-NRLF SB EbO 73E THE JAMES D. PHELAN CELTIC COLLECTION THE REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN THE REVELATIONS PETER BROWN anfc Peripatetic FOUND IN HIS BLACK BOX JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY (JOHN FRANCIS WALLER"} LONDON CASSELL, FETTER, AND GALPIN LUDGATE HILL, AND 596 BROADWAY, NEW YORK DUBLIN: McGLASHAN & GILL, 50 UP. SACKVILLE ST. DUBLIN STEAM PRINTING COMPANY. PREFACE. THE following pieces, with one exception, are part of a series of papers which appeared originally in a leading periodical. Though I had no reason to be dissatisfied with their reception by the public at the time, I did not then entertain the idea of republishing them. Like other fugitive literature, they had served their purpose by affording amusement to the reader, and I was content. Recently, however, some of these pieces have been selected for public reading by the Rev. Charles Tisdall, D.D., and Mr. Bellew ; and I am very conscious that the great favour with which they have been received is largely due to the ability of those 784377 . vi PREFACE. accomplished gentlemen whom I now heartily thank. Of Mr. Bellew, admittedly the finest reader of our times, it would be almost an impertinence to speak ; yet I cannot refrain from expressing my admiration of the power and pathos with which he rendered ' Isabel Clare.' Dr. Tisdall's recita- tion of ' Magdalena ' was the performance of a master. With a voice of rare compass and variety of intonation, with great dramatic power and thorough appreciation of every sentiment, he was alike happy in humour, tenderness, sprightliness, and vigour. A very general inquiry for these pieces em- boldens me to republish them. JOHN FRANCIS WALLER. June, 1870. CONTENTS. I. MAGDALEN A .... II. ISABEL CLARE .... III. WIN AND WEAR .... IV. THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER . v. ST. JOHN'S OF SHOTTESBROOKE . PAGE I 47 . 98 117 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN, POET AND PERIPATETIC. I READ the other morning, in the Times, amongst the deaths, ' Suddenly, at Gibraltar, on the 3rd instant, Peter Brown, Esq.' There are not half a dozen in the world that would care a rush for the announcement : it came on me like an electric shock. Not quite a month before, I had parted with Peter on the deck of the packet for Holy- head. Peter was counting his traps. * Confound it/ said he, ' the little black box is left behind. No matter, keep it till my return; here's the key; open it if I die, Jona- than/ 1 1 will, Peter, as sure as you live Good-bye. ' Peter was a vagabond in the proper, not the improper, sense of the word a wanderer, like Cain, without the brand, except it might be the brand you would put on wine of the choicest vintage. A little stiff in the left shoulder and in his manner to strangers ; but he thawed before the warmth of friendship till his whole heart melted and flowed out on you. A celibate, a smoker, a shy man, and a humorist, few cared about him, and he returned the compliment. 2 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. I went, into my study and opened the little black box. It was 'fuM of paptrs ? and other articles that I may yet have tq .refer to letters tied up in packets and posted and some manuscript^ labelled l To be published (quere)? Here is one of them. JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY. CARRIGBAWN, August 20, 1861. No, I. MAGDALENA. NEAR the city of Sevilla, Years and years ago Dwelt a lady in a villa Years and years ago ; And her hair was black as night, And her eyes were starry-bright ; Olives on her brow were blooming, Roses red her lips perfuming, And her step was light and airy, As the tripping of a fairy : When she spoke, you thought, each minute, 'Twas the thrilling of a linnet; When she sang, you heard a gush MAGDALENA. Of full-voiced sweetness like a thrush ; And she -struck from the guitar Ringing music, sweeter far Than the morning breezes make Through the lime trees when they shake Than the ocean murmuring o'er Pebbles on the foamy shore. Orphaned both of sire and mother Dwelt she in that lonely villa, Absent now her guardian brother On a mission from Sevilla. Skills it little now the telling How I wooed that maiden fair, Tracked her to her lonely dwelling And obtained an entrance there. Ah ! that lady of the villa ! And I loved her so, Near the city of Sevilla, Years and years ago. Ay de mi ! Like echoes falling Sweet and sad and low, Voices come at night, recalling Years and years ago. REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Once again I'm sitting near thee, Beautiful and bright ; Once again I see and hear thee In the autumn night : Once again I J m whispering to thee Faltering words of love ; Once again with song I woo thee In the orange grove Growing near that lonely villa Where the waters flow Dcfwn to the city of Sevilla Years and years ago. 'Twas an autumn eve ; the splendour Of the day was gone, And the twilight, soft and tender, Stole so gently on That the eye could scarce discover How the shadows, spreading over, .Like a veil of silver gray, Toned the golden clouds, sun-painted, Till they paled, and paled, and fainted From the face of heaven away ; MAGDALENA. 5 And a dim light rising slowly O'er the welkin spread, Till the blue sky, calm and holy, Gleamed above our head : And the thin moon, newly nascent, Shone in glory meek and sweet, As Murillo paints her crescent Underneath Madonna's feet. And we sat outside the villa, Where the waters flow Down to the city of Sevilla Years and years ago. There we sate the mighty river Wound its serpent course along Silent, dreamy Guadalquiver, Famed in many a song. Silver gleaming 'mid the plain Yellow with the golden grain, Gliding down through deep, rich meadows, Where the sated cattle rove, Stealing underneath the shadows Of the verdant olive grove ; REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. With its plenitude of waters Ever flowing calm and slow, Loved by Andalusia's daughters Sung by poets long ago. Yet, O River Guadalquiver, Loved and lauded so of old, When thou leav'st Sevilla's city- 'Tis a truth, tho' 'tis a pity That the truth must thus be told Spite of many a Bcetian distich Of thy beauties eulogistic, Devious, dingy, dull and dreary, Seaward thou dost wander weary, Worthier prose apologetic Than such native strains poetic. Seated half within a bower Where the languid evening breeze Shook out odours in a shower From oranges and citron trees, MAGDALENA. 7 Sang she from a romancero How a Moorish chieftain bold Fought a Spanish caballero By Sevilla's walls of old. How they battled for a lady, Fairest of the maids of Spain How the Christian's lance, so steady, Pierced the Moslem through the brain. Then she ceased her black eyes moving, Flashed, as asked she with a smile, ' Say, are maids as fair and loving Men as faithful, in your isle ?' ' British maids/ I said, ' are ever Counted fairest of the fair ; Like the swans on yonder river Moving with a stately air. ' Wooed not quickly, won not lightly But, when won, for ever true ; Trial draws the bond more tightly, Time can ne'er the knot undo. 8 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. ' And the men ?' 'Ah ! dearest lady, Are quien sabe ? who can say ? To make love they're ever ready, When they can and where they may : ' Fixed as waves, as breezes steady In a changeful April day Como brisas, como rios, No se sabe, sabe Dios.' ' Are they faithful ? ' < Ah ! quien sabe ? Who can answer that they are ? While we may we should be happy/ Then I took up her guitar [Twas the very best that made is By Juan Padez, famed in Cadiz] And I sang, in sportive strain, This song to an old air of Spain. ' QUIEN SABE ? ' I. ' The breeze of the evening that cools the hot air, That kisses the orange and shakes out thy hair, MAGDALENA. 9 Is its freshness less welcome, less sweet its perfume That you know not the region from which it is come ? Whence the wind blows, where the wind goes, Hither and thither and whither who knows? Who knows ? Hither and thither but whither who knows? II. 1 The river for ever glides singing -along, The rose on the bank bends a-down to its song; And the flower, as it listens, unconsciously dips, Till the rising wave glistens and kisses its lips. But why the wave rises and kisses the rose, And why the rose stoops for those kisses who knows ? Who knows ? And away flows the river but whither who knows ? III. * Let me be the breeze, love, that wanders along, The river that ever rejoices in song; io RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. Be thou to my fancy the orange in bloom, The rose by the river that gives its perfume. Would the fruit be so golden, so fragrant the rose, If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows ? Who knows ? If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows?' As I sang, the lady listened, Silent save one gentle sigh ; When I ceased, a tear-drop glistened On the dark fringe of her eye. Then my heart reproved the feeling Of that false and heartless strain Which I sang, in words concealing What my heart would hide in vain. Up I sprang. What words were uttered Bootless now to think or tell Tongues speak wild when hearts are fluttered By the mighty master-spell. MAGDALENA. u Love, avowed with sudden boldness, Heard with flushings that reveal, Spite of woman's studied coldness, Thoughts the heart cannot conceal. Words half-vague and passion-broken, Meaningless, yet meaning all That the lips have left unspoken, That we never may recall. ' Magdalena, dearest, hear me/ Sighed I, as I seized her hand ' Hola ! Senor/ very near me, Cries a voice of stern command. And a stalwart caballero Comes upon me with a stride, On his head a slouched sombrero, A toledo by his side. From his breast he flung his capa With a stately Spanish air [On the whole, he looked the chap a Man to slight would scarcely dare.] 12 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BROWN. ' Will your worship have the goodness To release that lady's hand.' ' Senor,' I replied, ' this rudeness I am not prepared to stand. ' Magdal^na, say ' the maiden, With a cry of wild surprise, As with secret sorrow laden, Fainting sank before my eyes. Then the Spanish Caballero Bowed with haughty courtesy, Solemn as a tragic hero, And announced himself to me. ' Senor, I am Don Camillo Guzman Miguel Pedrillo De Ximenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y Mendoza Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y ' ' No more, Sir, MAGDALENA. 13 Tis as good as twenty score, Sir,' Said I to him, with a frown : ' Mucha bulla para nada, No palabras, draw your 'spada ; If you're up for a duelo You will find I'm just your fellow Senor, I am PETER BROWN !' By the river's bank that night, Foot to foot in strife, Fought we in the dubious light A fight of death or life. Don Camillo slashed my shoulder, With the pain I grew the bolder, Close and closer still I pressed ; Fortune favoured me at last, I broke his guard, my weapon passed Through the Caballero's breast Down to the earth went Don Camillo Guzman Miguel Pedrillo De Ximenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y Mendoza I 4 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y- One groan, And he lay motionless as stone. The man of many names went down, Pierced by the sword of PETER BROWN ! Kneeling down, I raised his head ; The Caballero faintly said, ' Signor Ingles, fly from Spain With all speed, for you have slain A Spanish noble, Don Camillo Guzman Miguel Pedrillo De Ximenes y Ribera Y Santallos y Herrera Y de Rivas y Mendoza Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y ' He swooned With the bleeding from his wound. If he be living still or dead I never knew, I ne'er shall know ; That night from Spain in haste I fled, Years and years ago. MAGDALENA. 15 Oft when Autumn eve is closing, Pensive, puffing a cigar, In my chamber lone reposing, Musing half and half a-dozing, Comes a vision from afar Of that lady of the villa In her satin, fringed mantilla, And that haughty Caballero With his capa and sombrero, Vainly in my mind revolving That long, jointed, endless name ; Tis a riddle past my solving Who he was, or whence he came. Was he that brother home returned ? Was he some former lover spurned ? Or some family fianct That the lady did not fancy ? Was he any one of those ? Sabe Dios. Ah ! God knows. Sadly smoking my manilla, Much I long to know How fares the lady of the villa That once charmed me so, 16 RE VELA T10NS OF PETER BRO WN. When I visited Sevilla Years and years ago. Has she married a Hidalgo ? Gone the way that ladies all go In those drowsy Spanish cities, Wasting life a thousand pities Waking up for a fiesta From an afternoon siesta, To ' Giralda ' now repairing Or the Plaza for an airing ; At the shaded reja flirting, At a bull-fight now disporting ; Does she walk at evenings ever Through the gardens by the river ? Guarded by an old duena Fierce and sharp as a hyena, With her goggles and her fan Warning off each rakish man ? Is she dead, or is she living ? Is she for my absence grieving ? Is she wretched, is she happy ? Widow, wife, or maid ? Quien sabe .' NO. II. ISABEL CLARE. I HAVE had some hesitation in sending the following lucubration of Peter's to the press. By reference to the date, I find it was written shortly after his recovery from brain fever. This may account in part for a certain cloudy mysticism in the introductory stanzas, smacking of the beer and tobacco school of German Philosophy, and an occa- sional fitfulness throughout. Besides, the facts of the story, though the real names are not given, will be recognised by many as having created what they call ' a great sen- sation ' some dozen years ago. I have finally determined to give Peter the benefit of the doubt, and to publish. He is gone, poor fellow, to answer for his metaphysics before a Judge ' who knoweth whereof we are made ;' and most of those whom the narrative might offend are now beyond the reach of this world's praise or censure. JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY. CARRIGBAWN, October 18, 1861. 1 8 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BR WN. A WAKING DREAM. Bottom. ' I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. . . . I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. ' Midsummer Night's Dream. DREAMING in the twilight, When the shades creep o'er the hill Watching, when the sun is gone, How the grey, cold night comes on- Awake, yet dreaming still. Then I dream of dead ones, Of my life the joy and light, And I see them round me rise, And I feel their cold, calm eyes Gaze on me through the night. Dreaming by the fire-light, When the wintry night is chill Watching fire-sparks upward fly, While the embers sink and die Awake, yet dreaming still. ISABEL CLARE. 19 Then I dream of fair souls From dead ashes issuing bright, And I see my dead arise, Soaring heavenward through the skies, In the death-dark night. Dreaming in the sunlight, When the Summer noon is still Watching in the deep blue sky Clouds of white, gold-cinctured lie Awake, yet dreaming still. Then I dream of heaven, Far beyond those tranquil skies, And I see, 'mid angels bright, My dead, in robes of gold and white, Alive before my eyes. Dreams, dreams and what is life but still a dream ? Waking in death death waking into life, When all that to the sleeper's brain did seem The true and real are but visions rife 20 REVELA TIONS OF PETER BROWN. Of a sick soul, while what we visions deem Are gleams of God's own verity the strife Waged between light and darkness, good and ill, Reason and faith, necessity and will. And I have had my dreams like other men, My soul a-sleeping, but my sense awake ; I knew not that I dreamed until again My senses slept, and then my soul did break Her chain of spirit-sleep, and soon did ken Man dreams when waking, and that God doth take The things of his own Spirit, and reveal, In visions of deep sleep, to us the true and real. Sooth says Avona's bard, ' We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.' There is enough Of sin and sorrow, misery and strife, To make life's paradox a problem tough For wisest moralist. Twill need a knife To cut the knot no fingers may untie, Too clumsy mine at least I will not try. ISABEL CLARE. 21 So give me my cigar, and I will puff My nicotine, and dream I am awake, And so jog onward still. The smooth and rough, As Heaven shall send them, patiently I '11 take, Nor, like a petted child when chid, take huff, Reject my lollypops, my playthings break And, as the vapour rises, I '11 rehearse A waking dream of other days in verse. The merry bells were all a-ringing, Ringing, swinging to-and-fro, Torrents of sweet music flinging O'er the sunny scene below. Oh ! the music of sweet bells, With its sinkings and its swells Like the waves upon a river, Rising, falling, flowing ever ! With the spreading radiations Of each wave-sound's intonations, Like the ever-widening rings When some playful urchin flings REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. A pebble in a tranquil lake To make its breast in ripples break. Circling all the ether round, Trembling spreads each dulcet sound, Till the fainting tone is caught Far away in grove or grot, Where it dies the sweetest death, Murmuring its latest breath On the ever-tranquil heart Of Silence, sitting there apart As hushed upon a mother's breast The wailing infant sobs itself to rest. Why are they ringing the bells from the steeple This sunny-bright autumn day ? Why is the churchyard a-thronging with people Drest in their Sabbath array ? The harvest is lying in sheaves on the stubble, But there is not a hand that will take any trouble ISABEL CLARE. 23 To make up the shocks or to bring in the grain, Or harness old Dobbin or Meg to the wain. The smithy is closed, and the fire is gone out, The joiner has flung by his hammer and clout, The cobbler no longer is mending old shoes, And the soul of the tailor has spurned at his goose, And all the good people have turned out o' doors, The men by the dozen, the women by scores, And are mounting the hill to the old village church, Where a band of young maids at the front of the porch, With chaplets of flowers, apparelled in white, Are awaiting the cortege just coming in sight. There 's a shout from the rustics, as four spank- ing bays Sweep down through the town with a Long-acre chaise : They strain up the hill and they scatter the gravel With a dash and a splash till they 're up on the level, They rush through the gate, reach the porch at a gallop, 24 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BROWN. And are thrown on their haunches, so sudden the pull up. Then out jumps the Squire, and his ' best man ' jumps after, And are welcomed with cheers and with true- hearted laughter, Now chariot, and britzka, and landau ascend, With cousins by dozens and many a friend ; And they meet and they greet, and they laugh, and they chat, Shake hands with the Squire, wish him joy, and all that. A few minutes more, and a family coach Drawn by four iron-greys makes a stately approach : There's rustling and bustling, as the maidens in white Are ranged in the front of the porch, left and right, Forth trip from the coach the two bridesmaids so fair, And, fairest of all, the young Isabel Clare. There is not an eye but is turned to admire ISABEL CLARE. 25 That lady so gentle that leans on her sire As she walks up the chancel, ah, who can compare With my beautiful cousin, sweet Isabel Clare! She walks up the chancel, and now by her side Sir Arthur is standing to make her his bride. Then Archdeacon Ambergills, pompous and prosy, With surplice so white and with visage so rosy, Steps forward to meet them, most courteous and bland, With a smile on his lips and a book in his hand ; While Rowlings, the clerk, stiff and lean as a poker, In a rusty black suit and a yellow-white choker, Stands ready and steady, with voice antiphonial, To aid in the tying the knot matrimonial ; Behind stand the bridesmaids, a sweet little pair, But still fairest of all is young Isabel Clare ! Fairest of all but all too fair The pallor of that marble brow ; 26 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. The marble's coldness still is there But not its polish now As when, but two short years gone by, I saw thee 'neath a foreign sky With blooming^ cheek and eye so bright, And spirit gay and footstep light, More fair than words of mine can tell, My own dear cousin, Isabel. Ah me ! it asks not wasting years To mar the brightness of the brow, Though Time alone its smoothness sears, Yet sorrow dims it even now. The burnished mirror that may bear The touch of each corroding year Undimmed its brightest ray, If, but to view within the sphere Her blushing face, some maid draw near And breathe upon the surface clear, Its brightness fades away. There, before the altar kneeling, With Sir Arthur by thy side, ISABEL CLARE. 27 Where the golden sunbeams stealing Through the rich stained window glide, Till they settle in a glory Round that meekly bending head, As aureoles in sacred story Brows of saintly maids o'erspread. Gaze I on thee till the welling Of great tears is in my eyes, And I feel my bosom swelling With the tumult of my sighs. Gaze I till the scene before me Fades upon my dizzy sight, And the waking dream comes o'er me Dreaming in the broad daylight A vision of departed times, A vision of far-distant climes. 'Tis a bright Italian morning, Sunshine all the ether fills, Streaks of rosy light adorning Peaks of snow-clad Alpine hills. 28 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN, At their feet the vine is pendent Trailing over roof and tree, And a blue lake lies resplendent Framed in verdure lovingly. Theme of many a song and story, In the sunlight now it smiles, 'Tis the Lago Maggiore With its Borromean Isles. Wood and forest, plain and meadow, Girdle in those waters bright, Every hue, and light, and shadow Deck the scene and charm the sight. Midway on the waters shining See a tiny vessel glide, In the stern a maid's reclining And a youth sits by her side. And a third is there who rows them, With an oar in either hand, Pausing ever as he shows them Glories of his native land. ISABEL CLARE. 29 Eye of eagle, heart of lion, Soul as gentle as the dove's, Of that princely stock a scion That of old Milano loves. Of that race a form gigantic Stands for aye on yonder hill, Stretching o'er the scene romantic Outspread arms in blessing still. In the Duomo, shrined in splendour, Great San Carlo's ashes lie Great in grace, austere, yet tender, Greatest in humility. Twas the day of great awaking To the bondsmen of the world ; Ancient dynasties were shaking ; Tyrants from their thrones were hurled. And Italia, crushed and broken 'Neath the Austrian's iron heel, Heard the cry of Freedom spoken, Broke her chain and grasped the steej. 30 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. From Genoa to sea-born Venice, From Alps' snow to Etna's fire, Italia, spite of Austrian menace, Rises in her holy ire. All are up no pause, no falter Every man in arms arrayed, Priests are preaching at the altar Freedom's holiest, best crusade. And the painter leaves his easel, And the poet dreams no more, And the sculptor flings his chisel Down upon the studio floor. Sage and scholar, servant, master, Serf and noble through the land, Lo, they're thronging faster, faster Than the billows on the strand. And those ancient, classic regions Vibrate to the martial tread Of Italia's mustering legions Carl' Alberto at their head. ISABEL CLARE. 31 This the tale the youth's recounting, Hot words gushing from his heart, Lists the maid, the color mounting To her brow, her lips apart. Then he said, ' My widowed mother Yields at length to set me free, And I go to join my brother In the plains of Lombardy.' Carlo ceased and sighed I wonder Sighed he for his mother lone There are ties more hard to sunder Than those wrought of blood and bone. Then the lady blushed, but fainter Than the faintest hue of eve ; 'Twould defy the brush of painter To express it, I believe. And the silence grew oppressive Silence neither dared to break Ten to one you'll make a mess, if While your heart is moved, you speak. 32 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. But the cousin most discreetly Intervened, the spell to break * Carlo mio, very sweetly Music sounds upon the lake. ' Sing us, like a worthy fellow, That canzone that you sing, Called " La Rosa e 1' Anello," About the lady and the ring/ Carlo then the oars uplifting, Lifted up his voice in song, While the boat went slowly drifting At her own sweet will along. LA ROSA E L'ANELLO. THE ROSE AND THE RING. I. It was a Paladin of old, And he loved a maiden bright, Her hair was like the burnished gold, Her eyes like stars at night. ISABEL CLARE. 33 II. Twin rubies rich her lips they were, Her brow the drifted snows, And on her bosom white she bare Ever a dark red rose. III. On bended knee the Paladin Takes from the maid the rose, Going to fight 'gainst Saladin And all the Paynim foes. IV. He gave the maid a golden ring And kissed it as he gave, ' The rose to thee again I '11 bring, Or bear it to my grave. v. ' And when to thee the rose I bring, Again on bended knee I '11 claim once more my golden ring, And with the ring, claim thee.' c 34 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. VI. Where rages still the fiercest fight, A red rose aye is seen, High in the helmet of a knight, The noble Paladin. VII. The day is won the fight is o'er, They find amid the slain, A knight with a red rose steeped in gore, In his helmet cleft in twain. VIII. The nuns they chant the midnight prayer For a dying sister dear, A gold ring lies on her bosom fair When they place her in the bier. It was evening when we parted At the inn hard by the shore, Carlo mio, noble-hearted, Never to behold thee more ! ISABEL CLARE. 35 Ahime ! the morning glory Of thy struggle, Italy ! Soon the clouds are gathering o'er thee, Overcasting all thy sky. Vain Goito's triumph glorious ; Soon, o'er lost Novara's plain, Austrian eagles swoop victorious ; Night and slavery come again. Eve was past, no thought of sleeping Had the cousins as they sate. The lady said (has she been weeping), ' Cousin, it is growing late.' And that cousin, stupid fellow, Meaning nothing, I suppose, Cried ' Why, bless me, Isabella, But you've lost your pretty rose ! ' What can Archdeacon Ambergills be saying ? Dear me ! while I Ve been dreaming they've been praying. 36 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. They Ve been and done it Cousin Isabel Is Lady Greenacre. So far so well. ' Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,' So says the Archdeacon. Howling says, 'Amen ;' And yet, despite ecclesiastic thunder, The knot has oft been broke, and will again. Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder Sir Cresswell Cresswell, what can you say, I wonder To all the ruptured matrimonial bands, Priest-knit, you rend with uncanonic hands In pieces, as if made of ropes of sands ? Autumn sunlight pours its lustre On an English sylvan scene, Where deep woods umbrageous cluster In a wavy sea of green. And a stream with tortuous bending, Rippling, dimpling, winds its way ; Now through greenest pastures wending, Now by wild rocks steep and grey. ISABEL CLARE. Here a reach as bright as argent, There a stretch as dark as night ; Cliff and tree hang o'er the margent, Till its course is lost to sight. Lost a moment while you ponder Where the water exit finds ; Lo ! behind that green hill yonder Out it breaks and backward winds. Upward from the river swelling, Stretches out a broad demesne ; In the midst a lordly dwelling, Marked with many a weather-stain. Walls embattled, grey and hoary, Turret round, and castle square, Not without historic glory, For a king was cradled there. Modern skill had joined more lately To the ancient pile two wings ; So a matron aged and stately To her graceful daughters clings. 37 38 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. And the sunny radiance glinting, On the painted window plays ; Sash and sill and mullion tinting With its soft prismatic rays. Trim and green along the basement Spreads an esplanade of grass, So that from the opening casement Out upon the lawn you pass. There's a throng of hind and vassal On that sunny lawn to-day ; There's a sound of mirth and wassail, Voice of lads and lasses gay. And the juicy joint is steaming, White with ale the tankards foam ; Every eye with joy is beaming, For his bride the Squire brings home. At the portal now descending, From that same Long-acre chaise Step the pair, 'mid voices blending, Old in blessings, young in praise. ISABEL CLARE. 39 In the hall there's jubilation, Guests sit round the plenteous board ; Words of kind felicitation From each friendly lip are poured. Twas a feast of lordly splendour Ambergills declared in fine He ne'er tasted haunch more tender, Never drank of choicer wine. Now the western sun is beaming Through the windows, warm and bright, Over glass and silver streaming, Till they sparkle in the light. Close to where the bride is sitting There's a casement opened wide, Fresh and odorous air admitting From that sunny lawn outside. And the sound of happy voices Faintly comes upon the ear, Telling that each heart rejoices In the good old English cheer. 40 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Up rose a man of rank and station, Nearest kinsman of the host, And said to prelude his oration ' Fill your glasses for a toast/ Then the kinsman, in neat phrases, Makes a speech with courtly smile, And ' the happy pair ' he praises In the after-dinner style. Till his peroration closing, With applause on every side, Glass in hand, the health proposing Of Sir Arthur and his bride. Cheer the cousins then by dozens, Swelling with Greenacre pride ; To the ceiling rises pealing ' Health to Sir Arthur and his bride. 5 Rises to the friendly calling Young Sir Arthur mute are all, You could hear a feather falling Through that vast ancestral hall. ISABEL CLARE. 41 Hark ! a strain of music stealing, Thro' the open window floats, And a voice of tenderest feeling Chanting to the organ notes, Sings, in accents wild and thrilling, Words whose import makes me start, And drives back the hot blood chilling Icily upon my heart. ' Ah ! sfiorita e la rosa Che sul mio cor riposa. Promessa tua, sposa, sposa, Non te ne scordaresti mai! A wild, sharp cry of grief and terror Rings along that chamber wide ; Every tongue is mute with horror, Every eye seeks out the bride. As the marble pale and frigid, Lips apart, and eyes aglare, Sits she stupefied and rigid, Like a statue of despair. 42 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Anxious women round her gather, Lavishing their tenderest care, ' And that loving, white-haired father Kneels beside his daughter's chair. And her husband. Ah ! what feelings Rend and shake his soul by turns ? Closed, cold lips make no revealings Of the fire within that burns. Vain all efforts to restore her Bear her gently hence : the spell Of those strange words shall hang o'er her Evermore, sweet Isabel ! Mute and dark that hall so festal In the deep'ning shades of night, Till the moon, in radiance vestal, Lights it with a ghostly light. Flask and flagon dimly shimmer, Flowers their odours vainly shed ; Glass, and gold, and silver glimmer, Like a banquet for the dead. ISABEL CLARE. 43 And through that long night of sorrow There be watchers bowed in grief, Waiting prayerful for the morrow That shall bring them no relief. Toll toll toll ! Slowly peals the passing bell, With long pause between each knell. Toll toll toll ! Now passeth a human soul From its tenement of clay, From the night into the day Passing away. As the sound floats through the air Bow the knee, the forehead bare, Utter low the solemn prayer Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison. Toll toll toll ! All through that dreary night. Toll toll toll ! Till the first cold gleam of light. 44 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. But when the night passed into day, Then ceased the passing bell : And we knew that from earth had passed away The soul of Isabel. I've smoked at least two boxes of cheroots At various seasons, seeking to make out That riddle, but my smoking bore no fruit Save smoke and ashes, and I find my doubt Will not be cleared by clouds alas ! it boots But little now, since those who cared about The mystery have passed away from here Into that place where mysteries are clear. What hidden meaning had the minstrel's words, And who was he that sang them ? Did the grave Give back the dead one, slain by Austrian swords ? Or was the tale untrue ? Did fortune save His life for sorrow such as Fate accords But once in man's existence? Did he brave Chains, dungeons, death, to stake upon one cast More than his life to throw and lose at last ? ISABEL CLARE. 45 Was there some plighted vow between the two, A marriage of God's making, not of man's A knot of love that laws can ne'er undo, Potent, howe'er the priest forbid the bans That gave him right to claim, as lover true, His spouse, although her form another spans With arms of church and law-permitting love ? Alas ! none know, save they and God above. No traces of the minstrel could be found, Except that Farmer Dibble's daughter said She saw that evening, seated on the ground, A strange, outlandish man ; and on his head He wore a steeple hat, with ribbons bound, And a black velvet jacket trimmed with braid ; And by his side she saw, upon the grass, A box of polished wood, inlaid with brass. And when he saw the little girl he sprung Upon his feet in haste, and like a sack The heavy box upon his back he swung ; Then striking quick into a forest track, He soon was lost to sight the woods among, And never more was seen. The girl came back 46 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. And told her father ; and I heard the tale One evening from him o'er a pot of ale. And Farmer Dibble said that he'd be dang'd, If he'd a ketched that Frencher with his box, He'd send un to th' assizes to be hanged, Or lay un by the heels in parish stocks. And then, with free-born British fist, he banged The ale-house table with emphatic knocks, And swore he'd do it, so he would, by George ! A statement lauded by his friends at large. Sir Arthur left the country let The Chase And lives in Paris, where I saw him lately ; Grown rather fat and ruddy in the face, (He'd lost that English air so grand and stately.) I rather think he lives at a fast pace, Gambles and drinks. In fine, he's altered greatly From what he was when first I knew him well, Ere his wife died. I have no more to tell. NO. III. WIN AND WEAR. HERE is the third draw from the Black Box : I remember my friend, Peter, used to talk of one of his innumerable cousins of the interminable family of Brown, a wild fellow, full of talent and adventure, who, accord- ingly, did no good in this world at all events a rolling stone that gathered no moss. After wandering over half the world, he settled finally in Leghorn, where he married the daughter of a Russian merchant. It happened on one occasion when Peter returned from a tour in Germany, some fifteen years ago, he told me of a relative that he discovered there, who wa^ married to a German lady, and lived in a German castle, quite like a little prince . Putting all these together, I strongly suspect that the hero of the following tale was no other than the son of his cousin of Leghorn, who had, I suppose, on his domestication in Italy, taken the name of Brunello. As to the O'Higginses, I know nothing about them, but I have no doubt that the Browns were related to them, and to every other family with a prefix, affix, or suffix to their 48 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BR WN. name, since the creation of the world, including the prophet O'Badiah and General Judas MacCabeus. I cannot find the name of the Irish patrimony of Brunello either in ' Lewis's Topographical Dictionary/ or ' O'Flaherty's Ogygia' more shame for them. The tale I give as I found it in the Black Box, premising only that while the German manners, as described, are those of a quarter of a century ago, there are evident marks of more recent retouching in the verses. JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY. CARRIGBAWN, December 28, 1861. THE COSMOPOLITE. Alexis O'Higgins Brunello, Is the name of the hero I sing, A slashing and dashing young fellow As any you'd meet in the king- dom of England, or France ay, or Ireland- And that's a bold statement I know, Yet I dare you to search the entire land, And show me his match, high or low. WIN AND WEAR. 49 The Russian he chopped like the Slavi, The German he'd grunt like a boar ; He could ' Parley vous' French a vous ravir, Talk Spanish just like a Sen6r. Italian he lisped like a Roman, His English the purest in vogue, With a something quite soft, and yet no man Could venture to call it a brogue. And once I surprised him love-making, At Spa, to a County Cork lass, In accents so tender and taking, Whispering sweet in her ear, ' Colleen dhas ! ' And I thought to myself, ' Friend Brunello, That soft sawder, and blarney, and smile That bother the girls, my good fellow, Were learned in the Emerald Isle/ Alexis O'Higgins Brunello Was the pink of an exquisite beau : As he passed, women sighed, ' Come bello ! ' Men owned he was quite ' comme il faut.' D 50 REVELA TIONS OF PETER BROWN. He could fight, he could drink, he could revel, Dance, sing, and make love 'a la mode ;' With men he was fierce as a devil, Women did with him just as they would. Wherever he went he was courted, As Milor, or Senor, or Hertzog ; And I heard him once gravely reported A prince that was travelling incog. From city to city Brunello Could be traced by his deeds, as a chart ; By men's broken bones in duello, And many a maid's broken heart. Whence he came 'twould have puzzled a Rabbi To tell somehow nobody knew. ' Non so ' ' Ich kenn nicht' ' No se sabe,' ' He's Faust, or the Wandering Jew.' And so in his wanderings one autumn, When the season was on the decline, The course of his destiny brought him To stop by the banks of the Rhine. WIN AND WEAR. 51 II. THE BARON. The Baron Rudolf Von Hockswiller Was a noble both brave and renowned, Of boars a redoubtable killer, Which he hunted with horse and with hound. He lived midst a forest most gloomy, Not far from the waters of Rhine, In a castle, less pleasant than roomy, 'Twas called, I believe, Schwarzenstein. The Baron had revenues ample, God knows how many thalers a-year So rich, he might vie, for example, With an esquire of Somersetshire. He had highlands, and lowlands, and woodlands, Well furnished with game of all kinds, Some bad lands, some worse lands, some good lands, Which were tilled by his vassals and hinds. 52 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BROWN. The Baron loved beer with devotion, More devotedly still he loved wine, Yet of water he'd drink a whole ocean Kirscherwasser not water of Rhine. But dearer than drink or boar-slaughter He loved with the tenderest care The beautiful Fraulein, his daughter, Who was called Kunigunda the Fair. He loved her beyond all conception, More than castle, or forest, or pelf, Man or woman, with just one exception, And that was Hockswiller himself. In a word, to prevent all confusion As to what I have stated above, I '11 show, by a classic allusion, The strength and degrees of his love, ' Hie, h Every voice is loud in chorus ' Briider, das ist deutscher Wein !' Then a jager of the party, Lifting up his manly voice, Breaks into a song so hearty That 'twould make the dead rejoice. JAGERLIED. ' Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! Brays out the cheery horn ; In ringing notes The music floats On the ear of drowsy morn. WIN AND WEAR. 67 On the greensward steeds are neighing, In the leash the hounds are baying, And the jager bold and gay Mounts his horse to ride away. Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! Hallo ! hallo ! Juchheisa sa ! ' Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! The merry men are up ! From saddle-bow Each man bends low To the maid that hands the cup. He takes, the cup from the maiden laughing, And steals a kiss before the quaffing ; And so the jager bold and gay Spurs his horse and rides away. Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! Hallo ! hallo ! Juchheisa sa ! ' Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! A merry life is ours In wood and wold, In heat and cold, In sunshine and in showers. 68 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Fearless every peril braving, Where the flood or storm is raving, There the jager bold and gay Hunts his game the live-long day. Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! Hallo ! hallo ! Juchheisa sa ! ' Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! We love fair nature's face ; The mountain breeze, The forest trees, The wild and headlong chase. We love to hear the sweet birds singing, We love to hear the bugle ringing ; And thus the jager bold and gay Spends a merry life alway, Tra lira la ! Tra lira la ! Hallo ! hallo ! Juchheisa sa !' Then follow Liebeslieder, Bundslieder, Volkslieder, and songs of Tabak ; To name them would weary the reader, And space to recite them I lack. WIN AND WEAR. 69 Now the bottles go round fast and furious, The drinking is growing profound, Strong waters are proving injurious To the brains of the kinsmen around. And the speech of the host becomes thicker, A muddiness steals o'er his eye ; And, vanquished by smoking and liquor, He falls fast asleep with a sigh. And now, while the Baron is snoring, Reclined in his carved oaken chair, Brunello the Schloss is exploring To find Kunigunda the fair. IV. THE TETE-A-TETE. In the Schloss Schwarzenstein there's a tower That flanks the west side of the square, With windows due south ; 'tis the bower Where sits Kunigunda the Fair. 70 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. The roses and vines from the basement, Like lovers, climb up the wall's height, And stealthily peep through the casement At beauty more rich and more bright. And there, in the sheen of the star-light, That gleams through the chamber within, She sighs, as she looks on each far light, ' Ach, Himmel ! wie einsam ich bin !' As if in response to the feeling That stirred the maid's bosom within, A tap came, so gently appealing, To the door, that she answered, ' Come in/ Next moment, within her apartment, Revealed in the tender star-light, Stands the man whom the throb of her heart meant To tell her she loves at first sight. ' Pray pardon,' he said, ' this intrusion : If my presence offends I will go : May I stay?' Somehow, in her confusion, The lady forgot to say ' No/ WIN AND WEAR. 71 Then in accents so soft and respectful, He contrives on some theme to commence That she loves, all the while not neglectful To praise both her wit and her sense. He discourses of arts and of science, Of physics and ethics likewise, And throws out strange views, in defiance, To draw out the maiden's replies. By arguments learned, tho' archaic, And reasoning very profound, He maintains, on the plan Ptolomaic, Tis the sun, not the earth, that moves round. He proves it from Scripture and reason, From Moses, and Joshua, and Job, From changes of light and of season, From the measure and weight of the globe. Then the lady asserts with great learning, That Kopernik's system is right ; Till, the force of her reasons discerning, He admits she has vanquished him quite. 72 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. 1 Fix'd fate and free will and foreknowledge/ They discourse of, and still ' find no end ;' Lost in mazes : like fellows of college, Metaphysics with logics they blend. They indulge in some deep speculation, On clairvoyance, extasis, trance, Thought-reading and ' Od ' emanation, Reichenbach and Alexis of France. They discuss magic crystals and glasses, The fluid mesmeric beside ; And, in fine, a few magnetic passes, As a test of the doctrine, are tried. And then, by an easy transition, As romance, verse, and fiction are passed, Absorbed in a transport Elysian, They fall upon music at last. Then the maid with the skill of a master, Shakes sound from the ivory notes, And her fair hands move faster and faster, As round her the melody floats. WIN AND WEAR. 73 She goes to the casement, together They stand and look out on the skies ; How long I can't tell you, for neither Takes count of old Time as he flies. And the stars as they burn in their splendor, Fill each soul with a speechless delight, Till a feeling delicious and tender, Steals over those watchers of night. A lute on the table is lying, The youth takes it up, and the strings Awake to his touch, like the sighing Of zephyrs, as sweetly he sings. SONG. ' IN DER STILLEN NACHT.' Still ist die Nacht, In sanfter Pracht Entglimmt das Heer der Sterne ; Ich steh' allein Im tiefsten Hain Vor euch, ihr lieben Sterne ! In der stillen Nacht. 74 RE VELA 7 IONS OF PE 7ER BROWN. Still is the night, With gentle light The starry host is shining : Lone in the grove, Loved stars above ! Ye look upon me pining. In der stillen Nacht. Ah ! for one heart, To take a part In all my pain and pleasure ; And still be near In darkness -here, And be my own heart's treasure. In der stillen Nacht. In vain, in vain, Do I complain ; The echo mocks my mourning : No voice I hear, My heart to cheer, No song my song returning. In der stillen Nacht. WIN AND WEAR. 75 The music has ceased, but the thrilling Of the lute-notes still trouble the air ; Love so troubles with tremulous feeling Thy heart, Kunigunda the Fair. He sighs, as the lute he replaces, And tenderly looks in her eyes ; A tear-star in each orb he traces, Like the stars in the soft azure skies. What they say, what they do, I can't tell O, Love has language and acts of his own But I know that ere long young Brunello Sits beside Kunigunda alone. And there while the star-light from heaven Is pouring pale light on their brows, His vows to the maiden are given, And he wins from the maiden her vows. Next his birth and his lineage the lover Reveals and they are not amiss ; Then lest lips should the secret discover He seals hers quite close with a kiss. 76 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BR WN. But the maid when she hears that revealing, A sorrow comes over her heart A sorrow that's fraught with the feeling, That she and her lover must part. But what is that secret, you wonder : I cannot disclose it, I vow ; For, like Kunigunda, I 'm under A pledge not to tell it just now. Well, they canvassed it over and over, They viewed it from far and from near, Till at last a bright thought struck the lover, And he whispered it soft in her ear. When she heard it she blushed and looked frightened, And turned her face coyly away ; Then she mused till at length her eyes brightened, And she had not the heart to say nay. WIN AND WEAR. 77 Now the Baron's bluff voice is heard, bawling ' Ach ! Bruder, come back to your wine ;' So he kisses the hand of the Fraulein, And sighs ' Gute Nacht, Liebchen mem/ VII. THE SERENADE. An hour before morning is breaking, Soft music is heard on the air, Beneath the west tower, awaking From sleep Kunigunda the Fair. To the window she steals to discover The minstrel who breaks her repose, And the form and the voice of her lover, As he sings in the dim light, she knows. Near a linden tree over against her He stands and he gazes above ; 1 Komm fein Liebchen, O ! komm du an's Fenster.' 'Tis thus that he sings to his love. 78 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. 1 KOMM LIEBCHEN AN J S FENSTER.' Oh ! come to the window, my dearest, For silent and dark is the night ; No voice, save thy lover's, thou hearest, No tread, save his footfall so light ; The birds are all dumb, And there is not a hum, Komm Liebchen an's Fenster, komm fein Liebchen, komm. There's none that go out after nightfall But lovers and robbers and sprites : Ah ! open your eyes, let their light fall On him whom their lustre delights, And I swear by that light I 'm thief, lover, and sprite, For I '11 steal, love, and haunt you, by day and by night. The stars in the heavens are hidden, Young Luna is wrapt in her shroud, The planets to stroll are forbidden, And Venus is under a cloud. WIN AND WEAR. 79 But come out and shine With those bright eyes of thine, And they'll soon turn night into day, Liebchen mein. Mein Liebchen, then open thy casement, The heart of thy lover rejoice ; I 'm standing here close to the basement, To woo thee with string and with voice, Though my fingers are numb, And I hardly can thrum My guitar, while I sing to thee, ' Komm Liebchen, komm.' But the frost that my fingers is numbing, And creeping along up my arm, Is turned into fire, as 'tis coming Near my heart with love throbbing and warm ; For a spirit like mine Is like spirit of wine, 'Twill blaze in the light of thy love, Liebchen mein. 8o RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BR WN. The song of the minstrel is over ; But whether the maid sought repose, Or came at the call of her lover, My verse shall hereafter disclose. VIII. 1 STOLE AWAY.' How fresh is the dawn of the morning When silvery mists roll away ; When dew-pearls the lawn are adorning, In bright expectation of day. When the trees, as the light breezes toss 'em, Shake out from their green leafy hair The odours of fruit and of blossom, With fragrancy filling the air. When the throstle pipes out from the cover, And the lark soars aloft with a song, And the bee, like a gallant young rover, Hums from flower to flower along. WIN AND WEAR. 81 But the charms of the morning are courting The Baron Hockswiller in vain ; For yesterday's drinking and sporting Have wearied his bones and his brain. He feels on the whole rather crazy, And so, when 'tis time to arise, He turns on his side like a lazy Old baron, and closes his eyes. But he scarcely had fallen a-dozing, When a clamour, quite close to his door, Breaks rudely upon his reposing, And makes him spring out on the floor. And the Kammerfrau rushes in, shrieking, And wringing her hands in despair, While she cries, as the sobs choke her speaking, ' Ach Gott ! Kunigunda the Fair !' 1 Potztausend ! child, what is the matter?' Roars the Baron, and stamps on the ground : The maid cries, and all her teeth chatter, ' My lady is not to be found ! 82 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BR WN. 1 We have ransacked the castle all over, Searched the moat and the court-yard around ; But no tidings as yet can discover My lady is not to be found ! ' But I found this sealed note on her table ' The Baron tore open the scroll, And read, though he scarcely was able, ' Mein Vater geliebt, lebe wohl !' Then the Baron broke into a passion, And thundered out many an oath, And swore in a horrible fashion To repeat all he said I am loth. ' Tausend Teufel und Kreuzdonnerwetter ! Ach, liebe Herr Gott ! but I swear, Wherever she 's gone, I will get her, If she 's hid in the earth, sea, or air. ' Ho! Adolph, and Gottfried, and Johann, And Heinrich, and Ludwig, and all : Ach, Himmel und Erde ! will no one, Ye varlets, attend when I call ?' WIN AND WEAR. 83 The servants, affrighted and eager, Rush in at the summons in haste ; And henchmen, and kinsmen, and jager Follow close at the heels of the rest. * To horse, with all speed,' cries Hockswiller, ' And saddle my gray Blitzenbein ; I '11 hunt down the truant I will, or I'll never break bread or drink wine !' Then out speaks Hans Stallknecht 'Good master, The gray steed is gone from the stall ' Says Fritz, ' There's another disaster, Your guest can't be found, Sir, at all.' So after much puzzling and potter, The Baron did sagely declare, That his guest and his steed and his daughter, Had gone off together somewhere. 84 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. IX. ON THE TRAIL. The horsemen are mounted and ready ; The Baron's command they await ; And, placing himself at their head, he Gives the word, and they dash through the gate. A jager lets slip from the leashes A deep-chested, shaggy sleuth-hound, With a bay to the greensward he dashes, And takes up the scent on the ground. Away, far away from the highways, Through forest and greenwood they ride ; Through valleys, and alleys, and bye-ways, 'Cross the river, and round the hill-side. They gallop through hamlet and village, They sweep on for many a mile, Through moor, and through mead, and through tillage, The hound leading on all the while. WIN AND WEAR. 85 The sun is now high in the heaven, But none draws the rein on his steed ; Be their course over rough ways or even, They press on with desperate speed. By Osterspey, through Kamperhausen, By Liebenstein also they passed ; By Wilmech the Thurnberg der Mausen, And reach ' The Cat's Elbow ' at last. As the sun to the westward is verging, And glows on the hills of the vine, From the maze of the forest emerging They see the great waters of Rhine. But those waters are placid no longer, Or smooth as a lake in its sleep ; But faster, and wilder, and stronger, They speed along tortuous and deep. And chafing, and fuming, and dashing, They rush 'gainst the high beetling rocks, That sullenly fling them back, smashing The waves into spray with the shocks. i REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. And sheer, from the edge of the river, A cliff rises naked and black ; Weird voices breathe round it for ever, To lure fated barks from their track. There the beautiful witch of the Lurlei, With spell of her sweet voice beguiles ; Ah, woe to the seaman ! for surely Who hears her escapes not her wiles. He listens, and lingers in wonder ; His bark drifts unheeded along, Till the Gewirr at last sucks him under The waves, as he hangs on the song. But the Baron Hockswiller, I reckon, Of syren or spell takes small heed, Riding furiously still, with no check on The rein of his galloping steed. And, now, as the Lurleiberg nearing, A voice from its summit is borne, That makes his ears tingle at hearing, 1 Alles ist auf immer verloren !' WIN AND WEAR. 87 The words come so sad and so thrilling, Like wailings of spirits that mourn, And echo repeats them, still pealing, Verloren ! Verloren ! ! Verloren ! ! ! Now the Baron pulls up in amazement, So sharp that his steed feels a shock, And, led by the sound, up his gaze went To the top of the Lurleiberg rock, And there, where the cliff topples sheerly, Right over the flood, he descries Two motionless forms, sharp and clearly Thrown out by the bright evening skies. In terror each jager and ritter, Makes the sign of the cross on his face, And cries, * 'Tis the witch !' in a twitter, 'Erbarme dich unser, Herr JesT But the Baron Hockswiller knows better, And swears out both loudly and fast : 1 Blitz, Donner, Hagel, und Wetter ! Tausend Teufel ! They 're so-hod at last 1 88 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. And the Lurleiberg echo, in mocking, Quintuples the curses again ; Five thousand of devils invoking, From rock, and from river, and glen. 1 ' Ihr Kalber ! Ye calves ! 'tis that fellow/ The Baron impatiently roared, 1 Alexis O'Higgins Brunello, That we feasted last night at our board. ' And that other, I swear, is my daughter, Ach Gott ! how she clings to his neck ; Potztausend ! as soon as I Ve caught her, I '11 keep my young lady in check. * But where is my horse ?' While he 's speaking, He hears a most pitiful neigh, Where tied to a tree, hot and reeking With sweat, stands his favourite gray. 1 I must bear testimony to the modesty of Peter's statement of this marvellous echo of the Lurlei. I have met travellers who alleged that, many years ago, they heard sounds repeated seven times distinctly. For myself, I confess, I have never been able to catch more than five reverberations. But the rock is growing old and, I suppose, hard-of-hearing. J. F. S. WIN AND WEAR. 89 ' Ho ! Rauber verflucht ! now surrender My child, or you die by the knife ;' Brunello replies, ' I '11 defend her, And keep her in death and in life/ Hockswiller cries out, 'Scale the Lurlei, Hans, Ludwig, and Heinrich, with speed : Arrest them and bind them securely ; They shall ride back again on the steed/ Then out speaks Brunello, unslinging A rifle that hung at his back ; Quite plainly they heard the steel ringing, As he drew back the cock with a clack. ' The man that sets foot on the Lurlei, Shall never break bread any more ; I '11 tumble him over as surely As I yesterday tumbled the boar/ Then Hans signs to Ludwig to lead on, And Ludwig on Heinrich attends, And Heinrich bids Hans bravely speed on, But not one of the jagers ascends. 90 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. The Baron, their courage to rally, Exhorts them with curses and jeers ; But no jager will lead on the sally, For the ball of Brunello each fears. And the Baron himself is too burly To climb up the face of the rock, Or he 'd doubtless have mounted the Lurlei, Though the rifle was still at full cock. ' Guard the cliff all around/ cries Hockswiller, ' And set on their traces the dog : My daughter I '11 have, should I kill her ; Brunello I '11 slay like a hog/ But the lovers declare they would rather Plunge down in the Rhine-flood beneath, Than yield themselves up to a father, That threatens so cruel a death. Kunigunda, in accents most grievous, Filled the air with her cries as she wept : * Oh, Father beloved, forgive us ! Vergieb uns, mein Vater geleibt !' WIN AND WEAR. 91 And those accents, so piteous and wailing, The echo repeats long and wild ; While the wrath of Hockswiller is failing, As he lists to the cries of his child. And many a fond recollection Is thronging his heart and his brain ; Ah ! strong is a father's affection ; Pride, anger, oppose it in vain. He cries, ' Oh ! my child, I forgive thee, Return, O my daughter, return ; Thy father's fond arms shall receive thee, No longer to grieve or to mourn. ' And he that can wake in thy bosom A passion so ardent, I swear, You shall marry forthwith, if you choose him : Your heart, as he won, let him wear,' 92 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. X. THE WIND-UP. From the roof of the Schloss the old banner, ('Twas furled up there time out of mind), Waves to-day in a wild, flighty manner, As if asking, ' What 's now in the wind ?' And the wind might reply : ' I 'm just blowing Your blazoned old rag on the air, To tell all the world that we're going To wed Kunigunda the Fair.' And the wind might have turned round the tower, That flanked the south-west, did it list, And breathe on a face in that bower, As lovely as wind ever kist. For there Kunigunda is sitting, As happy as heart can desire : Her handmaidens round her are flitting, And donning her bridal attire. WIN AND WEAR. 93 O'er a flask of prime Rheinwein, the Baron Had a talk with Brunello one night. And the wine and the chat brought them far on Towards morning, so pleasant time's flight. Brunello the secret discloses, That before to his love he made known ; The Baron his lineage he shows is As ancient and high as his own. He traced back that lineage for ages, From noblest and purest of blood, Through princes, and heroes, and sages, Till the traces were lost in the flood. O'Briens, O'Neills, and O'Regans ; O'Conors, O'Donnells, O'Blakes ; MacMurroughs, MacCarthys, MacEgans ; And O'Donoghue, Prince of the Lakes. And then, through his mother, by Jove, he Had thick Russian blood in his veins, The dukes of Ukraine and Muscovy, Esthonians, Livonians, and Fins. 94 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BRO WN. The Vladimirs, Vasilis, Peters ; The Godonovs, Romanovs, too ; The Ivans, and Michels, and Fedors, Dolgorouskis, and heaven knows who. While the Baron, unversed in the science Of genealogical lore, Received, with implicit reliance, The names that Brunello ran o'er. But one thing remained to get over, Though his lineage was ancient and good, There was not to be found in the lover, One veinful of true German blood. And the Baron had sworn that no other, Should be lord of his child or domains, But one, who by father or mother, Had true German blood in his veins. 'Twas this put the maiden in terror, When her lover declared who he was ; * 'Twas this made him furtively bear her Away on the steed from the Schloss. WIN AND WEAR. 95 But Hockswiller had sworn, still more lately, The man of her choice she should take ; Thus the question now puzzled him greatly Which oath he should keep, and which break. At length, every scruple to smother, He did just the thing that was best ; He set off one oath 'gainst the other, And so set his conscience at rest. Next morning, to close the transaction, To their marriage he gives his assent, To Brunello's supreme satisfaction, And the fair Kunigunda's content. How swiftly the moments fly over (Ah ! happiest time of their lives) The heads of the maid and her lover, Till the day of the bridal arrives. Oh, then, what a gathering and muster Of all the great Hockswiller kin ! Like bees in a hive, how they cluster, And fill the old castle within. 96 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. What a clanging of merry bells pealing From minster, and tower, and dome, When the priest blest the young couple kneeling, And oh ! what a grand ' hauling home !' And then what a feast ! It surpasses My skill to tell all that was done ; Such drinking, and clinking of glasses ; Such joking, and poking of fun. Hockswiller himself, waxing mellow, Drank cups of Hockheimer so fast, To the health of the bride and Brunello, That the hoc-cups brought hic-czips at last. So jovial and right bacchanalian A wedding there never was seen In the world, from the nuptials Thessalian To the 4 wedding of BaLlyporeen.' 'Tis past ! like the visions that hover From the sleeper at breaking of day. The good Baron's sports are all over ; His bones in the churchyard are clay. WIN AND WEAR. 97 But when last, with a knapsack on shoulder, I strolled by the banks of the Rhine (Alas ! I'm now stiffer and older), I stopped at the Schloss Schwarzenstein. And I met there a family party, As jolly as well could be found A Frau, fat and buxom and hearty, With rosy-faced children around. And her husband, as worthy a fellow As the Baron that lived there before Alexis O'Higgins Brunello Hockswiller von Knockinfoylemore. No. IV. THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. WHEN I first took upon me the office of literary executor to my friend Peter, and opened his Black Box I found, as I mentioned, other articles besides papers, that I said I might yet have to refer to. One of these articles was a small packet, tied up and sealed, with these words inscribed upon it in his own handwriting ' Perfida Dolores! Aranjuez, June 2O//;, 18 ' (no, Peter, I shall not disclose the year). On opening the packet I found it contained a pair of Spanish garters, such as are made at Santa Cruz de Mudela, and are sold at all the fairs in Spain. They are made of galloon, about an inch and a-half wide, with a band of red silk running all along the centre, forming the ground, upon which is embroidered in white letters the motto * Tan ermosa eres Como la Diosa Ceres.' Along either edge a border of silk thread is woven through the fabric. These ligas, or ligagambas, as they are THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. 99 popularly called, are too pretty for concealment, and usually adorn the legs of professional dancers. A further rummage in the Black Box brought to light the subjoined verses, which solved the mystery of the packet. I strongly suspect that Peter, when he was 'Callidus juventa Consule Planco,' was green enough to fall in love with one of those ladies of the Baile who probably attended the Court at Aranjuez during the Jornada^ or season of its annual sojourn there, from spring till June ; and the accidental discovery of a rival brought him to his senses and cured him of his passion. This was very fortunate. Peter was the soul of honour, and it would have been a thousand pities had he married a dancer. The lesson, however, was not lost on him. He remembered the Spanish proverb ' El gato escaldado del agua fria huye.' JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY. CARRIGBAWN, March \yh, 1862. 4 HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE.' I lingered once in Aranjuez In the month of June, When the sky serene and blue is Thro' the sultry noon. The Jornada just was over, And the courtiers all were gone ; REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. In the gardens scarce a lover Could my wandering eyes discover ; All the rakes and all the roues Had gone off from Aranjuez Gone and left me all alone. All alone in Aranjuez, Still I lingered on What my reason so to do is Nought to any one. It might be I loved to wander Through the gardens, and to ponder, All alone and at my leisure, On the vanity of pleasure. It might be, too, that I had a 1 Little bill ' at \hzposada Which I had not cash to pay That I waited, day by day, For that sweetest of all billet doux After which the spirit hankers More than topers for a booze More than lovers for a lonely walk More than old maids for tea and talk- A billet from one's bankers. THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. 101 It might be, too Aye de mi ! Dolores, Why did I e'er believe those foolish stories ? Well, whatever was the reason, 1 The last man on town/ At the closing of the season, Was I PETER BROWN. And the Plaza, late so full, Now was drowsy, hot, and dull ; Every palace window closed Every palace porter dozcc, As, wearied with the lastyfos'&fc, .,.,,, - J - He went to take a year's' siesta-- And silence reigned through every calle Of this famed ' Sitio reale.' Lovely vale of Aranjuez ! Jewel of Castile ! Bright thy waters green the hue is Of thy meadows still ; And thy regal gardens who is He that ever there has been May withhold the praise that due is To so sweet a scene ? REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Often, when the sun was shining Hottest at the hour of noon, I have sought thy shelter, pining For relief, till day's declining In that weary month of June. Charming gardens ! in thy bowers Oft I've lain in calm repose On the greensward decked with flowers, With a book to cheat the hours No'w a -smoke and now a doze. Green -the fojiage, in its fulness Hanging o'er my sheltered head ; Through the drowsy air a coolness, Like an unseen dew, is spread ; And a sound of waters tinkling Falls in music on the ear, And the glittering drops are sprinkling Freshness from a fountain near ; While the groves shut out the skylight With their leafy arms, Throwing a delicious twilight Over Nature's charms ; THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. And the silence deep is broken Only by the melody Sweetest of all ' songs unspoken ' From the sprays on every tree The song of birds that flit and rove Through the dense umbrageous grove, Singing through the daylight long, Till, at the evening hour, The nightingale takes up the song From out her lonely bower. Yet, sweet vale of Aranjuez Pity 'tis, but still it true is There is not a place all Spain in Stands in greater need of draining ; For the vapours from the river Bring the ague and the fever. So, when summer once commences, Everybody in his senses Flees away, or else he'll rue his Longer stay in Aranjeuz. It was night a night of splendour, As in Iberian skies is seen ; 104 RE VELA TIONS OF PE TER BROWN. The moon at full one star to tend her- Hung in the azure hyaline : Glorious in her silver brightness, Holy in her vestal whiteness, Looked she down in solemn sheen, Luminous and all serene, Reigning in the heaven a queen. It was night I sat reclining, Pensive, 'neath a citron tree, And its branches broke the shining Of the moonbeams fitfully, As the gentlest breath of air, Wafted upwards from the river, Moved the green leaves here and there, Shaking out the odour rare From the golden fruit, as ever To and fro they sway and quiver. There in the huerta sitting, Nigh ' the fountain of the swan/ Listlessly I watched the flitting Of the waters as they shone, THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. 105 Dancing in the sweet moonlight, In their jets of pearly brightness, Like fair angels of the night Clothed in robes of glistening whiteness ; While the rich, soft melody Of the nightingale came trilling On the ear entrancingly, All the air with music filling ; Till, at last, the sight and sound Of the water and the bird Made my brain swim strangely round, And my senses did confound 'Twixt what I saw and what I heard, That I thought I saw the song Jets of liquid brightness flinging In the fountain heard the tongue Of the nightingale a-singing. Thus I sat, my thoughts a-straying, Sweet Dolores ! ah, how far ; Couldst thou with my love be playing ? Couldst thou meditate betraying ? io6 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. ' Never ! by this light !' I cried, As from my breast I took, and sighed, And to my longing lips applied, Another fresh cigar ! So I sighed and smoked, Dolores, As I sadly thought on thee, And those half-forgotten stories Rose again to memory In my jealous heart. No bore is Half so great as jealousy. But the smoking and the sighing Calmed my heart and soothed my pain, Till I felt there's no denying All my love return again. So I lost my grief and anger In a most delicious languor, And I turned my loving gaze Towards the palace, as the rays Gleamed on that little barred ventana Where first I saw my heart's sultana ; Where so oft at eventide, At the reja, love, I wooed thee, THE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER. 107 Through the grating as I sighed All my ardent passion to thee. Sweet al frescos a flirtation Known but to the Spanish nation Where, at either side the grating, Lovers by the hour stay prating Breathing words as hot as lava, As they say ' Pelar la pava! At that moment, as my gaze bent Lovingly upon that casement, Came a sound upon the night A sound that made my nerves to jar The thrumming of a * light guitar ' And then I saw a sight : A muffled form, to my amazement, Stood beneath that window's basement, Clear in the moonbeam's light. Slouched he wore his peaked sombrero, With his capa embozada ; Ah ! 'twas plain the Caballero Underneath the window had a Love affair on hands to-night. io8 REVELATIONS OF PETER BROWN. Noiselessly I watched him, then Breathlessly I listened, when He swept the strings, and, with a clang, His serenata thus he sang. Ah ! I never shall forget The Caballero's verse The memory of it haunts me yet The words I can rehearse. THE CABALLERO S SERENATA.