooer from sweet Surrey's meads, To kiss the patriot's cheek, and cheer his bondage there. XXXV. Yet, court I not like durance — though to me 'Twere pride, 'twere honour: but if ever they Cage me for verse, I'll show the powers that be How a jail-bird can sing, when for his lay He takes his jailors— glorying in the jail! Nor fault of mine pronounce it, Knight — if then I turn not greater thieves and harlots pale, Than e'er the Vagrant Act mured yet in Bridewell's den. 33 XXXVI. 1 Good night, Sir Charles — with thy bright balnear star, And blushing breast — tu coram re^e vadis ! Good night : — thy civil order shines as far As bloodier toys, and charms as well the ladies. If thou canst whisper yon fat personage there — Were't but a word — for freedom, and the right; Thou'It not the worse in fame or fortune fare, When the great game is up : — Ambassador, good night. NOTES. Note I. The high harp of the Piedmontese is quelled. Stanza 4, Line 5. The tragedies of Victor Alfieri, which have never enjoyed an unfettered and impartial representation, but in their best days have been always acted under the surveillance of the police, are now entirely prohibited throughout Austrian and Sardinian Italy, be- cause of their high breathings of liberty and independence. But it is yet more melancholy, to mark the progress of corruption over the long-impassable barrier of the Alps, and see it descend into the vallies of Helvetia, to defile that mountain-cradle of Liberty, and taint a purer atmosphere than ever should be breathed by slaves. When the writer of these pages was in Berne, last sum- mer, the works of Milton and Buchanan were suppressed by its recreant Senate; and the Professor Troxler, of Lucerne — a man dear to freedom and to letters— was broke (destiiue) by the still more dastardly oligarchy which governs that canton, for e2 o 6 publishing a prose work of Milton's, and apologizing for its principles in a preface. About this time also, the Prince de la Sisterna— a celebrated Piedmontese patriot, refugie at Nyon, on the lake of Geneva— •was abruptly ejected from their territory by the republican Coun- cil of Lausanne, in consequence of a representation from Vi- enna. And these are the degenerate minions, who pride them- selves upon the Tells, and the Winkelrieds, and the Stauf- fachs!!! Note II. Pellico, too — Pellico — glorious child Of poesy and freedom! — Stanza 5, Lines 1 a7id 2. Silvio Pellico, equally distinguished for his genius, his patri- otism, and his misfortunes, is about twenty-seven years of age. He was arrested in 1820, at Milan, by the Austrian govern- ment, for Carbonarism, and received sentence of death : but this, by a species of mock humanity, was afterwards commuted for fifteen years of heavy irons —/e/ri dun — in the fortress of Spielberg! He is of a very delicate constitution, and must inevitably sink under the process of this infliction. The name of Silvio Pellico is already becoming famous throughout Europe. 37 He has written ten tragedies, any one of which would rank him in the highest order of the living poets of his country : and if his life, by any miracle, should be spared through this tremendous trial, or if — by some greater miracle — his tyrants should miti- gate the severity of his sentence, he will be another Alfieri to Italy, Only two of his tragedies are yet published : Francesca da Rimini, and Eufemio di Messina. The Eufemio was brought to England by the writer of this note a few days since, with a very interesting letter to a distinguished Member of the Upper House, whose intercessional influence in favour of the unfortunate Pel- lico will no doubt be strenuously exerted : but, effectively — is too much to hope ! His is but one isolated case, among thousands, of the inhu- manity and oppression of Austria. Note HI. I do not ask what makes Cornaro here. Stanza 6, Line 1 . Count Cornaro, a prince of Venice, and representative of the most illustrious and ancient family of that state. I have seen 38 Cornaro frequently at Paris, and felicitate myself on making the acquaintance of one who, from his connexions, associations, and personal and mental endowments, is undoubtedly to be ranked among the most interesting personages of this age. He stands high upon the list of the proscribed, and is under the surveillance of the Haute Police. The Countess of O., at whose house I first met him, introduced me to the Count as " Un Inglese, che pensa 6ene." I was not insensible to the distinction. Count Cornaro is said to be of the hlood of Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, of which name Cornaro is the Venetian corrup- tion. Note IV. Fell that blood-sparing chief, Deliverer hailed afar. Stanza 6, Line 8. The medal, struck at Birmingham in honour of Sir Robert Wilson, bears on its reverse the legend, " Civibus servatis." I dare not trust myself to speak in prose upon this business; but besides that I knew Sir Robert Wilson in the French capital, when I was writing the preceding poem, the propriety of intro- ducing him into any work upon Paris will be obvious, for many other reasons. His question before Parliament only terminated as 1 expected. 39 Note V. Mercy may come too late — at least to bless, If not to gave. Stanza 10, Lines 1 and 2. The story of the Countess Lavalette is not exaggerated. The weak frame of this conjugal heroine was not proof against the agonies of suspense, and she went mad before her husband's return. She is confined in a maison de saute at Montmartre; but it is gratifying to know that her physicians — among whom is the celebrated Db. Spurzheim, so famous in cases of insanity — by no means despair of her recovery. Note VI. By Jena's bridge, which fronts the Champ de Mars. Stanza 12, Line I. This is, perhaps, rather more graphic than poetical : but such of my readers, as remember the site of the young King of Rome's palace at Passy, will readily forgive me. The miserable and stunted shrubs which the Government has planted upon these foundations, have no other effect than that of rendering doubly conspicuous a spot already interesting from a thousand recollec- tions. The building materials yet remain, scattered in all direc- 40 tions. What will be their ultimale application — whether to mend the road upon the Quai, or to realize the original plan — non satis constat. Note VII. Like Rapp, whose tears respected not the king. Stanza 1 3, Line 4. The late General Rapp was of the king's household: he had been of the Emperor's. When the death of Napoleon was com- municated to Louis XVIII., Rapp — who was in attendance — burst into tears in the king's presence. The Bourbon — who, whatever he may be as a monarch, is not without many good feelings as a man — complimented him on his fidelity to an old master. Note VIII. Drink to the toast of the sword and the ass ! Song : Page 22. Some of my soberer friends have characterized this as very in- decent and disrespectful : but I owe no fealty to the Allied Sove- reigns. I have been asked whether the " ass" means the people, since the people are asinine enough to bear without recalcitration. 41 But this was not my intention. The Sworded Ass may be taken first, au figure — as a sort of type, or personification of the " Holy" monster : afterwards, it may be applied individually to each member of the confederation; whom it can be no violent fancy to regard as so many " asses" furnished with " swords," of which they do not understand to make a prudent use. The " beggar upon horseback" is not inapplicable to kings. I have no tenderness for this abominable league, at which I only rejoice, because I foresee — mediately, through it — the overthrow of con- tinental despotism. I regard the " Holy Alliance," nearly, as I do the Bridge-Street Association : they are both equally detest- able, but one is both detestable and contemptible. Note IX. Let Berton gird the sword upon his thigh. Stanza 22, Line 1 . General Berton's affair — though they have Am in their power, and a prisoner — involves more important ramifications than the French Cabinet find it prudent to acknowledge. There will be no court-martial, owing to the complicated nature of the charges against him, many of which are not cognizable by a military tri- bunal : consequently, the execution will be civil, also. The trial will come on in August, before a Cour d^ Assises, and he will be beheaded in the Place de Greve. 42 Note X. Saint Eustace, too, no warning lesson reads. Stanza 23, Line \. The church of St. Eustache was one of the principal theatres of the late missionary disturbances. These itinerant priests, with the pay and protection of the Government, overrun all the departments, preaching the most revolting doctrines of blind obedience, and the divine right of kings. The system, how- ever, with all its mighty props, is beginning to be over-bolstered. The iniquity and humbug of a religion prostituted to purposes of political tyranny, is at length perceived, even in France. The apostles of despotism are saluted — el in rostro ! — with hisses and execrations ; and sanguinary conflicts between the soldiery and the congregations give us more than a glimpse of what is in progress here. In the mean time, the Bourbons pursue the old beaten track — and they will be beaten in it. POEMS. POEMS. EINSIEDLEN :— PORTRAITS. I. Bosomed in the deep Eden of a wood, Not the less lovely for its solitude, Far from the world, but not from friendship far, I saw her with her daughters — like a star Girt by its trooping satellites, that bound In spheric dance and heavenly hymn around. The world had scowled upon her, but she bore Its frowns — as she had borne its smiles before : Whate'er she felt, no triumph spite could win, And if her great heart bled, it bled within. 46 II. And so, they whisper that it bleeds — even so. But secretly, like the lone-keeping roe. Unseen by those who tore it: far away It bleeds, it festers — but it shuns the day. For she wore not the mien of one subdued, And humbled to the dust, but prouder stood For her misusage, as o'ermastering fate — Revenged in very gladness upon hate. And when across her, like a deathwind came The blasting lie that marred her house's fame, She met the shock with unperverted mind, And half forgot herself to love mankind. 111. Her four bright girls, grouped round her in a clustef With books and music kept their morning muster; And as their fingers 'mid the chords they threw, How much the world had lost the listener knew ! 47 Unlike the set, down folly's vortex driven, Who have not with their sex's angel striven,— They scorned an art on nature's grace refining, And shone without the vanity of shining. I talk not of their beauty — few you meet, Whose forms or faces might with their's compete : And they disguised them not, nor borrowed hair— Nor blushes bought: but as they were, they were. For it was always their best pride to soar Above the tinsel coronets they wore. IV. I singled out the eldest in my heart, For I had dreamed of her, till she was part Of my most waking thoughts, wherein she dwelled A beau-ideal — imaged ere beheld. Many had stood before me — be it owned — In whose rich shapes and features, as enthroned, Sat more immediate conquest : but yet none, Who grew upon the gazer like that One. 48 The glance of mere voluptuary had past Her figure by, in middle stature cast ; Albeit such grace and contour, closely scanned, Might shame the chisel from Can ova's hand. Her eye was hazel, slightly dipt in blue. And spoke its language well : and when she threw Back from her high and polished brow the swell Of dunnesl hair that o'er her temples fell, There be few saints that would account it sin To worship what inhabited within. — • Of chainless Genoa rising in her ire, Erewhile she sang — while heroes caught the fire : And woke the Tuscan shell in Turin's halls With patriot hymns, and martial madrigals. V. There be who never meet beneath the sky, Yet are not strangers : so that maid and ], Though we met not, had still been linked in thonght- But she was promised — and I breathed not aught. 49. VI. And three were still remaining — One, whose glance Kindled by inspiration, or romance. Thrills through the gazer like a star-beam, shot From the dark chenelure which blinds it not ; But curtains, like a reveller's domino, A finer face than should be buried so. O'er Livy's decades, and the Mantuan verse She hung, her secret sorrow to disperse ; For she had been by disappointment crost, And fretted for her troth untimely lost. And there was One, who — new to such alarms — Sat by her in the morning of her charms. Too young to blight! but thresholding the age To be loved madly, and pay back the rage. A young Cecilia v\ ith the kith and lyre, To Byron's words adapting notes of fire. She sat — as when, transported at her side, " Bella Copista !" the Italian cried. 50 VII. I said, beside the eldest they were three, Yet dare not paint the third ! she smiled on me. And I remember it : why, know I not — But then I thought upon her house's blot. And HER, who was most blotted — most belied — When I could — but, no matter ! and I sighed, When I beheld such beauty left to shrink And wither in a wilderness — to think, How deep the world stabs when we fondliest trust. And leaves its iron in the wound to rust. THE CAPTIVE. They chained him on a desert rock, And left him like Prometheus there, To bide the worse than vulture-shock Of a mind battling with despair: But not a groan from that ex-king The chemistry of hate could wring. The strident sea-fowl o'er him sounded, With gyral flight and plangent scream : Before him the free waters bounded, Oh — had he built his throne on them ! They had not girdled so, I guess, The dwelling of the sceptreless. D 2 52 Aye, dash your salt spray o'er his keep, Ye elemental warders — do ! It's tenant is too sound asleep To wake, as he was wont, at yon. Rave, since eternally ye must — Ye do but centinel the dust. Convict or conqueror ! no matter — Through each vicissitude he passed The tropic hurricanes may scatter His ashes — but his fame shall last. For o'er his tomb, and o'er his prison The Star of History hath arisen. A CITY CHARACTER. He was the Corporation's FalstaflF, and Had FalstaflPs corporation : in his hand Were scales and sword — not those that Themis bore!- One marked the shop, and one the commodore. I never heard his nett avoirdupoise : But once he stumbled in the Egyptian Hall When he got up from wine, and made a noise That shook it like an earthquake — street and all ! There was no better judge of calipee In Bishopsgate nor Billingsgate, than he; A most good-natured guttler, but no beast, And therefore very pleasant at a feast : " Teddy the Grinder'^ was his favorite tune, His standing toast — " A speedy peace — and soon !' 54 In early life, sure omen of his rise, He sold, a fraction under the assize ; Left fools to rail, and minding his own till, Took all for grits, and never stopped his mill : 'Till gorged with gain, he vowed no more to risk it, And made a plum at once by navy biscuit. He had been once Lord Mayor — They're mostly lanker, The' chose from porpuses — and he remains Contractor, baker, baronet and banker. And member for the city— stain of stains ! They ousted him one contest, and the king For secret service done — so goes the thing — Talked of a baron's patent for his pet. But the peers chafed— and he's Sir William yet. CONFESSION: A SKETCH. Amid that ribald worship doomed to mix, With blazoned missal and gold crucifix, Like Lamb inhabiting the Lion's lair, More kidnapt than converted — She was there, Apostate virgin from her father's creed. Threading with rapid hand the rosaried bead. Beside her stood, like custodying goul, Ernestine, the seductress of her soul; And, as the slider the boxed priest revealed. Walked first to the confessional, and kneeled. 1 could not catch the sounds ; but, here and here, Whispers, not all religious, struck mine ear ; And their suppressed, but ever-varying tone, A more than pious earnestness made known. The Convert came the next, with long black veil Shadowing her cMeek's alternate red and pale. 56 And doubting step, that scarce the pavement felt — And her knees kissed together, ere they knelt. It was her first confession ; and she knew Not yet what mysteries she was called to do. Close to the veil that iiid her beauty's pride The mitred questioner his lips applied ; So close, that through the meshes of the lace His hot sigh went into the virgin's face. He took her hand, and half upraised the fold That o'er her breast its envious volume rolled ; And spoke — God knows what words — to cheat or charm : She must have thought that heaven was wonderous warm. God knows Avhat words ! they were not fit, I fear, For priest to speak, or penitent to hear; But, in those closets that shut out the sun. Are words and deeds of shame oft said and done. God knows what words ! but as she made reply, Her heart beat audibly, and flashed her eye ; And she drew back her fingers from his clutch, And shrank — in scorn or terror — from the touch. The surpliced satyr bit his lip, and prest The slider back : — Km ilia was confest! THE CLERICAL MAGISTRATE. Clavos trabales et cuneos raanu Gestans ahena. HOR. His name is Marmor ; of that name the throng Shall speak with honourable mention long. It is decreed ; his name in verse shall live : No niggard fame — the best the muse can give. Oh Janus ! God of double doors and faces, Who keep'st at once thine eye upon tz0o places, But never " turn'st thy back upon thyself" — That queer accomplishment of modern elf! — Give thy vowed votary hinging-room at least, And save at once the justice and the priest. I know not where, but I have somewhere seen A Bifrons in a pulpit, with mild mien, And lips like his who drank at Cherith's brook, Expounding to a crowd the holy book. 58 He bade them " bear the cross," and " kiss the rod," And much they reverenced the man of God : Dupes of his cant, and to the cheatery blind. They could not see the face he wore behind. In lieu of grace and love, the fiendish glare Of rancorous hate and party spite was there ; And the fell triumph that a devil might show, When human weal is turned to human woe. A sneer of mockery from his lip was falling, And round him lay the symbols of his calling ; The cuft^ the cat, the halter and the chain. Engines of death and durance, shame and pain. "Long live King George," he yelled; "the Lord's anointed ! Ketch and the king! for both are heaven-appointed : The king, to govern as his clergy bid, — And Ketch — of thieves and rebels to get rid." Whom is the picture like? if but one jot It fits a Briton, let him own it not : / drew it from a squib in great request, And give it — as 1 found it— i/c, ut est ! ON THE SAILING OF THE GLASGOW FRIGATE, From Harwich, the 16th August, 1821. Heavily down the coast the dirge o'^ Of the muffled land-bell sounded, And heavily over the dreary surge The minute guns responded. Her sails were set, and her anchor slung, And she had cleared the offing; And out to sea, as the breeze upsprung, She stood with the royal coffin. 'Twas the corpse of the Queen! — in death, as in life. No state-guard was mounted on her; And a herald attended his Sovereign's wife In mockery more than in honor. 60 Yet a time there was, when in princely state She crost the northern water ; And she dreamed not then that a husband's hate Would forbid her the grave of her daughter. She landed, the bride of a popular prince. And proud was the day of her landing : The flower of the House that has ruined her since Received her uncovered and standing. But the realm she came in her youth to sway, Is denied her age's ashes ; And many, who wept when they bore her away, Can show their sabre-gashes. THE INSCRIPTION, " Here lies the injured Queen of England!" — here. The wro7iged — the persecuted claims the tear, Shall blushing History add — and with her own, Wet the recording page that makes it known. Such simple truth the coffin-plate exprest. Where unembalmed — save in the pitying breast Of millions, to whom misery made her dear — Far o'er the sea she sleeps on her ancestral bier. It told not all the truth, it told not half, Yet what it told was true — too true for some. Who could not bear the unlying epitaph Across their mirth — like visioned hand — to come. And thej/ demolished it — those cowards did — And wrote a fresh inscription on the lid. 63 In which they spared themselves — and higher crime- The obloquy and hiss of after time. But the cheat will not pass, nor so the deep Curse of posterity be laid to sleep ; And blood shall rise against them — that they spilt In their excess and drunkenness of guilt. Heaven wills it so ! the fame that virtue brings Is not of the prerogative of kings : While damning documents — like this — can spread, We right at once the living and the dead. NOTES TO THE POEMS. Note I. So close, that through the meshes of the lace His hot sigh went into the virgin's face. Confession, page 55. I WAS accidentally present at a very similar scene in the Cathedral of St. John de Lateran, at Lyons, not long ago. The penitent, closely veiled, and whose dress indicated the better order of society, excited my curiosity — almost, my interest. It was not the hour of regular service, and a very few persons were in the church, into which I had gained admittance by a side- door, and was lounging about, surveying its architecture and decorations. By degrees, I drew as near to the confessional as I could ; pretending always to be admiring some painting or crucifix. During the dialogue, I frequently observed the mouth of the confessor in positive contact with the veil of the con- fessed. There was an execrable daub — meant, probably, for the conversion of St. Paul — which hung still nearer to the parties. I sidled towards it, throwing into my countenance all the en- thusiastic expression which I could muster, or its subject be supposed to excite. For a moment, they were off their guard ; and that moment was critical. " Hier au soir'^ — in a tremulous and under tone, but at the same time sweetly distinct and articulate, escaped audibly from the lovely Lyonnese! My ears tingled, and I turned hastily from the painting to the speaker. She had buried her face in her handkerchief. But the dragon in the conscience-box had by this time perceived about ivhat conversion 64 I was busiest, and sunk his voice to inaudibility. It was quite in' vain that I gazed at the miserable smear which hung before me, with a redoubled ferocity of devotion : the cowled interrogator was no greenhorn — Emilia was confest! Note II. If but one jot It fits a Briton, let him own it not. Clerical Magistrate, page 68. I CANNOT resist the temptation to say a few words about Marmor. The character would never have been drawn, but for the admirable speech of Sir Francis Buudett on the mass of mal- practices and cruelties lately discovered to prevail at Ilchester, As, however. Sir Francis reprobates in his speech with great, though certainly merited seventy, the conduct of a Reverend Doctor Colston — the visiting magistrate at that prison during the time when it was most mismanaged, — I owe it in justice to the reverend visitor to declare that Marmor is drawn from no living original, but was suggested by a memorable caricature in the " Political House that Jack built." How far that suggestion has been refreshed by any associations originating in the debate in question, is not for me to confess. If I have hit any nail on the head unconsciously, for such I make no apology : pallescat sibi consciens, quivis — et angatur. Wincing withers must recover as they may. THE END. J. G. Barnard, Skinner Street, Loudon. ( UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. m Form L9-50m-7.'54 (5990) 444 i 1-osVngej ri<. '^671 Randoin rhymes ?u75r from Paris UC SOUTHERN REGI id.^ g 1 1^^^ - PR 5671 TU75r