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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 STURRY, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BRENT. 
 
 CANTERBURY: 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY HENRY WARD. 
 
 1826.
 
 " I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
 " Here to return, and die at home at last." 
 
 Goldsmith.
 
 STURRY. 
 
 When youth first dawn'd, and busy fancy stole 
 With lovely visions o'er my ardent soul ; 
 When every scene of life was bright and gay. 
 And pleasure reign'd, unsullied, thro' the day; 
 When wild romantic dreams around mepress'd. 
 And sway'd my mind, by gentle sleep caress'd : 
 'Twas then, sweet Sturky ! at the twilight hour, 
 That first I gaz'd upon thy crystal Stour. 
 And thought, in sooth, that never from my birth, 
 I'd look'd upon so sweet a spot of earth. 
 Since I have left thee, deep misfortune's blast 
 W^ith cruel pang across my breast hath past ; 
 And I have mourn'd the loss of friendship dear, 
 Breath'd many sighs, and pour'd affliction's tear. 
 But now, once more, within thy groves I come— 
 Those scenes, which I had long'd to call my home ; 
 IJnalter'd siill, thy beauties meet mine eye, 
 With all the sweets that charm'd in days gone by. 
 There is no change, the well-known paths I trace — 
 The woods — the winding margins that embrace 
 The purling stream which thro' the valley strays — 
 The verdant pastures where the cattle graze.
 
 G STURRY. 
 
 All, all are still the same — the lofty mill 
 
 From out the dark green foliage rises still ; 
 
 The church's antient tower appears to view, 
 
 Darting upon the sight the branches through. 
 
 Scarce seen, save when the winter's piercing breeze^ 
 
 Has robb'd of leaves the toweringViHow-trees, 
 
 Then to the view a mansion rears its head, 
 
 By those, I truly love, inhabited. 
 
 Oh ! dearest retrospection ! come and give 
 
 My thoughts an impulse, that the past may live 
 
 Once more — bring to my mind those happy years, 
 
 And blend their joys with that which still endears 
 
 My fondest hopes to this most lovely spot ; 
 
 And bid them last, no more to be forgot. 
 
 IV hen first from my paternal home I stray'd. 
 To wander in the v/orld't; untrodden glade ; 
 To seek, untaught, the evil from the good 
 That throng the path of life's vicissitude ; 
 I found, sweet Sturry, in thy peaceful grove, 
 A valued friend, unsway'dby aught save love — 
 Candid and open, generous, kind, and free ; 
 Attended ever with philanthrophy. 
 Lamented Father ! tho' thyloss I mourn'd — 
 A father's kindness in his bosom burn'd : 
 Advice I ask'd not, but 'twas always near, 
 To guide m,y steps thro' boyhood's wild career. 
 Mankind respected him — he had no foe — 
 His heart was ready to relieve their woe:
 
 STURRY. 
 
 And Heaven, in bounty, smil'd upon his fate, 
 And save him wealth, his toils to compensate. 
 He trod religion's mild, unbias'd way ; 
 No ostentation did his mind display — 
 No bigotry crept in to mar the light 
 Of conscious truth, or darken it to night; 
 His labours freely to the world were given. 
 To guide the young to happiness and Heaven. 
 Oh ! venerable shade ! — departed friend ! — 
 Too soon thy spotless life was doom'd to end ; 
 Too soon the earth received thee in her breast — 
 Eager to consummate that promis'd rest, 
 M^hich holy lore so forcibly had bound. 
 With christian faith, thy fading heart around. 
 Thy deeds are too well known for me to trace 
 Them half — or give thine honor'd name a place 
 In this poor tribute to thy memory — 
 While time doth last that name can never die ! 
 But yet my mind's resolve ray pen denies. 
 And Kingsford's praise spontaneous will arise. 
 
 Truly the good man calmly dies — for he 
 
 Pass'd from this being to eternity. 
 
 As one who sin knows only by the name — 
 
 Who virtue blesses with its purest flame. 
 
 Mild and resign'd his spirit stole away 
 
 To bask for ever in eternal day. 
 
 He sleeps unconscious sleep, and by his side 
 
 In gentle slumber rests his faithful bride ;
 
 « STURRY. 
 
 A pattern to all future mothers, she 
 Was blest with virtue and integrity. 
 Her children lov'd her — honor'd her in lite — 
 She prov'd a tender parent, friend and wife. 
 She could not stay alone in being here — 
 But flew to join him in the upper sphere; 
 Life to her mind had lost its sweetest taste — 
 The loveliest garden seem'd a barren waste ; 
 llie brightest objects that attract the sense. 
 To her shew'd dim thro' sorrow's gloom intense. 
 On Heaven her hopes were set — and soon on high 
 Her soul arose to his, beyond the sky. 
 
 Sweet 'tis to me to sit and muse alone 
 On all my earlyjoys now past and gone ; 
 To harroAV up my feelings to a thrill 
 Of highest pitch, and mould them to my will — 
 Porce visions o'er my mind, then turn away. 
 As if the charm would make my soul too gay — 
 Dash pleasure from my breast to plunge in grief, 
 And find, while others weep, a sad relief. 
 Sweet 'tis to meditate at evening's fall, 
 And listen to the wood-lark's plaintive call — 
 To watch the wild bees hastening to their home, 
 Bearing the honey to the waxen comb ; 
 Where congregated round the hive they throng, 
 And^cheer the twilight with their murmuring song. 
 To view the lovely tints of parting day 
 Fade one by one till all at last is grey ;
 
 STURRY. 
 
 "While in the grass the glow-worm's tiny lamp, 
 Reflected sparkles thro' the dew-drops damp; 
 And buoy the thoughts with visions beautified 
 By wild romance's images that glide 
 Unconscious o'er the half-deluded mind. 
 Which by the scene is soften'd and refin'd. 
 Yes, oft I've sat beside the gentle Stour, 
 And wiled away the dying vesper hour; 
 Till bright Orion rose above the hill. 
 And Venus twinkled in the glassy rill, 
 And deep reflected in the water laid 
 The lovely moon — while on the surface play'd 
 The trembling beams, that dane'd resplendently. 
 And kiss'd the ripples, unconstrain'd and free. 
 
 And now again upon the flowery brink 
 
 I sit me down, of pleasures gone to think — 
 
 Each scene reminds me of some happy day 
 
 When life was like the streamlet, bright and gay. 
 
 Which rushes on with unimpeded force, 
 
 Laving the verdant meadows in its course. 
 
 1 turn my thoughts to better times, but still 
 
 I murmur not beneath the load of ill ; 
 
 For had misfortune never been my fate — 
 
 Had grief ne'er preston me with galling weight — 
 
 Thy smile, dear Fanny, had not met my sight ; 
 
 Thine eye of love ne'er cheer'd my starless night. 
 
 Oh ! wert thou here to whisper in mine ear, 
 
 And gaily laugh away each idle fear, 
 
 B
 
 10 
 
 STURRY. 
 
 How sweetly would my leisure moments pass, 
 And glide away, as water runs o'er glass. 
 Man was not form'd for solitude— altho' 
 
 He seek it to enjoy some secret woe 
 
 He could not bear existence without one 
 Dear object to relieve his sorrow's tone : 
 He could not tear himself away from all, 
 And pass his life immured within the wall 
 Of some fair Paradise, altho' it shine 
 
 'With beams that emanate from orbs divine 
 
 Altho' each luxury that pamper'd ease 
 Gorges unrelish'd, should the charm increase- 
 Yet all will nought avail — the soul would die, 
 Raving for love of sweet society. 
 
 Come maid of Helicon ! descend awhile. 
 And nerve my feelings with a gracious smile ; 
 Leave hoary Pindus to thy sisters' care, 
 And deign to listen to my ardent prayer ; 
 Give me one draught of that most sacred fount. 
 Which blest thy birth on high Pierius' mount. 
 Oh ! stay not at thy favorite temple now. 
 That rears its head on tall Parnassus' brow ; 
 But come, Erato, come ! — and aid my soul 
 To give to song my fantasies that roll. 
 
 Porgive the muse if she awhile should stray. 
 And trace the footpath of a devious way — 
 Forgive — for oh ! she cannot choose but bound 
 Too lightly o'er, perhaps, unhallow'd ground.
 
 STURRY. il 
 
 Yet should she find one floweret in the path, 
 Altho' its leaves have felt the winter's wrath ; 
 But should some beauty cling around it — then. 
 Scorn not if she should pluck it from the glen. 
 And ere it wither by the blast of age. 
 Place it awhile to grace this humble page. 
 
 Oft, when I press'd my pillow, have I pray'd 
 
 That Heaven would grant to me my unknown maid ; 
 
 Oft, when the sun shone out upon the vale, 
 
 I've long'd to fill her bosom with my tale — 
 
 But fate denied — and I was doom'd to gaze 
 
 As on a vision — thro' the dusky haze 
 
 At times I caught a glimpse, just flitting by. 
 
 Then vanished from my sight — but memory 
 
 Has ever cherish'd each bewitching ray 
 
 That round her rosy lip appear'd to play. 
 
 At last we met — but ah ! I cannot tell, 
 
 The joy — the grief — we met — we said farewell ! — 
 
 I felt a wild sensation when I heard 
 
 Her lips pronounce the echo of that word : 
 
 It seem'd to say ** we part to meet no more" — 
 
 Would we had never met — but that is o'er. 
 
 I saw the tear-drop fill her hazel eye, 
 
 1 heard her bosom struggling with a sigh, 
 
 The dark brown tresses o'er her forehead play'd — 
 
 " Farewell ! — God bless you ! — go" — she faintly said. 
 
 I broke away^I hurried from the spot, 
 
 To mourn in silence my unhappy lot.
 
 H STURRY. 
 
 Oh ! disappointment ever has to me 
 
 Been foremost in my chain of destiny ; 
 
 I never had a favorite beast or bird. 
 
 On which my mind's attachment was conferr'd, 
 
 15ut death was always ready to destroy 
 
 Each winning grace that shew'd its humble joy. 
 
 I never had a faithful friend to prize, 
 
 But either love forsook her changing eyes, 
 
 Or absence forc'd them from my longing sight, 
 
 And clos'd in grief my morning of delight. 
 
 But 'tis my fate— and I must cease to mourn — 
 
 Grief rarely falls too heavy to be borne. 
 
 Her eye — alas ! description ne'er can tell 
 
 The magic beam of that enchanting spell — 
 
 When anger rous'd its fire, 'twas like the flash. 
 
 That lights the Heavens ere roars the thunder crash ; 
 
 Or, like a meteor darting thro' the sky, 
 
 "^y liich shines, then vanishes as rapidly. 
 
 "When love or pleasure lit her countenance, 
 
 Ob ! who unmov'd could view that luscious glance ! 
 
 ' Twas like the parting ray that gems the cloud. 
 
 Peeping resplendent thro' its hazel shroud ; 
 
 Or, like the varied tint the wood receives. 
 
 When Autumn's sun has ting'd the chesnut's leaves : 
 
 Or, lovelier far the light, that sparkles through 
 
 The dark brown agate, wet with morning's dew. 
 
 If pity fill'd the orb — Oh ! turn away ! 
 
 Nor rashly dare to gaze upon the ray;
 
 STUKRY. 
 
 Your very soul would melt before the stream, 
 That flow'd, enlighten'd by the lambent beam. 
 Enough — my eflbrts are but faint iudeed- — 
 They ne'er can give to loveliness the meed. 
 Away, Erato ! — send thy sister down — 
 Thy smile is worse than her severest frown ! 
 
 Oh ! far-famed streamlet, thro' thy crystal tide. 
 
 The numerous shoals of finny tenants glide ; 
 
 But thou canst boast one finer than the rest — (a) 
 
 The epicure delights in such a guest. 
 
 All England, with her mighty streams and lakes — 
 
 Or, where the mountain torrent, rushing, breaks 
 
 Adown the falls of rocky Caledon — 
 
 Or, Brecknock Mere, unrivall'd, save by one — 
 
 Can ne'er assert the right to equal thee ; 
 
 Thou stand'st alone, unmatched in fishery. 
 
 'Tis curious to behold the wary look 
 
 The wily swimmer gives the baited hook ; 
 
 He wheels about with caution thro' the pool, 
 
 A nd seems to take his nourishment by rule : 
 
 No stratagem, no tempting morsel e'er 
 
 Can lure him on to the destroying snare. 
 
 But oft entangled in the mesh, he lies, — 
 
 No mercy then is shewn — 'tis doom'd — he dies. 
 
 Altho' the river branches out, yet still 
 
 The scaly stranger shuns the lesser rill. 
 
 For like the tides thro' Bala Lake that rush (b) 
 
 From off the mountains with tremendous gush;
 
 14 STURRY. 
 
 Disdaining to commingle with tlie Mave, 
 They hurry on, the ravine's bank to lave. 
 Nor do the fishes deign to turn aside, 
 But speed their voyage with a scornful pride : 
 They think the quiet Gwinniard is no mate 
 To share the daring Salmon's desperate fate. 
 But up the parent stream they come to pay 
 Theip annual visit to the little bay — 
 But pass not Sturry in their watery way. 
 When dull November spreads her humid sail 
 Along the woods that shade the grassy vale ; 
 When swollen by the floods the stream proceeds, 
 And inundates afar the swampy meads ; 
 Then the huge salmon comes, and in his course 
 He firmly stems against the current's force. 
 Adventurous rover ! up the streams he hies, 
 As from the ocean's winter rage he flies ; 
 And buried in some weedy bed, at ease 
 Secure he lies, far from his native seas. 
 But when the Spring in rosy mantle drest, 
 Comes tripping o'er the earth's expanding breast, 
 Then with the tide he hastens back again 
 To sport amongst the coral of the main, 
 And laughs at all the arts which mortals plan, 
 When far away from the domain of man. 
 And now the roach in thousands glittering come,, 
 Sporting about within their watery dome ; 
 Assembled on the shoals, by instinct drawn. 
 Deposit theconglobulated spawn.
 
 STURRY. 15 
 
 The liquid seems all life — a silvery hue, 
 Like the incrusted plaster shining through 
 The solid crystal — or a fount that plays. 
 And trickles down an alabaster vase. 
 The greedy pike, attendant, hovers nigh. 
 To catch the stragglers as they flounder by. 
 
 When Autumn's nights are murky and obscure, 
 
 The darkness has a winning charm to lure 
 
 The slimy eels from out their muddy bed, 
 
 IVhich ere that time they long had tenanted : 
 
 And running with the rapids to the sea, 
 
 In myriads they depart instinctively. 
 
 Full oft I've mark'd them, when the heavens were 
 
 bright, 
 Basking upon the sand in noon-day light ; 
 And seem'd enchanted with the rays so clear. 
 They heeded not, tho' with the jagged spear. 
 Upon the bank I gently drew me near ; 
 And darting down the prongs with steady stroke, 
 To shore I brought them writhing in the yoke. 
 Such were the sports that wiled the tedious hour 
 "When first my footsteps stray'd along the Stour. 
 
 And now, Melpomene, I crave thine aid, 
 To drop a tear for Clarke's departed shade. 
 Oh ! come awhile and wander with me here, 
 To pay a tribute to the memory dear
 
 16 STURRY. 
 
 Of one true friend — perhaps the only one 
 Whose feelings flow'd with mine in unison. 
 Tho'nurtur'd in a southern isle, afar 
 From any influence of ray birth-day star ; 
 Yet when we met, firm friendship's cordial hand, 
 Bound U3 together with a flowery band : 
 And had not death depriv'd me of his soul. 
 Our thoughts, perhaps, would simultaneous roll. 
 
 Could tears avail to mourn thine early fate, 
 
 Oh ! I would court the flowing stream — too late, 
 
 I feel that thou wert fitted to depart 
 
 From hence — there was no comfort for thy heart 
 
 Within this land of troubles — far away 
 
 Thy spirit fleeted from thy mortal clay. 
 
 Thou used to say that life was short — and we 
 
 Should smile at all the pains of misery : 
 
 And when I told thee unrequited love 
 
 I'd suffered, and was doom'd again to prove ; 
 
 Thy finger pointed to the pillar, where (c) 
 
 Appear'd the raving maniac's despair — 
 
 And gaily strove my folly to dispel, 
 
 By reading o'er a madman's love farewell. 
 
 Yes frequently together have we stray'd 
 Along the plain, or sought the lonely glade ; 
 And mutually our soft sensations came — 
 We smil'd or sigh'd with one united flame :
 
 STURRY. 
 
 17 
 
 But now alone I gaze upon each scene 
 
 And think how great my early joys have been. 
 
 Each leaf that falls so softly to the ground 
 
 Darts afresh pang into ray bosom's wound ; 
 
 The smoke that lightly curls above the road, 
 
 Which from the chimney of our old abode 
 
 Rises in air, conveys a deadning thought — 
 
 It tells me all our hopes must end in nought. 
 
 I ne'er imagin'd that thy breast conceal'd 
 
 So sad a blight, tho' soften'd, yet unheal'd ; 
 
 And when the painful letter met my sight. 
 
 To tell me that thy soul had taken flight, 
 
 I almost curst thy brother's cruel hand 
 
 That wrote the news of death's severe command. 
 
 Peace to thine ashes ! many a heart with me 
 
 Hath mourn'd thy voyage to eternity : 
 
 But virtue stands, and pointing to thy bier. 
 
 Exclaims aloud " True honor slumbers here !" 
 
 There is a strange fatality attends 
 
 Whate'erof life upon my love depends ; 
 
 As if a pestilence around me hung. 
 
 And wasted all, who to my bosom clung : 
 
 A vampyre flame — -with pleasing outward show, 
 
 But ah ! beneath there lurks a blasting woe. 
 
 A wayward child — a melancholy boy — 
 
 Few common pleasures ever gave me joy :
 
 18 STURRY. 
 
 I felt the greatest bliss in solitude — 
 It seem'd to give my wandering fancy food. 
 'Twas even said that madness fir'd my brain. 
 Or, that I aped the notes of folly's strain ; 
 But such aspersions pass'd, unheeded, by, 
 As sweeps the night-blast o'er the shrubbery. 
 I am — but what I am, I feel, alas ! 
 I never shall again be what I was. 
 
 Beheld ye not, along the flowery plain, 
 
 j!\rray'd in spotless white, the nuptial train, 
 
 Come sweeping from the anticpie church's dome, 
 
 With happy features as they hasten'd home ? — 
 
 Oh ! heard ye not the village bells ring round. 
 
 While echo answer'd, from the hills, the sound ? 
 
 Oh ! saw ye not the rustic maiden's pride. 
 
 As in the path before the blushing bride 
 
 She strew'd the wild flowers with her sun-burnt hand. 
 
 Smiling, as low she curtsied to the band — 
 
 And did ye, round the hospitable gate. 
 
 See not the glad domestics eager wait 
 
 To make obeisance to their mistress dear — 
 
 And with their smiles the joyful bride-groom cheer ? 
 
 Yes, yes ye must have seen — for old and young 
 
 Sent forth their blessings with a cheerful tongue. 
 
 But know ye not who this fair bride may be ? 
 
 Ah ! would ye learn the blissful tale from me ?
 
 STURRY. 19 
 
 It was Selina ! she was woo'd and won ; 
 
 And blythly still her marriage race runs on. 
 
 But hark ! again — what means that second peal ? 
 
 The church's antient turret seems to reel ; 
 
 Wide o'er the plain the merry music swells — 
 
 What means the sound of those sonorous bells ? 
 
 Why o'er the church-yard style are garlands thrown ? 
 
 Oh 1 ask me not — the tale is too well known — 
 
 'Tis Marianne who smiles upon her swain. 
 
 And yields her heart to Hymen's bridal chain. 
 
 And when the sun went down, still, still the same 
 
 The sound upon the midnight silence came : 
 
 Old Durovernum started at the noise, 
 
 Unconscious of the happy village joys. 
 
 But harmony turn'd discord now, for well 
 
 The ringers can the bride-groom's bounty tell : 
 
 Too freely had they quaif'd the generous ale 
 
 And nought but jarring notes disturb'd the gale. 
 
 Again, again ! and yet a louder note. 
 
 Upon the evening breezes seems to float; 
 
 Again, again ! the echo o'er the vale 
 
 Answers the tidings of that blissful tale. 
 
 Behold where o'er the bridge, the vehicle 
 
 Comes dashing on — while each revolving wheel, 
 
 With rapid motion, skims along the road. 
 
 Conveying Mary to her new abode. 
 
 With bashful looks, and bosom rais'd with pride,
 
 20 STURRY. 
 
 From out the carriage leaps the gentle bride, 
 
 'Mid shouts and greetings fromth' assembled crowd ; 
 
 While every heart, the joy it felt avow'd. 
 
 " Welcome to Sturry, welcome !" was the cry — 
 
 The bellsjoin'd in, as if spontaneously — 
 
 " Welcome to Sturry ! happy, happy pair I" 
 
 In bursts of gladness, rung upon the air. 
 
 Oh ! say, ye villagers, did joy e'er bring 
 
 A sight like this before upon his wing? 
 
 Did Sturry e'er behold so blest an hour. 
 
 As when this youthful couple hail'd the Stour ? 
 
 No, no, it never did — and ne'er again 
 
 Will such a gleam of rapture rouse the train. 
 
 When lost lieculver was in all her pride, 
 
 And on that rock o'er which the waters ride, (d) 
 
 The lofty steeple tower'd above the plain. 
 
 That far extended in the briny main ; 
 
 Then up the fertile valley rush'd the sea. 
 
 Rolling its foaming billows angrily. 
 
 Where now the sheep upon the meadows stray 
 
 The fishes thro' the water cut their way — 
 
 Where now the cattle browse along the vale 
 
 The Roman navy swept before the gale : 
 
 And 'neath the hill that hangs above the stream, 
 
 Their pennants flutter'd to the morning's beam. 
 
 Buttho' upon the marshy plain, no more 
 
 Is heard the toilincf ocean's ceaseless roar ;
 
 STUKRY. 21 
 
 'TJs gratifying to the thoughts to trace, 
 On fancy's map, where vessels held their race ; 
 While on the decks, reflecting back the rays, 
 The warriors' armour sparkled in the blaze. 
 
 But time works changes — cottages arise — 
 And woods up-towering to the arching skies — 
 Fill all the prospect, while the streams that flow. 
 The only marks of navigation shew. 
 
 But let us shift the scene awhile, and gaze 
 
 On the forsaken beach —the ocean plays 
 
 Around the base of that projecting rock ; 
 
 And seems, in truth, man's highest hopes to mock : 
 
 For not a vestige of the town is there. 
 
 That once with pomp and splendour shewn so fair. 
 
 But high aloft, upon the mighty clilf — 
 
 Now but a land-mark to the bounding skiff — 
 
 The Sisters Twain their pointed spires protrude, (e) 
 
 Which long have brav'd the wind and billows rude. 
 
 Nought else is seen — and desolation reigns. 
 
 Where once Religion boasted wide domains. 
 
 'Tis always thus — decay attendant stands. 
 
 And truly executes stern Time's commands ; 
 
 Nor is proud man exempted from the doom, 
 
 His fame scarce lasts beyond the mouldering tomb. 
 
 Witness Napoleon's sad, lamented lot. 
 
 Too soon, alas ! his greatness was forgot ;
 
 '2'i STURRY. 
 
 And rocky St. Helena groans to be 
 The burial-place of fallen royalty ; 
 And, with a voice of horror, Elba calls 
 From out her gloomy native prison-walls. 
 
 When royal James from fair Edina came, 
 
 To blend with Caledonia England's fame ; 
 
 Then Sturry harbour'd, on her fostering breast, 
 
 A noble visitor, as welcome guest. 
 
 Oh ! bright and glittering was the cavalcade 
 
 That mov'dmajesticly along the glade: 
 
 And, old St. Nicholas, thy spire on high (/) 
 
 Shook to the firm foundation — merrily 
 
 The bells sent forth their changes on the breeze — 
 
 And StrangfoRd's praises echoed thro' the trees, (^f) 
 
 Yes, those were glorious days ! — the purling Stour 
 Pleard the soft lute, from out the secret bower, 
 Breathe forth its melody along the bank 
 And kiss its crystal wave — it freely drank 
 So deep a draught of harmony, that still 
 The notes are blended with the flowing rill. 
 For when it rushes o'er the water-fall, 
 Methinks, at times, I hear a bugle-call — 
 And as it slowly winds the pebbles o'er 
 A flagelet, or flute — but oftener more 
 Like to the mournful cadences that sound 
 When o'er the oeolean haip the zephyrs bound.
 
 STURRY. 23 
 
 For wild imagination can conceive 
 Sounds, the philosopher will ne'er believe ; 
 And in the tune of nature's rustic song 
 Are sweeter charms than e'er to art belong. 
 
 Oh ! come with me, and walk up Summer Hill, 
 To view the prospect — first the flowing rill. 
 That winds in soft meanders thro' the dale 
 Beneath that wood, where many a nightingale (h) 
 Forages, undisturb'd, has tun'd his note. 
 Attracts the vision — perhaps some gliding boat. 
 Spreading her wings to catch the fickle breeze, 
 LuU'dby the screen of over-hanging trees, 
 May sail along the surface steadily. 
 And rivit to the spot the gazer's eye. 
 Perhaps the unskilful pilot, as he pulls, 
 And straining rashly at the bending sculls, 
 Can scarcely stem against the current's tide; 
 "While thro' the row-locks, grating as they glide, 
 The long-neglected paddles slowly move. 
 And send the harsh vibration far above. 
 Perhaps on the bank the fisherman may stand. 
 And throwing gracefully, with steady hand. 
 The fabricated insect to allure 
 The spotted trout from out the liquid pure. 
 But on the hill, behold where Trinley-Park, 
 With glens and shaws, and dingles wild and dark,
 
 24 STURRY. 
 
 Seems frowning \vith the majesty of age. 
 And laughs to scorn the blasts of winter's rage: 
 The mouldering wall, in part remains to tell 
 How wide the bounds extended, ere itfell. 
 And rising o'er the oak-trees' moss-grown limbs 
 The smoke bursts forth, and down the valley skims 
 From that old mansion, as its form appears. 
 Groaning beneath the weight of many years. 
 But turn we to the dexter-side for there 
 Stands Watmer-Hall a building neat and fair. 
 When Gilbert mounted at the bugle-sounds. 
 And follow'd to the chase the yelping hounds. 
 Next ihe white mill, the church, the court, and all 
 The humble cottages, attention call — 
 And last, not least, the residence and bower. 
 Where oft I've sat, and pored upon the Stour 
 While in perspective, at the valley's close. 
 The huge Cathedral, pointing upwards, shews 
 Its mighty fabric — old, monastic dome ! 
 The Primate's see, and Becket's hallow'd tomb. 
 
 But there my flight must stop, 'lis dangerous ground, 
 
 The city still reverberates the sound 
 
 Of those sweet notes the Bard has sung so well — 
 
 As if the Muse was pleas'd with him to dwell- 
 
 And while old Durovernum stands, the name 
 
 Of Arthur Brooke will florish with its fame.
 
 STARRY. 2& 
 
 Shelford ! we must not pass thee on the road, (i) 
 For thou wert once my relatives' abode ; 
 Long years have gone, suice any of that race 
 Possestthee, now a dearer one can place 
 His foot upon the soil, and tell his heirs 
 What once their fathers held is his— is their's : 
 And long may last the title — and the lands 
 Yield produce to his all-deserving hands. 
 
 'Tis Whitsuntide — and happy features smile 
 
 Upon the road, as journeying many a mile, 
 
 The country damsels, with their rustic beaux, 
 
 Come thronging to the fair, in Sunday cloths: 
 
 Giggling and blushing — romping on the way — 
 
 They trip along with varied, bright array. 
 
 Perhaps some birth-day present stored till now — ■ 
 
 Some ribbon binds the tresses o'er the brow — 
 
 Or, on the bonnet, with an artless grace, 
 
 Its gaudy hue may find a fitter place : 
 
 And on the hands the wedding gift, to prove 
 
 How much the bride esteemed the bride-maid's love. 
 
 Some drest in purest white, some gaily clad — 
 
 But all alike rejoicing — laughing — glad. 
 
 Not so the men, the same their garb and mien ; 
 
 Each wears a jacket of blue velveteen — 
 
 As if within one mould they had been cast ; 
 
 Nor either by his fellows is surpassed.
 
 26 STURRY. 
 
 But little care disturbs their honest souls, 
 
 They grasp at pleasure's bounty as it rolls : 
 
 All, all is joy and uproar in the street — 
 
 Bliss reigns upon each countenance you meet. 
 
 Throughout the day pass frolics, jests, and mimes, 
 
 As seem }>est suited to the merry times ; 
 
 ^omc in the swing-boats, hurled afar on high, 
 
 Take their adventurous seats courageously : 
 
 But should one 'mongst the lot express a fear. 
 
 They drown her terrors with a noisy cheer ; 
 
 And beg that the conductor will display 
 
 His strength, and drive them faster on the way. 
 
 Some in the whirligig are seated there. 
 
 Holding their sides, as backwards streams the hair; 
 
 Almost to wild esteria diiven, as fast 
 
 They make their revolution thro' the blast. 
 
 While many eyes the show-man's wonders view — 
 
 But pay before they peep the eye-glass through — 
 
 While he exemplifies each charm inside. 
 
 Which the deceitful lens has magnified. 
 
 Great pleasure is awakened, as he turns 
 
 The scene, while breathless expectation burns — 
 
 And loud ejaculations rise on air. 
 
 This wonder of all wonders to declare. 
 
 Behold the group that in the corner stands. 
 
 With eager eyes and wide-extended hands ; 
 
 What can delight their simple souls so much ? — 
 
 "W hat magic rules their hearts will powerful touch ? —
 
 STURRY. 27 
 
 'Tis Mr. Punch, who figures on the stage, 
 
 And strives, with tricks, attention to engage, 
 
 As the performer screams aloud, to tell 
 
 His audience to behold the spectacle. 
 
 And thus the day glides on, when evening comes 
 
 Then many seek again thei r quiet homes ; 
 
 The few remain, or haste to Fordwich Town, 
 
 To spend the night, and trip the dances down : 
 
 The music sounds — away, away they go ! 
 
 Nor tread the circles with ungraceful toe. 
 
 For Kentish maids are ever, from their birth. 
 
 Addicted to the dance, and lively mirth. 
 
 And say, ye fashionable fair, who smile 
 
 At Almack's, or the rooms of proud Argyll, 
 
 Would ye look down upon their humble joy 
 
 And give your vote their pleasure to destroy ? 
 
 Altho' as speeds the waltz, your matchless charms 
 
 Areclasp'd within your graceful partners' arms. 
 
 Oh ! know ye greater bliss than what they feel. 
 
 As twisting quickly thro' the mazy reel ? 
 
 No— 'tis refinement that improves the taste. 
 
 Softens the eye, and binds the slender waist : 
 
 For what may sparkle in a humbler breast. 
 
 Is ne'er by one of finer soul confest. 
 
 All have enjoyments, tho' of different tone. 
 
 And each delight in comforts of their own ; 
 
 Then spare the censure — ii is misapplied — 
 
 Nor scorn their pleasure, if less dignified.
 
 20 STURRY 
 
 Day breaks apace — the glimmering lamps grow dull— 
 
 And each fatigued with bliss, that bountiful 
 
 Bestower — quit the scene of mirth and cheer. 
 
 To breathe the morn's reviving atmosphere : 
 
 And pondering on each happy incident 
 
 That sway'd their bosoms, while the merriment 
 
 Was at its highest — speed their home-ward way, 
 
 Kind nature's soothing dictates to obey. 
 
 Then silence reigns once more, save o'er the vale. 
 
 The sky-lark's notes are borne upon the gale ; 
 
 And thc'Sweet red-breast twitters to the breeze. 
 
 Answering the wren from out the aged trees — 
 
 Save the far clattering of the distant mill. 
 
 All else is hushed in silence — all is still. 
 
 The lilUes of the valley hide their heads 
 
 Beneath the shade that over-hangs the beds ; 
 
 And in profusion secretly they thrive, 
 
 "Where scarcely other tender plants would live. 
 
 'Tis rarely that a sun-beam warms the earth 
 
 From whence they spring and flourish from their birth , 
 
 They seem delighted in the gloom to lie. 
 
 Secluded in their native nursery. 
 
 The cotton-grasses on the meadows grow, 
 
 As soft and spotless as the drifting snow ; 
 
 And oft deceive the wanderer, as he strays, 
 
 "While o'er the marshes hangs the filmy haze.
 
 STUllRY. 20 
 
 At night the villager with joy will hail 
 The blest appearance of that lucid veil, 
 A token true the morrow's sun will play 
 Resplendent, and insure a lovely day. 
 With equal hope the sailor views the bow 
 At eve, reflected in the waves below. 
 And trusts the storm that passes o'er his head 
 Has, for a season, all its fury shed. 
 
 The night was gloomy, the black clouds flew fast, 
 And rush'd tempestuously the howling blast ; 
 The willow-trees that by the water grow 
 Were rock'd with violence — the tide below 
 Was swollen to a torrent, and swept by — 
 And hurried thro' the arches rapidly. 
 The screechowl to her dwelling in the church 
 Sped quickly, weaiied with her fruitless search : 
 The moon was down, and not a star was seen 
 To shed its friendly light upon the green. 
 When Sarah bade adieu — and from the door (k) 
 She turn'd to tread the little foot-bridge o'er ; 
 But she, her friend, who held awhile the light, 
 In hopes to guide her devious steps aright. 
 Too suddenly withdrew its flickering ray — 
 She stops — 'tis darkness — on she picks her way 
 Again with caution —but alas her scream 
 Is drown'd, as plunging in the roaring stream
 
 Z9 STURRY. 
 
 She fell, and sank to rise no more, one ear 
 
 Alone her wailings heard but chi U'd with fear, 
 
 She dar'd not venture forth to call for aid. 
 
 To succour in despair the drowning maid. 
 
 And thus her doom was sealed : her closing eye 
 
 Reposed beneath a humid canopy 
 
 Oh ! dreadful thought ! to die while life was young 
 
 And joy and pleasure round the bosom hung; 
 
 When expectation was alive in all 
 
 The opening faculties, unchecked by thrall ; 
 
 W hen hope shotforth, and promised years of bliss- 
 
 To sink for ever in the deep abyss ! 
 
 At morn her corse was found — and many asigh 
 
 Bewailed poor Sarah's fatal destiny. 
 
 'Tis done — my task is ended — from my hand 
 The pen drops useless— and the Muse's sand 
 Has trickled thro' the glass : I cannot turn 
 It up again — 'tis like the ivied urn. 
 That stands above the lonely tomb, to tell 
 That all has ended with the passing knell. 
 
 END OF STURRY.
 
 MARY ANNE.
 
 — " One, whom all the village weepeth, 
 
 *'Poor Mary Anne ! 
 "He she lov'd her passion slighted, 
 * 'Breaking all the vows he plighted, 
 ''Therefore life no more delighted 
 
 "Poor Mary Anne !''
 
 3IARY ANNE. 
 
 Larkfield ! thy woods were silent — not anote. 
 Save the sweet nightingale's, from out the grove, 
 Was heard upon the evening breeze to float. 
 Telling the tale of her departed love ; 
 When luckless Mary Anne was doom'dto rove, 
 And trace the path-way to the neighbouring town — 
 Oh ! timidly her trembling foot-steps move ; 
 Tho' richly clad in scarf and silken gown, 
 And from beneath her hat the golden curfe hung down. 
 
 But nought arfail'd the gaudy texture fine, 
 It could no comfort to her soul impart ; 
 So early fallen — and destin'd to repine — 
 She goes to move her fell destroyer's heart ; 
 Deep in her bosom many a piercing smart 
 Brought the salt tear-drops to her azure eye; 
 While o'er her cheek the hectic flush would start — 
 But sweet with all, for those who linger'd nigh 
 Would ne'er suppose her breast was fill'd with misery.
 
 36 
 
 For like the fleecy clouds that curl around 
 The sun's bright orb, just ting'd with yellow hue. 
 Were those fair locks that loosely hung, unbound ; 
 And the expression of her eyes' pale blue 
 Conipell'd the gazer, as on something new, 
 'J'o fix his steadfast glance, entranc'd the while: 
 It seem'd a hare-bell weeping crystal dew — 
 But when across her features shot the smile, . 
 Love play'd above her lip as if devoid of guile. 
 
 But in her lineaments there was a trace 
 Of something sadder e'er than sorrow's tone ; 
 And tho' the rose still linger'd on her face. 
 Its vernal freshness with her heart had flown — 
 It was remembrance told that hope was gone : 
 Despair and wretchedness remain'd behind : — 
 She felt that in the world she mov'd alone; 
 She had no friend to whisper accents kind, 
 And thatdestroyingthoughthadalmost rack'd her mind 
 
 How chang'dthe scene since last her bright blue e'e 
 Gaz'd with deep anguish, when his palm she took 
 To bid farewell — her pulse beat hastily ; 
 And the mild lustre of her parting look 
 So sweetly beam'd that he could scarcely brook 
 The gentle pressure of her trembling hand. 
 All thought, save him, her troubled mind forsook ; 
 But yet she knew 'twere fruitless there to stand — 
 She bade adieu, & rush'd to meet stern Fate'scommaud.
 
 MARY ANNE. 37 
 
 Oh ! could the tears which now in silence fall 
 Avert the terror of misfortune's blight ; 
 Or ease her heart of sharp affliction's thrall, 
 And bid her eye pour forth its usual light : 
 While those big drops that now obstruct the sight. 
 And down the cheek in gentle stillness steal ; 
 Would then flow copiously with full delight : 
 And teach her soul the joy it used to feel — 
 To turn to him with love, and to his heart appeal. 
 
 But never more — no never ! will she know 
 That heart beat consonant with her's again ; 
 Alike to him her happiness or woe ; — 
 If pleasure fill'd her breast, or rakling pain 
 She saw that all her efforts now were vain ; 
 A nother had possest his soul — but yet. 
 If once an interview she could obtain, 
 Perchance a smile of pity or regret 
 Might warm that cruel love which she can ne'er forget. 
 
 She comes — he spurns her — drives her from his door 
 Then turns, to join the revelry within — 
 He feels one conscious pang — but soon 'tis o'er — 
 It vanishes amidst the wassail-din. 
 He blames, because she treads the path of sin 
 That he, himself, persuaded her to run ; 
 For well he knew if woman once begin, 
 She stops not till her heart is quite undone — 
 But ah ! he should not judge by many of the one.
 
 38 MARY ANNE. 
 
 And from that hour has hapless Mary Akne 
 An outcast in this world of sorrows been : 
 The sport — the mockery of ruthless man — 
 Nor from compassion's bosom can she glean 
 One grain of hope to cheer her wretched scene. 
 At times a tear-drop trickles down her face — 
 Or else she carries, with a lively mien, 
 Her sorrow— and 'tis difficult to trace 
 The faintest line of woe, to tell her deep disgrace. 
 
 Day after day, succeeding, does she roam ; 
 No joy returning, soothes her aching breast ; 
 Far from her friends, her comforts, and her home. 
 She prays forgetfulness to give her rest. 
 For like an exile, wearied and opprest — 
 Branded with infamy, she shuns the day ; 
 But when the sun descends into the west, 
 Then forth she walks, trick'd out in colours gay, 
 And dives in deepest guilt to drive her care away. 
 
 Oh ! sad resource ! — but what, alas ! is left ? 
 Shunn'd by her sex, who ne'er excuse will give 
 To one, who is by man of virtue reft : 
 They think that penitence can never shrive 
 Her conscience of the fault ; and if she live. 
 Grief ought to tread the foot-marks after crime, 
 And of each ray of bliss the soul deprive. 
 For one who is deprav'd in virgin-prime 
 Can ne'er in honor's path expect again to climb.
 
 MARY ANNE. 39 
 
 But ah! too long I've dwelt upon her tale ! 
 'Tis useless — for her happiness has fled : 
 My wishes ne'er can tinge those features pale, 
 Nor smooth the pillow of that wretched bed, 
 On which she nightly throws her languid head ; 
 And prays th'Almighty that the time may come, 
 When on the humble bier, in silence spread, 
 Her poor remains may hasten to the tomb ; 
 And end, in Nature's last repose, her weary doom. 
 
 e«JU»iJ«jaj| BH
 
 ON SEEING A BUTTERFLY IN 
 A CHURCH. 
 
 1 >.„, uiskW rover, dare 
 -i'jut !.a |j)ofaac. the House of Prayer ? — 
 Dost thou presume to enter there, 
 
 Thou gaudy fly ? 
 Thou hast, indeed, assurance rare 
 
 I can't deny. 
 
 For in that solemn, sacred dome. 
 Thou canst not think to find a home ; 
 Then wherefore, fluttering insect, come 
 
 To sport about, 
 Where man prepares him for the tomb, 
 
 With heart devout ? 
 
 C;' ! hie thee hence ! — this holy place 
 lii befits the thoughtless race ; 
 .a silken gown and golden lace 
 
 Are here unknown : 
 But a meek heart, and humble grace, 
 
 It suits alone.
 
 41 
 
 Go where sweet Spring's enchanting bowers. 
 Art decked with ever-varying flowers. 
 And there employ thy wanton hours 
 
 With honey-dew ; 
 Or, sip the drops of April's showers 
 
 From cups of blue. 
 
 Light on the cowslips' golden heads, 
 
 Or range along the violet-beds, 
 
 Or, o'er the plain where primrose spreads 
 
 Her yellow ray ; 
 Or where the modest cistus sheds 
 
 Its leaves by day. 
 
 Follow the wild-bees o'er the height, 
 Or bask thee in the noon-day's light, 
 Or suck the juice from tulip bright. 
 
 And daisy fair : 
 For tho' the day be warm — the night 
 
 Has keener air. 
 
 There trifle thy short time away, 
 
 In levity, and idle play ; 
 
 Or boast thee of thy colours gay, 
 
 Vain Butterfly ! 
 For there will surely come a day 
 
 When thou must die.
 
 NOTES TO ST0RRY. 
 
 Note (a) Page 13 Line 9 
 
 But thou canst boast one finer than the rest. 
 
 " There is a particular species of trout, which fre- 
 quent the river Stour, and being for the most part 
 caught within these liberties, is from thence known by 
 the name of Fordwich TrovA; being esteemed of a su- 
 perior flavour to most others, and there being but few 
 of them taken in a year, they bear a high price, and 
 are much sought after, as a delicacy throughout the 
 neighbourhood. They are of a silver colour, speckled 
 with black spots, and the flesh of them is of a yellow- 
 ish colour; they weigh from four to ten or twelve lbs. 
 They are a very shy fish, insomuch that they are not 
 often taken with a drag-net, and seldom or never with 
 a hook. — There were formerly seven fisheries on the 
 river Stour."-— Hasfcd's Kent,
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note (J) Page 13 Line 27 
 
 For like the tides thro' Bala Lake that rush. 
 
 It is said that the river which runs through Bala 
 Lake, in Merionethsire, North Wales, never mixes 
 with the water of the lake ; nor are the fishes of the 
 lake ever found in the stream, and vice versa. The 
 fact is not well authenticated, but sufficient for po- 
 etry. 
 
 Ncte (c) Page IG Line 19 
 
 Thy finger pointed to the pillar, kc. 
 
 My much lamented friend, BIr. James Clarke, of 
 Carisbrook, Isle of Wight, assisted me in decyphering 
 the following almost obliterated verse, which was 
 written by a lunatic on one of the posts inside Sturry 
 Mill : it used to cause him great amusement to recite 
 it to me, when he wished to ridicule ray boyish amours. 
 
 " Lovo is the tempest of the soul ! 
 
 * ' It fills the tortured mind loith care ; 
 ** While in the breast contending roll, 
 
 " Elated hope — and wild despair." 
 
 Geo. Halifax*
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Such are the dreams of our early days! they pass 
 away ; and the painful remembrance that they have 
 gone, remains alone. Many were the happy hours we 
 have spent together at Sturry. Each scene reminds 
 me of those times — fled for ever —and recollection is 
 constantly busy, with the distressing idea, that I be- 
 hold them alone — ^.' ever was friendship equal to ours ; 
 but, alas ! it lies buried in the grave — but time can 
 not erase the thought of those blissful moments from 
 my memory. 
 
 Note ((/) Page 20 Line 15 
 
 And on that rock, o'er which the waters riclo. 
 
 ** The Black Rock, (off Reculver) seen at low- water 
 mark, where tradition says, a parish church once 
 stood" — " During the time that Reculver continued 
 one of the mouths of Porlns Ehutupmus, and the 
 sea flowed up from thence as far as Fordwich, it 
 was the resort for shipping, which then frequented in 
 abundance the river Stour, the navigation of which ex- 
 tended as high as the quay of this town, where the ships 
 were moored. 
 
 " Somner is of opinion, that very antiently an 
 ajstury, or arm of the sea covered this level, and that 
 the water of it extended as far as the village.
 
 JSOTES. 
 
 Asa remarkable proof of which, he says, that by 
 credable relation and assurance in his time, in digging 
 or sinking of a well, at a very great depth ; store of 
 oysters and other like shells, together with an iron 
 anchor, firm and unimpaired, were found and turned 
 up. And the river Stour, when flooded, frequently ex- 
 tends over the marshes here near three quarters of a 
 mile in width, quite as far as the rise of the hill just 
 foelow the village of Westbere. " Hasted's Kent. 
 
 Note (e) Page 21 Line 17 
 
 The Sisters Twain &c. 
 
 The two spires of the old church on the cliff are 
 called the Reculvers, or by mariners the Two Sisters; 
 being a constant sea-mark for them to avoid the sands 
 which lie above the once famed town. 
 
 Note (/) Page 22 Line 11 
 
 And old St. Nicholas ! thy spire on high. 
 
 The church at Sturry— which is dedicated to Saint 
 Nicholas— formerly had a high spire surmounting the 
 tower, but it was taken down a few years back, not 
 being considered safe.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note (g) Page 22 Liae 14 
 
 And Steangford's praises echoed thro' the trees. 
 
 " The court-lodge, now called Sturry-Court, ap- 
 pears to have been a handsome brick mansion, seem- 
 ingly of the time of King James the first, and of suf- 
 ficient size and stateliness for the residence of the 
 Lords Strangford, owners of it." — Hasted's Kent. 
 
 Note (h) Page 23 Line 8 
 
 Beneath that wood, ^-c. 
 Trinley-Park wood. 
 
 Page 24 Line 11 
 When Gilbert mounted at the bugle sounds. 
 
 "Watmer-Hall belonged antiently to the Gilbert fa- 
 mily. 
 
 Note (i) Page 25 Line 1 
 
 Shelford ! we must not pass thee on the road. 
 
 Great Shelford was formerly a manor in the pos" 
 session of the family of Brent,
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note (k) Page 29 Line ID 
 When Sarah bade adieu &c. 
 
 Sarah Wellard — an unfortunate young woman, 
 who was accidentally drowned in Stuny Mill-Pool 
 one evening- in the winter of 1824. 
 
 PINIS. 
 
 Henry Ward, Printer, 14, Sun Street, Canterhiry,
 
 ^'^t ^iv»it; 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 DOVERGILDA; 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 BY 
 
 WII.I<IiL]M[ BRENT. 
 
 CANTERBURY : 
 
 PRINTED Sf PUBLISHED BY HENRY WARD, 
 
 14, Sua Street ; 
 AND SOLD ALSO BY BALDWIN, ORADOCK, AND JOY, LONDON. 
 
 1827.
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 iPatt tIDr dTit^t.
 
 — " But hark, the din of arras ! no time for sorrow, 
 " To horse, to horse ! A day of blood to-morroTr ! 
 " One parting pang, and then — and then I fly, 
 *• Fly to the field to triumph — or to die !" — 
 
 Rogers.
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 The tide was low, the sands were bare, 
 
 The evening breeze blew fresh and fair ; 
 
 The waves were flowing to the shore. 
 
 As o'er the rocks their waters roar : 
 
 When stately through the ocean-spray 
 
 A vessel held her trackless way. 
 
 The spreading sails, before the blast. 
 
 Pressed forward from the lofty mast ; 
 
 Away, away, along the sea. 
 
 She kept her course right gallantly. 
 
 Night fell, and closing o'er the main. 
 
 Commenced her dark and murky reign — 
 
 Away, away, she quickly past. 
 
 And vanished in the gloom at last. 
 
 Day dawned — the cliffs the billows washed. 
 
 And o'er the beach the white spray dashed— 
 
 The rock's projecting pyramid 
 
 Beneath the ocean's breast was hid ; 
 
 And not a breaker's foamy head 
 
 The lurking danger warranted. 
 
 But where's the stately vessel gone ? — 
 
 Day dawned upon the sea alone.
 
 8 ' THE PIRATE. 
 
 All perished — succour was not nigh 
 To save them from their destiny : 
 Their frequent signals of despair 
 Unanswered met the midnight air ; 
 The waves rushed in — she sank beneath 
 The deep, and every soul found death. 
 The waves recede — the sands appear — 
 The rocks again their points uprear — 
 But nothing, far as eye can reach, 
 Is seen, except the sloping beach, 
 And cliffs that high o'er-hang the sea 
 Their towering summits haughtily. 
 The rippling waters sea-ward go 
 
 With gentle motion to and fro ; 
 The sea is calm- -the wind is still — 
 
 The grass scarce vibrates on the hill. 
 
 What shape is that within the cleft 
 
 Of rocks, the ebbing waves have left? 
 
 Oh ! surely 'tis a human form. 
 
 But life has ceased the heart to warm. 
 
 Extended on the rock it lies 
 
 And stamped with death's unchanging dies. 
 
 Poor wretch ! no hand was near to save — 
 
 To snatch thee from a watery grave. 
 
 No ears received thy dying breath 
 
 Save those who met an equal death. 
 
 Was that a motion of the hand 
 
 That faintly scratched the moistened sand ? 
 
 'Twas but the billows' gentle swell 
 
 That imitated life too well.
 
 THE PIRATE. 9 
 
 Was that a sob that faintly stole 
 Upon the breezes as they roll ? 
 'Twas but the murmur of the wave 
 Receding from its hollow cave. 
 Are those returning tints of life 
 
 That on the pallid features play ? 
 Oh ! yes— the bosom's anguished strife 
 
 Seems struggling with the heavy sway. 
 Slowly he rose, and cast around 
 
 His sunken eyes despondingly — 
 He views the waves beneath him bound 
 
 And wonders at the harsh decree. 
 The sun shines forth — the glowing beam 
 Revives his bosom's languid stream ; 
 He gazes on the clifts that hang 
 
 Above him — and he feels too true 
 The keen, the knawing, heartless pang 
 
 Reality presents to view. 
 It is no dream — the sky is clear — 
 
 The billows sparkle cheerfully — 
 And why alone should he be here ? 
 
 He knew not — such it was to be. 
 Slowly he gained the beach, and while 
 He looks upon the sea-girt isle, 
 He thinks upon his friends that sleep 
 Within the ocean's mighty deep ; 
 Life seems a blank — no soul is nigh 
 To answer his dejected sigh. 
 
 Those who have felt the loss of all that's dear, 
 Will mourn the mariner's unhappy lot ;
 
 10 THE PIRATE. 
 
 "Will weep with him as oft he sheds the tear, 
 
 And sigh for joys that hope can picture not. 
 YoY what is life without the social smile — 
 The pleasures that our solitude beguile? 
 Sweet is the welcome glance of happiness, 
 When friends meet friends exchanging love's caress ; 
 After long years of trouble, toil, and pain, 
 Oh ! 'tis felicity to meet again ; 
 And tell of all the cares the breast has borne— 
 The sting of sorrow, and the curse of scorn — 
 And pour that mutual solace in each soul. 
 Which leaps to catch the blessings as they roll. 
 Friends part to meet again — and meet to part — 
 And joy or grief, by turns, usurp the heart; 
 But all our rapturous moments ne'er can quell 
 The pain that rises, when we say '* farewell !" 
 It forms a chaos in the mind — a void — 
 That all seems dark that we had once enjoyed ; 
 And blissful meetings lose their sweetest zest 
 When thoughts of parting fill the anxious breast. 
 The raptured kiss — the smile of love so true— - 
 And all the hopes endearment brings to view 
 Fade, when the hour arrives to bid adieu. 
 But 'tis some comfort, when afar we roam. 
 And think upon the friends we've left at home, 
 To know affections in their bosoms bum. 
 And bless the hour that welcomes our return. 
 Sweet is the thought of blissful times gone by 
 That glances o'er the page of memory — 
 While in far retrospection we descry
 
 THE PIRATE. 11 
 
 The happy moments of departed days 
 
 That shone with rapture's uncorrupted blaze — 
 
 Sweet is the thought of other joys in view 
 
 That dazzles us awhile with prospects new, 
 
 And spreads before th' exploring sense, a scene. 
 
 That blossoms with a gentle ray serene, — 
 
 Sweet is the hope that cheers us while we roam — 
 
 But sweeter far the welcome smile of home. 
 
 Description fails t© paint that wretched day ! 
 
 'Tis more than thought divines — or words can say — 
 
 And wild imagination's fiercest glow. 
 
 Can scarcely trace that step from bliss to woe. 
 
 The wind was still altho' the night was dark. 
 
 And scarce a star shot forth its twinkling spark ; 
 
 The ocean gently swelled beneath 
 
 Just ruffled by the vesper's breath. 
 
 And softly reared its crest — 
 The evening salutation past. 
 The watch his station 'fore the mast 
 
 Had taken — and the rest 
 In peaceful slumber soundly slept. 
 The night her tear-drops on the deck had wept 
 
 And moistened every sail, 
 "Which flapping loosely o'er the sea 
 Waved to and fro so lazily. 
 
 As dozed the gentle gale. 
 It was a still and murky night ; 
 And nought could be discerned aright, 
 
 Save, when the spray against the bow 
 Shone with phosphoric light, 
 
 Which glittering o'er the gilded prow,
 
 12 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Seemed like the brilliant sparks that fall 
 From some illuminated ball 
 
 Propelled afar in air ; 
 And shining 'neath the stars on high, 
 Formed for awhile a nether sky 
 
 All spangled bright and fair. 
 Tbe flying-fishes, wantonly. 
 
 Sprang from their watery home, 
 And shook their filmy wings, to try 
 
 Awhile in air to roam : 
 And all around the moisture threw. 
 Which sparkled, as it downward drew. 
 
 Within that ship was many a gallant breast 
 That smiled at danger when it nearest prest ; 
 Brave hearts quick prompted to the daring deed, 
 And ever ready in the strife to bleed. 
 To serve their country, or their friends to aid — 
 And to their duty strict attention paid. 
 Their leader's word to them their only law — 
 When once excited, nothing could withdraw 
 Their resolution, or their ardour stay; 
 They deemed it right to listen and obey. 
 And he, their captain, proud of such a band, 
 Had nought to do but praise — and then command 
 For whatsoe'er the danger, or the broil, 
 They thought the prize unworthy without toil. 
 But there was one, whose soul superior rose, 
 Above his comrades, for he always chose 
 The post of danger when the battle raged, 
 And in the hottest of the fray engaged;
 
 THE PIRATE. 13 
 
 And fought as though the blood that wanued his franio 
 
 Was boiling with a fierce excited flame. 
 
 But yet he was a moody man, and spared 
 
 H is speech to those with whom he seldom fared ; 
 
 And kept aloof, astho' above the sphere 
 
 His duty called on him to practice here. 
 
 But still obedient to his leader's word. 
 
 And, from the task assigned him, never erred. 
 
 Yes, Algernon was brave, but temperate. 
 
 And shunned a quarrel with an inward hate ; 
 
 His mess-mates all respected him — but still 
 
 They wondered at his sad and sullen will. 
 
 They knew him not — nor from his lips could draw 
 
 The tale, which seemed to keep his soul in awe. 
 
 Thep deemed some crime had stained his early days— 
 
 And, as upon his changing cheek they gaze. 
 
 They picture to their minds, that guilt, or sin 
 
 Must be the curse that raged his breast within. 
 
 But all conjecture was in vain — he paid 
 
 But small attention to the words they said, 
 
 At last, unquestioned, thro' the ship he goes, 
 
 And to himself alone are heard his woes. 
 
 If woes they be his soul was doomed to prove— 
 
 Alas! he struggled with the pangs of love ; 
 
 But not of common love — that fleeting toy — 
 
 But love that rankles, till the thoughts destroy 
 
 All happiness — for Mary, like a flower, 
 
 Had drooped, repining, in her secret bower : 
 
 And he had watched her, till the hand of Death 
 
 Stole o'er her breast and checked her failing breath.
 
 ^^ THE PIRATE. 
 
 He saw her to the earth consigned, and flew 
 To drive awhile her image from liis view ;— 
 He sought the battle— but at every stroke 
 His sabre made, his Mary's form awoke— 
 He sought the ocean-but on every cloud 
 He saw his Mary sitting in her shroud— 
 And, in each breeze that fell upon his ear. 
 His Mary's accents he could plainly hear— 
 Her dying wish still hung upon the gale, 
 And every billow seemed to tell her tale : 
 No wonder that his bosom was estranged 
 When gloom like this across his memory ranged. 
 
 Yes, she was fair — ^but not alone 
 
 For that his heart had held 
 The fondest hopes, which now have flown, 
 And buried 'neath the charnel- stone—- 
 
 And every charm dispelled. 
 Yes, she was fair — her eye of blue 
 Was like the violet wet with dew. 
 Which spread a gentle lustre, when 
 She shunned the prying gaze of men ; 
 And shrinking back, with modesty. 
 As o'er her cheek the crimson dye 
 
 Rushed, aud suffused her snowy breast 
 
 Which but one latent flame confest. 
 Yes, she was fair — but now the worm 
 Has revelled o'er her fairy form; 
 And made his firm abode within 
 That bosora, which was void of sin.
 
 THE PIRATE. 15 
 
 The prayer was prayed — the hymn was sung — 
 
 The passing bell was duly rung — 
 
 The tomb was placed above her head — 
 
 The verdant turf was softly spread — 
 
 And few the words engraved, to tell 
 
 That she is gone, they loved so well. 
 
 He sought but once the lonely spot — 
 
 That once can never be forgot — 
 
 He dared not trust his eye again 
 
 To gaze upon her tomb : 
 But far away, with endless pain, 
 
 Bewails her early doom. 
 And gloomy is his pallid brow. 
 Where grief has stamped its impress now. 
 
 A gale springs up— the sails expand 
 
 That erst so loosely hung — 
 The boatswain pipes his shrill command — 
 The sheets are taught, and every hand 
 
 An answering note has sung. 
 To reef the top-sails quick they go. 
 And whistle as the breezes blow — 
 The sails are furled, and now she rides 
 Securely o'er the swelling tides. 
 On, on, she huriies — far behind 
 The spray is dancing in the wind ; 
 And in the eddy of her wake 
 
 The foamy globules played ; 
 Which sparkling, as they strove to break, 
 A shining pathway made. 
 
 c2
 
 10 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And all on board rejoiced to see 
 
 How well she moved — how lustily. 
 
 The second watch had just begun, 
 
 And still the scowling night was dun — 
 
 What means that sudden crash — that shock ? — 
 
 Alas ! she strikes upon a rock ! 
 
 And ere the thought can be renewed, 
 
 The bulging waters fill the hold ; 
 Down, down, she sinks, the ocean rude 
 
 Above their heads convulsive rolled. 
 Oh ! there was many a stifled moan 
 But answered by a dying groan — 
 And many a hasty, eager prayer 
 Was sent to heaven for mercy there. 
 iBut nought availed them, space was none 
 To think what best was to be done ; 
 ^Twas but one shock — then all was o'er — 
 The angry waters laved the shore — 
 And not a plank was seen, to tell 
 W^here late the vessel sailed so well. 
 
 And Algernon thy manly breast avowed 
 The horror of the scene, when roaring loud 
 The waters closed above thee — Mary's smile 
 Seemed hovering o'er, thy anguish to beguile — 
 She comes, she comes, to catch thy parting breath. 
 And ease thy sorrow at the hour of death ; 
 She seems to beckon thee with joyous mien 
 And eyes that sparkle with a ray serene : 
 She whispers balmy comfort in thine ear, 
 And bids thee chase away the thought of fear.
 
 THE PIRATE. 17 
 
 Already on her bosom rests thy head, 
 
 Aud showers of kisses on thy cheeks are shed ; 
 
 Her heart beats quick — the music of her voice 
 
 Falls on thine ear, and bids thy soul rejoice ; 
 
 " My Algernon," she utters, " once again 
 
 " Within my longing arras thy form I strain ;" 
 
 He sinks upon her breast and soothing sleep 
 
 Along his eye-lids softly seemed to creep. 
 
 He woke — but ah ! the lovely vision's fled ! 
 
 The cliffs above, the sea beneath him spread, 
 
 Too truly proved the period was not corae 
 
 To join his Mary in her heavenly home, 
 
 But he had seen her, sure 'twas not a dream ? 
 
 It shone upon him with too sweet a beam — 
 
 It must — it must be true — he turned his eye, 
 
 Alas ! it looked upon the azure sky — 
 
 He'd give his life such joys again to prove, 
 
 For he had seen his Mary, his true love. 
 
 Upon the beach, in thoughtful attitude, 
 
 Awhile, unconscious of the scene, he stood ; 
 
 And casting round his unexploring eye, 
 
 Which seemed o'erclouded with despondency, 
 
 Gave vent to thoughts that almost crushed his brain—- 
 
 And, as his bosom strove with inward pain, 
 
 Along his countenance, the soul pourtrayed, 
 
 Was laughing at the havoc it had made : 
 
 While every scowl that passed along his brow 
 
 In former days, consolidated now 
 
 In one pervading frown appeared to view, 
 
 And to its paleness lent a paler hue,
 
 18 THE PIRATE. 
 
 His raven locks in loose disorder hung— = 
 Back from his pallid forehead wildly flung, 
 Gave to his features such a frantic grace, 
 That scarcely human looked his haggard face. 
 Oh ! what a death-like shudder seized his frame 
 As tho' from out his very heart it came — 
 A deadly paleness followed — then 'twas flushed. 
 As o'er his cheek the hectic crimson rushed ; 
 And then it faded, paler than before- 
 Then quickly rose with renovated store — 
 Alternately assuming pale and red, 
 As varying thoughts his bosom habited. 
 Deep were his suff'erings- they will deeper be, 
 Wherfe none can question his infirmity, 
 Save the blue waves which now before him spread- 
 Save the tall cliifs which tower above his head. 
 Low as the sand he stretched his weary form. 
 And sleep soon calmed his bosom's angry storm. 
 
 We'll leave him to his rest awhile, 
 
 And gaze upon the rocky isle. 
 
 That rises from the ocean's breast, 
 
 And proudly rears its lofty crest — 
 
 Cliffs almost inaccessible, 
 
 Where nought but gulls and curlews dwell ; 
 
 And from the chalky rifts are seen 
 
 The creeping roots of samphire green ; 
 
 Bold plant, that fixes its abode 
 
 Where human footsteps never trode, 
 
 And hangs its fibres o'er the sea. 
 
 Which brave the blast's inclemency.
 
 THE PIRATE. 10 
 
 its pale, transparent green, compels 
 
 The eye to gaze with rapture there — 
 As leaves, thro' crystal icicles 
 
 Reflected, shine as soft and fair. 
 The sea-mew builds her airy nest, 
 And warms her young with downy breast; 
 She screams, as o'er the deep she sails, 
 Unmindful of the boisterous grales : 
 And dropping quickly to the sea 
 His prey secures most dexterously. 
 Then mounts aloft with rapid speed 
 Her greedy craving young to feed. 
 The cormorant, with sable wing, 
 And crafty, slow manoeuvring, 
 TJnsatiated, thro' the day 
 Prolongs his task without delay. 
 The weeds, collected on the beach. 
 Far as the straining sight can reach, 
 "Washed by the billows as they pass. 
 Present a dusk, unsightly mass; 
 And reeking in the noon-tide ray. 
 The vapour mingles with the spray, 
 Which, by the influence drawn on high, 
 Hangs, trembling, 'neath the sultry sky : 
 And oft deludes the gazer's sight 
 With images most exquisite, 
 Dancing before him in the gleam 
 Like moon-beams on the limpid stream^ 
 
 Behind the cliff^'s projecting edge, 
 That farthest in the sea extends,
 
 20 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Beneath the overhanging ledge, 
 A little bay its harbour lends, 
 To form a shelter, when the gale 
 Blows heavy on the tightened sail. 
 'Tis here the hordes of pirates throng, 
 And safely live the rocks among ; 
 por save this narrow creek, around 
 The isle is by the waters bound ; 
 And foot of man could never scale 
 The rocks that their domain empale : 
 They bid defiance to the hand 
 That dares approach the yellow strand. 
 A lawless race, yet brave in deed — 
 For courage is their only meed ; 
 Hunted and harrassed by their kind, 
 Small pity from the foe they find ; 
 Yet terror with their names is wound — 
 And as their vessels gaily bound 
 Along the ocean, undismayed. 
 They still pursue their dangerous trade : 
 For if successful in the broil, — 
 And laden with the heavy spoil, 
 Homeward they turn their joyous sail— 
 But if the daring project fail, 
 And they should s\iffer a defeat — 
 They strive to gain their safe retreat : 
 And swift indeed must be the bark 
 That overtakes their fleeting ark. 
 And if she safely strike the sand, 
 Where, thronging to ihe bold command,
 
 THE PIRATE. 21 
 
 Their comrades saily— woe's the day 
 The follower's reach the little bay. 
 High on the cliffs — a sable row — 
 Blown by the sea-breeze to and fro, 
 Dangling in air their corpses swing — 
 While round and round, on restless wing. 
 The birds of prey, collected, fly. 
 Impatient for the banquet nigh. 
 
 On various occupations bent. 
 
 Beneath the cliffs the rovers throng ; 
 Some mend the sails the blasts have rent,- 
 While others gaze with eyes iutent. 
 
 And wonder why their friends so long, 
 Pursue their voyage o'er the deep — 
 While others scale the lofty steep, 
 And look athwart the waters blue, 
 In hopes some goodly prize to view : 
 And as they strain the searching eye, 
 Upon the billows they espy — 
 Just by the far-projecting cliff 
 That bounds their bay — a little skiff 
 Dancing upon the waves that foam 
 Around their dark and gloomy home. 
 And weary seems the rower's hand, 
 
 For faintly moves the yielding oar 
 Just scraping o'er the yellow sand — 
 
 And dreading to desert the shore, 
 Along the beach his course he wends — 
 While as at every stroke he bends,
 
 22 THE PIRATE. . 
 
 It seems a task of toil and pain 
 
 His body to erect again. 
 
 But hope's bright visions faintly charm 
 
 The languid muscles of his arm ; 
 
 And if he can but reach the cape, 
 
 That rears on high its friendly shape, 
 
 He trusts within the nook may smile 
 
 Some scene his sorrow to beguile. 
 
 He nears it now — but Nature's strength, 
 
 Yields to the hard fatigue at length, 
 
 And fainting, in the boat he falls, 
 
 As cold despair his spirit palls. 
 
 The last sensation that arose 
 
 Was that he heard the shout of foes ; 
 
 But indistinctly on his ear 
 
 Rang forth the sound that boded fear. 
 
 And hovering o'er the gloom there seemed 
 
 A countenance that sweetly beamed, 
 
 Smiling to cheer his wretched fate, 
 
 "With looks his soul to animate : 
 
 While as his failing senses lose their sway, 
 
 She sweeps thro' smiles, and smiles her tears away. 
 
 Alas, poor Algernon ! and is thy life 
 So soon to yield to the assassin's knife ? — 
 Thy toil-worn limbs to feel the heavy yoke 
 Of slavery ? — and is thy sentence spoke ?— 
 Slowly from out his doubtful trance he woke, 
 And cast around his eyes, surprised to find 
 Features that gaze on him with aspects kind.
 
 THE PIRATE. 23 
 
 Where is he ? — how came he to this spot ? — 
 He wondered at the changes of his lot — 
 'Twas but a little space, since roughly tost 
 Upon the waves, he deemed all hope was lost- 
 Now, safely on a hiumble couch he lies. 
 Attended by a band, whose anxious eyes 
 Plainly denote that friends, not foes are nigh, 
 That smile on him with fond philanthropy. 
 One filled the place of surgeon, and applied 
 The leech to his benumbed and wounded side — 
 Another ready with a cordial stands — 
 While others chafe his stiffened feet and hands. 
 All eager seem some office to fulfil, 
 And bid him lie, and be composed and still ; 
 Persuaded by their looks he sinks to rest 
 Unquestioning, by weariness opprest. 
 Oh ! balmy sleep ! the sick man's surest friend. 
 While piercing pangs his sinking bosom rend : 
 Thou soothing comforter of human woe — 
 The only solace harrassed spirits know — 
 Descend, and chase away grief's angry frown, 
 And with true happiness his wishes crown. 
 Restore the languid frame — destroy ^the chain — 
 And snap the cords that bind his soul with pain ; 
 Dispel the darkness settled on his brow, 
 That when he wakes thy power he may avow; 
 Refreshed — invigorated with the balm— 
 Oh ! smile upon him with thy sweetest charm ! 
 
 END OF PART FIRST.
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 ilart V^e Secontr*

 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 ** Hark ! did ye hear that signal gun?— 
 " Launch forth the bark," said Algernon ; 
 " The foe ; — our comrades need supply, — 
 " Speed on, for death or victory !" 
 Quick to the beach, with eagerness, 
 The hardy seamen forward press ; 
 And soon the vessel feels the gale. 
 Propel the wide-extending sail. 
 Their well-known shout the breezes bear, 
 To cheer their fellows in despair ; 
 For desperate had the conflict been — 
 And wearied with the doubtful scene, 
 Scarce knowing to persist or fly 
 They fought and fled alternately : 
 Till succour to the foe in view 
 Appeared, and o'er their courage threw 
 A damp — then forth the signal shot 
 Is sent — but ah ! 'tis answered not — 
 Another signal given, and now 
 With joy they view the friendly prow 
 Bound o'er the sea, while from the mast 
 The streamer floats upon the blast. 
 
 D 2
 
 28 THE PIRATE 
 
 Alas ! but all too late to save — • 
 
 She fills — she drinks the briny wave — 
 
 She sinks — she sinks to rise no more — 
 
 Above the angry billows roar, 
 
 " Hoist out the boat ! press every sail, 
 
 " Oh ! save them now, or all must fail ; 
 
 " The strife's unequal — see afar, 
 
 " The foe is mustering strength for war — 
 
 " Strain every nerve! those piteous cries 
 
 *' Would make the coldest feelings rise. 
 
 " Why stand ye idle ? man the boat, 
 
 " Their arras are strong, awhile they'll float; 
 
 " Quick, ply the oars — speed, speed your way- 
 
 ♦' Why are ye struck with dumb dismay?" 
 
 Huzza ! she gains them now, and fast 
 
 Within the boat they crowd — the last 
 
 Just grasped the side, when, like a knell. 
 
 Whizzing aloft, descends a shell. 
 
 And bursts with hideous sound — 
 Those shrieks alone their sufferings tell, 
 
 All fainter cries were drowned. 
 As roared the thunder o'er the main, 
 Then softly died away again ; 
 And left a dreadful pause behind — 
 Then horror seized the stoutest mind ; 
 Awe-struck they stood as mute suspense 
 Spreads o'er their souls a gloom intense. 
 
 Short breathing time was left to muse 
 Upon their friends' unhappy fate —
 
 THE PIRATE. 29 
 
 They felt that all their hopes, which late 
 Shone over them with smiles profuse 
 Had vanished, never to return — 
 But it was useless now to mourn ; 
 And rising with an energy, 
 Each bosom beat with frantic glee ; 
 And trusting to their leader's will 
 They dared th' approach of threatening ill. 
 But what could simple courage do 
 Against a thousand ? — firm and true 
 They stood to wait the coming shock — 
 And as the billows lash the rock 
 With angry roar, repelled again 
 They're forced to mingle with the main — 
 So firm they stood the first attack, 
 Nor varied from their destined track. 
 But oh, their firmness nought availed— 
 The foe, with vengeance fired, assailed 
 Their feeble vessel, and they felt 
 All hope within their bosoms melt. 
 But still, as desperation raged. 
 With courage they the conflict waged. 
 And fought and fell, while o'er the sea 
 The bullets whistled rapidly. 
 Then Algernon, collected, rose — 
 But scorning to retreat from foes, 
 Altho' their numbers thickening press 
 Around his lonely wretchedness — 
 He gave the word to seek the bay. 
 And there prolong the doubtful fray. 
 
 D 3
 
 30 THE PIRATE. 
 
 No sooner was the order given. 
 When, blazing like the orb of heaven. 
 High on the rock, the beacon fire. 
 With flames ascends of burning ire. 
 And darts its rajs along the wave, 
 As if to cheer their watery grave : 
 For die they must — no prospects smile — 
 And if they gain the gloomy isle. 
 And struggle o'er the welcome strand, 
 To dare the conflict on the land ; 
 Outnumbered, they are sure to fall, 
 And Jose the day, their home, their, all. 
 The foe with wonder view the liffht 
 
 ft 
 
 Dart upwards from the lofty height. 
 
 And half suspend the attack — when hark ! 
 
 An answering signal from the bark 
 
 Ascends aloft in air — 
 And quick they speed their dangerous way 
 Thro' foes to gain the little bay. 
 
 And fall or conquer there. 
 Loud roared the cannons o'er the main — 
 The scattered grape-shot fell like rain : 
 The sails are rent — the splintered mast 
 Scarce stands the pressure of the blast 
 That freshly blows, and drives them far 
 Away from the unequal war. 
 The hot pursuit behind them came 
 With one continued roar and flame ; 
 Like as on Autumn's dusky night. 
 Along the heaveos the sheeted light
 
 THE PIRATE. 31 
 
 Spreads forth its lucid »obe — and streaks 
 
 Of forked lightning, mingling, pour 
 Their vividness — th« thunder breaks 
 
 The awful silence — murmuring roar 
 The loud commotions of the sky 
 In one incessant grovi'l on high — 
 Thus sped the flash and shock behind, 
 And echoed on the yielding wind. 
 So rapidly the vessel flew, 
 And cut her course the billows through ; 
 That ere they can suspect the way 
 She means to take, within the bay 
 She anchors safe, while o'er the sand 
 The pirates pass and gain the land. 
 Then such a shout of joy arose 
 In bold defiance of their foes, 
 As climbing up the craggy steep 
 They send their menace o'er the deep. 
 
 Foiled, disappointed of their prey, 
 The followers check their hasty sway, 
 
 As doubting what to do — 
 While some propose to storm the place. 
 And rid the ocean of the race — 
 
 A vila, a miscreant crew ; 
 And give their bodies to the wave — 
 Unfit to rest in earthly grave ; 
 Or, leave them on the shore to rot, 
 By all, save birds of prey, forgot. 
 But first they deemed it right to sieze 
 
 Their vessel, for if that be gone,
 
 32 THE PIRATE. 
 
 They think 'twould be a work of ease 
 
 To drive them from their rocky throne. 
 Thus comforted, they sail around. 
 
 The bay, and gaze upon the shore. 
 Which seems o'ercast with gloom profound : 
 
 For nothing but the billows' roar 
 Is heard — the cliffs that frown on high 
 Seem almost towering to the sky. 
 But not a thing of life is there, 
 Save birds that cut the liquid air, 
 And scream as round the masts they fly 
 On trembling pinions rapidly. 
 Where are they gone ? — it seems as though 
 The rock had opened for the foe, 
 Then closed its adamantine gate 
 And saved them from their threatened fate. 
 Then fast they sieze upon the helm. 
 To steer it from the rocky realm — 
 The cable grates the hawse-hole through — 
 The anchor rises to the view — 
 She veers about — when, quickly falls 
 From off the cliff's projecting walls, 
 A ball of fire, and dropping in 
 The empty vessel's magazine, 
 Ignites the quick combustible — 
 When bursting, like a loaded shell. 
 She spreads destruction o'er the main, 
 Which few will rise to view again. 
 
 *S' 
 
 The agitated ocean's breast 
 Soon calms itself again to rest ;
 
 THE PIKATE. 33 
 
 The echo dies upon the breeze ; 
 The smoke disperses by degrees ; 
 A deep and awful silence reigns 
 Above that navy's sad remains. 
 Here lies a member scorched with flame ; 
 And there a corpse's blackened frame, 
 Floating upon the billows' swell, 
 With ghastly grin, so horrible — 
 A wasted trunk — a fractured head— 
 And mangled limbs are widely spread- 
 Masts — sails to tinder burnt — and planks, 
 Lie scattered o'er the sandy banks — 
 And e'en huge fragments, by the shock. 
 Are severed from the parent rock. 
 
 The sun went down upon the sea, 
 
 Robed in his spendid majesty ; 
 
 The moon peeped, blushing, from the deep. 
 
 And tinged with light the lofty steep — 
 
 She sweetly smiled upon the bay. 
 
 Unconscious of the recent fray ; 
 
 The stars hung, trembling, o'er the waves; 
 
 That formed the sailors' watery graves ; 
 
 And shone as they were wont to do, 
 
 Dancing along the concave blue. 
 
 The sea-bird, 'frighted from her nest. 
 
 Returned to seek her evening's rest ; 
 
 The dolphins sported thro' the main. 
 
 And sought their former haunts again ; 
 
 The pirates, in their rocky hold. 
 
 Lay slumbering in their mantles' fold :
 
 34 THE PIRATE. 
 
 But there are many eyes that sleep. 
 Too soundly 'neath the briny deep. 
 
 The pirates slumbered, all save one. 
 
 And he has wandered forth alone; 
 
 The balm of sleep his eye-lids fled — 
 
 Tor grief his bosom tenanted. 
 
 The blood still oozed from his wounded breast. 
 
 And dyed the hue of his graceful vest ; 
 
 He thought of the misery round him spread, 
 
 And he wished he were laid with the silent dead 
 
 "Which st awed the beach as he held his way 
 
 Along the slopa of the little bay. 
 
 He started : — a groan arrested his ear. 
 From a form that lay in his path-way near — 
 He started : — it was not a start of fear — 
 He wondered that living voice had power 
 
 To break on his thoughts in that lonely hour. 
 
 Another — a fainter groan was sent 
 
 On air, as over the form he leant: 
 
 The tide from his cheek rushed back to his heart, 
 
 And he fell as if pierced by a poisoned dart ; 
 
 But his senses returned, and he gazed awhile 
 
 On the features that struggled to beam with a smile; 
 
 And a lovely smile o'er those features went, 
 
 Like the blush of the sun in the firmament. 
 
 He wondered how a female form, 
 
 With eyes so bright and soul so warm, 
 
 Should ever meet so foul a doom ; 
 
 Without one friend to weep o'er her tomb :
 
 THE PIRATE. 35 
 
 He raised her up, but her head alone 
 
 Had feeling left, for her strength had flown — 
 
 A black and mangled carcass clung 
 
 To the neck, and downwards lifeless hung — 
 
 Seared — bruised— and sodden by the sea — 
 
 A lump of foul mortality. 
 
 A scene so horrible, never before 
 
 His frenzied sight had wandered o'er. 
 
 And yet the eye had a lovely light. 
 
 And the countenance sparkled heavenly bright : 
 
 Backwards her moistened hair was fluns-. 
 
 And sweet was the music that flowed from her tona-ue : 
 
 But the tale she told was a tale of woe. 
 
 And tears fell fast as her words 'gan flow. 
 
 " 'Tis all too late," she feebly said, 
 
 " Stranger, my life is almost sped : 
 
 " I would not wish to live again 
 
 " One hour within this world of pain. 
 
 " I would not change this happy night 
 
 '* For scenes of uncontroled delight — 
 
 " I trusted to a flatterer's tone, 
 
 " And deemed I held his heart alone : 
 
 " I left my parents — my happy home — 
 
 " And fled with him in the world to roam ; 
 
 *^' I left my comforts, and fled with him, 
 
 *' But the lamp of my fate has burnt deadly dim. 
 
 " Yet what could 1 do ? my heart was gone, 
 
 " And I knew 'twould be death to live alone, 
 
 " I sailed >.vith him across the sea, 
 
 [* And dared the storm's inclemency ;
 
 36 THE PIRATE. 
 
 " In torrid clime, and frozen zone, 
 
 " I clung to him — but had I known 
 
 •' How false his heart could prove to me, 
 
 '•' I ne'er had felt his perfidy, 
 
 " I pledged to him my virgin vow — 
 
 •* I gave my soul to him — and now, 
 
 •' Oh! God ! attend my latest prayer— 
 
 " Pify a penitent's despair ; 
 
 " But tho' so base he proved to me, 
 
 "Oh! bless him everlastingly — 
 
 " For he is gone — I saw the wave 
 
 " Which swept him to his watery grave, 
 
 " And yet I had not strength to save — 
 
 " — Stranger, I need not, cannot tell 
 
 *' The rest — I go — farewell — farewell! 
 
 " The scene revolves — my breath has fled — 
 
 " I soon shall join the happy dead — 
 
 " Forget, forget, whoe'er thou art, 
 
 " My tale — at least the closing part — 
 
 " I wronged him much — -I would revoke 
 
 " The speech — my curdling blood will choke 
 
 " Me, ere my breath depart — farewell 1" 
 
 Her throbbing head, convulsive fell 
 
 Back on his arm — her spirit's flown. 
 
 And he is breathing — but alone. 
 
 He dug her grave on the sandy shore; 
 The waves closed over with ceaseless roar ; 
 But when they receded, no trace was there. 
 For the yellow surface was smooth and fair.
 
 THE PIRATE. 37 
 
 No bell tolled over her lowly tomb — 
 
 No maidens wept her wretched doom — 
 
 But the vulture was robbed of his scanty prey, 
 
 And, screaming, flew to the cliffs away, 
 
 One ear alone her sorrow heard, 
 
 And pitied the soul of the maid that erred. 
 
 The early streaks of russet grey 
 
 Along the horizon feebly play, 
 
 As harbingers of the dawning day ; 
 
 The moon grew pale — the stars decreased, 
 
 Shrinking before the brightening east; 
 
 And faint and fainter shone, as rose 
 
 The sun from his marine repose. 
 
 And Algernon, with anxious eye. 
 
 Athwart the main looked watchfully : 
 
 And far upon the verge he sees. 
 
 Forced quickly by the ocean-breeze, 
 
 A sail, retreating from the bay — 
 
 The sole survivor of the fray. 
 
 And much it joyed his heart, to view 
 
 It vanish in the farthest blue. 
 
 And turning from the beach, he strode 
 
 To join his friends in their safe abode. 
 
 Stretched on their homely mats, oppressed with toil, 
 And dreaming of the late disastrous broil. 
 The remnant of the pirate horde reclined — 
 And, as the different visions filled each mind. 
 They start, and utter shouts of joy or woe — • 
 
 £
 
 38 THE PIRATE. 
 
 8onie o'er the ocean drive the vaunting foe ; 
 
 Or, view them sinking to the deep below : 
 
 While others, writhing with their recent wound, 
 
 Lie, groaning piteously, upon the ground ; 
 
 As Algernon approached, with heart depressed. 
 
 To break thus early their unquiet rest; 
 
 For much was to be done — he roused them all. 
 
 Who started quickly to his eager call. 
 
 And thronging round, enquire his utmost will, 
 
 And anxious seem his mandate to fulfil : 
 
 He motions with his hand their speech to still, 
 
 Then gives them orders for the busy day, 
 
 And seeks his couch — they quickly speed awa}'. 
 
 And to their work proceed — while gentle rest 
 
 Steals o'er his eye-lids like a welcome guest. 
 
 "When Algernon first gained command 
 Of that adventurous, daring band — 
 Knowing the perils that attend 
 
 On those who lead so wild a life ; 
 
 For ever circumscribed by strife- 
 He formed a project to defend 
 Them should the enemy prevail, 
 And sink or capture either sail. 
 Or, should the Autumn's boisterous gale 
 Draw the firm anchors from the beach. 
 And sea-ward drive them out of reach. 
 Within a ravine of the cliff. 
 Securely hid, they built a skiff — 
 
 Prepiued and fitted out for sea : 
 Then covered close the deep recess
 
 THE PIRATE. 39 
 
 With weeds and boughs, that none would guess 
 
 That ever ship could be 
 Secreted in that narrow cove, 
 So firmly were the branches wove. 
 
 The axes ring — the hammers sound — 
 
 The boughs descending, strew the ground — 
 
 And soon they view the bark once more 
 
 Stand in her cave above the shore. 
 
 It was a joyful sight to see 
 
 With what commanding majesty 
 
 Adown the planks she past: 
 And plunging in the sea below, 
 Which dashed against her narrow bow. 
 
 She gained her home at last. 
 And as her sides the billows press. 
 They welcome her with fond caress; 
 While she returns their greetings true. 
 And curtsies to the waters blue. 
 A grand salute ascends on high — 
 Three loud huzzas assail the sky — 
 As veering round, with gentle sway. 
 She drops her anchor in the bay ; 
 And firmly moored, she lightly rides 
 At ease upon the heaving tides. 
 The masts are fixed — the flapping sails, 
 Unfurled, hang trembling on the gales ; 
 The ensign floats from the mast-head high, — 
 Its colour, a tint of the azure sky; 
 And a sanguine sword in the centre stood, 
 Like revenge and constancy, thirsting for blood, 
 
 E 2
 
 40 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Tis all prepared — the booming gun 
 Arouses the sleeping Algernon ; 
 And soon o'er the beach they view him stride, 
 As his bosom swelled with its wonted pride. 
 They cheer hira — he answers their glad salute 
 With bows alone, for his lips were mute : 
 He gained the sand, where a boat drew nigh 
 He stepped on board as his heart beat high ; 
 And soon on the deck of the vessel he stood 
 Already prepared for her voyage o'er the flood. 
 One glance he sent to the lonely isle. 
 And a tear-drop fell from his eye the while 
 He turned him round to his eager crew, 
 And faintly murmured a sad adieu. 
 Perhaps he may never behold it again 
 Rise, with its cliffs, from the briny main; 
 But his hopes were set on a dangerous die. 
 And that hope alone suppressed his sigh. 
 
 The evening breeze blows fresh and cool. 
 
 The billows gently rise ; 
 As hurrying from the rocky pool. 
 
 Along the deep she flies. 
 A gallant, tho' a scanty crew, 
 
 Upon the deck appears, 
 Burning for some adventure new, 
 
 Undamped by idle fears. 
 With stately step and graceful mien. 
 
 And head erected high 
 Above his fellows, might be seen 
 
 Brave Algernon— his eye
 
 THE PIRATE. 41 
 
 Shone like the eagle's glance of fire, 
 When irritated into ire ; 
 So restless, quick, and piercingly. 
 It darted o'er the swelling sea. 
 Upon his brow deep thought was set, 
 As semblance of some fond regret — 
 
 A something between care and pain ; 
 For many a tear his cheek had wet 
 
 Which ne'er will flow again : 
 For callous to all gentler feeling, 
 Despair across his heart was stealing 
 
 And froze within his breast 
 The lively current, that was wont 
 To play like some enchanted font 
 
 From out its ftowery nest, 
 But in his features you might trace 
 Where mild compassion once held place- 
 For sorrow's line could ne'er deface 
 Each gentle glance — each winning grace- 
 But beaming on his cheek, there shone 
 The smile of pity turned to stone ; 
 The beauty still remained, but all 
 Was ruthless and irrational. 
 
 Away, away, thro' the trackless sea, 
 
 The vessel cut her path ; 
 She laid to the wind so faithfully, 
 
 A nd braved its boisterous wrath ; 
 She weathered the cape, and far behind 
 
 The island faintly shone : 
 
 E 3
 
 42 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And fast propelled by the hurrying wind, 
 
 She moved on the main alone. 
 The evening mist received her from sight, 
 And she passed away like a vision of night. 
 The waters lashed the rocky shore, 
 And poured o'er the sands with murmuring roar ; 
 But a gloom was spread on that little bay. 
 As the cliffs grew dim in the failing day, 
 The night wind sighed with a plaintive wuil. 
 And told to the moon its mournful tale ; 
 While she looked down from her throne on high, 
 And smiled on the ocean placidly. 
 
 Swift as an arrow cuts tire breeze 
 Loosed from the bended bow, 
 
 Along the bosom of the seas 
 Travels that stately prow : 
 
 And as a youthful warrior stirs 
 His courser o'er the plain ; 
 
 Burning to win the gilded spurs- 
 Reckless of fear or pain — 
 He gives his foaming steed the rein, 
 
 And hurries, hurries to the war. 
 
 His thoughts still fixed on honor's star. 
 
 That Fancy pictures to his eye 
 
 Smiling o'er deeds of chivalry — 
 
 Thus every bosom bounded free, 
 
 Their vessel's maiden course to see ; 
 
 And treasured in their minds the hour 
 
 The enemy would feel their power.
 
 THE PIRATE. 43 
 
 No child, when grasping in his hand 
 
 Some fresh-presented toy, 
 Feels in his breast his sonl expand — 
 
 As beat their hearts with joy ; 
 And answering to their chief — the cry 
 Was " Vengeance ! — Death, or Liberty !" 
 
 Now silence reigns, save on the deck, 
 
 The watch, with measured pace, 
 Musing on battle, spoil, and wreck, 
 
 Pursued his destined race. 
 And in his cabin, Algernon, 
 Attended by his thoughts alone 
 Sat, till those thoughts an utterance found 
 And balmed his bosom's aching wound. 
 
 And art thou gone, my Mary dear, 
 
 To mingle with the earth ? 
 And must I check the starting tear. 
 
 And join in noisy mirth? 
 
 And must I drain the sparkling bowl 
 
 To drown the timid sigh 
 That flows from out my troubled soul, 
 
 To mourn thy destiny ? 
 
 And is that form, which in my arms 
 With rapture I have prest, — 
 
 While gazing on those matchless charms - 
 Become the earth-worm's nest ?
 
 44 THE PIRATE 
 
 And mu>t I say udieu ? — and must 
 
 1 cease to think of thee ? 
 Never — altho' that form be dust — 
 
 That dust is dear to me. 
 
 That mild blue eye is closed in death, 
 
 That lovely cheek is pale ; 
 Thy voice is mute — thy parting breath 
 
 Xo more will tell the tale — 
 
 I gazed — I heard — but heard in vaia 
 Thy last — thy dying speech — 
 
 There v?as a feeling in luy brain 
 That madness could not reach ; 
 
 Else had I raved — but ah ! alas. 
 It could not — would not come — 
 
 I feel I am — but what I was 
 With Mary has gone home. 
 
 The long grass waves above her head. 
 
 It rustles in the breeze — 
 The verdant turf is softly spread — 
 
 And she reclines at ease. 
 
 My tears have flowed above her tomb. 
 
 And watered the sad spot; 
 And I have mourned her early doom — 
 
 Bewailed my wretched lot.
 
 THE PIRATE. 45 
 
 I held her to my throbbing breast, 
 And watched her breath decay ; 
 
 Her endless love her smile confest, 
 As soft she died away. 
 
 Her drooping head upon my arm 
 
 Reposed in peaceful sleep — 
 I watched from out her bosom warm 
 
 The parting life-throbs creep. 
 
 One deep-drawn sob— then all was o'er — 
 
 Her features pallid grew : — 
 My earthly love, on earth no more. 
 
 To heaven, ascending, flew. 
 
 And dost thou, from thy throne on high, 
 Look down upon me here ? — ■ 
 
 And dost thou mark my pensive sigh. 
 And watch my falUng tear ? 
 
 And does that sigh thy bosom move ? 
 
 And can that tear avail? — 
 Or, has thy spirit ceased to love ? — 
 
 A h ! must that passion fail ? 
 
 It cannot be — thy heart was true 
 
 Thy love was still sincere; 
 It ne'er can take another hue, 
 
 E'er in the upper sphere.
 
 *® THE PIRATE. 
 
 Bend from tliy bower above, and give 
 
 One smile to cheer my way. 
 And in that smile my thoughts will live, 
 
 Altho' my frame decay. 
 
 Ah ! soon to thee — to joys above, 
 
 My soul will eager fly ; 
 And what on earth I proved, I'll prove 
 
 To thee beyond the sky. 
 
 Thine earthly charms the worm hath won. 
 
 And revels o'er thy clay— 
 Thy spirit to the realms hath gone. 
 
 And fled far, far away. 
 
 I would not give thy buried flame 
 
 For all life's fleeting joys ; 
 Back from each lure I shrink with shame. 
 
 And shun the idle toys. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, a long farewell ! 
 
 I must not think of thee 
 
 That thonght my daring soul will quell, 
 
 As o'er the bounding: sea 
 
 My gallant vessel stems the tide. 
 
 By favoring breezes driven — 
 For I have lost my earthly bride, 
 
 But found a bride in heaven.
 
 THE PIRATE. 47 
 
 Once more, farewell ! the dawning ray 
 
 Beams orient in the east — 
 A deed there will be done to-day — 
 
 The vultures have a feast. 
 
 The sun breaks forth — adieu, adieu' 
 Smile from thy seat on high — 
 
 Thy Algernon will shout so true, 
 For Love and Victory. 
 
 He paused — o'ercome with feeling's sway. 
 
 Awhile upon his couch he lay ; 
 As visions o'er his memory came. 
 Lowly he murmured Mary's name — 
 
 Then started up, with aspect gay. 
 
 To give directions for the coming day. 
 
 END OF PART THE SECOND.
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 ilavt tl^^ CIDit^tr*
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 When morning dawned, a foreign land 
 
 Reared its tall cliffs on high; 
 And right and left the shores expand 
 
 Before the searching eye. 
 Engrafted on the rock arose, 
 The fortress of their mortal foes — 
 Half-way between the height and sea 
 It stood as wild — as daringly 
 As if the base nor rested on 
 A pedestal, or propping stone; 
 But hung suspended in the air, — 
 By magic hand erected there. 
 Upon the lofty barbacan. 
 Like some neglected harridan 
 
 In dingy weeds arrayed ; 
 Which loosely cling around her form — 
 The sport of many an angry storm, 
 
 The sable streamer played : 
 And threatened but a scene of gloom 
 
 To those who captives fall — 
 Condemned to meditate their doom 
 
 Within the prison- wall. 
 
 F2
 
 52 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Inveterate enemies feel joy, 
 
 Each other's comforts to destroy ; 
 
 And cruel implements invent. 
 
 To aggravate their punishment ; 
 
 Nor satisfied with blood alone — 
 
 Empalement's writhings scarce atone 
 
 Tor what they deem an insult given. 
 
 Tho' thro' the frame the stake be driven — ~ 
 
 Tho' mangled, on the wheel they turn — 
 
 Yet vengeance burns and still must burn. 
 
 What art thou vengeance ! — that with gripe 
 
 Of iron hand, and gory stripe, 
 
 And shrieking wretchedness — that still 
 
 Thou thirstest after deeds of ill ? 
 
 Is there a breast that truly owns 
 
 Thy power, and glories in the groans, 
 
 The curses, and the piercing cries, 
 
 That from a tortured victim rise ? 
 
 It cannot be — 'tis but a name — 
 
 An unsubstantial, feeble flame. 
 
 The morning sun, with haughty power, 
 
 Shines on that lofty beacon-tower ; 
 
 The watch-fire fades before the day, 
 
 And dimly burns in the brightuing ray. 
 
 Along the ocean the vessel flew, 
 
 And towards the harbour rapidly drew ; 
 
 While a snow-white flag from the bow-sprit streamec 
 
 As a token of peace, it mildly gleamed.
 
 THE PIRATE. 53 
 
 A boat descends, and quick to the shore, 
 The emblem of truce the pirates bore ; 
 And soon they mount the beach, and hold 
 A parley with their foeman bold ; 
 And soon repulsed, with a rough reply, 
 Back to the vessel, with speed they fly. 
 
 " What! — do they scorn my proffers fair?" — • 
 '• They do, my lord, and firmly dare 
 " You to the conflict — even more, 
 " They bid you quit, at once, the shore, 
 " Or dread the vengeance near at hand — 
 " So take yonr choice — depart — or stand." 
 " Depart! — not while this arm hath strength 
 " To raise the trusty sabre's length — 
 " Prepare for victory or death !" — 
 
 Hark, to the brave, the dauntless strain — 
 " For death or victory !" — one breath 
 
 Echoed the shout along the main. 
 And answered from the rock arose 
 The war-cry of the ambushed foes. 
 
 How dreadful is the silence that precedes 
 The meditated act of bloody deeds ; 
 Cold on the heart the horrid semblance falls, 
 And fancied woe the drooping soul appals ; 
 Despair stands howling 'neath the frenzied eye, 
 Fraught with the curse of inward agony : 
 The curdling blood scarce holds its destined course, 
 And tremours seize the frame with giant force. 
 
 F 3
 
 64 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Suspense, that worst of feeliiios, glares around. 
 And doubts and fears alternately abound — 
 Till the first shock is felt — then all is gay. 
 And fear escapes as burns the raging fray. 
 
 Fast from the smoking battery, 
 The chain-shots o'er the ocean fly ; 
 And, hissing, from the rocky wall, 
 Like a wild-rushing waterfall. 
 Plunge in the sea, while all around 
 The agitated waves resound : 
 And rear their foamy crests on high, 
 Rolling, as if in mockery. 
 No time for meditation here — 
 No time for idle thoughts of fear ; 
 
 The perforated wings 
 Present a sombre aspect now. 
 As, dangling from the yards below. 
 
 The shattered canvass swings. 
 The lofty top-mast, cut in twain, 
 Hangs, by the rigging, o'er the main ; 
 Inverted streams the pennant fair 
 Fanned by the gentle ocean-air. 
 And, struggling, waves its forked form, 
 Striving to brave the angry storm 
 Which gathering fast on either side, 
 Seems its endeavour to deride. 
 More thick the volleys from the rock 
 
 Flash with resounding peal. 
 And pour, with unabating shock. 
 Upon that stately keel :
 
 THE PIRATE. oi> 
 
 While from their sides the cannons roar, 
 And elevated to the shore. 
 
 Convey their burthens home ; 
 Which, bounding from the rock above. 
 Toe truly to its inmates prove 
 
 The pirates head-long come. 
 And come they do, with fire and sword, 
 And menace bold, and haughty woni, 
 As vengeance prompts them to the deed. 
 For which they bravely fight and bleed. 
 
 Straight to the shore the vessel makes, 
 
 And lands her desperate crew ; 
 And sea-ward then her way she takes, 
 
 Manned only by a few — 
 A daring few, who watch afar. 
 The changes of the doubtful war. 
 
 Nor spend their time in vain ; 
 But play upon the ambuscade 
 With grape-shot from the cannonade, 
 
 An opening fair to gain. 
 While on the shore their comrades ply 
 The mining-tools assiduously ; 
 
 The fragments fall upon the beach. 
 And, opening wide, they form a breach — 
 
 When from the rocky hold 
 Bursts forth a shout of glad applause. 
 And turninsf round to learn the cause. 
 
 Awhile their hearts grew cold — 
 A stately vessel hove in sight. 
 And bearing down, with vengeful might,
 
 55 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Quick to their feeble bark she goes ; 
 
 And freighted with their deadly foes, 
 
 Pours forth her brisk artillery — 
 
 ^Vhose thunders roll along the sea. 
 
 The weaker yields — quick, quick she flies 
 
 Before the boasting enemies. 
 
 Oh ! treacherous few ! — is this your zeal ? 
 
 Turn, turn again youir flying keel : 
 
 And bravely dare, or bravely die. 
 
 Shame on such dastard perfidy ! 
 
 Away, away, before the wind 
 
 She scuds, and leaves the foe behind. 
 
 Sharp grows ihc conflict on the land — 
 Brave Algernon, with sword in hand, 
 Mounted the ladder first and bent 
 His form across the battlement; 
 And grappling with the foremost foe, 
 Hurled him upon the beach below , 
 Then plunging 'midst the startled host, 
 Drives them, with slaughter, from their post; 
 While close behind his comrades thronu, 
 And force their way, thro' blood, along. 
 Death and confusion glare before — 
 The slippery path-way reeks with gore. 
 The dying, mingled with the dead. 
 Before their arras were thickly spread, 
 And groans and invocations dire, 
 Curses, and screams of baffled ire. 
 Ascend on air — as fast they wend, 
 And to the inmost turret bend.
 
 THE PIRATE. 47 
 
 But checked awhile, before the gate 
 
 They paused, but not to ruminate — 
 
 'Twas but a little space — and now 
 
 With many a firm and sounding blow. 
 
 Upon the portal they begin 
 
 The fierce attack with noisy din. 
 
 It cracks — it yields — and tottering, falls : — 
 
 Severed from the protecting walls. 
 
 Now all is lost — the bleeding few, 
 
 Who to this raassive fortress fle\^. 
 
 Sank 'neath the victors' bloody brand 
 
 No more to rise. 
 
 With gory hand, — 
 Gasping for breath, and spent with toil. 
 And wounded in the desperate broil, 
 Stood Algernon — his blood-shot eye 
 Gazed on the fallen enemy. 
 And pity mingled with the ray — 
 But soon its mildness passed away ; 
 For other feelings fired his breast — 
 Vengeance, as yet, was not at rest. 
 
 Upon the lofty pinnacle. 
 That towers abuve the ocean's swell, 
 They placed the signal flag on high. 
 As token true of victory — 
 
 And crowding round their chief, they stood, 
 To watch the movements on the flood. 
 
 Now scarcely seen — now near in sight — 
 
 Their comrades held the mimic fight;
 
 58 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And lured the followers on the while, 
 With all the studied acts of guile. 
 While they, ne'er doubting of success. 
 Still closer on their victims press, 
 
 Nor mark the change on shore ; 
 They still supposed their friends had power, 
 To guard awhile their beetling tower 
 
 Nor succour yet implore ; 
 When 'neath the cliff they tacked about. 
 Forth from the battery poured out 
 
 An unexpected charge: 
 And casting up their eyes they view 
 The sable flag, beneath the blue, 
 
 Droop from the rocky verge : 
 Between two fires, and shaded by 
 ITie clifi", the wind died gradually — 
 Entrapped at last, they view their fate, 
 A nd feel the error when too late. 
 Like as a stag, who stands at bay, 
 And with his antlers guards the way ; 
 While, thronging round, the dogs assail 
 Him, drawn so truly by the trail — 
 To frenzy driven, on high he throws 
 The first — the boldest of his foes — 
 Till overpowered by greater strength. 
 He yields him to their rage at length 
 And gasping, on the earth he lies, 
 As death steals o'er his closing eyes. 
 Thus they, hemmed in between the foe. 
 As dangers press, more desperate grow,
 
 THE PIRATE. 59 
 
 And fight, but madly fi'ght in vain — 
 Till faint and worn, they strike — the main 
 Echoed the closing cannon's roar — 
 Proclaimed the conflict nearly o'er. 
 
 Then to the beach, with all his train, 
 Bold Algernon descends again : 
 Quick from the shore the boats emerge, 
 And fly along the swelling surge. 
 All panic-struck, the enemy 
 
 But slight resistance made : 
 And bowing to the harsh decree, 
 
 A lowly homage paid. 
 They deemed their lives were forfeited. 
 But no repining murmurs fled 
 From out their lips — the chance of fate 
 Had given them to their foeman's hate; 
 And tho' the sentence harshly fall, 
 'Tis dealt alike on one and all. 
 The rack appears with horrors dight ; 
 And tortures frown before their sight — 
 The muscles feel the dreadful twinge, 
 
 Bruised on the rolling wheel ; 
 The quivering nerves, divided, cringe 
 
 Beneath the flashing steel. 
 Bound to the burning pile, on high 
 
 The flames arise — 
 
 And to the skies 
 Ascend the shrieks of misery. 
 The agonizing screams unhinge 
 Theif hearts, and as the fire-brands singe
 
 GO THE PIRATE. 
 
 The writhing members — Fancy brings 
 The wildest terrors on her wings, 
 And Nature droops beneath the power 
 Of woe, that in the coming hour 
 Of dole and wretchedness, they see — 
 
 ^Vhile through the night 
 
 Appears in sight 
 The form of blackest melancholy 
 Sitting upon the bloody stone. 
 And weeping for their pains alone. 
 Oh ! wretched victims ! near at hand 
 
 The heartless executioner, 
 Smiles, waiting for the dread command. 
 
 The sentence to confer. 
 But Algernon prolonged their doom 
 And saved them from a gory tomb. 
 He, not all lost to pity's force. 
 Checked the wild torrent, in its course ; 
 And vengeance, robbed of half her store. 
 Retired, tho' thirsting still for g«>re : 
 Unsatisfied, she slunk away, 
 33ut grinning ghastly at her prey; 
 And brooding oil the wished-for time 
 Again to dip her hands in crime. 
 
 The tumult ceased — -the rage was past — • 
 And falling, like the out-spent blast, 
 Each angry feeling sank to rest— 
 
 And as the sail — 
 
 Before the galo 
 Stole o'er its unfurled vest
 
 THE PIRATE. Gl 
 
 In peace reclined — 
 
 Thus every mind 
 Their leader's will confest: 
 The firm conviction seized their souls, 
 As pity through each bosom rolls. 
 
 The evening came, and with its shade 
 The vanquished and the victors made 
 
 Their voyage, homeward-bound ; 
 And o'er the bosom of the sea 
 They held their passage sluggishly, 
 
 Nor on the breeze a sound 
 Remained to tell, where late they fought. 
 And slowly was that voyage wrought — 
 Delapidated in the fray. 
 They made but gently on their way ; 
 And many an hour remained in sight, 
 Till gathering round, closed in the night. 
 Obscurely seen — then hid to view. 
 The shore upon the vision grew; 
 And nought but gloom and water frowned 
 And spread their horrors all around. 
 
 There is a deep intensity of grief. 
 
 Which those, who feel it, can alone express — 
 There is a pang that ridicules relief. 
 
 And triumphs in the bosom pitiless. 
 'Tis like the mouldering of volcanic fire, 
 
 Ere from the crater it ascends on air — 
 A smothered flame, rolling with inward ire; 
 
 G
 
 62 THE PIUATE. 
 
 IVliile the earih lienibles at the coiiiiict dire, 
 
 And the scorched entrails groan in wiKl despair. 
 'Tis like the rankling of a poisoned wound, 
 Exposed beneath the raging sun, unbound ; 
 And as the venom through the arteries 
 Works its slow way, and checks them by degrees. 
 The foul infection passes in the frame, 
 And burns the vitals with a latent flame. 
 Thus in the besoms of the vanquished foes. 
 And unextinguishable furnace glows. 
 And hope's bright promises can never quell 
 The pains that in their anguished spirits dwell. 
 
 But hark ! the wind, from its western cave. 
 Freshens above the toiling wave, — 
 No time for woe, a storm is nigh, 
 The black clouds cover the mid-night sky. 
 And quickly o'er their sombre hue. 
 The lightning flashes in sheets of blue ; 
 And the air is filled with a sulphury stench — • 
 The falling streams the white wings drench ; 
 And to and fro, o'er the raging sea. 
 The vessels are driven from windward to lee. 
 Now rising high — now sinking deep 
 Within the hollow — along they sweep; 
 The shattered sails are torn" from the mast — 
 Carried far aloft are the sport of the blast. 
 The tightened lanniards scarcely hold 
 Against the force of the tempest bold : 
 The masts are curved like a bended bow — 
 And away, and away o'er the waters they go.
 
 THE PIRATE. C3 
 
 The awful peals of thunder growl, 
 
 And the gale joins in, with a mournful howl; 
 
 It seems a reply to the cannons' roar, 
 
 That hung on the breeze the day before. 
 
 Like the groans of the dying — the bitter wail — 
 
 Is echoed aloud by the boisterous gale : 
 
 And the meteors that flit 'neath the murky sky, 
 
 Like the flash of the sabre descending from high: 
 
 And the rain that falls, like the sanguine flood 
 
 Which flowed, and tinged the billows with blood. 
 
 Wounded, and bleeding, and writhing with pain, 
 And wracked with delirium, that fevers the brain. 
 Tost in his hammock, poor Algernon swung, 
 And raved to the wild wind as loudly it sung ; 
 His reason was gone, for he fancied in Hell, 
 He was fighting with demons inhuman, and fell ; 
 And the cries that he uttered were dreadful to hear. 
 They filled the stout hearts of his comrades with fear. 
 And the mournful howls from his lips that rose, 
 E'en smote with pity his deadly foes. 
 He talked with incoherence wild — 
 Then started, and screamed like a timid child ; 
 His frame was convulsed, and a tremor stole 
 With a deadening damp o'er his frenzied soul : 
 Then motionless, silent, and stift" he lay. 
 As his madness seemed to be stealing away. 
 But it soon returned with a wilder sway- 
 He tore the hair from his burning head, 
 And fiercely sprung from his swinging bed ; 
 
 g2
 
 64 THE PIRATE. 
 
 His eyes were fixed, with a ghastly stare, 
 On something that seemed to be hanging in air. 
 And he shrieked aloud, with wild affright — 
 Then sinking, his strength forsook him quite — 
 And stretched on the floor, entranced he laid. 
 Exhausted and faint with the efforts he'd made. 
 
 But still the storm swept on apace. 
 
 The sea ran mountains high ; 
 The howling wind maintained its race 
 
 Beneath the lowering sky. 
 And parting with a sudden strain, 
 
 The towing- cable broke, 
 And drifting o'er the fretting main. 
 
 Forced from her feeble yoke. 
 The enemy's proud vessel ran 
 Before the whirling hurricane. 
 Two of the pirates, who kept guard. 
 
 Above the vanquished host — 
 Appointed by their chief's award. 
 
 They held the dangerous post — 
 Were driven away from succour far 
 
 Surrounded by their foes ; 
 The surgy ocean's out-stretched bar 
 
 Swelling to interpose 
 Made bold resistance all in vain. 
 
 For death or slavery — 
 The hangman's rope, or clanking chain — 
 
 Their only meed for bravery. 
 And quick the vessel past along, 
 Blown by the sea-breeze wild and strong.
 
 THE PIRATE. 65 
 
 So loud the elemental war, 
 Sweeps on its course with ceaseless jar ; 
 The gale seems frenzied with its power. 
 The sombre clouds more thickly lower ; 
 The boiling ocean foams with rage- 
 When on her dangerous pilgrimage 
 
 The pirates' bark proceeds : 
 Nor till the early blush of morn 
 Along the heavens her light had drawn, 
 They missed their consort from their side, 
 Riding upon the heaving tide. 
 
 Then every bosom bleeds. 
 As fearful of their comrades' fate. 
 Exposed to the iusulting hate 
 Of those, their worst of enemies, 
 Who live by plunder on the seas. 
 But soon their grief was turned to fear. 
 
 Their fear to deepest dread ; 
 As hurrying on her swift career 
 
 The shattered vessel tied — 
 A thundering crash proclaimed aloud 
 The foremast, torn from every shroud, 
 Past o'er her bow into the main. 
 That sound awoke the torpid brain 
 Of him, their leader, who on deck 
 Rushed wildly — when he vievv'ed the wreck. 
 They scarcely could, with labour, keep 
 Him back from plunging in the deep. 
 But bound with many a cord, they lashed 
 
 His bleeding body fast — 
 O'er which the angry billows dashed, 
 
 c 3
 
 66 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And from liis wounds the life-blood washed — 
 
 Tied to the bending mast. 
 And raving to the blast he sent 
 Afar on air his sad lament. 
 
 But as the light increased, the storm 
 Assumed a more propitious form ; 
 The clouds dispersed, and smiling through 
 Their sable folds, appeared the blue ; 
 The wind died gently, and the sea 
 Was softened to tranquillity. 
 
 But though the elements were still, 
 
 Far deeper woes their bosoms fill — 
 
 "With three feet water in the hold. 
 
 Their pumps deranged — and faint, and cold, 
 
 Toiling, tho' feebly, at their post 
 
 They stand — and deeming all is lost. 
 
 "While some, in uttermost despair, 
 
 Their heavy doom can scarcely bear ; 
 
 And on the deck, extended, lie, 
 
 Opprest with deep despondency. 
 
 "When from the splintered mast, the cry 
 
 Of " land !" upon the languid ears 
 
 Rose, with a charm that softened fears. 
 
 Reverbrated 'mongst the crew 
 
 The joyful tidings quickly flew ; 
 
 And with an energetic bound. 
 
 Regardless of each rankling wound, 
 
 To clear the wreck, their nerves they strain 
 
 To keep her floating on the main.
 
 THE PIRATE. 67 
 
 And from wild Algernon's glazed eye 
 A ray of reason seemed to fly 
 That sound had checked the raging- pain, 
 Which boiled within his tortured brain. 
 He begged — entreated to be free, 
 To aid their safe delivery 
 From out the scene of doubt and dread. 
 That all around was blackly spread. 
 And when they heard his plaintive words, 
 They freed him from the galling cerds ; 
 But nature — fainting with the weight 
 Of madness, that possessed of late 
 His feeble frame — expiring now, 
 Sank 'neath the pressure of the blow. 
 
 But as the vessel nearer drew 
 
 To land, more ardently her crew , 
 
 Their languid, sinews strained ; 
 They plied their pumps, and in the se; 
 They thr^w the ballast hastily, 
 
 That on the leak they gained : 
 And lightened of her watery load, 
 She quickened on her trackless road. 
 And now the cape appeared in view, 
 Rising from out the waters blue ; 
 And soon 'tis doubled, and the shore 
 Resounded to the breakers' roar. 
 
 Within their arras, a lifeless weight, 
 Unconscious of his wretched fate,
 
 (id THE PIRATE, 
 
 They bore theiif chief along : 
 The boat is launched, and to the cliff — 
 Their happy home — the buoyant skiff 
 
 Kode steadily and strong. 
 They laid him on his humble bed, 
 
 A nd cleansed his breast from gore ; 
 But silent as the breathless dead 
 
 H e ne'er will lead them more. 
 They touched his pallid cheek, 'tis cold. 
 
 Cold as the charnel-stone — 
 His generous soul, of late so bold, 
 
 To higher spheres has flown. 
 And bending o'er his silent corse. 
 
 They, to his memory dear — 
 As swelled their bosoms with remorse — 
 
 Poured many a bitter tear : 
 And vowing by his rayless eye, 
 Revenge upon the enemy. 
 
 A rude oblation for his sin — 
 Such as they trust will surely win 
 The promised Paradise to those. 
 Repentant of their guilty woes, 
 They sent on high — then past away, 
 While dreamless on his couch he lay. 
 
 END OF PART THE THIRD.
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 I^art ifit xiTottrtlb*
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 The perils of the stormy seas, 
 In friendship's chain link enemies; 
 And strong necessity's deep woes. 
 Make firmest friends of savage foes. 
 The conflict o'er — let dangers lower. 
 Then each to each unite their power ; 
 And struggle with their utmost skill, 
 To overcome the general ill. 
 
 When from the pirate's feeble yoke 
 The captured bark abruptly broke, 
 
 And hurried on her way ; 
 Beneath the deck, securely placed, 
 Disarmed, exhausted, and disgraced, 
 
 The hapless victims lay ; 
 With two alone to steer her course 
 Amid the tempest wild and hoarse. 
 But how, alas ! can they perform 
 The task, throughout the dreadful storm? 
 A moment, doubtingly, they stand, 
 At last resolved to freeihc baud,
 
 72 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And trust to fortune for the rest; 
 
 As life is always dear — 
 Tho' fraught with woe, or highly blest, 
 
 We cling to being here : 
 And if we toil with foes awhile, 
 Existence still preserves its smile. 
 
 'J'he bolts are drawn, and quick on deck 
 
 They spring, invited by the beck 
 
 Of those, their guards, who lacked their aid 
 
 To stem against the wild tornade ; 
 
 And readily to work they go, 
 
 Uniting with the wearied foe. 
 
 All former enmity forgot, 
 At least, awhile remembered not. 
 Like brothers in distress, they toil 
 As true as in the recent broil 
 They strove to gain ascendancy. 
 Unconscious what the end might be. 
 All night they drove before the wind, 
 Which blew tremendously behind; 
 And nothing could the force withstand, 
 But yielded to its dread command. 
 With morning's early beam, it died 
 Away, and bid the storm subside ; 
 But far, far from their native home, 
 Upon the watery waste they roam. 
 
 After two days of labour past. 
 
 They anchored 'neath the rock at last,
 
 THE PIRATE. 73 
 
 And gained the welcome strand : 
 But, treacherous souls ! the two, so brave. 
 Who snatched them from a watery grave. 
 
 United, hand-to-hand, 
 Were led along the gloomy shore — 
 And deep their generous souls deplore 
 The cruel recom pence they found; 
 Deprived of liberty, and bound 
 As wretched prisoners of war ; 
 Away from every hope afar. 
 The council sat — the verdict known — • 
 One choice was given, and one alone — 
 To die with tortures, or enlist 
 With them, and faithfully assist 
 Their efforts to annihilate 
 Their friends, and satisfy their hate^ 
 But treason never found a place 
 
 Within their bosoms bold ; 
 And shrinking from the deep disgrace, 
 
 They turned, with horror, cold : 
 And chose to die, devoid of fault. 
 Than 'gainst their nature to revolt. 
 
 One, mangled, died — the other felt 
 His firmness in his bosom melt; 
 And prayed to mitigate his doom. 
 
 Vowing full fervently, 
 If they would ease his heart from gloom, 
 
 And stop the dread decree. 
 To lead them thro' a secret path 
 
 Up to the rocky steep, 
 
 li
 
 74 THE PIRATE. 
 
 And satiate their greedy wrath 
 
 With vengeance firm and deep. 
 This heard, with many a solemn oath 
 They bound him, tho' his breast was loath ; 
 But death and horror glared in sight, 
 And swayed his wavering conscience quite. 
 
 But turn we to the pirate host, 
 "Who, loitering, stood upon the coast. 
 And watched their stranded vessel ride 
 With labour on the flowing tide : 
 And many a bitter feeling stole 
 Along their minds, with sad control. 
 But whence that cry — that frenzied scream- 
 Like madness raving in her dream ? 
 Loud as the fierce hyaena's yell 
 L^pon their startled ears it fell. 
 They hastened to the spot, and found 
 Poor Algernon, upon the ground, 
 Awakened from his death-like trance, 
 Glaring around with frightful glance. 
 Astonished at the scene they stood. 
 And wondering at his changeful mood, 
 Drew back alarmed — while from his throat 
 The shrieks around the chamber float. 
 
 " Give me more air — this narrow room 
 
 "Is closer than the dismal tomb — 
 
 " Give me some water ere I burst 
 
 *' In flames — curse oa this parching thirst—
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 75 
 
 ** There, there, desist — no more, no more — 
 " Stand off— convey me to the door, 
 " And let me breathe the cooling air, 
 «* That's wafted from the ocean fair. 
 " I feelit now — away ! away ! 
 «' But sp'eak, have we won or lost the day ? 
 *' Oh ! yes— I know, I know it now — 
 «' Despair sits scowling on each brow : 
 " Why are ye standing here? begone ! 
 " Vengeance will teach what should be done— 
 «' Where is my sabre, gird it on — 
 *' Ha, ha— they'll sink beneath my arm, 
 " Excited by a powerful charm. 
 '< — But soft, or ye will scare on high 
 " The brightness of my Mary's eye— 
 <* I come, I come, dear maid, to thee : 
 «' And in my arms so fervently 
 "I'll bear thee from this nether sphere 
 « Beyond the reach of woe and fear. 
 " I'll grapple with the lioness, 
 " If she should on my foot-step press. . 
 " I come, my love, and far away 
 " W^e'U bask in Joy's meridian day. 
 <' Ah! she is gone — and now, again 
 " I feel the torture in my brain — 
 " Sure you're all mad that stand around, 
 <' And stupified with awe profound — 
 «' 'Tis bursting — give me room — O ! O ! 
 *' There, there they come, a horrid row 
 "Of fellest demons— drive them hence, 
 " Or they'll destroy what little sense 
 
 h2
 
 76 
 
 THE PIRATE. 
 
 " Is left— they nearer corae — depart ! 
 
 " They drive their talons in my heart— 
 
 " See how the crimson drops of gore 
 
 " Ooze from my breast, and dye the floor- 
 
 " They'll have me now— I faint— I die— 
 
 " Tis past, 'tis past— comrades, good bye !"- 
 
 He sank into their arms. 
 
 They gazed 
 
 Upon his countenance amazed 
 
 And as the wild convulsions pace 
 
 The nerves of his distorted face 
 
 With frightful quiverings, that his eye 
 
 Unclosed and closed successively. 
 
 He wandered vacantly, then knit 
 
 His brows, where horror seemed to sit ; 
 
 Then half-way opened, as to shun 
 The brightness of the noon-day sun 
 But dared not trust his light to throw 
 One ray upon his mind of woe — 
 
 And then he sighed, and uttered groans 
 
 His ravings past away in moans : 
 Like as the hound, who limps along 
 Howling, and writhing 'neath the thong; 
 Or, as the dismal, plaintive wail 
 That floats upon the dying gale. 
 
 Then calmness followed, and he slept 
 
 His comrades watch above him kept. 
 As fearful, should the wild alarm 
 Return, he might his body harm.
 
 THE PIRATE. 77 
 
 He woke — his malady had fled : 
 
 And calmly rising from his bed, 
 
 A few brief questions asked — then sought 
 
 The slumber, that his faintness brought. 
 
 O'erjoyed they stood, yet dreading still 
 
 A worse relapse, with eager skill 
 
 They placed, that antidote, the leech 
 
 Beneath his flowing hair ; 
 In hopes his burning head to bleach, 
 
 And cool the furnace there : 
 And fast that greedy reptile seized 
 The vein, and sucked the blood diseased. 
 Retiring then, they left him bound 
 By gentle sleep, in bands profound. 
 
 AH day the vessel's sinking bulk 
 Drove through the ocean-tide, 
 Which beat against her shattered hulk 
 
 With force on either side : 
 At eve she foundered in the bay — 
 While o'er her closed the whirling spray 
 And in the cavern made her home. 
 Roofed by the waves that fret and foam. 
 At flood, the top-mast might be seen. 
 Peeping above the waters green ; 
 But when the billows washed the strand, 
 Unseen she rolled upon the sand. 
 At morn she parted, and the shore, 
 With drifting fragments covered o'er, 
 Presented to the gazing eye 
 A scene of inactivity. 
 
 C3
 
 78 THE PIRATE. 
 
 How painful are the feelings that intrude 
 
 Upon the heart, when friends beloved are torn 
 Away, exposed to each vicissitude, 
 
 And trampled 'neath the heavy foot of scorn : 
 In vain to hope for solace we repair, 
 Its rays are changeful as the changing air. 
 lYhen at the table stand the vacant seats — 
 
 When, by their lips untasted, pass the bowls ; 
 When from their voice no soothing accent greets 
 
 The ear — no echo sounds it as it rolls — 
 Then, then, indeed, we feel their absence most. 
 And half the smiles of rosy mirth are lost. 
 We turn and say, as moistened with a tear 
 The eye gleams brightly, " Oh! that they were here?" 
 But what must they, the pirates, suffer now ? 
 They felt distracted — and with many a vow 
 Swore firmly to revenge their friends' disgrace — 
 And, as in Friendship's grasp their hands embrace. 
 The glow of vengeance beams upon each face. 
 
 The day past slowly, and the night, 
 
 Clad in her sable robe, 
 Drew the long; shadows from the heiaht. 
 
 And darkened o'er the globe. 
 No lovely moon shed forth her light ; 
 No stars along the concave rolled ; 
 But shut behind the clouds' dark fold. 
 Their twinkling orbs were hid from view, 
 As mtirkiness o'erspread the blue. 
 The owlet hooted o'er the sea. 
 Urged by her hungry progeny ;
 
 THE PIRATE. 71) 
 
 But even she could scarce discern 
 Her way amid the darkness stern. 
 
 The pirates slept within their cave. 
 That towered above the rippling wave : 
 But Algernon, he dreamed and woke. 
 As o'er his mind a vision broke 
 At intervals, and spoiled the rest 
 So salutary to his breast. 
 He thought, engagnng with the foe, 
 His heart received a mortal blow, 
 And trickling from the cavity 
 The crimson drops bedewed his knee ; 
 While beasts of prey assembled round, 
 And roughly licked his smarting wound : 
 And as their tongues scraped o'er his side. 
 Their gaping jaws with blood were dyed. 
 And bursting with a noise of fear. 
 Their yelling cries assailed his ear. 
 He started from h-s fearful dream, — 
 But still he heard a piercing scream ; 
 And as imagination crept 
 
 Along his trembling frame. 
 He fancied from the band that slept 
 
 One called upon his name : 
 Yet in the agony of death, 
 It seemed as though the parting breath 
 Played in the throat, with gurgling strain, 
 And strove to rise, but strove in vain. 
 But soon with realized alarms, 
 
 The fatal scene he viewed ;
 
 80 THE PIRATE. 
 
 For rushing swiftly to their arms. 
 
 Which on the floor were strewed. 
 His comrades sprang, and called to him, 
 
 As wild confusion raged ; 
 For faultering in the cavern dim 
 
 The doubtful war they waged. 
 As fearful, in the closing strife, 
 An erring blow might take the life 
 Of some dear friend, who near them stood. 
 Panting for vengeance and for blood. 
 But fortune favored them awhile, 
 And seemed to cheer, with hopeful smile, 
 Their deep distress — the enemy 
 Pressed forward, shouting as with glee, 
 To think how true their arms vpere led 
 To dye with gore the pirates' bed ; 
 And much it pleased their hearts to ken 
 Them, closed within their gloomy den. 
 Their rage grew furious, as they prest 
 Exulting, in the dismal nest ; 
 At last, mistaking friends for foes. 
 On either side they dealt the blows. 
 And many an idle thrust they made 
 Upon the chamber's vacant shade ; 
 And fighting wildly, soon they grew 
 Exhausted, as themselves they slew. 
 
 Retiring to the farthest nook. 
 Around their chief, the pirates took 
 Their station, waiting for the glow 
 Of rage to settle in the foe,
 
 THE PIRATE. 81 
 
 Aud saved their strength, till utmost need 
 
 Compelled them to the daring deed. 
 
 And well they did — their only hope 
 
 To 'scape from death, or bondage-rope, 
 
 Remained within themselves concealed. 
 
 And with its ray their bosoms steeled : 
 
 "While in ^ach dauntless, strong right hand. 
 
 Unsheathed, is held the trusty brand, 
 
 Already balanced for the thrust, 
 
 To doom a mortal soul to dust. 
 
 Should they advance, with hasty stride, 
 
 Puffed up with victory and pride. 
 
 But nought discerned within the room, 
 
 They dared not to the corner come, 
 
 Dreading some evil might arise 
 
 From the secluded enemies ; 
 
 But vaunting — threatening, they remained, 
 
 As darkness o'er the prospect reigned ; 
 
 And looking forward anxiously 
 
 The morning sun's approach to see. 
 
 And as two bull-dogs, kept afar 
 
 From rushing to the bloody war ; 
 
 Barking, and foaming in their rage, — 
 
 Straining with force to disengage 
 
 The shackles, that arouud each neck 
 
 Are placed, their furious zeal to check 
 
 And burning with a thirst for gore, 
 
 The bay aloud with angry roar. 
 
 The signal given — the bands undone — 
 
 And head-long to the fight they run ;
 
 82 THE PIRATE. 
 
 Nor quit their hold, till one, by death 
 Lies motionless, devoid of breath. 
 
 When morning's early ray dispelled 
 
 The darkness of the night. 
 Within the chamber they beheld 
 
 A wild and horrid sight. 
 The floor was red with smoking blood, 
 
 The walls with gore were dyed, 
 And rising; on the ceiling stood 
 
 The steam — while side-by-side 
 The dying and the dead were laid — 
 Who dearly for their folly paid : 
 And yells, and groans resounded through 
 The cavern's gloomy avenue. 
 Cheeks pale with death— eyes flashing fire- 
 Grim visages, that foamed with ire — 
 Uplifted weapons — boasting words — 
 And bloody hands held bloody swords : 
 While echoing on the walls around, 
 
 The ring of steel — the clash of arms — 
 Pell on the ear, with dismal sound. 
 
 And much increased their hearts' alarms. 
 But terror gave them strength— they rushed, 
 
 Tho' trembling, quickly on ; 
 And thro' the room their way they pushed. 
 As cheered by Algernon, 
 Who foremost strode to meet the attack. 
 And bravely fought— nor once drew back 
 But in the van he kept his place, 
 nd met the foe with face to face ;
 
 THE PIRATE. 83 
 
 And all retreated from the steel 
 
 He moved, and made their bosoms feel. 
 
 Fighting more wildly than the rest. 
 As if a fury swayed his breast. 
 Amidst the enemy stood one, 
 Who fronted noble Algernon ; 
 And well by him that voice was known, 
 
 For often by his hand 
 The foes upon the earth were thrown. 
 
 Expiring 'neath his brand ; 
 As struggling thro' the war they strove. 
 Their armr .'ggether seemed to move. 
 As by one impulse jointly warmed 
 Which either manly heart had armed. 
 But now against the renegade 
 The chieftain rushed, with naked blade. 
 And called him by his name, to yield. 
 And from disgrace his bosom shield. 
 Or meet the merited reward 
 
 Due to apostacy — 
 But fear had bound his conscience hard, 
 
 He heeded not the cry. 
 With many a wild and frantic stroke. 
 Across the room he quickly broke 
 And closing in the strife, he flew. 
 Followed by all the shouting crew. 
 
 Oh ! sharp and doubtful was the broil ! 
 While from their brows, the drops of toil,
 
 84 THE PIRATE. 
 
 I II streams descended to the floor. 
 
 And mingled with the reeking gore. 
 
 But nought coukl stand before the power 
 
 Of Algernon, in battle-hour; 
 
 He poured the blows so furiously, 
 
 He brought the dastard to his knee ; 
 
 Then plunged the weapon in his chest — 
 
 And Death received another guest. 
 
 Ah ! now they fly — confused they fly — 
 
 Before the pirates rapidly ; 
 
 Who fast upon their traces come, 
 
 To drive them from their rocky home. 
 
 Adown the dangerous precipice, 
 
 That gapes like some unknown abyss, 
 
 They speed, to gain the boats that ride 
 
 Upon the margin of the tide. 
 
 But fate foredoomed that they should be 
 
 Driven to the last extremity. 
 
 The boats had drifted from the shore, 
 
 And danced the swelling billows o'er — 
 
 Surprised they gazed — and turning round, 
 
 Each bosom feared a mortal wound — 
 
 But on the beach alone they stood, 
 
 Unfollowed by the pirate brood ; 
 
 Who, when they saw their dwindled band, 
 
 Refused to fight them on the strand, 
 
 But rested on the steep ascent, 
 
 That o'er the ocean proudly leant, 
 
 And guarded well the narrow road 
 
 That wound to the retired abode.
 
 THE PIRATE. ' 85 
 
 At ere assistance to the foe 
 
 Arrives upon the beach below. 
 
 And in deep converse they debate 
 
 How best revenge to satiate. 
 
 At length they move and gain the bark — 
 
 And night drew forth her mantle dark. 
 
 Musing on death, and robbed of rest, 
 
 The pirates, in their chalky nest, 
 
 Sat watching for the sun's decline — 
 
 While forming many a serpentine. 
 
 The eagle winged hiscourse from high, 
 
 And settled on the cliff hard by : 
 
 He sought repose upon the verge. 
 
 That hangs above the ocean-surge. 
 
 The night-crow screamed, as skimming fast 
 
 He sailed along the rising blast. 
 
 And Silence with a finger put 
 
 Upon her lips, to keep them shut. 
 
 Approaching, vith her gentle train. 
 
 Moved softly o'er the glassy main^ 
 
 And Nature, yielding to her sway, 
 
 lletired, her mandate to obey. 
 
 >\' ith dawn of day the cannons' roar 
 Resounded on the rocky shore. 
 
 And echoed o'er the deep ; 
 And with the loud convulsive shock, 
 The tirra foundation of the rock 
 
 Could scarce its station keep. 
 
 I
 
 86 THE PIRATE. 
 
 The pirates, in the pass on high, 
 Maintained their station valiantly. 
 And stood the brunt of the assault 
 Without a murmur or default; 
 Tho' thin their numbers hourly grevv — 
 Tor every shot that, whizzing, flew. 
 Its bloody execution told, 
 As down the winding path they rolled. 
 But stepping in his neighbour's place. 
 The nearest of this fearless race. 
 With throbbing heart, and fiery eye, 
 Opposed his bosom willingly: 
 And strove his utmost to defend 
 The spot, where lately died his friend. 
 Jiut dropping quickly, one by one. 
 At last, bold Algkrnon alone, 
 Stood, leaning o'er the rocky shelf 
 Striving to guard the way himself 
 But fainting with the loss of blood, 
 He drew him back in pensive mood. 
 
 Straight up the now neglected path 
 They rose, expressing signs of wrath. 
 And vowing that his heart should lie 
 Exposed beneath the sultry sky, 
 Torn from his breast, and thrown as food, 
 To cram the hungry vulture's brood. 
 That on the cliffs impatient wait. 
 Their greedy appetites to sate. 
 They rushed, impetuously along, 
 And tracked his steps the rocks among;
 
 THE PIRATE. ^7 
 
 Thro" many a winding lane they flew, 
 And high upon a point in view. 
 They saw him sitting wearily, 
 Incapable their rage to fly, 
 AVhich kindled to a fiercer heat, 
 While to his elevated seat 
 They hastened on, with vaunting words, 
 And brandishing their shining swords. 
 Alas ! but twenty paces more 
 And all his misery is o'er, 
 And Vengeance, glutted to the full. 
 Will soon, with gore, her cravings dull- 
 On, on, they rushed — with horrid sway, , 
 The ground beneath their feet gave way ; 
 Precipitated in the dell. 
 The foremost party, shuddering, fell, 
 And writhing to the base below 
 They sent on high their shrieks of woe. 
 
 The others, thunder-struck with awe, 
 
 Looked on the gulph's extended jaw. 
 
 Unknowing where the earth was safe 
 
 They dared not move — what seemed to chat^ 
 
 Their breasts, now sank to deadly fear, • 
 
 While gazing at the chasm drear. 
 
 But soon recovering, they trode 
 
 With caution o'er the doubtful road ; 
 
 And starting from his deadly foes. 
 
 Poor Algernon, in haste, arose. 
 
 And struggled up the craggy steep 
 That overlooked the foamy deep. 
 
 I 2
 
 88 THE PIRATE. 
 
 They followed him with rage and dread, 
 And gained upon him as he fled — 
 They hailed him to submit — and now. 
 One, close behind, with threatening blow, 
 Aimed at his body cold and stiff. 
 Just as he neared the chalky cliff — 
 lie strove his deep design to mock, 
 
 And rushing, franticly, 
 Jumped from the summit of the rock, 
 
 And plunged into the sea ; 
 The water closed above his head — 
 He rested on his sandy bed. 
 
 The place is desolate — the moss 
 
 Clings to the beacon-tower, 
 And in the dry, neglected fosse. 
 
 The she-wolf forms her bower. 
 The wild cat prowls along the shore, 
 
 Unscared by human eye ; 
 The vulture, from the turret hoar, 
 
 Sends forth his piercing cry : 
 And savage Nature holds her reign. 
 In man's forsaken, lone domain. 
 
 END OF THE PIRATE.
 
 DOVERGILDA.
 
 " Hovr much of grief the heart must prove ^ 
 " That yields a sanctuary to ioTe!" 
 
 L. Jb. Li>
 
 Historians differ in opinion respecting the cha- 
 racter and conduct of the Irish Princess, who forms 
 the leading feature in the following Poem, as also in 
 the orthography of the names ; therefore, I have se- 
 lected quotations from some of the principal writers, 
 ia order that the readers may judge for themselves. 
 
 •' Dermot M'Morrogh, King of Leinster, had 
 formed a design on Dovergilda, wife of Ororic, 
 Prince of Breffny; and taking the advantage of her 
 husband's absence, who being obliged to visit a distant 
 part of his territory, had left his wife secure, as he 
 thought, in an island surrounded by a bog— he, 
 (Dermot) suddenly invaded the place, and carried off 
 the Princess — her husband, having collected his forces, 
 and being strengthened by the alliance of RoDERlc, 
 King of Connaught, invaded the dominions of 
 Pkrmot, and expelled him his kingdom." 
 
 Hume.
 
 94 
 
 " Among the sovereigns then reigning in Ireland, 
 Dermot, King of Leinster, was one of the most 
 considerable, by the extent of his dominions. From 
 this Prince's accession to the throne he had acted so 
 arbitrarily, that he was grown extremely odious to his 
 subjects; but he made slight of his people's hatred, 
 being at peace with all his neighbours, who concerned 
 not themselves with what passed in that kingdom. — 
 However, he afterwards gave them occasion himself, 
 by carrying away the wife of O'Roiuc, King of 
 Meath. O'RoRic, to avenge the afiVout, levied an 
 army, and with the help of lioDERlc, King of 
 Connaught, attacked Dermot, who, finding him- 
 self abandoned by his subjects, was forced to leave 
 Ireland, for fear of falling into the hands of hi« 
 enemy." Rapin. 
 
 " Dermot, one of the petty kings of Ireland, 
 being driven out of his dominions by a neighbouring 
 chief, whose wife he had cariied off, applied to the 
 English monarch for assistance to recover his terri- 
 tories." Russel, 
 
 " The King of Leinster had long conceived a 
 Tiolent passion for Dearborgil, daughter of the 
 King of Meath, and though she had been some time
 
 95 
 
 married to O'Raurk, Prince of BiefFni, yet could 
 it not constrain his passion. They carried on a pri- 
 vate correspondence, and she informed him, that 
 O'Raurk intended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an 
 act of piety frequent in those days), and conjured 
 him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her 
 from a husband she detested, to a lover she adored.— 
 Mac RIurchad too punctually obeyed the summons, 
 and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns." 
 
 O'Hallaran. 
 
 " Dermot, King of Leinster, had several years 
 before carried away, by force, Dervorgil, the wife 
 of O'Ruarc, Prince of BrciTny, or Leitrira. The 
 lady appears to have been a willing ^captive ; but her 
 husband, to avenge his disgrace, claimed the assistance 
 of TuRLOGH O'Connor, monarch of Ireland; and 
 the adulterer was compelled to restore the fugitive. — ■ 
 O'Ruarc destroyed Ferns, the capital of Leinster." 
 
 Liiigard. 
 
 " The last named Prince, (Dermot M'Morrougk), 
 a weak, licentious tyrant, had carried off the 
 daughter of the King of Meath, who, being- 
 strengthened by the alliance of the King of Con- 
 naught, invaded the ravisher's domains, and expelled 
 him his kingdom." "^ Goldsmith.
 
 96 
 
 *' Dermot Mac Morrough, King of Leinster, 
 and an oppressive tyrant, quarrelled with all his 
 neighbours, and carried off the wife of a petty Prince, 
 O'RoiK. A confederacy being formed against him, 
 under Roderic O'Connor, (who, it seems, was 
 the paramount King of Ireland), he was driven from 
 his country, and took refuge in the Court of Henry 
 THE Second, of England." Guthrie.
 
 DOVERGILDA. 
 
 What is there charins the human heart 
 
 Like Beauty's captivating art ?— 
 
 What sooner turns our rage to love 
 
 Than woman's smiles, that sweetly move? — 
 
 And every glance her beaming eye 
 
 Sends forth, enchants to ecstacy : 
 
 And every frown that clouds her brow. 
 
 Compels us homage to avow. 
 
 The Queen of Love, by all confest, 
 
 She reigns triumphant in the breast ! 
 
 Reclining 'neath a willow's shade, 
 Whose branches, o'er the rough cascade, 
 Floated, like streamers in the gale ; 
 Pouring his bosom's ardent tale, 
 O'RORIC sat, and by his side 
 His beautiful, his blushing bride. 
 The Princess Dovergilda, smiled— 
 While down her neck, in ringlets wild. 
 The sable tresses sported free. 
 And clasped her shoulders wantonly : 
 
 K
 
 OS DOVERGILDA. 
 
 Like polished jet they shone as bright. 
 
 Or ebony, that shuns the light. 
 
 And peeping thro' the graceful curls, 
 
 A single row of native pearls 
 
 Bound up the locks, which else had strayed 
 
 Upon her brow, and thrown iu shade, 
 
 The pensive lustre of her eye, 
 
 Beaming with hazel witchery. 
 
 Her lovely form, her modest air. 
 
 Her heaving bosom, soft and fair. 
 
 Her bashful glances, slealing round, 
 
 Then falling softly to the ground — 
 
 Her taper fingers, resting on 
 
 His arm, like finest ivory shone — 
 
 The blushes, mantling on her cheek — 
 
 Her bosom's latent passion speak. 
 
 Oh ! Love his chastest shaft had thrown. 
 
 And made her tender heart his own ; 
 
 Holy and pure, the sacred flame 
 
 Burnt in her breast, devoid of shame. 
 
 The sounds that from her lips arose. 
 
 Made Anguish half forget his woes : 
 
 And fierce desire was forced to fly, 
 
 Abashed, before her modesty. 
 
 There was a beauteous languishment 
 
 Expres-sed, as on his face she bent 
 
 Her beaming eye, as heavenly bright 
 
 As sorrow struggling with delight; 
 
 A mouri.ti-l, niflanchcdy ray, 
 
 Prawinji hi.« arde\it soul away.
 
 DOVERGILDA. 99 
 
 iHe took the hand she offered now, 
 And pressing it, with many a vow 
 Conveyed it to his lips — then hung, 
 Enamoured, o'er her as she sung. 
 
 They tell me, Love, the tyrant boy, 
 Excites our passions to destroy ; 
 He wounds the heart, then flies away. 
 And leaves it, to despair, a prey. 
 
 They say his eye emits no beam. 
 But roving in a wanton dream. 
 He blindly pierces bosoms through, . 
 Who soon his weary bondage rue. 
 
 But surely 'twas his brightest dart. 
 That settled in ray throbbing heart ; 
 And gave that meaniug to mine eye. 
 Which gained, o'er thee, the victory. 
 
 He is not blind — it cannot be — 
 My troth is firmly pledged to thee — • 
 And in thy features I can read 
 The language of his powerful creed. 
 
 She ceased — the softness of her lute 
 Haj died on air — her voice is mute, 
 
 K 2
 
 100 DOVERGILDA. 
 
 But still upon the echo stole 
 The sound, as if her partiog soul 
 To heaven had risen with the lay. 
 As sweetly past the notes away. 
 
 Gazing upon his blooming bride. 
 With confidence, and manly pride. 
 But softened to a milder tone, 
 Feeling for her he breathed alone, 
 O'RoRiC stood, intently fixed— 
 And as the sister-roses mixed 
 Their lovely hues upon her face. 
 It seemed, that by some magic grace. 
 If possible, a livelier glow. 
 Along her cheeks appeared to flow. 
 Was it his approbation sent 
 That blush o'er every lineament ? 
 Or, did she fancy that her tongue. 
 Too feebly, her confession sung. 
 Yet shrinking from the tale it told, 
 Wondered what made her heart so bold * 
 Oh ! no — 'twas that sweet diffidence. 
 Still dreading lest some slight ofFenc© 
 Was given, altho* unconsciously— 
 She dared not raise her eye to see. 
 If anger on his cheek held place, 
 Or smiling pleasure's lively trace. 
 Confused she sat — the crimson rushed — 
 And e'en her rising bosom flushed. 
 And tinged it with a roseate hue. 
 Where late the azure veins shone through.
 
 DOVERGILDA. 101 
 
 Like fragment of the finest lawn 
 
 O'er fibres of the sapphire drawn. 
 
 And now 'tis raised — 'tis fixt on his, 
 
 Swimming in sweet ecstatic bliss ; 
 
 He clasped her fondly in his arms. 
 
 And gently soothed her false alarms ; 
 
 Her head upon his shoulder laid. 
 
 And many a tender word was said. 
 
 While strong afiiance bound each soul, 
 
 So firmly, with its fond control. 
 
 " My DovERGiLDA !" he began, 
 
 •' How happy is that favored man, 
 
 " Blest with those matchless charms of tlua«, 
 
 *' Attended by a heart divine — 
 
 " For surely, earthy love can ne'er 
 
 " With such a flame as thine compare. 
 
 " But, ah ! when dawns to-morrow's day, 
 
 " My sweetest, I must haste away — 
 
 *♦ But, droop not now — my heart will burn 
 
 " Impatiently till I return — 
 
 " Attune thy lute — in unison, 
 
 " Once more. Oh! let the numbers run, 
 
 " And sing a farewell melody, 
 
 " To cheer my heart when far from thee" — 
 
 She snatched the lute from off the ground, 
 
 Amidst the cords her fingers wound — 
 
 She played a plaintive, native air. 
 
 Add softened it with accents fair. 
 
 K 3
 
 10* DOVERGILDA. 
 
 Tell me, my heart, Oh ! truly tell, 
 Why shrink'st thou from the sad farewell f 
 Shall we not meet again like this 
 Sweet moment, to exchange our bliss? 
 Shall I not on his shoulder hang, 
 To chase away each cruel pang, 
 Which i 1 ray wounded heart will dwell 
 When I have bade a sad farewell ? 
 
 From cut my breast I hear a sigh 
 Swelling to breath a soft reply — 
 *• Thy lover's path the thorns surround. 
 Prepared his generous soul to wound ; 
 And doubtful 'tis, if e'er to thee, 
 His joyful step will homeward fiee— ' 
 This, this, I fear me, is the spell 
 That hovers o'er the sad farewell !" 
 
 Tell me again — Oh ! quickly say, 
 When from my arms he's far away. 
 Will love his bosom still possess? 
 The murmuring voice confirms it — " Yes — 
 The heavens to earth will sooner come. 
 Than from thy smile his thoughts will roam !' 
 Oh ! then, my heart, thy sorrow quell, 
 Tho' forced to bid a sad farewell. 
 
 The feast is high in Briffny Kalj., 
 The banners float upon the wall,
 
 DOVERGII.DA. lOJ 
 
 The tables tremble with the weight 
 Of dainties, glass, and massive plate ; 
 And from a brilliant chandelier. 
 The light descends upon the cheer. 
 The choicest wiaes are sparkling high. 
 The goblets pass full jovially — 
 And mirth and cheerfulness abound. 
 While thro' the room the laughs resouad. 
 Ladies and lords, assembled there. 
 Were gazing on the matchless fair, 
 Who 'neath a canopy of blae. 
 Raised high above, that all might view, 
 Reclined so gracefully, and sent 
 A smile upon the merriment. 
 Adorned with gems, and sparkling ore. 
 That lavished on her charms their store ; 
 And costly robes, and satins fine. 
 Around her lovely image shine. 
 Rubies and diamonds vied, to deck 
 The snowy- whiteness of her neck; 
 And either arm with gold was braced — 
 With golden cords her form was laced — 
 And towering high above them all 
 Appeared a splendid coronal. 
 Three spotless ostrich-feathers played 
 Around, and formed a mimic shade. 
 For nought could darken o'er that eye, 
 Which shone with peerless majesty. 
 She seemed more like a thing of air — 
 Ae languishing, as soft, and fair;—
 
 104 DOVERGILBJl. 
 
 As if in higher regions bred, 
 And scorned upon the earth to tread, 
 Than ought of mortal— but the name. 
 And weakness of the human frame. 
 
 Her noble lord was forced to was* 
 Hit annual pious pil^riraage; 
 But ere to home he bade adieu. 
 The barons to his table flew. 
 And swore unchanging fealty, 
 When, from his country wandering, he 
 Is far away — they still would stand, 
 And firmly guard their native land ; 
 As vowing by their trusty swords. 
 The roof resounded with their words. 
 
 Then Dovergilda rose — the snaile 
 Played on her lovely lip the while — 
 And motioned with her hand, to still 
 The sounds that all the mansion fill ; 
 Then bade the harper take his seat, 
 A song of battle to repeat. 
 The old man bowed — as silence crept 
 Around the hal!, the strings he swept. 
 And language floated from his tongue, 
 As thus the grey musician sung — 
 
 Hark to the sounding bugle-call I 
 
 The foes are mustering round the wall—
 
 DOVERGILDA. 104 
 
 Their shouts upon the breezes rise, 
 
 And echo 'neath the lofty skies — 
 
 Hark to the trumpet and the drum ! 
 
 The foes, the foes — they come, they come ! 
 
 We heed them irot, our hearts are good. 
 And warm the current of our blood ; 
 We'll drive thera hence with fire and steel. 
 And make their dastard bosoms feel. 
 As forth we rush, at beat of drum — 
 We fear them not, so let them come ! 
 
 The horses champ the foaming bit. 
 Well armed our warriors on them sit. 
 Eager to sally forth, at need. 
 And force them back with rapid speed — 
 Before them moves the kettle-drum. 
 To scare our foemen, should they come. 
 
 Huzza ! they fly ! — in haste they fiy, 
 
 Before our banners, cowardly! 
 
 The plain, with corpses scattered o'er. 
 
 Is reeking with their flowing gore. 
 
 Sound a retreat upon the drum — 
 
 The foes have fled — they dare not com« ! 
 
 The plaudits through the chamber awell 
 To cheer the bard who sang so well;
 
 106 DOVERGILDA. 
 
 The hoary songster bowed again. 
 Pleased they admired his fiery strain. 
 Then, rising from the banquet-board, 
 The wassailers salute their lord 
 And drink his safe return, to prove 
 Their firm allegiance, and their Iotc. 
 Retiring then, they bade adieu. 
 And silence o'er the tables drew. 
 
 M'^hen solitude usurps the heart. 
 How slow the loitering hours depart ; 
 And restless fancy pictures still 
 The cruel pang of threatening ill. 
 Altho' the lovely hue may shine 
 Upon the rose's petals fine ; 
 Altho' the lily of the vale 
 May raise its cups so softly pale ; 
 Tho' warbling songsters' notes may rise, 
 Pouring their cheerful melodies; 
 The floweret's beams — the magic spell 
 Sung by the wood-lark in the dell — 
 Lose half their sweets — their visions gay 
 When those we love are far away. 
 The scene delights — we turn about 
 Our admiration to pour out; 
 Alas! it falls upon the gale — 
 The echo dies, with plaintive wail. 
 The music trembles on the ear, 
 We listen — but alone we hear— 
 The dulcet numbers, hovering nigh, 
 Enchant not now — with heavy sigh,
 
 SOVBRGILDA. 107 
 
 We qyit the scene so sweet of yore ; 
 
 It charmed us once, but charms no more. 
 
 Within an arbour's shady bower. 
 
 En woven thick with many a flower, 
 
 Which threw its grateful fragrance round — 
 
 Lulled by a streamlet's murmuring sound, 
 
 Upon a mossy pillow thrown. 
 
 Musing on joy too lately flown, 
 
 Sweet DovERGlLD A, deeply beni 
 
 Upon her woeful punishment. 
 
 Brooding on happiness delayed 
 
 Alone, beneath the cooling shade, 
 
 Sent forth her melancholy suit. 
 
 Responsive to her sounding lute. 
 
 The bank, with daisies studded o'er. 
 
 Sparkled beside the blushing store 
 
 Of violets, in profusion growing, 
 
 And all around their sweets bestowing ; 
 
 The gentle odour charmed her sense. 
 
 And gave, for grief, a recompense. 
 
 ** Oh ! cruel fate !" she faintly cried, 
 
 " Unfortunate, forsakeii bride ! 
 
 ** Thy joys have vanished, like the Spring 
 
 '* Of bland debisioii, blossoming, 
 
 " With gems and flowerets lavishly, 
 
 " Raised but to bloom, then fade and die. 
 
 " Too sweetly siniiivJ my dream of hope-— 
 
 ♦' It could not \vir,h riiiiiortuue cope;
 
 y(^ DOVERGILDA. 
 
 " But far, on restless pinions borne, 
 " It fleeted with the opening morn." 
 She paused— a hurried step drew near—. 
 It filled her tender soul with fear — 
 She rose, and to the portal flew. 
 The bold intruder's form to view; 
 But fainting at the sight she saw, 
 l-'fcll, trembling, smote with deadly awe. 
 The fierce Mac Morrough, and his brood 
 Of savage followers, wild and rude, 
 Rushed forward, boasting, to the grot, 
 And raised her from the secret spot. 
 Where Leinster's stately castles rise. 
 They carried far their lovely prize; 
 And close immured within the dome. 
 She mourns the loss of friends and home. 
 Nor heeds she now the flaunting joys, 
 Each ray her bosom's peace destroys ; 
 Tho' maidens clad in costly gear, 
 With soothing accents, strive to cheer— 
 Tho' music's spells, that charm the soul, 
 Throughout the gloomy chamber roll — 
 Far, far away her wishes fly : — 
 Her bosom heaves despondingly. 
 Too keen she feels the anguished smart 
 That rankles iu her wounded heart; 
 ( Her hope escapes— disdains to throw 
 One smile upon her heavy woe. 
 
 A gloom is spread o'er Breffny's tower- 
 Is: eglected is the loTely bower ;
 
 DOVERGILDA. 100 
 
 The weeds among the roses grow, 
 Aud shade their beauties ere they blow. 
 The birds, as round the place they fly. 
 Forget the arbour and pass by. 
 Within the house the maidens weep, 
 And mourn their loss with sorrow deep ; 
 They call upon their mistress dear — 
 No answering accents hover near : 
 No gentle foot-steps lightly fall, 
 To note her coming in the hall. 
 Her lute, that hangs in the saloon, 
 "Whose music oft beneath the moon. 
 As by a magic finger drawn 
 ReTerherated o'er the lawn. 
 Silent, forsaken, and unstrung, 
 Telia tales of grief without a tongue. 
 Her couch of down unprest they view — 
 Embroidered silk of finest hue. 
 That formed the canopy to close 
 Above her, when she sought repose. 
 Delights no more the gazing eye — 
 Its beauties all neglected lie. 
 The cover for the ottoman. 
 Of velvet blue, her hands began 
 Unfinished on the table thrown. 
 By d'lst and cob- webs over-grown ; 
 With faded lustre in the sun. 
 Shews that the work will ne'er bs d;->:u: 
 The fountains, that were wont to piay, 
 And chase the heat ol Summei't> day, 
 
 L
 
 11© DOVERGILDA, 
 
 Are unreplenislied now, and dry ; 
 Steaming beneath the sultry sky. 
 The deer that used to sport along. 
 And round their coolness closely throng. 
 Seek out some distant, loue recess, 
 To frolic in their wantonness. 
 The hall, the garden, and the grove, 
 Bewail the banishment of love. 
 
 "What sways the heart, when far away 
 
 From love and happiness we stray, 
 
 Like Hope's alluring charm ? — its smile 
 
 Descends, our sorrow to beguile ; 
 
 And though, with toil, we're forced to rove 
 
 In distant climes from those we love, 
 
 Its solace hovers near, and throv/s 
 
 A veil o'er half our fancied woes. 
 
 Hope soothes the sailor, when at sea 
 
 The tempest rages boisterously ; 
 
 Hope balms the soldier's wounded breast. 
 
 And pictures future joy and rest; 
 
 And tho' his thoughts awhile demur, 
 
 Hope cheers the weary traveller. 
 
 As glancing o'er the lengthened plain 
 
 His eye — fatigued, and worn Avith pain, 
 
 The distant steeple, on the height, 
 
 Revives his sorrow with delight : 
 
 Then Fancy comes, tho' trembling, nigh, 
 
 And bids his bosom cease to sigh, 
 
 For love awaits him — runs to meet, 
 
 With rapture, his returning feet.
 
 DOVERGILDA. Ill 
 
 Thus in O'RoRic's drooping luind, 
 Hope's smiles a welcome shelter find ; 
 His DovERGiLDA he espies, 
 As down the hill his charger flies, "^ 
 Watching the well-known signal float 
 Upon the breeze — his bugle-note — 
 And blushing as he breaks in view, 
 While tears of joy her cheeks bedew. 
 Alas! and must his visions all 
 Be bound by sorrow's bitter thrall ? 
 He hurries on — his palace shines 
 Full on his sight, as day declines ; 
 Within the court-yard now he stands, 
 While round him throng his menial bands. 
 Black horror sits on every cheek — 
 He questions, but they fear to speak — 
 He rushes through the chambers now. 
 The maidens stand — a mournful row- 
 In sable weeds their forms are clad, 
 And every countenance is sad. 
 Unheeding them he roams about, 
 Opprest with misery and doubt ; 
 Till wearied with suspense and fear. 
 He stands distracted — " Where's her bier, 
 '* Ye cringing slaves?" he wildly cries, 
 " Speak, tell me where your Princess lies.'" 
 Approaching, timidly, they tell 
 What to the lovely dame befel — 
 " It is supposed, to think of thee 
 " Beneath her favorite willow tree, 
 
 L 2
 
 112 DOVERGILDA. 
 
 •' Our mistress, on the morn you left 
 
 " Her here, of quietude bereft, 
 
 " Strayed early forth — her orders known 
 
 " To us — she wished to be alone — 
 
 " And begged we would not dare intrude 
 
 " Upon her musing solitude — 
 
 " We know no more — but she has fled — 
 
 •* Her lute lay on the violet-bed. 
 
 " 'Tis said that Dermot and his men, 
 
 " Were hunting in the neighbouring glen, 
 
 " And should it chance that he descried 
 
 " The figure of your mournful bride, 
 
 " We fear" — without another thought. 
 
 His mind with rising anger fraught, 
 
 He broke away — the frightened brood, 
 
 Gazing upon each other, stood 
 
 So motionless, that you might hear 
 
 Their palpitating hearts with fear 
 
 Beat loudly, as they strove to burst 
 
 The channels where the blood is nurst. 
 
 Roderick, O'Connor's valiant son, 
 
 Of Erin's Kings the mightiest one, 
 
 In friendship's bond was firmly tied 
 
 To brave O'RoRiC — side-by-side. 
 
 They often thro' the battle drove, 
 
 United like a hand and glove ; 
 
 And dealt their furious blows around — 
 
 The fofe received a double wound : 
 
 For every stroke O'RoRic made 
 
 Was followed by bold Roderick's blade.
 
 DOVERGILDA. 113 
 
 To Conaauglit Castle, quickly sent, 
 
 A messenger expressly went; 
 
 To claim assistance of its lord. 
 
 To speed to BreiTny with his sword, 
 
 Attended by his. trusty host, 
 
 At once — no time was to be lost. 
 
 And soon prepared, they march — the dell 
 
 JEchoes afar the loud farewell. 
 
 As pressing on with eager stride, 
 
 And bosoms bounding high with pride ; 
 
 Indignant at the insult given — 
 
 They vow the bolts shall soon be riven 
 
 Asunder, or in the attempt 
 
 They'll die, from infamy exempt. 
 
 And now before the outer gate 
 
 Of BrefFny's antient tower they wait; 
 
 The chieftains meet, and firmly swear. 
 
 Unshaken, they the siege v/ill dare — 
 
 And, "Rescue! rescue!" rises loud 
 
 From those who round their standards crowd. 
 
 Upon the gale the banners play — 
 
 The bugles sound — the trumpets bray — 
 
 They move along — a valiant train — 
 
 And winding thro' the fertile plain, 
 
 Enter the wood, whose foliage green 
 
 Closes around, and shuts the scene. 
 
 In Ferns' proud palace droops a flower. 
 Transplanted from its native bower; 
 
 K 3
 
 114 nOVKRGILDA. 
 
 And sickly, sickly, pines away — 
 The germe is stricken with decay. 
 Each lovftlv hue for want of lioht 
 And air, is sinking into night ; 
 The root, the stem, the leaves decline, 
 Tho' round them still some beauties twine. 
 Yes, lovely Dovf.rgilda sighs — 
 The glances of her sparkling eyes, 
 That erst with flashes from the soul 
 Played brightly round — now faintly roll — 
 Languid, forlorn,, and destitute 
 Of every sweet of comfort's fruit. 
 The canket-worm, within her breast 
 Has crawled, and found a fostering nest; 
 Yet, like the almond tree in bloom. 
 Her cheeks belie her bosom's doom, 
 No grief could ever check her smile, 
 Twas natural — devoid of guile — 
 Not merely roused by pleasure's glow, 
 But fixed around her lips to blow 
 Unchangingly — a beauteous beam — 
 Like Venus, waking from a dream 
 Of love and joy, while deep imprest 
 Upon her mind, its pfaantoms rest ; 
 And doubting if reality. 
 Or slumber steals upon her eye, 
 Closes again each orb of sight. 
 And smiles with infinite delight. 
 
 Day after day fierce DerMOT strove' 
 To win her gentle heart to 1ot€ ;
 
 DOVERGILDA. 11* 
 
 Day after day repulsed, he came 
 Pouring his bosom's ardent flame : 
 Cold as the marble, colder still 
 She grew, as warmer waxed his will. 
 Have ye ne'er marked the stately oak 
 Stand 'gainst the hind's tremendous stroke, 
 ^^ hile with uncouth and erring sway 
 He labours fruitlessly all day? — 
 The woodman comes, with axe in hand 
 Obedient to the eyes command ; 
 He strikes, and strikes, his aim is good- 
 He fells the monarch of the wood. 
 Thus tho' with wealth and strength possest. 
 Love fled his eye — his savage breast— 
 For constant as the widowed dove, 
 She scorned a passion that could rove. 
 Alas! to-day, by others far 
 The worst — her trembling guardian star 
 8hone dimly ; for he swore to win 
 Her heart, or force that heart to sin ; 
 And now the noon-day sun on high 
 Rode brightly thro' the azure sky. " 
 But one hour more, and he will be 
 Before her on his bending knee, 
 Sighing, and framing speeches fine. 
 In hopes to gain his foul design. 
 He comes, he comes — he pleads — he sues- — 
 She shudders, dreading to refuse; 
 But calling all her dignity 
 Bids him depart— bis fiery eye
 
 11« DOVERGILDA. 
 
 Emits a flash — a vivid flame ; 
 And darting on her tender frame, 
 Forces her on the couch — when, lo ! 
 A trumpet in the court below 
 Sent forth its blast upon his ear — 
 He started — sure the foe is near ! — 
 No hour for love — to arms ! to arras ! 
 Confusion reigns with wild alarms — 
 Forth from the room he rushed, amazed, 
 And on the gathering evil gazed. 
 Their arrows blacken all the sky — 
 The battering-rams appear to fly, 
 Suspended in the ether light, 
 And shake the castle's lofty height. 
 Roderick O'Connor's banner flew — 
 O'KoRic's standard met his view. 
 Streaming above the numerous bands. 
 Vaunting, and waving high their brands. 
 Now, Dermot, now, thy coward's heart 
 Felt to its core, a painful smart; 
 Wavering he stood — his warriors call 
 His name aloud, while from the wall 
 He steals away, nor dares oppose 
 His breast before his injured foes. 
 Behold 1 the castle burns — he flies, 
 He fears to meet the enemies. 
 His trusty few maintain their post. 
 But what can they against a host? 
 They fall, they die — and rushing in, 
 'Midst cracking beams, and noisy din.
 
 DOVERGILDA. 117 
 
 O'RoRlC, frantic with despair. 
 
 Hastens to seek his stolen fair — 
 
 With speed he through the chambers broke, 
 
 Half suffocated with the snaoke ; 
 
 And now within his gory arms 
 
 Senseless she drops — with faded charms — 
 
 For when her face appeared to view. 
 
 He scarcely Dovergilda knew. 
 
 Then rang the shouts of victory — 
 
 " Huzza, huzza! they fall — they fly !' 
 
 END OF DOVERGILDA.
 
 THE VAMPIRE.
 
 " Thou almost niak'st me waver in my faith 
 , *« To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 " That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 *♦ Into the trunks of men." — 
 
 Merchant of Venice.
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 " Help, help, for God's sake! Bernard, save! 
 
 •' Oh ! let me not unheeded rave : 
 
 " Bernard ! ray life —my soul — attend — 
 
 " Haste, snatch me from thy unknown friend. 
 
 •• Away, thou monster! let me go — 
 
 •' Is this thy boasted friendship? — no ! 
 
 " Unhand me, villain! — ha! I bleed — 
 
 " Inhuman wretch! forbear the deed. 
 
 «' I faint, I die; my Bernard, come, 
 
 *' And rescue from a gory tomb : — 
 
 "He comes, he comes, he hears at last, 
 
 "But all too late — my doom is cast." 
 
 Bleeding, and senseless, to the ground 
 
 The lovely maiden fell ; 
 Upon her bosom many a wound. 
 As from the fang of savage hound, 
 
 Appeared, her woe to tell: 
 For every trace of life was fled — 
 She seemed a tenant of the dead, 
 
 M
 
 122 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 Not SO Emanuel, for he hears 
 
 Quick footsteps on the gale ; 
 And as his conscience throbs with fears. 
 
 His swathy cheeks grow pale. 
 He starts — attempts to fly — but, lo ! 
 Before him stands his injured foe — 
 Foe- friend — he knows not which to call 
 The man he has deprived of all. 
 But ere his tongue the word can say 
 
 A sabre glitters in his path ; 
 He sees its import — turns away — 
 
 Nor dares oppose its deadly wrath. 
 How could he join in bloody strife 
 "V^'ith him he swore to love through life ? 
 A sudden impulse checks his foot — 
 And planting it against a root. 
 His back supported by the tree, 
 He faces to the enemy. 
 They mix their dreadful blows with ire — 
 Fall to the earth the gleams of fire ; 
 The grove resounded to each stroke, 
 "\V hich on the distant echo broke. 
 
 Fees, nurst in enmity and broil. 
 Will fiercely through the battle toil— 
 For being bred to war and blood 
 It irritates their fiery mood — 
 But when the conflict's o'er, il flies,— 
 And with their dying foemen dies.
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 123 
 
 But frieads, if once they foes become 
 Carry their hate beyond the tomb. 
 
 But with Emanuel's severed hand 
 Ringing aloud, descends the brand. 
 While through his bosom's inmost core 
 Past Bernard's blade, bedewed with gore, 
 And entering the old tree behind. 
 Nailed to the trunk, the foe confined. 
 He strove to extricate the blade. 
 But failed in each attempt he made ; 
 Till by a powerful wrench, the hilt 
 Drew from the steel, with crimson gilt ; 
 And writhing with the agony, 
 The victim rolled his glazing eye, 
 Suspended on the trembling sword 
 Aloud his bitter anguish poured ; 
 As swaying to and fro, the wound 
 Was torn apart by each rebound. 
 
 But Bernard scarcely heeds his cries — 
 Upon the spot, his blood-shot eyes 
 He fixes, where Evadne lies. 
 He bends above her prostrate form — 
 He feels if still her heart be warm ; 
 It beats, but feebly, 'gainst her side, 
 As though his sorrow to deride. 
 In semblance of the hope that shone. 
 When erst he deemed her all his own. 
 
 M 2
 
 124 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 How much does sleep resemble death ! 
 Save that the bosom heaves with breath ; 
 Save that the roseate tinge's streak 
 Plays on the soft reclining cheek. 
 How much does death resemble sleep ; 
 If we could gaze and cease to weep ; 
 Save that the heart is cold and still — 
 The icy touch the senses chill. 
 Save that sensation is not there 
 As sweet as sleep is death — as fair. 
 Save that wild awe which glares around. 
 As grand as death is sleep — as sound. 
 
 #^L iM= ^^ ^^ ^k. 
 
 W ^ "^ w ^ 
 
 She breathes, she breathes — that sigh confest. 
 
 Returning life within the breast : 
 
 She moves her hand — her lips divide — 
 
 The flushes o'er her features glide. 
 
 She lives — she lives — she speaks at length ; 
 
 And with the effort gathers strength. 
 
 He raised her from her lowly bed — 
 
 Fast from the scene of woe they fled ; 
 
 Nor once looked back upon the place 
 
 Where friendship mourned its sad disgrace. 
 
 # jiir .•il> 4)^ ^^ ^t& 
 
 ^F ^ ^ ■^ ^ 
 
 From out his blue pavilion in the sky 
 The sun sank smilingly behind the hill ; 
 
 The moon arose — and every star shone high. 
 Reflected deeply in the purling rill ;
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 125 
 
 When Bernard from Evadne's couch withdrew, 
 
 And wandered lonely, thro' the spangled dew. 
 
 To where the stranger-friend had urged his blade — 
 
 And for his perfidy had dearly paid. 
 
 It was a lonely spot — the moon-beams' power 
 
 Had never lighted the secluded bower : 
 
 For there the murderer, with evil will, 
 
 Might drag his victim and, unrescued, kill ; 
 
 His shrieks unheeded, on the air would rise — • 
 
 No human soul would know his miseries. 
 
 But yet it was by day a cool retreat, 
 
 When wearied with the sun's oppressive heat, 
 
 The lovers left the plain awhile to walk 
 
 Beneath its shadow, and in secret talk. 
 
 It was within the silence of this grove, 
 
 That first Evadne's heart was v/on by love. 
 
 Beneath the tree Emanuel lay. 
 
 His life was ebbing fast away ; 
 
 But just enough was left to shew 
 
 How much his soul was racked with woe. 
 
 For three long hours were past and gone 
 
 Since that deep wound was given, 
 Yet still his spirit had not flown, 
 
 Though through his bosom driven 
 The steel remained — but in the tree 
 The gleaming point stood stedfastly: 
 For writhing with excess of pain. 
 He snapt the yielding blade in twain ; 
 
 M 3
 
 126 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 And slipping in the clotted blood, 
 That dyed the grass beneath the wood, 
 
 He fell, and rolling on the plain. 
 
 Burst forth the crimson tide again. 
 
 " And com'st thou here," he thus began, 
 
 " To torture me, unfeeling man ? 
 
 *' Oh ! leave me to my fate — begone— 
 
 " And let me end my life alone : 
 
 " A few brief minutes, and I die, 
 
 " Released from all my misery. 
 
 " Torment me not with looks of grief — 
 
 " Thy sorrow ne'er can give relief: 
 
 " Begone, and let me die in peace, 
 
 " And then thy hate with mine will cease. 
 
 " Thou wilt not? — well — but ah! once more, 
 
 " Let me not thus in vain implore — 
 
 " Take pity on a dying wretch, 
 
 " Who scarce his burning lip can stretch 
 
 " To ask the favor — haste away! 
 
 " Nor rack my bosom with delay. 
 
 " Thou mov'st not! — if it must be so, 
 
 " Remain then — hear my tale of woe ; 
 
 " And if compassion sway thy heart, 
 
 " Forgive the little tricks of art 
 
 " 1 practised, to allure awhile 
 
 " Evadne's soul, unused to guile — 
 
 " Ha ! start not ! — I shall ne'er have power 
 
 " To give thee one uneasy hour ; 
 
 " Nor ever word again from me 
 
 ** Disturb thy mind's placidity.
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 1*27 
 
 " But one request I ask, and then 
 
 " I'll bid farewell to mortal men ; 
 
 " And soon forgotten, even thou 
 
 " Wilt smile upon the foolish vow 
 
 " We plighted, when at first I sought 
 
 " That friendship which I've dearly bouglit. 
 
 " Oh! bury me not here to-night — 
 
 " I long to view the moon's pale light 
 
 " Smile once again upon my head, 
 
 " Before I'm numbered with the dead. 
 
 " And more than this — my death conceal 
 
 " Till twelve long months decay ; 
 *• And then thou may'st, at will, reveal — 
 " For I shall neither know nor feel 
 
 *• The terrors of that day. 
 " Swear it by Heaven !" 
 
 ** By Heaven I swear! 
 " What would'st thou more, at once declare ? 
 " I would not blast thy dying fame, 
 *' And therefore will not name thy name - 
 " Till thirteen moons their course have run — 
 " Till earth has rolled around the sun." 
 
 " Then I'll begin — but ah ! I fear 
 
 " 1 have not long to linger here ; 
 
 " I must be brief — but take me hence ; 
 
 " The moon will cheer each drooping sense, 
 
 " When once I view her silvery beam 
 
 '* Play on the gently-flowing stream.
 
 128 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 " Oh ! softly with that iron grasp — 
 " My wounded breast is sore : — 
 " Thou seem'st to shun as if an asp 
 
 " Were cherished in my gore. 
 " There, that is better — speed away, 
 " And on the rising summit lay 
 " My wretched frame upon the ground — 
 " Then draw the sabre from the wound, 
 " For 'gainst my heart 'tis cokl and chill — 
 ♦' And petrifies the languid rill 
 " Which flows but feebly thro' ray breast — 
 " And damps each rising thought of rest." 
 
 He raised him from the bloody sod, 
 And up the rising hillock trod ; 
 The moon-beams fell upon the place, 
 And lit the dying sufferer's face. 
 A ghastly smile appeared to lie 
 Upon the cheek, and gemmed the eye ; 
 And nature, roused again, displayed 
 An effort by excitement made. 
 
 •' Here^let me rest awhile — but first — 
 " Oh ! lift me up, my heart will burst — 
 
 " Now, now, I breathe again; 
 •' Pluck out the weapon — softly — O ! 
 " Each movement dives my soul in woe, 
 
 " And multiplies the pain. 
 " Ah ! now 'tis over — give me room— 
 •' How sad and fatal is my doom ! —
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 129 
 
 " It was Evadne's beauty moved 
 
 " My heart — how fondly have I loved ! 
 
 '* And thee too most of all — forgive — 
 
 " And I shall calmly die ; 
 " I could not see thee blest and live, 
 
 '• For rankling jealousy 
 " Had swayed ray feelings to a thrill, 
 " And bade me do the deed of ill — 
 " But leave me where I am till morn ; 
 " Adieu — adieu — my life's outworn." 
 
 He passed without another groan, 
 And Bernard, like a form of stone. 
 Stood motionless — nor moved his eyes, 
 For fear the act should realize 
 What seemed a vision to his mind, 
 With doubt and mystery combined. 
 
 Bright Phcfibus, seated in his glowing car, 
 Hushed forth and banished every twinkling star ; 
 The moon beheld his grandeur with dismay. 
 And passed behind a cloud to shun the ray. 
 From every hair a stream of light burst forth, 
 And cheered the confines of the chilly Noith : 
 The South her azure gates threw open wide, 
 And welcomed with delight the beams of [)ride. 
 The ardent horses with impatience champ 
 The bits, and dissipate the vapours damp ; 
 And onward, through the zodiac's arching course. 
 They hurled the chariot with impetuous force.
 
 130 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 At times their perspiration fell in showers 
 
 And cooled the bosoms of the opening flowers ; 
 
 While every tree and plant rejoiced again 
 
 To view the golden tresses glitter through the rain. 
 
 On swept the sun — and Bernard rose. 
 
 His rival's body to enclose 
 
 Within the narrow mansion deep 
 
 Where worms around their banquet creep. 
 
 He came — this surely is the spot ? — 
 
 The steel is there, the corpse is not. 
 
 Perhaps some ravenous beast of prey 
 
 Has dragged it to his den away ; 
 
 Or, the fierce robber of the wood 
 
 Perceived the body bathed in blood, 
 
 And fearing lest suspicion fall 
 
 On him — for many a whizzing ball 
 
 The life of innocence has ta'en. 
 
 Whene'er they trod his wild domain — 
 
 Has plunged it in the cataract 
 
 That hurries through its rocky track. 
 
 Astonished at the mystic scene. 
 
 He hastened wildly o'er the green, 
 
 But not a trace was there to tell 
 
 What to the mangled corpse befel. 
 
 He saw the spirit leave the frame, 
 
 When death's devouring sentence came — 
 
 He'd touched the body cold and stark — 
 
 Gazed on the livid features dark. 
 
 Had he some friend, who saw him pale. 
 
 And bore his relics from the vale ?
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 131 
 
 It might have been — but how or why 
 Must still remain a mystery. 
 Slowly he wandered to the dome 
 That formed Evadne's quiet home ; 
 And musing on the late event 
 His tortured brain was torn and rent ; 
 It seemed a vision reared to cheat 
 His fancy, with a foul deceit. 
 
 #^ ^ ^ 31^ ^ 
 ^F* 'jp' -n^ •^.- ^9r" 
 
 How sweet a chain does Beauty twine 
 
 Around the youthful soul ! 
 A thrill of ecstacy divine, 
 While gazing on each lovely line, 
 
 Enchants with fond control. 
 We look with dearest sympathy 
 Upon the lip — the cheek — the eye — 
 The rosy smiles — the sparkling rays — 
 The bloom that on the features plays — 
 Give to the heart a magic swell. 
 And bind it with a powerful spell 
 Yet it is indescribable. 
 The more we strive to learn the cause. 
 The farther from the mind it draws : 
 We feel we love — we feel that all 
 Our happiness is held in thrall. 
 We would be gay, and bask awhile 
 Beneath some other beaming smile ; 
 But burning — rankling in the breast, 
 Jt soothes, while it destroys our rest.
 
 132 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 We choose the lonely solitude, 
 Where none can on our thoughts intrude : 
 And as we mourn cur heavy grief. 
 That sorrow is our best relief. 
 
 Oh ! Love, alas, is seldom free 
 From cruel pangs of jealousy ; 
 The more we doat, the more we sigh,' 
 A nd often wipe the tearful eye : 
 The joys we ever strive to gain 
 Are sure to plunge the soul in pain. 
 We dread the feelings we adore, 
 And dare not fly, but love the more; 
 Until by desperation moved. 
 We curse the hour that first we loved. 
 Yes, Love, indeed, is seldom found 
 Devoid of jealousy's deep wound. 
 
 Oh ! never did Love with his bands unite 
 
 Two hearts with a feeling so exquisite 
 
 As that which crept through Evadne's breast, 
 
 When Bernard his ardent wish confest. 
 
 But whence came the stranger, with winning grace ? 
 
 What spot of earth was his dwelling-place ? 
 
 Did he come from the west — did he come from the 
 
 south ?— 
 What magic of language arose from his mouth ! J 
 All eyes beheld him with pleasure and awe ; 
 Each action — each word — was a binding law — 
 Yet nought he assumed, although flattery's tongue 
 For ever around him its witchery sung.
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 133 
 
 He came — he went— but whither he's gone. 
 Conjecture is silent, and wonders alone. 
 
 " Coiue tell me, Bernard — for a dream 
 
 *' Last night disturbed my sleep, 
 *' I thought I heard Emanuel's scream 
 
 " Upon the echo creep — 
 " Come tell me what has happened now — 
 •' Ha ! why that scowl upon thy brow ? 
 " Why flits that change from red to pale 
 " Across thy cheek? — repeat the tale. 
 " What has occurred, since last I fell 
 " Exhausted i« the lonely dell ? 
 " Where has the cruel stranger fled? 
 " Or is he gone — or is he dead? — 
 " Oh ! be not angry with me love I 
 " I would not thy displeasure move. 
 " Come, on my bosom lay thy cheek, 
 
 " I will not press thee more ; 
 " Nor from thy lips an answer seek, 
 " For if it be unmeet to speak, 
 
 " I'll not again implore. 
 " Here, press against my swelling heart — 
 " But, wherefore was that sudden start? 
 " Compose thyself — behold this tear — 
 •' Forgive, if I've ofiended, dear." 
 
 Twice he would fain have named the act, 
 Which every nerve with terror racked ;
 
 134 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 Twice on the tongue arose the word — 
 His oath the utterance deterred. 
 But that her generosity 
 llelieved him from the gathering lie. 
 That almost past his lips from out 
 To satisfy her anxious doubt. 
 Upon her bosom he reclined, 
 While agitation swayed his mind ; 
 But love, at length usurped his soul, 
 And gained ascendance o'er the whole. 
 
 No easy task it is to cope 
 
 With woman's gentle speech; 
 There is a magic in the trope 
 
 That man's can never reach. 
 Persuasion, at her will, attends. 
 And he, who 'neath it never bends. 
 
 But scorns its winning power ; 
 Ought ne'er to feel that joy — that bliss- 
 1 he soul that trembles on her kiss — 
 
 Love's sweetest, fondest dower. 
 Oh j tell me, is it possible 
 
 To pass, unheeding, by, 
 Nor mark affection's gems that dwell 
 
 In Beauty's sparkling ey# ? 
 Or from her smile to turn away, 
 
 Unconscious of its force j 
 Nor watch the lovely streams that play 
 
 from out her h' art — the source ?
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 135 
 
 Oh, no ! oil, no ! it cannot be- 
 Too sweet is woman's witchery. 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 The rosy hours pass quickly by — 
 On wings of hope the moments fly — 
 And ere another week be gone. 
 
 In bands of wedlock tied, 
 And feelings tuned in unison, 
 
 Bernard will claim his bride. 
 His thoughts are bliss — his words are love — 
 And thro' his breast sensations move, 
 
 Elate with manly pride : 
 And fair Evadne's bosom beats — 
 And every thought of joy repeats. 
 
 -\U. Alfc ■\M. jU. J|fe JUt 
 
 W^ ^ W^ W ''^ ^ 
 
 One day, in melancholy mood. 
 
 He traced the foot-path of the wood ; 
 
 And listened to the nightingale. 
 
 Who from the thicket poured her wail. 
 
 When suddenly a piercing scream 
 
 Rose from the glen beside the stream ; 
 
 Another, and another burst 
 
 On air — each louder than the first : 
 
 And then a groan like one in pain — 
 
 And then a wilder shriek again. 
 
 It died away — a gurgling note 
 
 Seemed struggling in the tightened throat. 
 
 N 2
 
 136 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 He darted hastily below 
 
 In hopes to learn the cause of woe ; 
 
 He saw a figure cross the dell — > 
 
 It was the lost Emanuel ! 
 
 But ere he could his face descry 
 
 He vanished in the wood hard by. 
 
 Black horror filled his soul with dread — 
 
 He must have risen from the dead : 
 
 'Twas all a dream — a dream of fear — 
 
 He surely died — how came he here ? 
 
 He searched the glen^ — he loudly cried — 
 
 No accents to his voice replied ; 
 
 Nor auaht was in the strove to shew 
 
 What caused those dreadful screams of woe. 
 
 w w ^ w w 
 
 Sad, sad, was Bernard's wretched heart — 
 Love ceased its comforts to impart ; 
 His thoughts were incoherent — wild — 
 He scarcely spoke — he never smiled. 
 But oft he stretched his eye abroad, 
 And placed his hand upon his sword; 
 Then, shuddering, drew it back again 
 And groaned aloud his bosom's pain. 
 Sleep fled his eyes, its soothing balm 
 Porsook him like a fairy charm, 
 AVhich spreads awhile its mantle round. 
 Then leaves the soul in gloom profound. 
 Restless and nervous, night and day. 
 He could not weep — he feared to pray.
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 137 
 
 Sing softly o'er her grave, sweet bird ! 
 
 For Juliet heeds thee not; 
 Bewail her voice, no longer heard 
 
 Beside her favorite grot. 
 Oh ! warble, warble to the gale. 
 And tell aloud thy mournful tale: 
 Her bed is cold — her bed is deep — 
 Her eye is closed in endless sleep, 
 
 Her head reclines at ease; 
 The night-blasts o'er her pillow sweep. 
 
 And rustle through the trees. 
 Thou saw'st her in the lonely dell — 
 But ah! thy song can never tell 
 
 Her cruel, cruel fate : 
 Yet still thou sing'st in plaintive strain — 
 Alas ! thy music is in vain — 
 Bnt seated on the aged thorn, 
 Thou pour'st the lay from early morn 
 
 Till falls the evening late. 
 She fell in beauty's early prime. 
 And o'er her bends the spreading lime, 
 The willow weeps above her head. 
 The grass is springing o'er her bed. 
 Sing gently o'er her tomb, sad bird! 
 Still let thy wailing voice be heard — 
 S ing, Robin, sing— the notes prolong — 
 And send thy sorrow forth in song. 
 
 w w w ^ ^ w
 
 '3B THE VAMPIRK. 
 
 " Come, clear that cloudy brow, my love ! 
 
 " Remove that settled gloom, remove ; 
 
 " Have my poor features ceased to please ? 
 " Why is thy mind so ill al ease ? 
 
 " I must not ask?— well, well— be gay 
 
 •' To-morrow is our wedding-day ; 
 
 " Dost thou repent thy bargain — no? 
 
 " Then wherefore heave that sigh of woe ? 
 
 " Why press me fondly to thy heart, 
 
 " Then turn away with sudden start? 
 
 " I would reproach thee for the deed, 
 
 " But 'tis not written in my creed ; 
 
 " Anger and I can ne'er agree— 
 
 " Then come, assume thy gaiety. 
 
 " It was not so in former days 
 
 " V, hen first he came — my memory strays 
 
 •' To scenes that are for ever fled, 
 
 " When owe— that now, perhaps, is dead 
 
 " Why ! why ! forgive— what have I said ? 
 " Bernard, my life!— nay, nay, too hard— 
 " And is this then my whole reward ? 
 " 'Tis cruel— 'tis, indeed, too much; 
 
 " Thou wound'st me with a powerful touch 
 
 *' That frown was never meant for me — 
 " Where is thy wonted gallantry ? 
 " I must assert a woman's right; 
 " I hold it but oi)e little night — 
 " To-morrow 1 am all thy own, 
 " To-night is mine— to-night alone."
 
 THE VAMPIRE. i:W 
 
 " To-morrow ! — aye, it is the day — 
 «' Oh! listen, listen, and obey — 
 '• Should'st thou behold — no, no— in vain — 
 " To-morrow ! — O ! my bosom's pain ! 
 " But shun him, shun him — he is here ! 
 '• Yet what hast thou — have I to fear ? 
 " It could not be — 'twas false and fell — 
 " Some spirit from the depths of Hell 
 " Assumed his form — but ah ! I rave — 
 " Oh! save thyself, Evadne, save! 
 " But softly — let me feel thy hand — 
 " 'Tis whiter than a fresh-peeled wand. 
 " Take, take me hence, away, away ! 
 " To-morrow ! — ' is our wedding-day !' " 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^F 
 
 The sun smiles with splendour— the bells are all ring- 
 ing— 
 The birds in the bushes are merrily singing; 
 Green garlands and chaplets of flowerets are flying 
 
 From each cottage-window that shines in the ray ; 
 And the music of lutes on the echo is dying — 
 
 Then bursts the loud chorus to welcome the day. 
 From her pillovv Evadne arise's, adorning 
 
 Her delicate form for the bridal at noon ; 
 She pours her full heart to the beam of the morning, 
 
 And blushes as slowly she treads the saloon. 
 All eyes are upon her- each bosom swells high — 
 They welcome her gladly — she b'jws a reply —
 
 140 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 The banquet is ready — the guests throng around — 
 And tnerrinicnt's notes thro' the chamber resound, 
 AVhcn Bernard apjMoaehed her all jjensive and sail- 
 He only was gloomy, while others were ulad : 
 lie looks round the hall with dismay and surprise — 
 AV hat specrre is that, which appears to his eye.> ? 
 What terrible form paces wild through the room .' 
 And can he again quit the haunts of the tomb? 
 He uttered a groan, but, unnoticed it flew — 
 He looked up again, the bold phantom withdrew. 
 
 W W ^ W W^ 
 
 Their VOWS are pledged before high Heaven, 
 
 The ceremony's o'er ; 
 EvADNE, to her Bernard given, 
 
 Past from the chapel-door. 
 The feast is spread — the goblet flows — 
 The vine's pure juice in purple glows — 
 An<l all is joy and revelry — 
 Each countenance is lit with giee. 
 
 ^P ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 What did the moon behold at night. 
 
 When ceased the wassail roar? 
 A cloud past o'er the face of light — 
 For shrinking from the dreadful sight. 
 
 She dared not view it more. 
 But shrieks upon the air arose, 
 An(.l woke the woodlands' soft repose;
 
 THE VAMPIRE. 141 
 
 A being rushed along the plain — 
 Then stopt awhile — then fled again — 
 And in his arms a female bore, 
 With throat and bosom dyed with gore. 
 The moon peeped out again— 'twas past — • 
 But mournfully swept by the blast ; 
 The nightingale was terrified, 
 !Nor one melodious cadence tried : 
 E'en beasts that roam in search of blood, 
 Sped to their caverns in the wood ; 
 And growled with wild dismay and fear. 
 Those horrid yell* and screams to hear. 
 
 '* Oh ! stray not down that lonely road, 
 
 " For there a madman raves, 
 " Who forms his dreary, lone abode, 
 
 '* Amid the forest caves. 
 *' And often to the moon he speaks, 
 
 " And lifts his arms on high ; 
 " No colour blooms upon his cheeks, 
 
 " And hollow is his eye. 
 •' His body's thinly clad in rags, 
 
 " His meager limbs are bare ; 
 " Along the wood his form he drags, 
 
 " And tears his matted hair. 
 •' They say 'tis love distracts his brain, 
 " And fills his harrowed breast with pain. 
 " Some years ago, with youthful pride, 
 " He took a young and gentle bride ;
 
 142 THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 " But on the bridal-night she ded, 
 " Yet how, or why, was never said : 
 " But 'tis supposed her lovely frame 
 " Glutted a Vampire's heart of flame."
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL,
 
 •' Fear, sacred passion ! ever dwells 
 " W ith its fair partner, Love." 
 
 Needham.
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 The moon shone sweetly o'er a silver cloud, 
 And tinged the niaigin of its filmy shroud ; 
 Ton-Thena {'>) glittered in the rippling sea, 
 And danced upon the waters sportively : 
 While all her sisters sparkled by her side. 
 And trembled with the motion of the tide. 
 The Northern- Lights with lucid beauty shone 
 Resplendent on their bright cerulean throne, 
 And shot their scintillations far on high 
 In milky lustre o'er the azure sky. 
 Cold was the night and frosty, for the spray 
 In crystal particles appeared to play 
 Around the light canoe, and gemmed the prow 
 That smoothly glided o'er the waves below; 
 VVhen Calmar from his native Lapland shore, 
 The caves of frozen Iceland to explore. 
 Alone upon the ocean held his course. 
 As fearless as the dauntless arctic morse. 
 Inclement was the gentle breeze that blew. 
 And pierced, at intervals, his bosom through; 
 
 u 
 
 \
 
 146 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 Though clothed in furs and wadmal, ('') still his 
 
 breast. 
 The chilling influence of the night confest. 
 Inured to hardships in his bleak abode. 
 He scorned to tremble. Patiently he rode, 
 Nor once upon the joys of home looked back, 
 But steadfastly pursued his dangerous track. 
 Afar upon his ear arose the sound 
 Of Mjelstrom's Vortex (•=) whirling swiftly round ; 
 More fierce the tumult than an earthquake-shock, 
 Or cataracts wild-rushing from a reck: 
 But well he knew the omen, and afar 
 He steered away from ocean's wildest war. 
 
 But once he shuddered — not without a cause — 
 For o'er the billows, with extended jaws 
 The monstrous Kraken (j) his gigantic head 
 Uplifted, roaring, as he onward sped : 
 He seemed a moving island of the main. 
 Where birds of prey might hold their ample reign. 
 He hurried on : the swell that followed near 
 Checked the frail vessel in her swift career, 
 And twirled her round and round vehemently, 
 That sure destruction seemed her doom to be : 
 Subsiding gradually, the sea grew calm, 
 And Calmar 'scaped the wild, impending harm. 
 
 He scarcely had departed from his sight, 
 When yells arrested the cold ear of night ; 
 And frightful bellowings swept along the deep 
 And echoed 9n each high Norwegian steep.
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. -147 
 
 They told him that the monster felt the power 
 
 Of that dread whirlpool in its raging hour, 
 
 It baffled all his struggles, and beneath 
 
 Down dragged him, dashed upon the rocks to death. 
 
 Onward he held his course, benumbed and cold, 
 
 But yet his heart was good — his spirit bold — 
 
 His fate^ — his happiness — depended on 
 
 This wild adventure : oft he'd dwelt upon 
 
 The lovely Lula's virgin -tenderness. 
 
 And hoped her smile his future hours would bless: 
 
 But how to woo — or how to win the maid — 
 
 Was buried in Surtheller's (^) hollow shade. 
 
 For there the Hag of destiny had slept 
 
 For ages, and the hidden secrets kept 
 
 Secure from mortal ear — but those who dare 
 
 To rouse her may a portion of them share ; 
 
 But daemons, imps, and monsters, guard the place. 
 
 And bid defiance to the human race : 
 
 But he who conquers may command their power 
 
 To lead him down the subterranean bower. 
 
 And Calmar dares attempt — nor fears to die — 
 
 To learn from her his future destiny. 
 
 Oh ! whiter than the spotless snow that lies 
 On Ardanger, beneath her native skies. 
 Was that soft bosom, and as chaste her soul, 
 Which ne'er had felt as yet young Love's control. 
 Jlereye was like a sap])hire set in pearls, 
 That smiled beneath her graceful llaxen curls ; 
 
 o 2
 
 148 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 Her form was symmetry — for Nature's law 
 Had added loveliness without one flaw. 
 But yet she knew it not — her artless mind 
 Ne'er heard of vanity —but gentle — kind — 
 She smiled on all with innate modesty — ■ 
 Her thoughts were innocent — her wishes free. 
 
 Young Calmar was her childhood's earliest friend ; 
 For him the line she'd throw, the bow would bend, 
 Or skim with him along Tornea-Lake — 
 Partake of pleasures for her partner's sake. 
 She loved him best of all, but knew not why 
 Yet in his absence often would she sigh ; 
 But joy returned with him — 'twas childish joy — 
 And had not yet one scruple of alloy. 
 
 But now to -womanhood her form had sprung — 
 Upon her head the virgin- veil was flung ; 
 More distant she — less frequently he paid 
 His usual visits to the gentle maid. 
 And was it love that prompted her to change, 
 Nor through the forests with her friend to range, 
 To take the callow falcons from their nest 
 And place them 'neath her bosom's rustic vest ? 
 And was it love that bade her turn her eye 
 Away from his— then blush — and then look shy ? 
 It must have been, though he began to fear 
 That every day she valued him less dear; 
 And therefore to the witch resolved to go 
 To learu if joy were to be his — or woe.
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 149 
 
 How little did he know the female breast, 
 When most reserved she often loves the best ; 
 She scarcely will allow her mind to dwell 
 Upon the thoughts that in the bosoi» swell ; 
 She censures often what she fain would keep. 
 But dreams of it whene'er she falls asleep. 
 She cannot ask — but from her beaming eyes 
 She puts the question, ere her lip replies; 
 A nd he who knows not if his love's returned 
 Should frown not if his suit be often spurned. 
 
 'Tis near the break of morn — more keen the air 
 
 Crept o'er his form — and froze upon his hair 
 
 The breath that from his shivering bosom stole — 
 
 And half-congealed the current of his soul. 
 
 But at the paddles still he firmly strained. 
 
 And fast upon the tide his vessel gained. 
 
 And as he strove his mind was deep in thought, 
 
 As with the enterprise each wish was fraught ; 
 
 lie argued thus : " If Denmark's chief received 
 
 ** The Spirit's offering (f) — as 'tis well believed — ■ 
 
 " Why should not I some talisman obtain 
 
 " My only wish unsatisfied to gain? 
 
 " Was Otho loved of Odin more than I ? 
 
 " Was he less brave? Am 1 afraid to die ? 
 
 " Come, death ! thou'rt sweet, unless the maid be 
 
 mine — 
 •• But life is Heaven if I, dear girl, am thine." 
 
 Day dawned — and far upon his longing sight 
 Rose Hecla's triple top ai rayed in white ; 
 
 o 3
 
 150 THE LAPLAND ERIDAL. 
 
 And SiKpfials towering proudly o'er tlie rest, 
 Perpetnally in snowy garment drest, 
 Seemed like the spotless guardian of the isle 
 Bright glittering in the rays for many a mile; 
 And Shapion Gluver threw its smoke on high 
 In sable volumes 'neath the pale blue sky. 
 My-Vatu-Lake one sheet of crystal gleamed, 
 O'er which the hungry sea-fowl loudly screamed 
 To view the finny tribes in myriads pass 
 Beneath its surface, cased in purest glass ; 
 And stooping to its margin oft in vain 
 Told their displeasure as they sought the main. 
 
 But as he nearer drew to land, around 
 Huge massive sheets of ice the island bound, 
 Which drifting from the arctic regions there 
 Conveyed o'er ocean the white polar bear, 
 Who 'rtongst the flocks wide devastation pours 
 Whene'er he lands upon its frozen shores. 
 These offered obstacles he'd fain forget, 
 As gazing on the picture with regret 
 He turned for once his thoughts to joy and home, 
 And half-repented of his wish to roam. 
 
 He rowed along the coast despondingly 
 
 To where Skalfanda meets the quiet sea ; 
 
 And though its stream with ice was covered o'er 
 
 Which checked the echo of its torrents' roar, 
 
 Yet underneath the cover rushed along. 
 
 And forced its way the glassy rocks among.
 
 THE LAPLAND RRIDAL. l&l 
 
 There a small creek preseiiteJ to his view 
 
 A vvelcoiue landing-place — the light canoe 
 
 Darted along the haven to the land, 
 
 And Calmar stepped upon the slippery strand. 
 
 He slowly traversed the deserted edge, 
 
 Where no impression of the gliding sledge 
 
 Presented to his eye a welcome track 
 
 To guide his foot-steps o'er the frozen slack. (^) 
 
 No human voice arose upon his ear, 
 
 For all was silent, desolate, and drear. 
 
 But starting oft before his path of snow 
 
 White foxes bounded from their caves below, 
 
 Like fragments of an avalanche that slide 
 
 In quick succession down a mountain's side; 
 
 And scarcely noticed from the road of white 
 
 O'er which their timid feet maintained their flight. 
 
 The hungry wild-cat, prowling on her way, 
 
 Mewed loudly near, as craving for her prey. 
 
 No herbage bloomed upon the snow-bound earth 
 
 To cUeer the dreariness of Winter's dearth; 
 
 The trees themselves, that sprang from out the soil 
 
 Seemed striving to support their lives with toil : 
 
 Upon the stunted branches icicles 
 
 Hung pendulous — and like a flock's small bells 
 
 Tinkled, as swept the breeze from oft' the main, 
 
 Which shook them, ringing on the frosty plain. 
 
 On, on he toiled — tho' faint and travel-worn, 
 His heart was far too resolute to mourn —
 
 152 
 
 THE LAPLAND HRIDAL. 
 
 And now the sun behind tall Hecla's peak 
 
 Had lowly sunk, his night's repose to seek ; 
 
 Pale Dian rose to guide him on his way. 
 
 And faintly imitated dawn of day. 
 
 He started — trembled — for before his view 
 
 Strange images appeared with terrors new ; 
 
 Large, ponderous pillars glared before his sight, (h) 
 
 Reflected by the feeble beams of night : 
 
 And Superstition, busy in his mind. 
 
 Some strange disaster from the scene defined. 
 
 He glanced his eye — he shuddered as he past — 
 
 Renewed his pace with efforts doubly fast — 
 
 But oft he turned, as stricken with amaze. 
 
 Upon their wild, gigantic bulks to gaze. 
 
 The earth, at tiroes, seemed tottering 'neath his tread, 
 
 And groans arose from out its fiery bed ; 
 
 For he'd been told in Gluver's burning womb, 
 
 Some rebel giant still bewailed his doom ; 
 
 And as he tossed and writhed with scorching pain, 
 
 Its boiling entrails flew on air amain. 
 
 And might it not be true these massive rocks 
 
 Were thrown on ether by the frequent shocks. 
 
 And falling rapidly upon the land. 
 
 Buried their basements in the yielding sand. 
 
 Deep bent upon his enterprise, he strove 
 More quickly o'er the frozen earth to move ; 
 But Nature yielded to fatigue, for sleep, 
 Unsought for, o'er his eyes began to creep. 
 Beneath a hill of snow his form he threw 
 And soon the place receded from his view,
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 153 
 
 Nor till the sun shone bright upon the west 
 Did he awake and leave his cliilly nest. 
 
 A hasty nneal partaken of, again 
 He held his way along the glittering plain. 
 And soon the cavern, yawning to the sun, 
 Told him at last his weary race was run ; 
 O'eijoyed he viewed it, and with quickened pace, 
 Sped down the hill to gain the welcome place. 
 Oh ! all was black as darkest night within ; 
 He paused — he thought upon the prize to win — 
 Then dashing franticly adown the road, 
 AVhich echoed every foot-step as he trode, 
 Was soon enveloped with the murkiness. 
 Without one ray of light his eye to bless. 
 lie stopped — upon his ear a piercing cry 
 Rang wildly thro' the hollow cavity ; 
 He, trembling, turned to where a feeble ray 
 Behind him at the entrance marked the day : 
 When high above his head, on pinions borne, 
 A being hurried to behold the mora ; 
 And as it towards the cavern's opening flew. 
 It shut what litile light remained from view. 
 'Twds darkness all — but still the screams arose. 
 But fainter as it gained the dungeon's close, 
 And fainter still, as darting from the mouth. 
 It seemed a falcon of prodigious growth. 
 Jle stood, unknowing wliere to turn, or go, 
 But walking, fearfully, some steps below, 
 The air was gently agitated, and 
 Jle thought he ft It the pressure of a hand;
 
 154 THR LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 He sliiuUleretl, aiul drew hack a pace or two, 
 
 Expecting to behold tlie dvemon-orew — 
 
 He heard a voice — or conscience smote his breast— 
 
 " Retire ! and leave to destiny the rest; 
 
 " Pursue the course thy country's laws hold out, 
 
 " And sure possession will dispel thy doubt. 
 
 " Retire ! take courage, and the maid is thine — 
 
 " 'Tjs nought but weakness makes thy soul repine." 
 
 He felt relieved at once, and vowed to move 
 
 Resentment in her breast, or cordial love. 
 
 He knew the rule — he must o'ertakc a deer (') 
 
 When bounding onwards in its swift career. 
 
 Ere he could claim a seat on manhood's throne — 
 
 Or ofter terms to make the maid his own. 
 
 He pondered on the chance, as hurrying on, 
 
 A nd as he strode, he reached the air anon ; 
 
 Refreshing was the breeze that fanned his face 
 
 As he ascended from the gloomy place ; 
 
 Then gaily o'er the plain he tripped along, 
 
 Low humming to himself a rustic song. 
 
 He had no guide to lead him o'er the snow. 
 
 Its surface hardened to the soil below 
 
 Ne'er yielded to his tread — no mark was seen 
 
 To note the route which he had lately been ; 
 
 But deviating from the path he came. 
 
 Nor doubting that he still pursued the same, 
 
 Till, when he gained the summit of a hill, 
 
 He viewed a fountain, but its stream was still; 
 
 It seemed a tree of glass — transparent — bright — 
 
 But lofty as a steeple was its height.
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 155 
 
 Immovable it stood. He g;azed with awe, 
 
 And wondpred at the novelty he saw. 
 
 Then judging by the solar altitude — 
 
 His best conductor in a place so rude, — 
 
 Turned to the left, and northward tracked his path, 
 
 Unmindful of the element's fierce wrath. 
 
 By morrow's eve he stood upon the shore — 
 With joy he viewed old ocean's face once more, 
 And treading on the slippery crags with care 
 Slowly descended — when beneath, a bear 
 Stood in his path-way, and with menace dire 
 Opposed his progress, growling wild with ire. 
 He headlong leaped from off the beetling peak 
 And gained his vessel, harboured in the creek ; 
 He plied the paddles, bnt, alas! in vain. 
 Each effort failed, retreat he could not gain. 
 The waves had frozen round her sides, and fast 
 Cemented to the rock, his strength surpassed. 
 Down came the savage brute, intent on blood. 
 But Calmar firmly on the margin stood. 
 And drew the bow-string far beyond his ear 
 And marked his enemy approaching near. 
 Forth flew the winged messenger — the twang 
 Echoed aloud — the prowler felt the pang, 
 And writhing with the pain, came rushing down. 
 More furious by the wound inflicted grown. 
 Again the bow-string sounded on the air — 
 Again the arrow clove the shaggy hair ; 
 But desperate driven by rage and agony 
 He nearer pressed, and rolling wild his eye.
 
 loi] THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 Tlien Calmar throw aside his shining yew, 
 And from liis bolt the glittering d agger drew — 
 One paddle in his lei't hand raised to ward 
 The fierce assault — tho' but a slender guard, 
 It served to keep the roaring beast at bay 
 Who foaming to the contest held his way. 
 lie came — he thrust the point between his jaws— 
 The savage siezed it with his out-stretched paws- 
 Then stooping down, within his hairy side 
 Plunged deep the weapon, and the crimson tide 
 Poured forth in torrents on the rocks, as low, 
 Weltering in gore, he rolled upon the snow. 
 
 From oflf the carcass with his dagger's blade 
 He stripped the skin, which in the vessel laid. 
 As trophy to his native country borne (^) 
 His rustic habitation to adorn: 
 Then with his reeking weapon round the boat 
 Loosened the ice, and launched her in the moat, 
 And o'er the waves she lightly rode again 
 Exposed to all the dangers of the main. 
 
 Suppose the perils of the ocean past — 
 Suppose him safe on Lapland-shores at last; 
 Within the turf-roofed hut at ease reclined, 
 AVithout one care to agitate his mind.
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 157 
 
 *Tis niaht — but not the nis;ht of southern climes 
 Told by the pealing of the dial's chipies; 
 But one trimenstnan round of feeble ray 
 Connecting darkness with the glare of day. 
 The stars appear to shine with brighter beam — 
 The moon throws radiance in a larger stream — 
 And though 'tis night no gloom obscures the ground, 
 For twilight glimmers on the objects round. 
 
 Reclining on his mat before the blaze 
 Which rose and mingled with the smoky haze 
 That hung beneath the ceiling of the cot, 
 Laid Calmar, brooding on his future lot: 
 And as imagination seized his mind 
 lie seemed to leave his rankling care behind, 
 And roaming in an airy flight, descries 
 The opening scenes of earthly paradise. (') 
 Stor-Avan, with her year of little isles, (•") 
 Invited him to come and share the smiles 
 Of all the happy souls residing there, 
 Free from misfortune — banished from despair. 
 
 And next he thought upon his bosom's flame. 
 As o'er his mind her blooming features came ; 
 Her cheek was like the rose's borrowed hue — 
 Its thorn concealed from flying Beauty's view, (") 
 Pierced her white foot and tinged its spotless face 
 With blushes Time can never more erase. 
 How like the bud, ere genial suns expand 
 Its blushing head, just rising from the land, 
 
 p
 
 158 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 Glows the young maiden's modest countenance 
 Should she but meet some boUl intruder's clance. 
 But summer comes — and womanhood arrives — 
 The rose bursts forth — the girl, exulting, lives — 
 They both are lovely — both admired awhile — 
 Alas ! their sun has but a feeble smile ! 
 The autumn drives its fostering glance away — 
 The rose hangs, drooping, on its slender spray ; 
 No hand descends to pluck it — not a breast 
 Inhr.les its odour ere it sink to rest. 
 And beauty fades — and youth decays as fast — 
 It has its summer, but it soon is past. 
 
 But starting from his reverie, he rose — 
 For sleep refused his wandering thought repose — 
 And forth he walked towards the forests drear 
 To try his speed against a flying deer. 
 Behold a buck, with antlers spreading wide, 
 Bounded before him from a mountain's side ; 
 Wild as a hawk, and timid as a hare. 
 Away he hurried o'er the champaign bare. 
 But like his shadow, following close behind. 
 Less fleet in motion than the passing wind. 
 Step after step, young Calmar lieid his way 
 Staunch as the blood-hound truiliiig to his prey : 
 Through valley, and o'er mountain quick they go. 
 Gliding along the surface of the snow. 
 
 Hours have rolled on, and round the cottage fire 
 His friends for Calmar fruitlessly enquire ;
 
 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 159 
 
 His seat is vacant at the homely meal — 
 They call his name aloud, no answers steal 
 From out the corner where he lately sat, 
 Tn thoughtful mooil, upon his hairy mat. 
 Conjecture on conjecture fills each mind. 
 At last they rise their absent friend to find ; 
 They thought, perhaps, that to the woods alone 
 To hunt a boar he secretly had flown. 
 In hopes to bring the head in triumph there, 
 As partner to the skin of Iceland's bear ; 
 And that o'ercome by cold, fatigue, or pain. 
 Had fallen to sleep within the bleak domain. 
 
 The nimble deer are harnessed to the sled, - 
 And o'er the road, which to the forests led. 
 Away, like lightning, quickly they proceed, 
 Cheered by the driver's song to urge their speed. 
 They tracked the deep impressions of his feet, 
 Left on the surface of the fresh-fallen sleet : 
 At first a regular, unbroken hole. 
 As if with caution he had placed his sole 
 Upon the yielding substance — farther on 
 It seemed that his timidity had gone. 
 For wider was the distance between each, 
 As though in quick pursuit he strove to reach 
 Some form retreating from his haste — and now 
 Large spots of blood were seen upon the snow — 
 And then as if a struggle had ensued — 
 'Twas scratched about, and with the gore embued 
 
 O 2
 
 160 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 For yards around — and then fresh drops were seen- 
 They wondered what the sanguine act could mean. 
 
 But onward, onward still they swept away, 
 
 Like mists of night before the dawning day; 
 
 And now upon a hillock they espy 
 
 Two dusky forms that on the summit lie : 
 
 They press the deer, and soon they gain the place, 
 
 Destined to be the finish of their race. 
 
 Stretched on a lifeless rein-deer, cold as death. 
 
 Without sensation, motion, warmth, or breath, 
 
 As pallid as the snow beneath his head, 
 
 Laid hapless Calmar. They supposed him dead, 
 
 And poured their lamentations long and loud, 
 
 As round the body eagerly they crowd. 
 
 They raised him up — a groan escaped his heart — 
 
 His bosom trembled with a sudden start — 
 
 His eyelids partly opened for awhile. 
 
 And o'er his frozen features played a smile; 
 
 They saw that life was not extinct, though all 
 
 Its functions were enslaved in death-like thrall. 
 
 With care they placed him on the sledge, and back 
 Along the waste they took the beaten track ; 
 And soon before the cottage door they rest. 
 To cheer its inmates with a welcome guest. 
 What remedies their humble skill devised 
 Were on his frozen members exercised.
 
 fHE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 161 
 
 They flawed a fresh-killed deer, and placed him in, 
 Benumbed and motionless, the reeking skin— 
 They chafed his feet with snow— and soon restored 
 Tq life, his gratitude he loudly poured. 
 
 With garment dipped in rich and glittering dyes, 
 And incense flowing from her balmy sighs» 
 And scattering flowerets on the opening earth 
 Came gentle Spring, accompanied by Mirth. 
 She shed her tears, at night, upon the land, 
 And smiled, at sun-rise, with expression bland; 
 And Nature, gladdened by her rosy look, 
 The frowns of Winter from her bosom shook. 
 
 One morn in May, beneath her humble roof. 
 Blaming her folly with a harsh reproof. 
 But ever turning to the thought again, 
 Sat LuLA, cherishing her secret pain. 
 Her eyes were lustreless, her cheeks were pale, 
 Pale as the net-work of her spotless veil ; 
 Yet beauty, artless beauty still was there — 
 Beauty, unconquered even by despair. 
 She heard a gentle knock against the door. 
 And rising from her cushion on the floor. 
 Went to her parents in the inner room. 
 Supposing that some travellers had come. 
 They hastened to the door, and found a throng 
 Of neighbours, gaily clad, both old and young: 
 
 P 3
 
 162 THE LAPLAND BRIDAL. 
 
 They bade them enter (») — all but one obeyed, 
 
 And he alone without the entrance stayed. 
 
 And then the spokesman of the rustic band 
 
 Stepped forward, holding in his out-stretched hand 
 
 A flask of spirits, bowing to the host. 
 
 And craving him to pledge him in a toast. 
 
 He took a cup, and filled it to the brim 
 
 Then with his lips he kissed the shining rim — 
 
 The host received it — drained it courteously — 
 
 The matron and her daughter smiled to see 
 
 The same presented to their hands, and made 
 
 Assent, they countenanced the honor paid. 
 
 The door was opened, and they stood aside, 
 
 When running to salute his future bride. 
 
 Young Calmar entered with the marriage pledge- 
 
 A silken girdle with a silver edge — 
 
 And placing it round his Ltjla's waist, 
 
 Was pleased to find that she approved his taste. 
 
 He promised wedding-garments to the sire — 
 
 The mother should be clad in new attire — 
 
 Then begged an interview with Lula — she 
 
 Requested him to meet her near a tree 
 
 That grew alone upon a little hill. 
 
 From which descended a pellucid rill. 
 
 His heart was gay, as slowly they withdrew 
 
 Well pleased with the result they bade adieu. 
 
 'Twere needless to pursue the prosperous fate 
 Of happy Calmar, and his gentle mate;
 
 THE l.APLANU BRIDAL. KJI 
 
 They met — they pledged their vows of constancy, 
 And loved as tenderly as love cotdd be — 
 She ne'er had cause his tardiness to chide, 
 And he was happy with his Lapland Bride. 
 
 END OF THE LAPLAND BRIDAL.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 (") Ton- Thena. — The pole-star. 
 
 C") Wadmal. — A kind of coarse cloth, worn chiefly 
 by the Icelanders. 
 
 ('<=) Maelstroms Vortex. 
 
 " The dreadful vortex, or whirlpool of Maelstrom, 
 or Moskoestrora, is the most remarkable of the natural 
 curiosities of Norway. It is caused by a furious cur- 
 rent, which runs among the Loffoden Isles, parcicu- 
 larly between the Island of Moskoe and the Point of 
 Moskoenas, where its violence is greatest, flowing 
 contrary to the motion of the tide, in a kind of cir- 
 cular stream. Twice in tweniy-four hours, at tho 
 turn of ebb and tide, the current ceases, and the 
 water is calm during almost an hour ; aftt^r which it 
 gradually increases, till it becomes trementlous, and 
 roars with a noise iinecpialled by the loudest cataracts.
 
 106 NOTES. 
 
 It is l)«aid at tlie distance of many leagues, and forms 
 a vortex of great extent and depth, so violent that if 
 a ship comes near it, it is immediately drawn irre- 
 sistibly into the whirl, and there disappears, being 
 absorbed and carried down to the bottom in a moment, 
 where it is dashed to pieces against the rocks, and 
 when the water becomes again still, rises in scattered 
 fragments, scarcely to be known for the parts of a 
 ship. In the time of its greatest violence, the danger 
 of its influence is said to extend to the distance of 
 eight, or even twelve Rngliah miles from its centre. — 
 Whales, and other animals, v.hich happen to be 
 caught by this dreadful whirlpool, are said to. shew 
 themselves sensible of their approaching destruction, 
 by their hideous bellov/iiigs, and desperate but in- 
 effectual struggles to escape." —Guthrie. 
 
 (^) Krakm. 
 
 A marine monster, supposed to inhabit the arctic 
 ocean, and said to be a mile and a half in circum- 
 ference ; and wheu part appears above the water, it 
 resembles small islands, or sand-banks, on which the 
 fishes sport, and t^ea-weeds grow. 
 
 (•') SnrtheJter. — an immense cave in Iceland — one 
 mile in leiigtl), fifty feet high, and thirty-five feet 
 broad. 
 
 C; riie Spirit^ Offer iiKj, ^-c. 
 
 in Denmark the rj is a massive silver drinking-horn
 
 NOTES. 167 
 
 which, tradition says, was presented to Olho, the 
 first Duke of Oldenburg, by a ghost. 
 
 (s) Slack. 
 
 " O'er iiolt, o'er hill, o'er slope and slack, 
 
 " She sought her native stall, 
 " She liked not Darcie's doughty black, 
 " Or Darcie's spear at all." 
 
 Hogg's QucctCs Wake. 
 
 (^) Large, ponderous pillars, Sfc. 
 
 " Basaltine pillars are likewise very common in 
 Iceland, which are supposed to have been produced 
 by subterraneous fires. They have generally from 
 three to seven sides, and are from four to seven feet in 
 thickness, and from twelve to sixteen yards in length, 
 without any horizontal divisions." — Guthrie. 
 
 (') He must overtake a deer, &c. 
 
 A Laplander is not allowed to make an offer of 
 marriage to a girl, till he can overtake and kill a rein- 
 deer. 
 
 C') As trophy to his native country borne, &c. 
 
 " The most honorable exploit among the Lap- 
 landers is that of killing a bear, and the heroes adorn 
 their caps with a small piece of lead or pewter, for 
 every bear they have &lain." — Ency. Briian,
 
 160 NOTF.S, 
 
 (i) The opening scenes of earthly Paradise. 
 Laplanders think their country terrestrial Paradise. 
 
 ("") Stor-Avan, and leer year of little isles. 
 Stor- A van Lake, in Lapland, contains three hundred 
 and bisty-tive islands. 
 
 (") Its thorn concealed from flying Beauty's view. 
 
 Venus, when running one day in pursuit of Adonis, 
 drove the thorn of a rose-tree into her foot — imirie- 
 diately the color of the flower (which was originally 
 white) changed to a crimson; stained, as is supposed, 
 by the blood that flowed from the veins of the amorous 
 Goddess. 
 
 (^) They hade them enter. 
 
 For an account of the marriage-off'er and ceremony 
 among the Laplanders, see Bankes's Geography. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 ■. WARD, PRINTER, 14, SIN STREET, CANTERBURY.
 
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