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 THE LIBRARY 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 Z A Y D A,
 
 Z A Y D A, 
 
 A SPANISH TALE, 
 
 IN THREE cantos; 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS, STANZAS, AND CANZONETS. 
 
 BY OSCAR. 
 
 Km ptiTOfdiv avay^a; ; 
 
 * * 
 
 
 
 MaXXoy hiaarxi iral^eiii 
 
 MfT xf^'^'i A<}>po>iT>if . ANAKPEON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER, 
 AVE MARIA LANE. 
 
 1820.
 
 VI , PREFACS; 
 
 of the general reader his little volume, 
 which, like an early secluded flower, is 
 most haply destined to remain unno- 
 ticed, and to feel the cold gaze of indif- 
 ference, eclipsed by the charms of ma- 
 turer plants, or to fade beneath the 
 more chilly blight of contempt, by 
 being contrasted with the surrounding 
 beauties ; beauties that grow more beau- 
 tiful the oftener they are observed, and 
 whose perfume leaves a charm on the 
 senses no after-time can ever efface. 
 
 Should there be among the young, 
 gay and inconsiderate, who may chance
 
 JRHEFACJE. r^;, Vll 
 
 ,to recognize in the following pages the 
 thoughts and sentiments of a college 
 companion congenial with his own^ he 
 will perhaps remember those sweet lines 
 of Zappi's Gondolier^ which he has 
 heard his friend repeat when committing 
 to the flames the short-lived production 
 of an evening : 
 
 " Ne perche roco ei siasi, o dolce ei cante, 
 Biasmo n' acquista, o spero lode alcuna ; 
 Canta cosi, perche de' canni e amante, 
 Non perche il sordo mar cangi fortuna. 
 
 ***** 
 Non canto no per glorioso farmi, 
 Ma vo passando il mar, passando Tore, 
 E in rece degli altrui, canto i miei canni."
 
 Vltl PREFACE. 
 
 Far be it, then, from his wish to 
 challenge now the ordeal of critical exa- 
 mination : the commendation of such 
 scrutiny he cannot venture to anticipate, 
 but desires to deprecate its censure, and 
 remain unnoticed by its severity. 
 
 If the author be asked why he has 
 assumed the name of Ossian's celebrated 
 son, it is a question he knows not how 
 to answer. But he hopes he is suffi- 
 ciently acquainted with his own dispo- 
 sition to affirm, that his fondest views 
 of ambition will be gratified, should his 
 lay, like the voice of Cona, be fortu-
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 nate enough to interest one bosom as 
 tender as that of the lovely Malvina ; 
 and gladly would he ever tune his lyre 
 to scenes as lonely as those of Loda, 
 could he exclaim with the aged Bard of 
 MoRVEN, to such a daughter of simpli- 
 city: 
 
 Often hast thou heard my song, 
 
 And given the tear of Beauty. 
 
 OSCAR. 
 
 January, 1820.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Zayda, a Spanish Tale in Three Cantos, with notes. . . 1 
 
 Memory 71 
 
 True Love is like the Rose, dear. 75 
 
 A Lake Scene by Night 78 
 
 The Plaintive Lyre 80 
 
 Stanzas to 83 
 
 Stanzas to < 86 
 
 A Storm, on the Lago di Garda. ..... 90 
 
 To Isabel 95 
 
 You tell me not to flirt, Love 98 
 
 Le Gage d' Amour 101 
 
 Stanzas to 104 
 
 Those dulcet notes which last you sung ! 109 
 
 Indifference Ill 
 
 Weep not. Maid! to I 114 
 
 Love's first Tear 117
 
 Xll 
 
 Page 
 Tender Friendship, an Epistle to I. , 120 
 
 The Heart's Bouquet 125 
 
 The Monastery 127 
 
 To a young Friend, who lamented she was not of age to be 
 
 introduced 131 
 
 Touch once again thy breathing wire 135 
 
 Stanzas to 136 
 
 The Smile of Grief 139 
 
 Song to Isabel 143 
 
 The Farewell, to F 145 
 
 The Sigh of Remembrance 151 
 
 The Ideal 154 
 
 Recollection 160
 
 Z A Y D A. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 No puedo tener fruto de esperan9a, 
 
 Que aya bonan9a, 
 
 En la procela 
 
 Del mar que buela 
 
 Con furia al cielo 
 
 De de&consuelo; 
 Porque las olas bravas levantando, 
 Del mat me van contino amenazando. 
 
 ^n old Spanish Romance, 
 
 Cold and pale the moon slow waning, 
 
 Sunk beneath the western wave ; 
 The circling spheres their halos training, 
 
 Traced the embryo light she gave. 
 Scarcely on the heaving billow 
 
 Mantled one soft farewel ray, 
 To light the sea-maid to her pillow, 
 
 Or cheer the halcyon through the spray.
 
 Soft the azure wing of zephir, 
 Culling summer's varied bloom, 
 
 Vied with evening's bird to sever 
 
 The rose from friendship's hallowed tomb. 
 
 Lightly o'er the landscape stealing, 
 
 Lowly heaved the restless gale, , 
 'Twas like the sigh of tender feeling 
 
 That love-impassioned souls exhale. 
 Darkling o'er the purple ocean, 
 
 Calmly quick the night-mist fled. 
 Like sorrow fearful of sleep's motion, 
 
 Breathing o'er the beauteous dead. 
 
 So still the night, so calm, serene. 
 
 The solitude of earth and sky ; 
 A lowering cloud upon the scene 
 
 Had burst its sweet tranquillity ;
 
 3 
 
 So lone, so dim, the land that bounded 
 
 The dark, the dull deep glossy sea. 
 Life seemed by all so hushed, surrounded, 
 
 A death -like calm hence forth to be ; 
 When from Brigando's highest tower 
 
 Slow winding down its summit rude, 
 Fair Zayda stole a pensive hour, 
 
 'Midst earth's and ocean's solitude. 
 Ages had passed, and storms broke o'er 
 
 The craggy moss-grown castle's steep. 
 Seas too had dash'd it from the shore, 
 
 Yet left it darkling o'er the deep. 
 
 There lonely wandered Spain's fond daughter, 
 
 Pure as the purest gem that blazed. 
 Bright as the mirror of the water, 
 
 On which her brighter eye had gazed. 
 Her form was beauteous as the morning. 
 
 In air as light as eastern spring ; 
 Her face like heaven to summer dawning, 
 
 With hair as black as raven's wing ; 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 Tender her look, and soft each feature. 
 O'er which expressive sweetness stole. 
 
 One passioned glance from love's sweet creature 
 Spoke feeling's grace and beauty's soul. 
 
 Thought o'er her figure's contour flung 
 
 A pensiveness like angel's sleeping ; 
 So still compassionate it hung, 
 
 As love o'er loveliness lays weeping. 
 If latent grief had chanced to sadden 
 
 The softness of her full dark eye, 
 If joy had ceased awhile to gladden 
 
 Her heart yet young to breathe a sigh ; 
 Still on her high arched placid brow 
 No sullen sorrow seemed to grow. 
 If feeling's gloom had settled there, 
 ' Twas disappointment, not despair ; 
 And if her cheek express'd a tone, 
 Too mute for youthful beauty's own ;
 
 It was that mellow twlliglit charm, 
 That speaks a pain still lively warm, 
 Not marked by silent thought severe, 
 
 Nor tinged by selfish cold distress ; 
 'Twas not despondency's wrought care, 
 
 But patient sorrow's loveliness. 
 
 The sable mantle round her thrown, 
 
 Her ebon hat and drooping feather, 
 Spoke symmetry's and season's tone, 
 
 The gloominess of heart and weather. 
 And oft at this still hour she roved. 
 
 When all in yonder walls was rest ; 
 Restless as if alone she loved 
 
 That calm no other time possest. 
 And thus her mind bewildered dwelt 
 On scenes it loathed, yet fondly felt ; 
 'Twas charmed, yet terrified to see 
 
 The lightning flash athwart the ocean, 
 And mark its dead serenity 
 
 Bound into sudden fearful motion ; 
 B 3
 
 6 
 
 To listen to the breathless tide 
 
 Through gloomy caverns faintly glide ; 
 
 Or hear the dashing eddying wave, 
 
 Impell'd within the boundless cave ; 
 
 To see, to hear, and feel its spray, 
 
 Dash on and o'er her fearfully : 
 
 Such was the strange, the saddening charm. 
 
 She felt in terror's wild alarm, 
 
 That not the sullen tempest's frown, 
 
 Not clifts by darkness over-grown. 
 
 Not all the horrors of the blast, 
 
 Nor broken clouds that hurried past, 
 
 From nightly roving could deter 
 
 This fair and sleepless wanderer. 
 
 Aged the rock, whose rugged side 
 Is left more worn by every tide, 
 Still motionless, and grey grown o'er 
 By whirlwind's sweep and ocean's roar ; 
 On such had rested oft before 
 This restless spirit of the shore.
 
 Calm as its base her youthful form, 
 A statue smiling at the storm ; 
 There still her airy figure lent 
 The young, the lovely, negligent, 
 As on the steep a lily grown, 
 Blooms sweet, companionless and lone ; 
 O'er her fair hand her forehead bent. 
 Like sad reflection's monument. 
 
 Bold was the spot, for nature there 
 
 Had fprmed around a rugged bay, 
 Objects as wild as ever were 
 
 Nature's originality. 
 The slumbering ocean darkly smiled, 
 
 Whilst beetling cliffs above it rose, 
 And looked as dimly rudely piled 
 
 The cradle of the sea's repose. 
 
 From thence she gazed, her heavy eye 
 Paused on the gloomier waters sky ;
 
 Ne'er looked o'er calm Egea's wave 
 
 With fonder gaze Jove's youthful daughter, 
 
 To guide to Caria's secret cave, 
 Her fair Endymion o'er the water ; 
 
 Alike her senses seem'd to stray 
 In one long hurried wild survey. 
 As if they sought to see, to hear 
 Some proof of life its pulse to cheer, 
 The curlew screeching to the gale, 
 The ripple that pursues the sail, 
 The tempest's gust, the gurgling stream, 
 Had charm'd her solitary dream. 
 But not a wave intruded near, 
 
 All nature was so dead serene. 
 As if young Echo never there 
 
 Had entered to disturb the scene. 
 Its dark composure quickly proved 
 How much the imagination loved
 
 9 
 
 In pensive thoughts like hers to brood, 
 Glad victim of its solitude ; 
 As if it partially could trance 
 The mind into indifference. 
 
 The thought of years already fled. 
 
 Of pleasures and of sorrows past, 
 Of friends that were, but now are dead, 
 
 Of joys that are, but cannot last, 
 Of scenes that charm'd, but soon stole by. 
 Of hopes thatsooth'd, but told not why. 
 Broke on her silence with a sigh : 
 Fears for the future, too, then stole 
 O'er the soft slumber of her soul. 
 And though a joy, like glad hope stealing, 
 
 Had mingled expectation's smart 
 But those are tinctur'd more by feeling, (1) 
 
 From which remembrance cannot part.
 
 10 
 
 Just is reflection's sensate glance, 
 
 That hurries on to life's dark state, 
 And fain would ope at desperate chance 
 
 The sadly- wretched page of fate. 
 Yet such the fearful gloomy tone 
 Of sickly hearts, that feel alone. 
 Yet bravely combat to emerge 
 Beyond affection's erring verge, (2) 
 There, one poor brief, desponding pause, 
 And disappointment wins the cause : 
 The bosom's calm, like heaven's dark cloud, 
 Becomes life's storm and is its shroud. 
 Thus Zayda languish'd oft, but why 
 Such musing brought with it the sigh : 
 Her fostering bosom, feverish brain. 
 
 Had cherish'd feeling's spell to be 
 Anxiety and reckless pain. 
 
 As silent as their reverie.
 
 11 
 
 Late she was not so much alone, 
 
 But now her wild, expressive look 
 Shew'd scenes whence every charm had flown. 
 
 By fond companionship forsook ; 
 Friendship had lost, and love a brother, 
 
 Of nature lively, bold and free ; 
 Hearts that had follow'd one another 
 
 To fortune's chance and victory. 
 
 They came not back, though she had heard 
 Of battles won and armies spar'd : 
 She had been told, it sooth'd her care, 
 
 Of war's events and valour's story. 
 Of sieges rais'd, of foe's despair, 
 
 Of rescu'd Spain, and Spaniards' glory. 
 And yet two lengthen'd years' success 
 Restor'd not wonted cheerfulness. 
 They were not nuraber'd with the dead ; 
 Nor captive bound was bravery's spirit,- 
 For then a tear her sire had shed, , 
 
 And droop'd his age for hero's merit.
 
 \2 
 
 For still the old man's aspect wore 
 
 The happiness of brisk threescore. 
 
 He talk'd with fervour of his son ; 
 
 Of actions he had seen and done ; 
 
 But strange it was, though danger's spot 
 
 Was theirs, the same too glory's scene. 
 
 His friends and kinsmen were forgot, 
 
 As if such beings had never been. 
 
 Yet was her sister mirthful, gay, 
 
 As if no hope or fear's dismay 
 
 Had e'er obtruded on her rest ; 
 
 Her's was alone the aching breast. 
 
 All was not right she sometimes guess' d. 
 
 Much was conceal'd and more suppress'd. 
 
 Quarrels perhaps had risen to throw 
 
 Its gloom 'twixt social amity. 
 The pirate's rage, the assassin's blow, 
 
 Found cause for her timidity. 
 Such gloomy terrors were her own, 
 She fear'd them and she felt alone.
 
 13 
 
 Since solitude can ne'er repress 
 Fond youthful woman's pensiveness. 
 
 It was perhaps the night made bleak 
 
 The youthful rose in beauty's cheek, 
 
 Or haply but the silence drear 
 
 That brought into her eye the tear ; 
 
 The world's calm sleep, the ocean's rest, 
 
 That made so mournful thrill her breast ; 
 
 The solitude to horror borne, 
 
 That made her feel so lone, forlorn : 
 
 Whilst the faint glow-worm's glimmering light 
 
 Was gilding fancy's saddest gloom. 
 And imaging to sorrow's sight 
 
 A hero's grave a lover's tomb. 
 What means her start ? whence comes that dash ?- 
 It rous'd her like the lightning's flash ; 
 With hurried sense she strives to list 
 
 The strange alarm that struck her ear. 
 Her wild eye glances through the mist, 
 
 But meets not e'en a vision there, 
 c
 
 14 
 
 It was perhaps the midnight's blast, 
 
 That startled as it hurried past ; 
 
 Her own unconscious deep-drawn breath, 
 
 Burst by impassion'd feeling's sigh. 
 An erring spirit after death. 
 
 That waifdering fearful flitted by. 
 It could not be, a restless bird, 
 Whose wing had ocean's surface stirred : 
 Again Again 
 
 The waters' dash 
 Broke on her heart with terror's crash ; 
 And with it came a lengthen'd cry 
 Of life's contending agony ; 
 It died upon the breath that gave, 
 As strangled by the bubbling wave ; 
 And all was still : short pause again 
 
 The motion murmur'd in the distance, 
 If not of spirit's struggling pain. 
 
 Perhaps the last of its existence.
 
 15 
 
 All is not lost, though faintly, less 
 Exhausted nature strives to urge 
 
 Its latest nerve of feebleness, 
 
 To strike, and on the stroke emerge. 
 
 There Zayda strain'd her startled eye, 
 
 Grown dizzy in uncertainty ; 
 
 And there she fancied, imaged nay, 
 
 There dimly, briefly glanced, descried 
 The sport of nighty and ocean's play. 
 
 Faint bufFetting the gloomy tide. 
 It is a fearful thing to hear 
 That human struggle of despair. 
 So boldly, fiercely bent to stay 
 The deadly faintness of decay. 
 Oh I 'tis a dismal sight to see 
 Exertion's latest energy ; 
 
 c 2
 
 16 
 
 When every nerve hath ceas'd to brave 
 
 Dark dissolution's wearied strife : 
 When cast on the sepulchral wave, 
 
 Sleeps the still mockery of life. 
 Roused at the scene, her sickening heart 
 
 At what it had inspir'd grew chill ; 
 It tremblingly had throbb'd to part, 
 
 Yet feeling pain'd to linger still ; 
 But she had witness'd much, and more 
 
 Had frenzied fond compassion's brain. 
 The sensate soul can ne'er restore 
 
 So soon a quietude from pain. 
 Too weak to aid, too soft to bear, 
 
 The strange distracting dark event, 
 She tum'd her with a mute despair, 
 
 And home her lonely footsteps bent. 
 It matter'd not ; she could not save 
 The cheerless stranger from the wave'; 
 And were he dead, she need not know 
 The victim of protracted woe.
 
 17 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Ah, perdiendolas, perdiera 
 Recuerdos del bien, que amo 
 
 Y mi corazon entoncea 
 Clamara con sobresalto, 
 
 Volved, O dulces memorial 
 Que me estais alimentando. 
 
 Sullen Ocean then smile, and roll darkly- away, 
 In vain would thy chill lonesome terrors dismay ; 
 Though the moon's distant halo hath shed not a ray 
 To enliven a hope o'er thy far cheerless way. 
 
 Though Ambition hath look'd with regret on thy 
 deep. 
 Whilst Freedom was cradled 'mid storms on thy 
 wave; ' ' -' - 
 Though armies have sunk on thy bosom to sleep, 
 Whilst scarcely thou murmur'd a dirge o'er their 
 grave. 
 
 c 3
 
 18 
 
 As oft in the gale hath the sweet-breathing wire 
 Low whisper'd its warbling, so lovely and lon5, 
 
 So oft on thy dreary expanse to expire. 
 
 Have trembled the sighs of the wretched 
 unknown. 
 
 Though to yon rugged rock of dark horrors con- 
 sign'd, 
 Hath- my spirit grown faint at each day's gloomy 
 close : 
 Through the rustling of tempest, my life-wearied 
 mind 
 Hath found on thy billow a stormy repose. 
 
 Yet why have I sought other perils ? To see 
 My own native spot grown indiff'rent to me ; 
 And the look of each loving left object to feel 
 More cold to my heart than war's death-poison'd 
 steel.
 
 19 
 
 Strange were such feelings, which the stranger 
 
 Express' d, scarce rescu'd from his grave, 
 So soon forgetful of the danger 
 
 He struggled with on ocean's wave- 
 It was not so, nor was he one 
 
 Who in a weather-drifted bark 
 Had boldly trusted to have run 
 
 Through shallows dangerous and dark; 
 And in the tide's repulsive spray 
 Had answer'd his temerity. 
 No ! discontentment's quick mutation 
 
 Had broke the mind's delicious sleep, 
 And frenzied e'en to desperation, 
 
 Had madly plunged him in the deep. 
 Still through the night's impervious gloom 
 That had conspired to shroud his doom. 
 He look'd on dim Lorenzo's isle, 
 A sullen, long reproachful smile ; 
 A smile that settled in a sneer, 
 Replete with anger, tinged by fear.
 
 20 
 
 Short was his passion'd gaze : 
 
 * * * * 
 
 'Twas not the fell Melano's screech, 
 Who slumbers wakeful on the beach ; 
 'Twas not the owl's terrific cry, 
 That startled him ; nor did he dream- 
 It was a fearful female scream 
 That thrilled him ; it was shrill, 'twas nigh- 
 'Twas tremulous, 'twas chill to hear ; 
 He shudder'd, for he felt it near. 
 
 On, on he hurried whence it came : 
 'Twas dark, 'twas all around the same ; 
 The scatter'd rocks, which round him lay, 
 Impeded not, he broke his way ; 
 But, hold against the shelving bank 
 Fair Zayda's fainting form had sank. 
 
 There senseless, motionless, the maid 
 In death's calm loveliness was laid ;
 
 21 
 
 He gaz'd on her, but vain his gaze ; 
 
 He tried, it was in vain, to raise. 
 
 What had so much dismay 'd, distress'd ! 
 
 His wild, his anxious look express'd 
 
 That expectation of the soul 
 
 On which whole ages seem'd to roll. 
 
 Thus fix'd, as love o'er beauty's bier 
 
 Softly returning life to cheer ; 
 
 A sudden rustling roused his sense, 
 
 A wolf a fox chance prowling hence. 
 
 And something darkly hasten' d by. 
 
 Enough to tell the mystery. 
 
 As joy'd his winning work to prove, 
 The artist felt emotion's strife, 
 
 And caUing on the maid of love, 
 
 Breathed the fair statue into life ; (3)
 
 28 
 
 Thus the fond stranger, o'er her kneeh'ng, 
 To his warm heart her's lifeless press'd. 
 Its quick full throb reviv'd the feeling 
 
 Her chill snow bosom held at rest. 
 Slowly she wakes, life's painful blush 
 Spreads o'er her cheek its hectic flush ; 
 And slowly wildly, opes her eye. 
 As steals the moon from clouded sky ; 
 'Twas for a moment lost, it ranged, 
 As if from feeling, sense estranged ; 
 As if remembrance had forsook 
 The brain, the heart, with life's last look ; 
 Then on her strange attendant threw 
 A glance so bright, so steady too ; 
 So fixed, as buried on the dead, 
 Without a single tear to shed. 
 
 There is perhaps a painful thrill 
 
 That darts to feelings quick sensation j 
 
 Though warm, which still contrives to chill 
 The soul's suspiring animation ;
 
 A growing throb, a pulse that swells 
 
 The heart, that weakly would repress 
 The rapture which within rebels 
 
 Of emanating tenderness. 
 As felt, when sudden chance restores 
 A hope on which affection soars ; 
 Or love's last object starts to view, 
 More cutting than its last adieu. 
 Such was the strange electric spell, 
 That o'er fond Zayda's bosom fell. . 
 One glance sufficed ; she felt, she knew, 
 
 The object who still o'er her hung. 
 To him her heart, her spirit flew, 
 
 'Twas Nomar's self, round whom she flung 
 Her clasping arms, in his embrace 
 
 Reposed her feelings and her grace. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * * Till then he knew her not ! 
 The hour, the scene, the lonely spot. 
 Had made it hopeless to his mind. 
 Thus late Brigando's flower to find ;
 
 24 
 
 Till then her voice, her action, eye. 
 Confirmed her fond identity ; 
 Till in his folding arms he felt 
 Her glowing form of beauty melt ; 
 And absence sweetened to her cheek, 
 The purest kiss regard could speak. 
 'Twas then life's angel guardian star. 
 To lonely wandering mariner. 
 Rose on the cliff of Trafalgar ; 
 
 Ocean's rock, her sea god's pillow, 
 Gallia's cenotaph in war ; 
 
 Britain's beacon o'er the billow. 
 There glimmering still, as on that night. 
 
 Her tearful orb looked down to shed 
 Its rays of melancholy light. 
 
 O'er the wet pall of Valour's dead. 
 Her pallid cheek, now purely bright, 
 
 Reposed on looks so sweetly tender, 
 So full of former love's delight, 
 
 As soft, as calm as her own splendour.
 
 25 
 
 She bade them fondly softly tell 
 
 Of times, of scenes that pleased too well. 
 
 And heard them ponder o'er, repeat 
 
 Of moments that had gone too fleet ; 
 
 Of dear events, that merely left 
 
 A trace of what they had bereft. 
 
 Oh, then ! she heard each melting voice, 
 
 In mutual memory rejoice ; 
 
 As Cypria's goddess loved to linger ' ;^ ^ 
 
 On the last sunset glow of spring, 
 As breathing from fond Sappho's finger, 
 
 Warbled long the Idalian string. 
 
 Though rare is such a golden minute 
 
 In life's most splendid blest career, 
 As that which softly blended in it 
 
 Two souls in friendship's truth sincere. 
 Though dear is even joy's delusion, 
 
 So sweetly imaged, soft express'd, 
 As then was feeling's real confusion, 
 
 By each unblushing heart possess'd. 
 
 D
 
 26 
 
 Yet o'er the fair one's placid brow, 
 A moonlight shadow seemed to grow ; 
 Some restless thought, unsanctioned fear, 
 Had partially obtruded there, 
 And apprehension's softest shade 
 A gloom of tenderness betray'd. 
 
 " Zayda ! when but late I left thee, 
 
 Youthful joy thy look express'd ; 
 Hath so short a life bereft thee 
 Of peace in innocence possess'd ? 
 Dry thy tear, 'tis sad to see 
 So wildly sweet 
 Thy bosom beat, 
 That lately slept so peacefully. 
 
 " Zayda ! when I last caress'd thee, 
 Beauty wore fond pleasure's smile ; 
 
 Tell me what hath since distress'd thee 
 With its cruel poisonous guile.
 
 27 
 
 Dry thy tear, 'tis grief to see 
 
 It render bleak 
 
 Thy youthful cheek. 
 That speaks so soft, so tenderly. 
 
 ** Zayda ! love, when last we parted, 
 
 I fear'd, for feeling clung to thee j 
 Thou wert too lively fickle-hearted. 
 Ever to remember me. 
 
 Dry thy tear, it must not be ! 
 My soul had bled 
 To know 'twas shed. 
 Although it ne'er was dropp'd for me. 
 
 " Zayda ! whilst ray heart throb presses, 
 Ere it can wrest itself from thine, 
 
 Oh ! say what felon cause distresses. 
 And by my soul the grief is mine. 
 D 2
 
 28 
 
 Dry the tear, thy languid eye 
 
 Shall never mourn. 
 
 Thus lone forlorn, 
 A pain so secret tacitly." 
 
 " Ah ! NoM AH, honor's heartless pride, 
 
 For war's bright merit, soldier's fame, 
 Must often nature's pulse deride, ' 
 
 And cancel all for glory's name. 
 Renown, like pleasure's glad career, 
 
 With sweet seductive glance will lead. 
 Renounce the past, crush, baffle fear. 
 
 And hurry on at fearful speed ; 
 Whilst emulative actions cheer 
 
 The aspiring soul from deed to deed, 
 Though the fond object of despair. 
 
 The hero's heart forgets to heed. 
 How many female bosoms bleed, 
 
 How feels anxiety a care. 
 Reckless that dangers oft endear. 
 
 Regardless of poor woman's tear.
 
 ^9 
 
 When on my sense thy first adieu 
 Fell chill and dim, as life's last view, 
 Held sudden mute by some strange spell. 
 My heart but echoed thy farewel ; 
 And though thou thought it lively free, 
 
 'Twas timid, it was trembling tender. 
 Its every throb hath followed thee 
 
 Through perils change and glory's splendour. 
 Oft have 1 felt it since forsaken. 
 
 By innocent and frolic mirth. 
 Though strangely motionless, yet shaken. 
 
 In pining o'er enchantment's dearth ; 
 But consciousness of feeling hush ! 
 
 Such truth should be for like exchang'd. 
 My cheek already feels a blush. 
 
 And Zayda's from herself estrang'd. 
 But art thou also lonely here ? 
 Where's Carlo, and thy brother where ?" 
 *' Cahlo is safe, though France inthrals 
 His parole freedom, warfare calls 
 D 3
 
 so 
 
 His fortune happy, though his brow 
 Might feel the laurel withering grow, 
 Whilst thousands with his gallant friend, 
 Found in his glory life's brief end. 
 Where memory ne'er can smile again 
 At Zaragoza's siege ; 'twas when 
 That gloomy memorable pause 
 
 Of battle's long conflicting fire. 
 Found in a drooping freedom's cause 
 
 A female bosom to inspire, 
 When Augustena's spirit broke,(4') 
 
 O'er valour thrice repulsed a sun. 
 And thunder's fatal courage woke. 
 
 O'er deaths the dead had scarce begun. 
 When glory's blaze shot down upon 
 The sainted maid of Aragon. 
 Then whilst our brothers nobly led 
 
 Those still surviving frenzied few ; 
 Mine fell, unnoticed midst the dead. 
 Near to the fatal breach, where grew 
 A human wall, refreshed and new ;
 
 SI 
 
 He dropt unmarked, death still went on, 
 And he amongst the rest wajs gone. 
 
 The dismal day's more dreary close 
 
 Threw o'er the scene the torches' glare. 
 To add its gloom to grief's despair, 
 
 And glimmer o'er the brave's repose. 
 With such was numbered d'Almont s son, 
 
 Loved, honored in the garrison. 
 
 I saw him not, to add my meed 
 Of praise to hero's hallowed merit, 
 
 To wail there fate's untimely speed, 
 And bless his honour'd patriot's spirit. 
 
 I hung not over virtues bier. 
 
 To drop a friend's and soldier's tear ; 
 
 That farewel to affection's shrine 
 
 Was not permitted to be mine. 
 
 The last sad office to the brave 
 
 Thy brother, true to friendship, gave.
 
 32 
 
 And were that all, but, Zayda, yet 
 
 There hangs a strange, accursed tale ; 
 Oh, heavens ! that I could all forget ; 
 
 But wounded honour will prevail. 
 'Tis grievous that it's left for me 
 To bear thy scorn or sympathy. 
 But thou must hear, it shall be brief. 
 And truth demands thy prompt belief: 
 When 'gainst the fortress' wall was found 
 
 Thy kinsman, 'mongst the lifeless brave. 
 Close to his wounded breast was bound 
 
 A packet, seal'd, and simple, save 
 That it was superscribed for me, 
 
 A brother's fatal legacy. 
 We open'd it, but what to trace 
 The heart's proud honour and disgrace : 
 Writ in a character as plain 
 As e'er corroded dungeon's chain.
 
 33 
 
 " NoMAR, Briganbos, all 18 thine ; 
 Its every stone belongs to thee : 
 It was thy father's : it was mine 
 By right of gift and ancestry, 
 'Twas gratitude forbad me crave 
 What parent's love and homage gave. 
 It was thy youth, thy ardour, pride, 
 That made me think it best to hide 
 Such import from thy haughty soul, 
 Restrain'd perhaps by no control. 
 Young were we when our father died, 
 And infancy the truth denied'; 
 Brigandos still possesses one 
 To tell thee thou art d'Almont's son. 
 Renaldo, worthy soul, is there, 
 Proof against menial bribe or fear.- >'; " " 
 He holds thy claim, and yet will swear 
 That thou art d'Almont's rightful heir.'
 
 34 
 
 Such were the words the scroll express'd, 
 
 O'er which surprise had scarcely ran. 
 When with proud anger, ill suppress'd. 
 
 Thy brother tauntingly began. _ 
 He madly snatch'd it from my hand. 
 An insult friendship could not stand ; 
 Fired at the act, I fiercely drew, 
 'Twas well, the schedule down he threw. 
 And turn'd with scornful brow away : 
 He never look'd so till that day. 
 Thus worthless fortune render'd cold 
 The heart I deem'd of better mould. 
 And feelings blended warm and free 
 Were riven then in him and me. 
 We parted ; months can late evince 
 The temper he hath borne me since ; 
 Nor hath he fail'd, in deed or thought, 
 
 To gratify his vengeful spleen ; 
 Ills by oppression rarely wrought, 
 
 Forged, too, by mental sufferings keen ;
 
 35 
 
 A wretch devoted have I borne 
 With Pride's, if not Derision's, scorn ; 
 Though doom'd to hail a prison's gloom. 
 
 Within its rugged dungeon pent, 
 My cheerless life's more cheerless tomb. 
 
 Oppression's fitter monument. 
 
 Such was my lonely fate to be ; 
 The only friend to charm my day. 
 The only beam to lend its ray, 
 A glance from smiling memory ; 
 The only sound my soul to cheer, 
 Tariff A 's current ebbing near. (5) 
 For there had Carlo's generous mind 
 The remnant of my life assign'd ; 
 Yet, had he guiltless been to me. 
 If, Zayda, not so worthless thee !
 
 37 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 No hay malqiie oprima 
 A un amador amado. 
 
 Cervantes. 
 
 Enchantment's spell, thou art not forbidden ; 
 
 Hallow'd feeling prompts thy flow, 
 Though the heart be blest or riven. 
 
 Passion gilds thee with its glow. 
 Sweet as angel's voice in heaven. 
 Tear of love, thou art forgiven. 
 
 Enchantment's spell, thou art not forbidden ; 
 
 Warm in pleasure, soft in woe. 
 Though thy dazzling beam be human, 
 
 Pledge of soul's impassion'd vow. 
 Nature's lovely, pure expression. 
 Tear of love, thou art forgiven, 
 
 E
 
 38 
 
 FiDchantment's spHl, thou art not forbidden ; 
 
 Bright suffusing beauty's gaze ; 
 Though Affection's warnath be hidden, 
 
 Its sweetness on thy crystal plays. 
 Tender as the ray of even, 
 Tear of love, thou art forgiven. 
 
 Enchantnaent's spell, thou art not forbidden, 
 Prompt to save, to pardon, bless ; 
 
 Timid trembler, thou hast driven 
 From Feeling's heart its loneliness ; 
 
 Convincing as the hope of Heaven, 
 Tear of love, thou art forgiven. 
 
 Such was the full, the dazzling gem. 
 That told the truth in Zayda's eye, 
 
 Too dear for duty to condemn, 
 Too pure for virtue to deny ;
 
 39 
 
 And through her glossy ebon lashes 
 
 Shot its sweetly-kindling ray, 
 As winter-foaming torrent dashes 
 
 Through the dark its lonely way ; 
 Bright as midnight lightning flashes 
 
 O'er the skirting clouds of day ; 
 Calm as over Friendship's ashes 
 
 Gazes pensive memory. 
 
 " Long have I watch'd, with mute distress, 
 My sire's unusual sullenness ; 
 Long, said the almost breathless maid 
 Her look a breaking heart pourtray'd. 
 His manners and his guise, methought, 
 So strangely alter'd, wildly fraught, 
 And late, on me alone, his brow 
 Hath sadly darker seem'd to grow, 
 That e'en his words, endearments were, 
 No longer cheerful, but severe ; 
 2
 
 40 
 
 His very glance, po lively late, 
 Struck to my soul his alter'd state ; 
 His feelings, too, appear to be 
 Grown irigid and morose to me ; 
 For such a change, I know not why, 
 But feel it with a tacit sigh. 
 
 " And, NoMAR ! Oh, that cherish'd name ! 
 He hears, as if 'twere not the same, 
 All is so chang'd ; of thee, of thine, 
 His silent voice hath silenced mine ; 
 Such social gloominess of mind 
 
 Is horrid to my warring brain, 
 I feel my bosom yet as kind, 
 
 1 know affection is its chain. 
 I heard, was told, suspected nought 
 To satisfy or banish thought. 
 The ignorance of place and time 
 
 In which love sweeten'd Friendship's breath, 
 Brought with it acts of suffering, crime, 
 
 With visionary forms of death ;
 
 41 
 
 And drove my erring senses back, 
 On doubt. Uncertainty's dire rack." 
 
 " Zayda, it boots it not to tell 
 How unsuspecting freedom fell, 
 How strove my spirit to evade 
 Oppression's wiles and Exile's shade ; 
 Five slow successive moons have past 
 
 O'er yonder steep sequester'd isle. 
 And left me cheerless as the last,- ; . ligimfii oriT 
 
 Without a hope to raise a smile ; 
 Lone as the gloomy charnel's lamp 
 
 That trembles o'er the mouldering stone, 
 Grown sullen, noisome, dark and damp, 
 
 Enlightening but itself alone. 
 Whilst glancing o'er Lorenzo's steep j ^yujiui ? 
 
 The night's orb shed her silvery ray. 
 To see the wretch's restless sleep, 
 
 Hath dimra'd her gaze and turn'd away. 
 3
 
 42 
 
 There hanging o'er the dizzy rock, 
 I felt unshook the tempest's shock, 
 Whilst the Solano, drifting by, (6) 
 Hath parch'd the tear-drop from mine eye. 
 There flitting round me, have 1 heard 
 The dusky, solitary bird ; (7) 
 Her horrid shrill notes wildly wail 
 In mockery of my unknown tale ; 
 Have seen, high cradled on the steep. 
 
 The famish'd falcon woo. the gale. 
 Beneath me, too, the blust'ring deep 
 
 Ingulf the weather-beaten sail. 
 But yet I have not to complain 
 Of dungeon's gloom, companion chain-, 
 I had not to bemoan the care 
 My nature craved, or Nature's fare ; 
 'Twas wholesome and as duly given ; 
 I thank'd my keeper, bless'd too heaven. 
 It matter d not his stay how brief. 
 For he was speechless, old and deaf,
 
 Which proved to me, how e'er severe. 
 His master's bosom had it's fear ; 
 Nor unsuspicious was his mind 
 
 Of the poor guardian slave, lest he 
 To Sorrow's victim there confin'd, 
 
 Should give again liis liberty. 
 
 Though gloomy thus my youth's decay, J 
 
 I was refresh'd from Ocean's spray ; 
 
 I breathed the air, I saw the sky. 
 
 Yet felt it was captivity. 
 
 I own, sometimes my drooping spirit 
 
 Was anger' d at its lonely fate. 
 To think the life it must inherit, 
 
 Was doom'd to be so desolate, .o/'ob -^^ 
 'Twas strange, but, at the close of day, 
 
 A sullen, wandering, aged toad. 
 
 From many a century's abode. 
 Stole out to seek my amity,
 
 44 
 
 And calmly look'd rae in the face, 
 As grown familiar to his trace. 
 Though in his large expressive eye 
 I read my heavy destiny. 
 Yet would I fain have rather been 
 
 That senseless reptile there confined ; 
 Lived on the noisome air within 
 
 Its dungeon- cradle, where I pined, 
 Than have endured the insatiate care 
 Of him, who had confined me there, 
 Than e'en have been unshackled, free. 
 But Zayda, too, betrayed by thee. 
 
 When night came, in my darksome cell 
 I laid me down, but could not sleep ; 
 
 For then I felt communion's spell, 
 A lizard oft would o'er me creep ; 
 
 And though he startled me at first. 
 
 His visit gave me peace. I nurst
 
 45 
 
 The timid creature, gentle grown, 
 For we were prisoners both and lone. 
 And it was happiness, for me 
 Such mute companionship to be. 
 
 A wall my prison'd space enclos'd. 
 
 Most distant on the isle's bleak shore ; 
 Its other side me deem'd disclosed 
 The view of old Brigando's tower. 
 1 rightly guess'd ; one noon, by chance. 
 
 My keepers had gone out to sea, 
 I climbed it round a moment's glance 
 
 Was then almost too much for me. 
 The prospect of Tariffa's coast 
 Revived the pain for all I'd lost. 
 My heart beat warm with hope and fear. 
 Until I caught thine image there 
 My spirit chased thee on the cliff, 
 
 Transported was mj- lingering eye 
 Until the home returning skiff 
 
 Dispell'd my bosom's ecstacy.
 
 46 
 
 And drove me back agaia to sigh 
 In harsher-grown captivity. 
 
 Thy veil was folded round thy brow, 
 As plays the ray through fleecy snow ; 
 The light robe o'er thy shoulders flung, 
 Like winter's sunny mantle hung ; 
 Thy form a lovely shadow threw 
 More dear than home to exile's view. 
 Though smiling neath glad summer's beam, 
 Though darkling on the moonlight stream, 
 Though mounting o'er joy's mirthful way. 
 Though laughing e'en in pleasure's ray, 
 No object such delight e'er gave, 
 
 No charm from fancy ever stole, 
 As thy sweet image o'er the wave, 
 
 Brought to my lone, dejected soul. 
 
 But transient such enchantment's bliss. 
 Like infant's smile, or mother's kiss.
 
 4? 
 
 Pure as the saints' etherial sleep, 
 
 Brief as the holy prophet's vision, 
 Like convent's trance that wakes to weep, 
 
 The vestal virgin's dream of heaven, 
 As hangs the beamy cloud on high. 
 
 It charms the sight which will pursue, 
 But soon escapes it through the sky, 
 
 And leaves it all around as blue. 
 Thus, Zayda, thus was briefly seen 
 
 Thy form, it came, as quickly fled, 
 'Twas that its parting made so keen, 
 
 And left my spirit doubly dead. 
 
 And often after thus till dark, 
 
 Or hurried back by watchful bark, 
 
 With trembling hand I've scaled the hight 
 
 To steal from thee a mute delight, 
 
 Thus five long cheerless months crept on, 
 
 Without a change to smile upon.
 
 48 
 
 Save that thy image cheer'd my day, 
 As through the cloud the rainbow's ray 
 Looks distant, dim, yet feelingly. 
 My spirit late so restless wild, 
 Grew silent suddenly and mild ; 
 I also felt my bosom grown 
 More tranquil, still as friendless lone. 
 My thoughts were fewer, and my mind 
 If not contented, was resign' d. 
 Until a feverish dream this eve 
 
 Stole strangely through my frenzied brain 
 I woke to doubt was to deceive ; 
 
 To ponder was to sleep again ; 
 'Twas done or cancell'd by delay. 
 
 Ah ! list, what means that gun ? 
 
 Day hath not broke, the twilight's ray 
 
 Hath yet to dance before the sun." 
 A moment and a louder still, 
 Deep echo'd fearfully and chill.
 
 49 
 
 Full on his soul its thunder mutter'd, 
 
 And with it life's mix'd transports flutter'd ; 
 
 Too well the horrid flash he knew 
 
 Was signal to cut off pursue ; 
 
 Whilst hurried, feelingly, and fast 
 
 Her timid, anxious form he claspt. 
 
 And held her trembling to his breast, 
 
 To feel, to blend the heart's emotion, 
 To mingle passion's throb distress'd. 
 And sink upon its restless ocean ; 
 * Zayda, he cried, my Zayda, flee ! 
 Life's treacherous perils wait with me ; 
 Haste back to slumber's peaceful tower. 
 Ere Anger's scorn, Suspicion's power, 
 Shall chill thee with its fatal blight, 
 For knowing, aiding in my flight : 
 Haste, lest thy sire's avenging thirst 
 
 Inflict on thee, his angel daughter, 
 One penance for those wrongs accurst. 
 
 He doom'd me to on prison's water. 
 
 F
 
 50 
 
 Love oft must part, but cannot sever. 
 
 However treacherous feuds assail. 
 Social wiles might sadden never. 
 
 Rend from affection virtue's veil 
 Oh hasten back to home's protection ! 
 
 Thy chamber's scarce security ; 
 Ev*n haply now some vile detection 
 
 Imbitters every joy for me. 
 This very day, perhaps, will wither 
 Love's every hope that brought me hither, 
 Another day perchance shall bring 
 Endearment's spell without its sting. 
 Another more propitious night 
 Restore thee to affection's sight. 
 In Calpe's fortress I can seek 
 A soldier's pity and retreat, 
 Till morrow's moon, however bleak, 
 Shall gild her halo bright and sweet. 
 To guide us here, and bless our meeting ; 
 Unless my Zayda's love be fleeting.
 
 51 
 
 Oh! then, my life ! we'll hence away, 
 
 Though sterner duty urge thy stay : 
 
 The heart that feels and blends with mine 
 
 Is warmed by nature's sun divine ; 
 
 The soul that leads or follows me. 
 
 Is guardian of its sympathy ; 
 
 The form too modelled to deKght, 
 
 Is all, is ever in my sight; 
 
 Yes ! Zayda, feeling, hand and heart" 
 
 Must bear, convey, reflect the tone 
 Of passion softness joy or smart, 
 
 And own a life in me alone. 
 By specious art both unattended, 
 Together shivered crushed or blended ; 
 Our errors few and those forgiven. 
 By nature, sympathy, and heaven. 
 Such, Zayda, can'st thou dare to be. 
 And venture all all this for me? 
 Leave childhood's home, and brave my fate, 
 So dark so lone so desperate ? 
 F 2
 
 52 
 
 ATy guardian star to gild life's gloom, 
 My wandering sun to cheer its doom ? 
 Oh ! can thy timid spirit be, 
 Thus, Zayda and thus all for me," ? 
 " Nay ! look not, talk not, think not so. 
 
 Can Zavda's bosom calmly slumber, 
 And every grief in' rest forego. 
 
 Of those each day to thee must number ? 
 Look not on Zayda thus, thy brow 
 
 In passion tranquil, anger mild. 
 Ne'er changed its native frown till now. 
 
 For one so thoughtful sadly wild. 
 Oh ! why that doubt ? it is unkind. 
 
 My heart hath long been wholly thine. 
 Faint scruples hath poor woman's mind. 
 
 To govern feelings pure as mine. 
 
 *' However great the struggle prove 
 To quit a father's stern control. 
 
 By heaven, by love I'm sealed to rove 
 With thee, dear idol of my soul.
 
 53 
 
 For thee, o'er danger's way to fling 
 
 A glad'ning balm, a guardian ray, 
 The fairy sprite with blazoned wing, 
 
 I fain would cheer thy destiny. 
 For thee o'er countries drear would fly, 
 The message bird of A baby ; 
 For thee like Egypt's flower would bloom, (8) 
 
 To live beneath thy fostering gaze. 
 Breathe in thy breast my life's perfume. 
 
 And die upon the sun*s bright blaze. 
 Yes ! NoMAR heaven's fond faith I plight. 
 
 To wave all other earthly tie, 
 Relinquish home's endearing right 
 
 For thydear sake with thee to fly. 
 
 All all forsake 
 
 " But hark ! 
 
 What sculking terror yet is nigh ? 
 
 It is It is that hateful bark, 
 List ! list! it comes, pursuit is near, 
 Destruction's power already's here." 
 F 3
 
 54 
 
 There is a moment to the brave, 
 
 Ere battle's flash his bosom flushes, 
 Through thousand deaths to find a grave. 
 
 On glory's wing ere valour rushes. 
 There is a moment o'er the dead, 
 
 Ere friendship mute respectful kneeling 
 Bows to the great first cause his head, 
 
 And pays resigned a tribute feeling. 
 There is a moment, ere the ocean 
 
 Be strew'd by war's ensanguined gloom ; 
 One, ere the storms last fearful motion 
 
 Gives anxious life a closing tomb. 
 There is a moment, ere the parting 
 
 Of souls where gleams a kindred ray. 
 When love's warm lip repels its starting, 
 
 Or steals the trembling drop away. 
 Such fearful moments sure there are, 
 
 In varied life where spirits languish, 
 That hold in desperate despair 
 
 The soul's still pulse 'twixt hope and anguish.
 
 55 
 
 Such was to them the cald distress 
 
 Of hurried anxious watchfuhiess. 
 
 Silent as sad creative thought, 
 
 Both by one sudden impulse sought. 
 
 To mingle in a fond caress 
 
 The last of feeling's fearfulness. 
 
 And o'er each feverish cheek is press'd 
 
 The moment's farewell sweet behest. 
 
 And lip meets lip, though scarcely riven, 
 
 In transport's warmer genial glow, 
 As part the brightest beams of heaven, 
 
 To blend in splendour's mantling flow. 
 Once more unite their bosoms heaving. 
 Still close and closer clung at leaving ; 
 Again again the impassioned grasp 
 Retains them in affection's clasp ; 
 'Till breaking from the wild embrace, 
 
 " Fly !" Zayda faintly cries " Oh fly ! 
 Death lurks within this treacherous place. 
 
 Thy fell pursuers list ! are nigh. 
 Oh ! here they quickly, closely ply.
 
 56 
 
 The near approaching hurrying oar, 
 I almost see them on the shore. 
 Yon glimmering of impatient day 
 Betrays us ; hence, away away. 
 Farewell here here to-morrow night 
 Shall join us, and befriend our flight, 
 NoMAR ! to-morrow's moon shall light 
 Us both from danger to delight, 
 'Tis fixed again, again farewell, 
 
 To-morrow 
 
 All shall, all be well. 
 
 Torn from his Zayda's fond caress, 
 Where love had joined in griefs excess. 
 And trembling as the drooping slave, 
 Who hopes a respite from the grave, 
 
 He hurries forth ; 
 
 She dares not stay. 
 
 To guide him on his dubiou9>way.
 
 But blindly, rashly, hastens on, 
 
 Bewildered lost, her sight, her brain 
 Fly from the scenes they dwell upon, 
 
 'Till when she shall be there again. 
 A sudden scream, an instant dash, 
 Strikes on his soul death's chilly flash ; 
 And shuddering at the fearful shock. 
 He bounds back desperate o'er the rock. 
 Swift as the eagle speeds her flight 
 From stormy summits dizzy height, 
 Wild as the frenzied stricken stag 
 Leaps o'er new worlds from crag to crag, 
 He scrambles to the cliffs bleak verge, 
 Which hangs above the tide's full surge ; 
 It echoed back his anxious cry. 
 But Zayda gives it no reply 
 He feels around, but clasps no more 
 
 Than the cold rock " The waters motion 
 Must, must be hers" he dashes o'er. 
 
 And plunges in the dark dim ocean.
 
 58 
 
 An instant wildly struggling there, 
 
 Mad in the hope of finding her. 
 
 He grasped her round, but life had passed ; 
 
 Its spirit from her lip was gasping, 
 Senseless her efforts held him fast ; 
 
 And both went down each other clasping. 
 He rose a moment on the water, 
 
 AlUbut one cheerless life was still. 
 And lonely left, for d'Almont's daughter 
 
 Was slumbering lowly laid and chill ; 
 His bosom needed not reply. 
 One long deep strangling smothered sigh 
 Convulsive hushed beneath the wave, 
 The death sob of the young and brave. 
 Light as before o'er love's lone pillow 
 
 The weeping larch low waving swept ; 
 And on the calmly murmuring billow 
 
 The morn's grey beam as sweetly slept.
 
 519^ 
 
 But yet at that still hour of day, 
 
 On Calpe's summit slowl)' waking, 
 When morning gilds with earliest ray 
 
 The first wave on the high shore breaking, 
 When the horizon's brightening verge 
 Blends with the ocean's misty surge, 
 A female shadow's seen to glide 
 One moment o'er the ebbing tide, 
 And distant, plaintive, shrilly, weak, 
 Is heard a solitary shriek. 
 Faint murmuring from the tranquil water, 
 Like that which breathed fond beauty's daughter. 
 When sunk she lifeless on the wave, 
 With all she loved the loving brave. 
 So said by mariners, who ply 
 
 Nightly the fishing wandering skiff, 
 And mournfully whilst loitering by 
 
 Brigando's turreted dark cliff, 
 Will stay to listen to that tone. 
 Mysterious, melancholy, lone.
 
 6a 
 
 And whilst their oraisons they raise, 
 To heaven's protection nature's praise^ 
 The heart's warm tribute oft repeat, 
 Thus wildly, natural, and sweet. 
 
 " Here the lovely and brave 
 Have reposed in the wave, 
 
 And soft be their sleeping ! 
 Shed, Morn, thy bright beam 
 O'er their innocent dream, 
 
 That shall wake without weeping. 
 Ye genii of Ocean ! 
 Spurn not the devotion 
 
 Of seamen's pure feeling. 
 Guardian spirits, still keep 
 Calm the wave of the deep. 
 O'er the lover's rest stealing," 
 
 On the bleak fatal crag of that wind clift there grows 
 A bud that ne'er blossoms, the wild mountain rose.
 
 61 
 
 No feoiale eye nurtures, no ruder hand crushes 
 The young vestal beauty that ever there blushes ; 
 No human care severs this flower in its bloom, 
 It smiles on its birth-place, and dies in its tomb. 
 
 If the cold evening blight, or the moon's bright 
 
 gaze wither, 
 The night tempest chill, or the fond zephyr gather 
 A grace froga this flowret, the morning resumes 
 Its infantile charms^ and more fragrantly blooms 
 This sweet lovely smiler, secluded and lone. 
 It laughs through the day, though the summer be 
 
 gone. 
 
 It culls in the spring from the sun's genial splendour, 
 A glow and a perfume so balmy and tender. 
 That still through the year, bowe'er changing, can 
 
 breathe 
 A fragrance from Nature's beloved wove wreath, 
 
 G
 
 62 
 
 Whilst it grows like the laurel that springs for the 
 
 brave, 
 It lives on the mountain and dies on the wave. 
 
 Like a day-star there still on the lone rugged steep, 
 
 This charmer uncultur'd sheds sweetly its bloom ; 
 Thus beauty grown pensive hung calm oer the 
 deep, 
 
 And innocence smil'd without hope on her tomb. 
 Thus sorrow still dims unobserved the soft eye 
 
 With the essence of feeling, the night pearly 
 tear; 
 Thus memory breathes from the soul the warm sigh, 
 
 That saddens, yet sweetens life year after year.
 
 63 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1. Page 9, last line. 
 
 But those are tinctur'd more by feeling, 
 From which remembrance cannot part. 
 
 Le souvenir des objets qui nous ont frapp^s, les 
 id^es que nous avons acquises, nous suivent dans la 
 retraite, la peuplent, malgrg nous, d'images plus 
 8duisantes que les objets memes, et rendent la 
 solitude aussi funeste a celui qui les y porte, qu'elle 
 est utile ^ celui qui s'y maintient toujours seul. 
 
 J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 a 2
 
 64 
 
 Note 2. Page 10, line 8. 
 
 Beyond affection's erring verge. 
 
 Toutes les grandes passions se forment dans la 
 solitude, on n'en a point de semblables dans le 
 monde, ou nul objet n'a le tems de faire une pro* 
 fonde impression, et ovk la multitude des go&tes 
 enerve la force des sentiments. J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 Note 3. Page 21, last line. 
 
 Breathed the fair statue into life. 
 
 Alluding to the fable of Pygmalion and his ivory 
 image, which Venus, at his request, turned into a 
 woman. Ovid, 
 
 Note 4. Page 30, line 11. 
 
 When Augustena's spirit broke. 
 
 The celebrated Augustena Zaragoza, by her va- 
 lour and brilliant exploits during the memorable
 
 65 
 
 sieges of Zaragoza, in the year 1808, elevated her- 
 self to the most distinguished rank of heroines. 
 The following interesting account of this extraor- 
 dinary female is an extract from Mr. Vaughan's 
 narrative of the first siege of that illustrious but 
 unfortunate city. " The attack of the enemy 
 seemed to be directed principally against the gate 
 called the Portillo, and the castle near it, without 
 the walls, and which is nothing more than a large 
 square building, made use of as a prison, and sur- 
 rounded by a deep ditch. The sand-bag battery 
 before the gate of the Portillo was gallantly de- 
 fended by the Arragonese. It was several time 
 destroyed, and as often reconstructed, under the^ 
 fire of the enemy. The carnage in this battery 
 throughout the day was truly terrible. It was here 
 that an act of heroism was performed by a female, 
 to which history scarcely affords a parallel. Au- 
 gustena Zaragoza, about twenty-two years of age, 
 a handsome woman of the lower class of the people, 
 G 3
 
 66 
 
 whilst performing her duty of carrying refresh- 
 ments to the gates, arrived at the battery of the 
 Portillo at the very moment when the French fire 
 had absolutely destroyed every person that was 
 stationed at it. The citizens and soldiers, for the 
 moment, hesitated to reman the guns : Augustena 
 rushed forward over the wounded and slain, snatch- 
 ed a match from the hand of a dead artilleryman, 
 and fired off a twenty-six pounder; then jumping 
 upon the gun, made a solemn vow never to quit it 
 alive during the siege. And having stimulated her 
 fellow- citizens, by this daring intrepidity, to fresh 
 exertions, they instantly rushed into the battery, 
 and again opened a tremendous fire upon the ene* 
 ray," Her subsequent history in Sir J. Carrs 
 Travels in Spain,
 
 67 
 
 Note 5. Page 35, line 12. 
 
 Tariffa's current ebbing near. 
 
 Tariffa is the most southern part of Europe, 
 against which shore the tide is consequently very 
 strong, and from whence the view of the entrance 
 of the Mediterranean becomes uncommonly beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 Note 6. Page 42, line 3. 
 
 Whilst the Solano drifting by. 
 
 The Solano is a dreadful hot east wind, called by 
 different names in various parts of Spain and the 
 islands of the Mediterranean, which blows from the 
 sands of Africa : it dries up the juices of nature, 
 burns the palms of the hands^ inflames the blood, 
 and frequently distempers the brain.
 
 68 
 
 Note 7 Page 42, line 6. 
 
 The dusky, solitary bird. 
 
 The solitary sparrow frequents the rocks of 
 Gibraltar, and the southern shore of Spain. See 
 Edwards's Natural History of Birds. 
 
 Note 8. Page 53, line 7. 
 
 For thee, like Egypt's flower, would bloom. 
 
 The lotos, or water- lily, of Egypt has a beautiful 
 white flower : there are two other species, the one 
 bears a bright purple, the other a yellow flower. 
 The Egyptians in years of scarcity fed on its roots, 
 of which they made a kind of bread, dried in the 
 sun, and afterwards baked. Herodotus. The 
 stem and seed-cup together resemble a cornucopia, 
 and might possibly have furnished the ancients 
 with the first idea of that sculptural and classical 
 ornament.
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 STANZAS AND CANZONETS. 
 
 Ch'io per me stimo chiuso in sepoltura 
 Ogni spirto, ch'alberghi in petto, doye 
 Non stUl'amor la >ua vivace cura. 
 
 Ariotto.
 
 71 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 Che mi giovaseguir quel, die mi duole. 
 
 Petrarch. 
 
 Though Memory, Pleasure's child confess'd, 
 Is cradled on the fluttering breast, 
 
 And nurtured in the heart, 
 Of joys susceptible though born, 
 Like Love's sweet flower it, hath a thorn, 
 
 Which oft inflicts a smart. 
 
 Though as the waning moon it lightens 
 The present with the past, and brightens 
 
 Those beams it fondly stole ; 
 Its gentle halo oft will throw 
 The trace of past life's joy and woe, 
 
 To linger round the soul.
 
 72 
 
 One moment though it wears a smile, 
 A transient beauty to beguile 
 
 Life's irksome lonely way ; 
 One moment though its beam will sparkle 
 O'er foolish fears, that cloud to darkle 
 
 Young Hope's enchanting ray. 
 
 The next perhaps will come to banish 
 That tinge of joy it sheds, and vanish 
 
 From retrospection's view ; 
 And for those scenes so quickly perished, 
 Bring others recollection cherished. 
 
 Less charming j^et as true. 
 
 Like Fancy's sweet delusive spell, 
 It tells a tale oft told too well, 
 
 To please without a sigh ; 
 Like Love's repeated fond farewell. 
 It pledges silently to tell 
 
 The faithful vow's reply.
 
 73 
 
 Thus may it, like a thought of heaven. 
 Avert those pains more rudely given, 
 
 To wound thy spotless mind : 
 Tender may each impression be, 
 And softer than the symphony 
 
 Of Eve's EoLiAN wind. 
 
 But when in Memory thou provest 
 The dear return of those thou lovest, 
 
 Of scenes that gave a charm ; 
 Mid past time's pleasures, ne'er forget 
 That one alone, whose bosom yet 
 
 Shall mutual Memory warm ! 
 
 Remembrance, too, for me can smile, 
 And wear a look that shall beguile 
 
 The throbbings of my breast ; 
 The fond tones of her plaintive voice, 
 Like summer winds, shall oft rejoice 
 
 The heart which cannot rest.
 
 74 
 
 Sweet soothing as the harp's soft strain, 
 Though sad^ it hath a pleasing pain, 
 
 Which gives my soul relief; 
 Its music seems to breathe the sigh 
 Responsive : yet, I know not why, 
 
 It steals away my grief.
 
 75 
 
 TRUE LOVE IS LIKE THE ROSE, DEAR! 
 
 Xpovov 3g are E^w^ hts po^a olhv. 
 
 Anaereo*. 
 
 Tr u e love is like the Rose, dear ! 
 
 It knows not withering time : 
 Their beauties they disclose, dear. 
 
 In every scene and clime. 
 It matters not what breezes 
 
 Around their blossoms play ; 
 What age or season freezes, 
 
 Their beauty is the same. 
 
 True love is like the Rose, dear ! 
 
 Whatever ills assail, 
 Its bud will still enclose, dear, 
 
 A spell that can prevail. 
 
 H 2
 
 76 
 
 The blight of fortune stealing. 
 May ravish charm by charm. 
 
 But yet the blush of feeling 
 Grows more devoted, vearm. 
 
 True love is like the Rose, dear ? 
 
 'Tis imaged by its bloom ; 
 Its beauties too disclose, dear. 
 
 New charms beyond the tomb. 
 Though absence, fate, or duty. 
 
 Suffuse it with a tear, 
 The spirit of its beauty 
 
 Revives more purely clear. 
 
 True love is like the Rose, dear ! 
 
 Then take this flower for me ; 
 And in the truth repose, dear, 
 
 It blooms like love for thee.
 
 77 
 
 When doubt or fear ifiay sadden. 
 The hope it shall disclose, 
 
 Then think thy smile can gladden 
 True love, that's like the Rose. 
 
 II 3
 
 78 
 
 A LAKE SCENE BY NIGHT. 
 
 Nox erat et caelo fulgebat tuna sereno 
 
 Inter minora sidera. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 On the crystal expanse of Maggiore's blue ocean. 
 How fondly the mind loves in sorrow to dwell ; 
 
 To gaze on its bosom, whose latent emotion 
 Oft seems with the sob of true feeling to swell. 
 
 Here Nature, all lovely, forgotten and lone, 
 Enjoying the stillness of midnight's repose, 
 
 Seems to echo the sighs of the stranger unknown, 
 And listen attentive the cause of his woes.
 
 79 
 
 Oh ! here will I sit, and taste pure pensive pleasure, 
 Whilst the stars on the lake dance so lovely and 
 clear : 
 
 Where no \yild wave breaks to embitter the treasure. 
 Where no living voice shall e'er startle ray ear. 
 
 Oh ! here will I weep for the dear souls departed, 
 Whilst sweetly the moonlight sleeps calm on the 
 wave ; 
 Yes, here will I breathe away life, broken-hearted. 
 And find the blue depths of these waters my 
 grave. 
 
 The above lines were written at Baveno, a beau- 
 tiful little village situated on the Lago Maggiore, 
 about fifty miles from Milan, at the commence- 
 ment of the Simplon Road, from whence the view 
 of that tranquil water is as extensive as it is beau- 
 tiful.
 
 80 
 
 THE PLAINTIVE LYRE. 
 
 The music was like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and 
 mournful to the soul. Ossian, 
 
 Oft when I strike my plaintive lyre, 
 And 'tempt to tune its languid wire 
 
 To something lively, gay, 
 It will refuse to catch the tone, 
 And murmuring to a doleful moan. 
 
 Its music dies away. 
 
 Or haply seems to feel the glow 
 
 Of Petrarch's soft bewitching woe. 
 
 And makes it all its own ; 
 And then again will oft complain, 
 In Della Crusca's mournful strain. 
 
 Unheeded, friendless, lone.
 
 81 
 
 It sometimes, too, in noteR more wild, 
 Will sympathize with Feeling's child. 
 
 To tender Otway strung ; 
 Or e'en in transport still more deep, 
 With Werter's wailing muse will keep 
 
 Responsive what she sung. 
 
 Then oft, as by the tempest swept, . 
 The chords that late so pensive slept 
 
 Will thrill more wildly clear ; 
 As by the mountain minstrel woke. 
 It falters what the spirit spoke 
 
 To Ossian's stormy ear. 
 
 But yet at eve's more silent hour, 
 There seems to be some secret power 
 
 That whispers to its strain : 
 And it will breathe more tender high. 
 As if it stole from Memory 
 
 The pleasure and the pain.
 
 82 
 
 And then, as if it softly heard 
 The voice of one adored, endear'd, 
 
 It trembles forth the sigh ; 
 But, oh ! its sound is then so sad, 
 I often think 'twill make me mad. 
 
 And throw the moaner by.
 
 88 
 
 STANZAS TO 
 
 Piaga per allentar d'arco non sana. 
 
 Petrarch. 
 
 Th E Y tell me that thy youthful cheek, 
 
 And late so lively soft dark eye, 
 Are changed, and often seem to speak 
 
 The language of a sympathy ; 
 They say thou look'st no longer glad ! 
 
 But thoughtful oft appear'st to be ; 
 And that the thought which mak'st thee sad, 
 
 They ween, is, ah ! a thought of me ! 
 
 Though selfish, 'tis a kind relief, 
 Such secret solace life can gladden, 
 
 To know, like mine, a mutual grief 
 Thy softer heart does also sadden.
 
 84 
 
 Forgive rae. Love, if such beguile I 
 
 Forgive, if it delude me yet ; 
 Whilst friends will urge, companions smile, 
 
 To teach thee falsely to forget. 
 
 But when such heartless spoilers sue. 
 
 To make thy fluttering heart resign 
 The pledge that still believes thee true, 
 
 The thought of past that makes thee mine 
 Oh ! will they not or fortune sever 
 
 Affection's warmth, endearment's spell ? 
 When soul to soul perhaps shall never 
 
 Be blest their hallowed truth to tell. 
 
 Be not deceived ! though Fashion's whirl 
 Might court me in its giddy sphere : 
 
 Though beauty round me charms unfurl, 
 Anxiety hath still its fear ;
 
 85 
 
 But should such senseless scenes beguile 
 One restless lonely hour from me ; 
 
 Should wear my pensive cheek a smile, 
 That smile will speak a thought of thee.
 
 86 
 
 STANZAS TO 
 
 Th ere was, too well the time thou ruest, 
 
 When youth and feeling, partial, bhnd, 
 Believ'd thee sweetest, fondest, truest. 
 
 And loveliest too of woman kind ; 
 There was, but yet I will not name, 
 
 Since it hath long been wholly past, 
 And neither thou nor I the same. 
 
 As when we thought it fled too fast. 
 
 'Twas then thy heart, thine eye, thy cheek. 
 All fondly sought, and learned' to waken 
 
 A throb like that thou felt to speak 
 The doubt, the fear of love forsaken.
 
 87 
 
 'Twas then thy every action strove 
 The fondness of ray soul to cherish, 
 
 And mingled in each gaze of love 
 
 A warmth, methought, could never perish, 
 
 'Twas then, thy lips' thy features' tone, 
 
 And lute's soft note combined to gladden : 
 Thy thoughts, desires were all mine own. 
 
 The same could please the like, too, sadden. 
 Oh ! it was then thy smile, thy blush. 
 
 Gave truth its sweetest, liveliest token, 
 And feeling blest the tear but hush ! 
 
 Affection's wrong'd, its pledge is broken. 
 
 'Tis changed but think how then we met ; 
 
 And how unlike we since have parted ! 
 There is a pleasure to forget. 
 
 That comes not to the fickle-hearted. 
 
 i2
 
 88 
 
 Ah, no ! it is a plague, a spell. 
 To such who would forget to feel, 
 
 That Mem'ry triumphs oft too well, 
 And leaves a pain which nought can heal. 
 
 All's changed ! it matters not, for sorrow 
 
 Ne'er gives the soul of pride a pain, 
 For what the world might change to-morrow- 
 
 The silly weak, the senseless vain. 
 Thy heart was more to me than beauty, 
 
 Ere life's endearment grew estrange : 
 Till Nature nay, till colder duty, 
 
 Had sadly wrought its worthless change. 
 
 Since others have been pleased to proffer 
 Life's transient boon for Feeling's trace. 
 
 Without Affection's blush to offer, 
 As time despoileth beauty's grace.
 
 89 
 
 Though now it ceases to be mine, 
 I blame not thee, I pardon them ; 
 
 And the poor heart they've rendered thine^ 
 I pity -but will ne'er condemn. 
 
 Yet were thy faults as many more, 
 
 Than those my erring youth hath yet 
 To lose, or give atonement for, 
 
 I could forgive them and forget. 
 A glance from thy repentant eye, 
 
 If one full tear its lid let fall. 
 Or heaved thy tender heart a sigh, 
 
 That sigh alone should expiate all. 
 
 i3
 
 90 
 
 A STORM 
 
 ON THE LAGO DI GARDA. 
 
 Miranda. O, the cry did knock 
 Againit my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
 
 Tempeit. 
 
 How strangely wild the swallow flies ! 
 How drifts the gondola's white sail ! 
 Forboding oh ! Miranda cries, 
 
 The coming gale. 
 
 Mark ! how from yonder Alpine clifts 
 The darkling tempest onward lowers, 
 And o'er yon snowy summit lifts 
 
 Its wintry showers.
 
 91 
 
 See ! from yon cloud the curlew streams. 
 
 Bewailing with a doleful cry ; 
 " Aloof the famished eagle screams," 
 And passes by. 
 
 Drifted beneath the lightning's blaze, 
 
 The fell companion of the storm 
 Collects her vulture brood, and stays 
 
 The whirlwind's form. 
 
 From Baldo's hoary hanging brow (1) 
 The tempest drives the drifted rock. 
 And roused Benacus heaves to throw (2) 
 Above the shock. 
 
 Oh ! how its troubled ocean raves ; 
 
 Imbosoming so loud a roar ! 
 How fierce those billowy chaffing waves 
 Mount o er the shore !
 
 92 
 
 ** See ! see that desperate vessel fly ! 
 
 Mercy oh ! heavens save ! she's lost ! 
 List! ah, that troubled piercing cry 
 Says all is lost !" 
 
 Thus, thus, sweet, fond Miranda cried, 
 
 Whilst gazing wildly on the wave, 
 Where many then she well descried 
 
 Had found a grave. 
 
 In soft compassion lost, she fell, 
 
 A blasted flower within these arms : 
 Nor tear nor sob escaped, to tell 
 
 Fond feeling's charms. 
 
 Thy placid brow, thy lip, thy cheek 
 
 Were, dear Miranda, then so still 
 As waters where no breath can speak 
 O'er the cold rill.
 
 93 
 
 An only sister in that deep 
 
 Thou knew'st not then had found her rest ! 
 Why had thou ever wak'd from sleep, 
 To feel distress'd ? 
 
 From sweet compassion love arose, 
 
 And rapture hung o'er feeling's form ; 
 " Our hearts were wedded by our woes," 
 
 Through Sorrow's storm. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 91, line 9. 
 
 (1) " From Baldo's hoary hanging brow." 
 
 Mount Baldo, which hangs over this beautiful 
 
 lake, and was once famous for timber and medical 
 
 plants, is now quite naked, and exhibits the most 
 
 dreary prospect imaginable.
 
 94 
 
 Page 91, line 11. 
 (2) " And roused Benacus heaves to throvr." 
 Benacus is the Roman name of the Lagodi 
 Garda, as it is thus described by Virgil : 
 " Adde lacus tantos te laci maxime, teque 
 Fluctibus et fremitu assurgens Benace Marino'*
 
 95 
 
 TO ISABEL. 
 
 Believe me! could I share a lieart, 
 Whose fond emotions oft rebel, 
 
 Its better, nay, its dearer part 
 
 Should throb for thee, my Isabel ! 
 
 Yes ! would my sympathizing breast 
 With soft expression heave to tell, 
 
 The feelings that forbad its rest 
 Belonged to thee, my Isabel I 
 
 A bosom that hath learned to prove 
 With many a pang Affection's spell ; 
 
 Should then repay with more than love 
 The fondness of my Isabel !
 
 96 
 
 Few with a cheek so beauteous fair 
 Possess a heart, whose tender swell 
 
 Owns such a spirit, warm, sincere, 
 As thine, my lovely Isabel ! 
 
 Oft when Amusement's giddy round 
 
 Would fain have offered Pleasure's spell ; 
 
 The only charm I ever found, 
 I owe to thee, my Isabel ! 
 
 When scenes of joy would chance beguile, 
 Which youth and fancy dream so well. 
 
 Thine was the sweet enchanting smile 
 That pleased me most, my Isabel ! 
 
 Yet must the jealous god confess 
 The truth, my bosom heaves to tell, 
 
 He would betray thy tenderness. 
 To give thee half, my Isabel !
 
 97 
 
 Or fairest flower, whose breath was given 
 
 All anxious sorrow to repel ; 
 To a lone heart already riven, 
 
 I'd clasp thee close, my Isabel ! 
 
 And pure regard, as soft, sincere, 
 Which even thine could not excel. 
 
 Should hold thee undivided, dear. 
 My own, ray tender Isabel ! 
 
 Still, to a breast whose peace is broken, 
 Long let me press thee. Beauty's belle. 
 
 And prize thee, Friendship's sweetest token. 
 Her loveliest flower, my Isabel !
 
 98 
 
 YOU TELL ME NOT TO FLIRT, LOVE 
 
 Yo u tell me, not to flirt, love, 
 
 And fickle fond thus be, 
 Although I cannot hurt, love, 
 
 A heart so wild and free : 
 You tell me not to trifle 
 
 With words that have deceiv'd, 
 Though love can never rifle 
 
 The soul that ne'er believed. 
 
 Whilst gazing on thine eye, love. 
 Of heavenly tender blue, 
 
 Methinks 1 hear a sigh, love, 
 Impassion' d, warm and true ;
 
 99 
 
 Whilst glancing o'er each feature 
 Which beauty gives thy cheek, 
 
 Young love appears the meteor. 
 To me alone to speak. 
 
 Whilst listening to the tone, love, 
 
 Thy voice so sweetly swells. 
 It seems to make mine own, love. 
 
 The Elysium there that dwells. 
 Though jealous not, it grieves me. 
 
 Since all these charms are thine, 
 That others should believe thee 
 
 As much their own as mine. 
 
 Then say no more, I flirt, love ; 
 
 If e'er I should with thee. 
 It never, no, can hurt, love. 
 
 The heart so wild and free. 
 K 2
 
 100 
 
 But yet thy blush, thy smile, love. 
 Enchanting e'er shall be, 
 
 Although they may beguile, love. 
 More, many more, than me.
 
 101 
 
 LE GAGE D'AMOUR. 
 
 B Y the lovely glow of gladness, 
 
 O'er thy features shed divine ; 
 By the pensive tinge of sadness, 
 
 Thou hast seen so oft in mine : 
 By the sigh so sweetly tender, 
 
 When thy lid hath dropt the tear, 
 By the kiss thou bad'st me render, 
 
 When thy breast hath own'd a fear ; 
 Oh! wear as Gage d'Amour for me. 
 
 This rose and leaf of cypress tree ; 
 A gayer wreath I might have wove. 
 
 But none so sweet as this for love. 
 K 3
 
 102 
 
 By the language so beguiling 
 
 Of thine eye of heavenly blue ; 
 By thy lip so sweetly smiling, 
 
 By its pressure warm and true ; 
 By the fondness so endearing, 
 
 Of thy tender, chaste caress ; 
 By the look of love, so cheering. 
 
 By Affection's fond excess : 
 Oh ! wear as Gage d'Amour for me, 
 
 Tliis rose and leaf of cypress tree ; 
 A gayer wreath I might have wove, 
 
 But none so sweet as this for love. 
 
 By the gentlest ray of gladness, 
 That ever lit thy tranquil heart r 
 
 By that melancholy madness, 
 
 We both have felt when doom'd to part 
 
 N^
 
 103 
 
 By the softest blush of feeling, 
 
 Passion o'er thy cheek hath dealt; 
 By Memory's brightest sunshine, stealing 
 
 O'er thy brow, thou ever felt ; 
 Oh ! wear as Gage d'Araour, for me, 
 
 This rose and leaf of cypress tree ; 
 A gayer wreath I might have wove. 
 
 But none so sweet as this for love. 
 
 By the summer rose-bud blooming. 
 
 To shed the morning's fragrant tear ; 
 By the cypress tree, entombing 
 
 Those best beloved, departed, dear ; 
 Though the heart of gloom and sorrow 
 
 Be imaged by the cypress leaf, 
 No change the emblem e'er shall borrow 
 
 From danger, absence, joy or grief. 
 Wear, then, as Gage d Amour, for me. 
 
 The rose and leaf of cypress tree ; 
 A gayer wreath I might have wove, 
 
 But none so sweet as this for love.
 
 104 
 
 STANZAS TO 
 
 Nee tantum ingetiio, quantum servire dolori. 
 
 Fe w were those days of fleeting joy, 
 When last we met so soon to part ; 
 When love entranced without alloy 
 The feelings of the youthful heart. 
 And every transport blest ; 
 When pure affection, happy, gay, 
 Stole each delighiful hour away, 
 And smiling at their wished delay, 
 Those lovely scenes caress'd ; 
 Then pleasure quaff'd without a sigh, 
 The sweetest bowl of sympathy.
 
 105 
 
 Few were those days, when first the soul 
 And heart of impulse fondly met ; 
 
 When soft affection gently stole 
 Within the bosom, to forget 
 The anxious doubt of love : 
 
 Thy tender look, thy speaking eye. 
 
 Thy smiling lips, thy gentle sigh, 
 
 And cheek of sensibility, 
 
 All then conspired to prove, 
 
 ThatwhatI felt thou too did'st feel, 
 
 And more than that could no be real. 
 
 Few were tlijose days ! and they were gay. 
 
 When last we climb'd the mountain steep ; 
 Marked how the brightest cloud of day 
 Sailed o'er the ocean's stormy deep. 
 And sunk beneath the wave : 
 When watch'd we on its heaving breast. 
 The grey gull trust her hopeful nest, 
 Whilst drifting down the tide to rest, 
 Her cradle and her grave.
 
 106 
 
 Oh ! that the wild bird thus should be 
 The emblem of my destiny ! 
 
 Few were those days ! and lively glad. 
 
 As was their sun they stole away ; 
 But still is recollection sad, 
 
 As if enjoyment's transient ray 
 Were destined long to last ! 
 Yet thought will often bring the tear 
 Of fond regret, for what was dear. 
 For scenes of joy that lately were, 
 
 But are for ever past ; 
 The balmy sleep of youth is o'er. 
 And fancy dreams of bliss no more. 
 
 Few were those days ! but had they ne'er 
 Been witness of enjoyment's spell. 
 
 Devotion's bosom, pure, sincere, 
 Had struggled longer ere it fell
 
 107 
 
 Beneath emotion's pain ; 
 And that same heart which joy'd to be 
 The true, the tender, soft and free. 
 Had never throbbed but once for thee, 
 y Unpitied and in vain : 
 
 And that young mind as wild as air. 
 Had never thought of hope, despair. 
 
 Few were those days ! and they were given 
 [ To cheer perhaps a life of gloom, 
 A sunny short-lived ray of heaven, 
 To light affection to the tomb, 
 
 And close her eve of w^oe ; 
 A blazing meteor of the night ! 
 Nay ! a sad lone sepulchral light, 
 That glares on death in pale affright, 
 
 'Mid horror's darker glow ; 
 To break the heart, distract the brain, 
 With scenes they ne'er can know again,
 
 108 
 
 Few were those days ! but they are gone, 
 
 And not a trace is left behind 
 Of what they were to dwell upon. 
 Save the fond do tings of a mind 
 That never can forget ; 
 But many others there must be, 
 Who too have felt and bear with me 
 The joy, the pain of memory 
 
 The sorrow of regret ; 
 Whose tenderness a grief must share, 
 For love's first hope and proud despair.
 
 109 
 
 THOSE DULCET NOTES WHICH LAST YOU SUNG! 
 
 EM cantar che ncll'animo si sente. 
 
 Petrarch. 
 
 Th o SE dulcet notes which last you sung, 
 And seemed to feel so tenderly, 
 
 On which I thought Elysium hung, 
 Delighted with their minstrelsy ! 
 
 Those dulcet notes which last you sung. 
 So fond, impassioned, wantonly, 
 
 I felt had o'er my senses flung 
 The rapture of their symphony ! 
 
 Those dulcet notes which last you sung. 
 Were, oh ! so plaintive sad to me, 
 
 I deem'd they'd break the heart they wrung, 
 Distracted by their witchery !
 
 no 
 
 Those dulcet notes which last you sung, 
 Were warbled forth alas ! to be 
 
 The first, the last that ever stung 
 Enjoyment with a misery !
 
 Ill 
 
 INDIFFERENCE. 
 
 O' y 'Epoig 
 
 Jnacreon, 
 
 He who hath never fondly sought 
 
 Fair Woman's bashful glance to meet ; 
 Hath never truly own'd he thought 
 
 The rose she gather'd doubly sweet ; 
 Nor ever warmly felt there stole 
 
 From Beauty's softly speaking eye, 
 A language dearest to the soul, 
 
 Of love the poisonous witchery. 
 
 L 2
 
 112 
 
 He who hath ne'er confessed a charm 
 
 In music's sweetly melting strain, 
 Nor ever felt each accent warm 
 
 His heart with melancholy pain ; 
 Nor ever caught the soft sigh's tone 
 
 Of feeling mingling with his own : 
 Hath never hear'd, hath never known 
 
 The voice of a beloved one. 
 
 The blush of truth, the smile of gladness. 
 
 That mantle o'er the fond one's cheek, 
 Her tearful lid, her brow of sadness, 
 
 To him were never meant to speak ; 
 And though affection o'er each feature 
 
 Hath given to loveliness its grace. 
 Her glow of soul, the bosom's meteor. 
 
 Hath never worn for him a trace.
 
 113 
 
 Pure as a wreath of virgin snow^. 
 
 Clear as the foaming wave of ocean, 
 Her bosom warm as sunset's glow. 
 
 Ne'er heaving spoke for him emotion : 
 Ah no ! for love's soft gladd'ning ray, 
 
 Sweet moon-light to the genial soul, 
 Hath never lit his dreary way, 
 
 Nor o'er his feelings calmly stole. 
 Whose cold heart never throbb'd to own 
 
 The thought of a beloved one. 
 
 L 3
 
 114 
 
 TO I. 
 
 WEEP NOT, MAID ! 
 
 Fo N D one ! tell me not that sorrow 
 Makes thy bosom lone and bleak ; 
 Joy's smile shall mantle o'er to-morrow, 
 Pleasure's rose, too, deck thy cheek. 
 Weep not. Maid ! thy hopeful fate, 
 So youthful gay. 
 So full of play, 
 Is doomed not to be desolate.
 
 115 
 
 Fond one ! say not yet that sadness 
 
 Clouds thy spirit, dims thine eye : 
 
 Thy grief will pass, again shall gladnes 
 
 Chase its tear-drop, hush its sigh. 
 
 Weep not, Maid ! thy generous heart, 
 
 So tender warm, 
 
 Hath yet a charm 
 
 To dissipate affliction's smart. 
 
 Fond one ! mourn not thus, though feeling 
 
 Pains thy vestal breast with woe. 
 Still its spell its passion stealing 
 Shall make thy bosom own its glow. 
 Weep not. Maid ! Joy's mirthful day, 
 Love, grief and care, 
 Through life shall cheer. 
 And steal its placid morn away.
 
 116 
 
 Fond one ! if with gladsome wing 
 
 My muse hath touched the Idalian wire, 
 Oh ! may to thee its warblings bring 
 Affection's warmth and memory's fire. 
 Weep not, Maid ! till on yon billow 
 The moon smile sweet, 
 The wild surge beat 
 O'er my peaceful lonely pillow.
 
 117 
 
 LOVE'S FIRST TSAR. 
 
 Love's first tear! full, timid, tender, 
 I Fond feeling's purest pearly gem, 
 
 Worthless thee, the peerless splendour 
 I Of Europe's mightiest diadem. 
 
 Nature's pledge, affection's token, 
 ' Tinged by Heaven's clear beam to prove 
 
 From the young heart, though blest or broken, 
 f The spirit and the warmth of love. 
 
 Though vestal fear first strove to chide, 
 And colder duty dared forbid 
 
 The soul that prompted ne'er could hide 
 Thy tale of truth from Beauty's lid.
 
 118 
 
 Affection bade thee then bedew 
 The native softness of her eye ; 
 
 Whilst pleasure's smile and passion's hue 
 Oft drove thee, gentle trickier, by. 
 
 And still whatever feelings sway 
 
 Weak nature's change, her heart shall e'er 
 Retain thy trace, till sorrow's day 
 
 Confirm thy truth too, love's first tear ! 
 
 Spring's morn, or winter's brightest eve, 
 A crystal drop like thine can shed ; 
 
 One dazzling sun-beam takes its leave, 
 And all its glittering charms are fled. 
 
 Such is thy date, so sunny, brief. 
 
 Like beauty's blush, or summer's flower. 
 
 Whilst trembling on the verge of grief 
 Thou charm'st, blest tear, but for an hour !
 
 119 
 
 Life's dear illusions cannot last 
 
 When young Love's first romance be o'er ; 
 When Fancy's sweet enchantment's past, 
 
 Then, lovely tear, thou art seen no more.
 
 120 
 
 TENDER FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO I. . 
 
 Mais soiivent I'amiti^, 
 Pour nous consoler, nous abuse 
 A qui done se fierf dites-moi, parpiti^, 
 Dois-je me fier ^ ma muse? 
 
 Dumouttier, 
 
 Hath still the billow's waveless swell, 
 
 The murmuring of the tranquil ocean, 
 Their wonted charm, their magic spell. 
 
 To cause thy feelings faint emotion ? 
 To picture to thy heart and brain 
 
 Enjoyments past and pleasures o'er ; 
 To image over scenes again 
 
 Of joys that time can ne'er restore?
 
 121 
 
 At morn, when summer breezes sweep 
 
 The surface of the slumbering deep ; 
 At noon-tide, when the fitful gale 
 
 Plays wanton on the glittering sail ; 
 And when the placid hour of eve 
 
 Her flitting shadows lengthening draws. 
 Can such thy bosom's throb deceive 
 
 With the repose of Nature's pause ? 
 
 And when the moon's pale, trembling beam, 
 
 From cheerless midnight's stormy sky, 
 Enlivens, with a partial gleam, 
 
 The dearest page of memory ; 
 Oh ! can her orb, then, purely bright, 
 
 Repose on scenes of past delight, 
 And bid thee softly, sweetly tell, 
 
 Of times, of things that pleased too well ; 
 Of dear events, that left a trace 
 Within thy warm heart's resting place ?
 
 122 
 
 Can she, then, softly bring to mind ' >; 
 
 Thoughts calm and bright as her own splendour. 
 Of looks, of words, of wishes kind, ' 
 
 From those thou deem'st to be most tender ? 
 And does not, then, thy bosom know 
 
 The thrilling throb of Pleasure's glow, 
 And feel its impulse, oft confess 
 
 Sweet Recollection's loveliness ? 
 
 If ever from thy mirthful eye 
 
 Thou bade young, gay Indifference fly ; 
 
 If ever for fictitious woe 
 
 Thy lid hath let its sorrow flow ; 
 
 If ever, 'mid the thoughtless glad, 
 
 Thy mind hath been more thoughtful sad ; 
 
 If ever breathed thy heart a sigh 
 
 For hope, or back on memory ;
 
 123^ 
 
 At such a time, if ever yet ' " 
 
 Thy soul hath felt a transient grief, 
 
 To feel it never can forget . . ' 
 
 Affection's fondest, first belief? 
 
 It hath, perhaps, revived in thee 
 
 A plaintive, pensive thought of me. 
 
 Who long hath sought, but strove in vain 
 With sanguine Pleasure's varied pain, 
 Like Della Crusca, yet to find 
 
 Some fair one, tender, lively, too, 
 Endowed with feeling, heart, and mind> 
 
 Whom I could love, but would not woo ; 
 Should such a sweet Matilda be 
 Revived by Nature's self in thee. 
 To her 1 could my soul impart. 
 Confess, repose my wandering heart ; 
 For her all worldly joys refuse, 
 ' And live for friendship and the muse." 
 
 M 2
 
 Then tell tne every feeling, thought, 
 
 Each tear of grief, each smile of gladness ; 
 Thy heart, thine eye, thy cheek hath caught 
 
 From joy, from hope, from sorrow sadness. 
 Since last we met, so soon and parted, 
 
 But why so chang'd could neither tell ; 
 Since last we felt so lonely hearted. 
 
 And brush'd away the drop that fell ; 
 When love's warm kiss the tear had started. 
 
 To mingle Friendship's last farewell. 
 
 Yes, write me all that hope might give 
 My muse a fond desire to live. 
 And still to ponder o'er, to trace 
 
 The dictates of a sensate heart. 
 To paint what it woiUd fain efface. 
 
 At least express the truth in part, 
 Although its poor success be vain 
 To shadow with a joy the pain ; 
 Or from delusive hope to borrow 
 A smile, to gild the tear of sorrow.
 
 125 
 
 THE HEART'S BOUQUET. 
 
 TO BELLA. - 
 
 Though Bella will not wear for me 
 The rose and leaf of cypress tree, 
 Still will I weave a wreath for her, 
 Of violets and their gossamer. 
 And if she likes it, too, entwine 
 Geranium and the eglantine ; 
 Though varied hues, if well combin'd, 
 
 They speak the soft heart's pensive tone ; 
 Though transient sweets, they tell the mind 
 
 Of thinking mood, grown partial, lone ; 
 Though rival flowers, they bloom to be 
 The language of her heart for me. 
 
 M 3
 
 126 
 
 Oh ! it shall be a lovely wreath, 
 
 Which Beauty's fondest life will press 
 O'er it shall Feeling's soft sigh breathe. 
 And blushing Love its charms caress. 
 If not so fragrant fresh its bloom 
 As that which speaks the temper's gloom ; 
 If not as Love's sweet gage, so gay, 
 It is the feeling heart's bouquet.
 
 \^7 
 
 THE MONASTERY. 
 
 Voili done tes bieiifaits, tendre M^lancolie, 
 Par toi, de I'lmivers la scfene est embellie, 
 Til sais donner un prix aux larmes, aux soupirs, 
 Et nos afflictions sont presque des plaisirs. 
 
 Legouv^. 
 
 Laugh, then, companion of the night, with gay. 
 Though cold and silent splendour, on the wave. 
 
 Thou only face that smiles upon decay, 
 And loves to dwell on Desolation's grave. 
 
 Laugh, whilst in Meditation's dread repose, 
 I gaze on ivy mantled walls around. 
 Hear from yon arch the chilly night blast sound. 
 
 And see the shades of melancholy close ; 
 
 Whilst here, '* I ponder with a strange delight. 
 
 On the calm slumbers of the dead man s night."
 
 1^8 
 
 But, ah ! how changed the scene ; not long ago 
 
 These darksome stones were destin'd to restrain 
 The cruel sigh that burst the breast of snow. 
 
 The tear, shed sacred to Affection's woe. 
 Yon rock, from whence the dusky screech owl cries; 
 Yon grate, through which the horrid grey bat flies; 
 Those column'd steps, where oft she trembling 
 knelt ; 
 
 Those holy shrines, to which she pray'd, can 
 prove 
 How dear were then the vows the vestal felt 
 
 Of stern religion and repentant love. 
 
 There once, perhaps, some Eloise hath pray'd ; 
 
 A lovely Agnes wail'd her fate of woe, 
 And warbled sweetly to the listening shade, 
 
 Those griefs, the breeze responsive learn'd to 
 know. 
 Here, too, perhaps, an Adelaide hath sought, 
 In vain, a solace to Reflection's thought ;
 
 129 
 
 Here wildly pictur'd to Delusion's view, 
 
 The dear return of those she deera'd still true, 
 
 And madly grasp'd at, with a maniac's scream, 
 The darling image of her poison'd dream, 
 Or with a heart deep rending laugh of fright. 
 Hath fled the fearful fancy of her sight, 
 Stray'd like a wandering moon-beam through the 
 
 wood. 
 And plunged to rest beneath the murmuring flood. 
 Whilst from love-breathing lips life's latest sigh 
 Hath Echo wafted as it pass'd her by. 
 
 Haply some rigid monk or luckless maid 
 Beneath this moss-grown stone is lowly laid, 
 Sole slumbering tenant of the mouldering tomb 
 Of superstition, ignorance, and gloom. 
 Unseen where summer's wildest beauties blow. 
 And on the gale their native fragrance throw.
 
 Whilst rugged rocks and groves of checquer'd 
 , : green ^ 
 
 That add a pensive horror to the scene. 
 Invade Devotion's altar, Misery's cell, 
 Where wretched loveliness hath ceased to dwell, 
 And 'mid the relicts of Religion's seat. 
 Bestow a grandeur to the lone retreat.
 
 131 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 WHO LAMENTED SHE WAS NOT OF AGE TO BE 
 INTRODUCED. 
 
 Think, fair one ! think that year a da". 
 Which bids thy tender youth delay 
 From entering 'mid the world's career 
 Of dissipation, grief, and care. 
 Anxiety and sorrow. 
 
 Nay, think it but one fleeting hour, 
 That gives new beauty to the flower 
 Which blossoms in the month of May 
 To flourish only for a day, 
 
 And die. perhaps, to-morrow.
 
 13S 
 
 For tender is thy vestal age, 
 Sweet, too, the hope thy dreams engage, 
 And transient Beauty's native trace, 
 Her glow of feeling, blush of grace. 
 Around thy features smiling. 
 
 And delicate thy lovely form. 
 As the gay skiff before the storm. 
 To struggle with the adverse gale 
 Of the rude world's unjust assail. 
 
 Though Nature's love beguiling. 
 
 For though the dewdrop on the rose 
 A charm, a beauty can disclose. 
 When bursting on its bud at dawn 
 To glitter on the beam of morn, 
 
 Whilst o'er the blossom stealing.
 
 133 
 
 The tear that shall bedew thy lid, 
 Will ask what fashion shall forbid, 
 A mutual throb, a soft reply, 
 To Pleasure's smile, to Sorrow's sigb> ' 
 Congenial to thy feeling. 
 
 The world of pleasure and the gay. 
 Thy charms with envy shall survey, 
 But when a fear, a latent smart 
 Shall rankle first thy loving heart, !^ 
 And need the balm of gladness ; 
 
 Will such who flatter'd thee, sustain 
 Thy bosom's pang, 'gainst suPering'8 pain ? 
 Will such who laugh their life away. 
 Then crowd thee round, in hopes to pay 
 Some solace to thy sadness ?
 
 1^ 
 
 Ah ! no ; indifferent to cheer. 
 Or render anguish less severe. 
 The senseless world, who late carest, 
 Will calmly see thee sink to rest, 
 ' And be forgot to-morrow. 
 
 Think, fair one, then, thy youth most blest. 
 Of Friendship's earliest ties possest ; 
 Remote from Fashion's mad career. 
 Of dissipation, folly, care. 
 
 Regret, and tearful sorrow.
 
 135 
 
 SONG. 
 
 TOUCH ONCE AGAIN THY BREATHING WIRE. 
 
 To u c H once again thy breathing wire ! 
 Its tender notes will e'er inspire 
 
 The thoughts of joys gone by ; 
 Its music hath so sweet a tone^ 
 My heart is rendered all its own, 
 
 And yet I feel it sigh. 
 
 Touch once again thy breathing wire ! 
 Its warblings love-like must expire 
 
 With feelings ever dear ; 
 Blend with thy voice its plaintive strain. 
 The charm dissolves my bosom's pain, 
 
 Although it brings a tear. 
 n2
 
 136 
 
 STANZAS, TO 
 
 Oh ! had J not a heart, a brain 
 
 So rent by feeling, wrung by thought ; 
 A breast so torn by passion, pain, 
 
 I would be any thing, be nought. 
 Oh ! had I not a soul for sorrow, 
 
 The smallest insect would I be ; 
 And breathe away my life to-morrow, 
 
 To live one day's brief lapse with thee. 
 
 Were I but a tone of gladness, 
 A warbling of the tuneful lute. 
 
 To cheer one minute of thy sadness, 
 I'd be for ever after mute.
 
 137 
 
 Were I but a moon beam stealing 
 A partial life from summer's day, 
 
 To gaze upon thine eye of feeling 
 One hour of joy, I'd fade away. 
 
 Oh ! were I but a dream of pleasure, 
 
 The loveliest vision of thy sleep, 
 I'd ask of life no greater treasure, 
 
 Than thus to make thee smile and weep. 
 Or were I but the Zephyr's sigh, 
 
 A summer cloud, an Eastern wave, 
 I'd breathe thee o'er, I'd pass thee by. 
 
 And kiss no charms save those I lave. 
 
 I'd be the rainbow's blush, and smile^ 
 The rose-bud's fragrant tear, and melt ; 
 
 To feel, I could for once beguile 
 
 The lid that wept, the cheek that felt. 
 
 N 3
 
 138 
 
 I'd be a flower, and bloom one day 
 A blossom with the breeze to flee ; 
 
 And wither leaf by leaf away, 
 To know I once was miss'd by thee. 
 
 Were I but a pet to please thee ; 
 
 A singing bird, a gentle dove, 
 To feel thy fond embrace infold me 
 
 And nestle on thy breast of love. 
 Oh ! then I'd revel on thy lip, 
 
 Feel, taste, enjoy thy balmy breath ; 
 Were certain poison in the sip, 
 
 I"d quaif with joy ray nectar'd death.
 
 139 
 
 THE SMILE OF GRIEF. 
 
 But ah ! the smile which sorrow wears, 
 Glows but to warm affection's tears, 
 The parting farewell twilight's ray, 
 The brief faint trace of joy's young day ; 
 ** 'Tis as the bleak and lifeless beam 
 That glitters on the winter's stream," 
 The burning shipwreck's fearful glare 
 That throws its splendour to the shore, 
 Mocks the poor wretch's wild despair, 
 And lights his grave when all is o'er. 
 The rose that decks the lover's bier. 
 And says a heart reposes there ; 
 Such is the smile that masks in vain 
 The anguish'd throb of suffering's pain.
 
 140 
 
 Not such the partial transient smile 
 
 That speaks a momentary joy, 
 Plays on the senseless cheek awhile, 
 
 And parts without the least alloy: 
 Whose beauty paints the lifeless glow 
 Of pleasure without pleasure's woe ; 
 And tells the heart's inconstant tone 
 That throbs not when the charm hath flown, 
 And scarcely heaves for joys gone by. 
 Nor feels remembrance breathe a sigh ; 
 No such a senseless heart e'er stole 
 A ray of passion from the soul ; 
 Or ever on the features wrought 
 The smile of feeling, or of thought. 
 
 Yet 'tis a strange deceitful thing 
 That feels, denotes misfortune's sting ; 
 And as the timid blush of youth, 
 It tells and still denies the truth.
 
 141 
 
 And thus the feeling heart can hide 
 Its love its fondness by its pride ; 
 Such is the tender smile of grief 
 That fain would wear yet mocks relief. 
 Alas ! it is a painful sneer 
 That laughs at destiny's careef, 
 Disembles what no power can steal, 
 Disguises what it e'er must feel, 
 Despises fate, derides despair. 
 And speaks them all without tear. 
 
 Thus can expression oft impart 
 The feelings of a broken heart ; 
 And in the placid smile express 
 The loveliest beam of tenderness ; 
 Speak in the sweet repose that's there 
 Hope, disappointment, and despair ; 
 And on the brow and lip portray 
 The painful look of memory.
 
 142 
 
 In one short gaze alone can tell 
 
 The heart that loved, perhaps too well ; 
 
 And such a smile methinks can wear 
 
 The freshness of thy youthful cheek, 
 Which still shall pledge without a tear 
 
 All that the fondest heart should speak. 
 If so, the smile that now is thine 
 Hath caught its kindred trait from mine. 
 Which long hath been, and e'er shall be 
 The emblem of a sympathy ; 
 Which few would learn, and fewer share, 
 Because it owns so much of care. 
 Which nought can steal, and none beguile. 
 Because it is pure sorrow's smile.
 
 143 
 
 SONG. 
 TO ISABEL. 
 
 Oh ! tell me, Bella, why, love, 
 
 I must not brush away 
 The tear that fills thine eye, love. 
 
 And clouds its festive ray. 
 Although I would not vanish 
 
 One charm from Feeling's shrine. 
 That crystal gem should banish, 
 
 But leave a trace divine. 
 
 Whilst mantling o'er thy cheek, love ; 
 
 Whilst cradled in thy smile ; 
 Whilst trickling it might speak, love. 
 
 More, more than should beguile ;
 
 144 
 
 The pearly drop of feeling 
 Is hallow'd thus to part. 
 
 For love, to see it stealing, 
 'Tis sacred to the heart. 
 
 Its warmth shall e'er impart, love, 
 
 To beauty. Beauty's tone, 
 But never can depart, love, 
 
 From Feeling's lid alone. 
 I'll kiss away thy tear, love. 
 
 Or with it mingle mine, 
 For never was more dear, love, 
 
 More pure a tear than thine.
 
 145 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 STANZAS TO F . 
 
 TAREWELL ! though latc we have not met 
 
 As we were wont so oft to do ; 
 Our hearts can never still forget 
 
 Such times that pleased and pain'd them too. 
 Since earliest childhood's gladsome day, 
 
 Impress'd with liveliest thoughts the mind, 
 Each scene that charm'd and pass'd away. 
 
 Yet left some kindred wish behind. 
 
 'Tis long since brighter youth's gay year 
 Our fond and genial souls intwined. 
 
 When every joy that could endear 
 A spell in either heart enshrined ; 
 o
 
 146 
 
 And sweet were those enchanting hours, 
 That fled without a cloud to shade 
 
 From Fancy's gaze young Pleasure's flowers, 
 Which bloom'd and promis'd ne'er to fade. 
 
 Farewell ! since that gay, flattering morn 
 
 Hath lull'd me with Delusion's dream, 
 And shew'd me> with a smile of scorn 
 
 The view of what could only seem ; 
 Enjoyment's transient, sunny ray 
 
 No longer gilds Affection's day. 
 And joy, without the least decay, 
 
 Hath blossom'd and been torn away. 
 
 Though brief, the loveliest of my youth 
 Was that impassion'd hour of eve, 
 
 That heard our fond hearts speak the truth, 
 And left them soon, so soon, to grieve.
 
 147 
 
 That season's past, and haply ne'er 
 
 Its semblance shall return again, 
 To smile in mockery of the tear 
 
 It cherish'd and repress'd in vain. 
 
 Farewell ! the voice once deem'd like thine 
 
 Hath blighted Hope's enlivening charm, 
 And snatch'd the bliss that once was mine 
 
 From feelings none beside could harm. 
 The eye that gazed and seem'd to smile 
 
 On pure Attachment's mutual glow ; 
 The lip that look'd as pleased the while 
 
 Are changed, and changes joy to woe. 
 
 Though were so well deserving blame 
 
 Those faults that caused the change, perchance, 
 'Twas thine to punish, to reclaim, 
 
 And blot them from remembrance. 
 
 o 2
 
 148 
 
 'Twas thine, with virtue less severe. 
 
 Mine errors to reprove, alone ; 
 'Twas thine to chase the repentant tear, 
 
 And make me quite and all thine own. 
 
 Farewell ! since filial Duty's call 
 
 Hath bade thy bosom's fondness try 
 To chill, erase those feelings all 
 
 That ever caused for me a sigh. 
 Yet vainly such hath snatch'd away, 
 
 What heaven so long had sanction'd mine ; 
 When love must wane in slow decay, 
 
 From hearts too blended to resign. 
 
 For though to other worlds I'll fly 
 The sunshine's gleam, the mid of night 
 
 Shall image to thy tearful eye 
 Looks that no more must meet thy sight :
 
 149 
 
 Such gloom shall o'er thy soul too linger, 
 What ever varied pleasures charm. 
 
 Each lively note that leaves thy finger 
 Shall sadden what it cannot warm. 
 
 Farewell ! but think not thou canst banish, 
 
 Or bid from long remembrance steal 
 Those feelings that shall never vanish, 
 
 Until thine heart forgets to feel 
 No ; age shall temper, time shall cherish 
 
 The endearment of thy earlier years. 
 And not its semblance e'en shall perish. 
 
 Without life's first of joys and fears. 
 
 Farewell ! but should we no more meet ; 
 
 Whatever clime or scene may cheer. 
 The thought of past shall still be sweet. 
 
 Although its smile must bring the tear : 
 
 o 3
 
 150 
 
 And though no after friendship ever 
 Such mutual joys as ours shall tell i . 
 
 The past there's nought on earth can sever 
 From Memory's obtrusive spell, ^, ,,, ,
 
 151 
 
 THE SIGH OF REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 The following lines were occasioned by the death of a young 
 and fair friend of tiie Autlior's, whom a rapid decline had 
 obliged to leave lier native country, and whose life it ter- 
 minated ere she reached the Western Islands. 
 
 Wh e r e, where is the rose in the morn of its 
 
 bloom, 
 
 That flourish'd but lately so fragrantly fair ? 
 
 Not a sweeter e'er smiled in the grove of Lagoom, 
 
 Not a fresher e'er perfumed the vale of Cashmere, 
 
 When the fond, plaintive bird of the night loves to 
 
 sing ; 
 Its charmer delighting and wooing the spring.
 
 15a 
 
 Is it lost? yes, the winter blast tore from the stem 
 
 The bud, in its fragrance and infantile charm, 
 Osman's sea not if fathom'd could yield such a 
 gem, 
 Nor Araby's sun a more lovely one warm, 
 Though her daughters as beauteous might breathe 
 
 the sweet air, 
 And nestle the flower in their bosoms more fair. 
 
 Too well I remember when first the pale trace 
 
 Of tenderness drooping o'er loveliness stole ; 
 When pensive the mind gave to beauty a grace. 
 And pain even smiled with each charm of the 
 soul ; 
 Then the blighting breeze ruffled the flower in its 
 
 bloom, 
 And awakened new beauties, alas ! for the tomb.
 
 153 
 
 Too cold and loo bleak was the land of its birth. 
 Whence cherish'd and loved o'er the deep dark- 
 ling main. 
 The gale wafted it far to a spot of the earth, 
 Where more favour'd the charmer might flourish 
 again. 
 Transplanted ! Oh ! no ; ere a foreign breeze 
 
 sigh'd 
 O'er the dear fading treasure, it wither'd and died. 
 
 As a gleam of the morn in Italia's sweet clime 
 Breaks the mist, whilst it plays on the cloud 
 passing by. 
 As the moon's silvery light trembles forth for a 
 time, 
 Whilst it laughs on the lake which the breeze 
 ripples high ; 
 So charming, so smiling, so tranquilly gay. 
 This sweetest of flowers breathed its fond life away.
 
 154 
 
 THE IDEAL. 
 
 ' Que ne puis-je dans un songe 
 
 Tenir son coeur enchantd } 
 Que ne puis-je du mensonge 
 
 Passer a la v^rit^ >" 
 
 J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 Ye t give me back one dreaming hour 
 
 Of those when hope and fancy smiled. 
 When love and friendship's genial power 
 
 Possessed a pleasure that beguiled. 
 Nay, give me but the fond belief 
 
 Of beings I lately thought so fair, 
 That joy is not that withering leaf, 
 
 Which paints the past with present care. 
 
 Stay for a moment's pause thy speed, 
 Ye brilliant visions of the brain. 
 
 Thoughts that awake enjoyment's meed. 
 Yet cherish in the heart its pain ;
 
 ]55 
 
 Have those pure feelings, which adorn 
 The hero's, fair one's breast decay'd. 
 
 Must all with noble Brutus mourn, 
 That " Virtue's self is but a shade ?" 
 
 From Helicon's inspiring stream 
 
 With Sappho's shell I loved to sip : 
 The opiate brought me Pleasure's dream, 
 
 Till sorrow dash'd it from my lip. 
 Still the fond muse, with pensive eye. 
 
 Stung my warm heart with proud desire. 
 And fortune, fame, I dared deny, 
 
 To listen to her syren lyre. 
 
 'Twas then my fond enthusiast soul. 
 
 In nature tender, spirit wild, 
 Had love's delicious poison stole 
 
 From Beauty's sweetly-slumbering child ;
 
 156 
 
 But prudence, chance, or blinder duty, 
 
 Marr'd my young prospects, sanguine, gay, 
 
 Robb'd the enchantment first from beauty, 
 Then drove its every charm away. 
 
 Where worlds beyond the sun's clear blaze 
 
 On bright, eternal glaciers rest, 
 Helvetia rapt my admiring gaze, 
 
 And Tyrol's wonders thrill d my breast. 
 Italia, too, her silvery tide, 
 
 Where breathing arts of genius gleam. 
 Her lakes, where Roman cities glide. 
 
 Pleased too my solitary dream. 
 
 Such joys, such scenes my path illumed, 
 Charm'd at their brief successive flight ; 
 
 My enraptur'd mind as quick consumed 
 The splendour of each new delight ;
 
 157 
 
 Long on the spell such pageants gave, 
 Was fix'd my soul's Intense survey. 
 
 As hangs the beam upon the wave 
 That ripples on and steals away. 
 
 'Tis o'er : extinguish'd every ray 
 
 Imagination late inspired, 
 Burst hath ideal's sweet display. 
 
 And with it Nature's hope expired. 
 As Gallia's fond, impassion'd fair 
 
 O'er Parian winning beauty sigh'd, 
 Hung round her senseless Belvidere, 
 
 Breathed her ill-fated love, and died. 
 
 Faded Ambition's rival wreath 
 
 I wove, to deck each specious scheme : 
 And Disappointment's withering breath 
 
 Blights every visionary dream.
 
 158 
 
 Genius o'er faithless Friendship's bier 
 Near pensive Fancy droops his head ; 
 
 And whilst remembrance swells the tear. 
 Deserves the pitying drop they shed. 
 
 In vain remembrance would renew 
 
 Hours lately ting'd by transport's splendour, 
 But such must bring again to view 
 
 Past time's alloy, less kind, less tender ; 
 Yet feels my bosom a reply 
 
 To feelings gone for ever by, 
 As memory echoes oft the sigh, ' 
 
 "Which spoke Love's silent, last good by. 
 
 Thus youth's enchantment steals away 
 
 In one gay, little mirthful hour, 
 And joy, scarce budded into day. 
 
 Is left a lovely, withering flower :
 
 159 
 
 Life is thus early doom'd to feel 
 
 What greybeard sophists made me deem. 
 That love and hope are born ideal, 
 
 And pleasure's but their blissful dream. 
 
 V 2
 
 160 
 
 RECOLLECTION. 
 
 REME^fBRANCE IS a fearful dream, 
 
 It prompts the heart to heave and glow. 
 It cheats the mind with each extreme 
 Of joy and woe. 
 
 Though fond, capricious, cruel yet, 
 
 Of every mystic spell possest. 
 To wring the soul that would forget 
 And mar its rest. 
 
 'Tis born a lovely fragrant flower, 
 To blossom on the vestal breast. 
 By passion's sigh and pity's shower 
 
 Nursed^ loved, caressed.
 
 161 
 
 Oh ! it is then a beauteous thing, 
 
 So bright its glow, so fresh its bloom, 
 A rose without a thorn to sting, 
 
 'Tis love's perfume. 
 
 Too soon it changes, and a gem 
 
 Of pearly ray becomes so clear, 
 It oft whilst pleasing will condemn 
 And bring the tear. 
 
 For it reflects perhaps too true 
 
 The picture of enjoyment's day. 
 And leaves the pensive heart to sue 
 Past pleasure's ray. 
 
 Again it changes to the mind, 
 
 And brings a motley scene of strife ; 
 Whilst every year grows more unkind 
 To warning life, 
 p 3
 
 'Tis strange, 'tis pitiful to hear 
 
 The tale by Memory often told ; 
 That mingles with the smile, the tear 
 Of young and old. 
 
 Sad Recollection's deep'ning gloom 
 
 The sympathising soul appals, 
 ^s on the mouldering cloistered tomb. 
 The night tear falls. 
 
 Dark as the lonesome convent's sprite 
 
 That flits where charnel tapers shine, 
 Where moon's pale glimmerings scarcely light 
 The cold damp shrine. 
 
 Thus will Remembrance oft obtrude 
 
 On joy's fleet hour so dearly bought, 
 To give the bosom's solitude 
 
 Some mournful thought.
 
 163 
 
 Pensive in feeling's calm devotion, 
 
 Ask sorrow's sigh, affection's tear. 
 And heave the breast with each emotion, 
 Pure, warm, sincere. 
 
 Yet shall the winter of the soul, 
 
 Ting'd by endearment's kindred ray, 
 Drink consolation from the bowl 
 
 Of sweeter Memory. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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