iliilil"!'"!!"!. iiiiiiii.iiiii illilllll;||IMI||llh , 1; THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY oe' CALIEORNIA LOS ANGELES ?. \y^ THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST, AM) OTHER POEMS. 13Y HENRY TAYLOR, Al'TUOB OK "rilll.ir VA> AKTBVKI.Ui:." LONDON : EDWAlil) .MUXON, DOVER STRKKI. MDCCCXLVIl. LOXDON : ERADBCIIY AXU EVANS, PRIMERS, WIIITEJ BIARS. TO THE HON. MRS. HENRY TAYLOR. Dear Alice, tliro' much mockery of yours (Impatient of my labours long and slow ' And small results that I made haste to show From time to time) you seomfullest of reviewers, These verses worked their way : " Get on, get on," Was mostly my encouragement : But 1 Dead to all spurring kept my pace foregone And long had learat all laughter to defy. I thought moreover that your laugh (for hard Would bo the portion of the hapless liard Who found not in each comment grave or gay Some Hatteinng unction) ... In youi* laugh, I say, .\. subtle something glimmered ; 'twas a laugh If half of mockery, yet of pleasure half. .\nd since, on looking round, I know not who Will greet my offering with as good a grace, And in their favour give it half a place, Thes<; Hights, for fault of better, short and few, Dear .\lice, I must dedicate to you. .MoKTf.AKK, Nov. 1847. 841980 CONTENTS. THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST "soft be THE voice" LINES WRITTEN IN REMEMHRANCE OF THE HON. EDWARD ERNEST VILLIERS ..... LAGO VARESE LAGO LUGANO THE AMPHITHEATRE AT POZZUOLI ALWINE AND ADELAIS . ..... SONNET IN THE MAIL COACH "FOR ME NO ROSEATE GARLANDS TWINE "' GRAVE OF OLYMPIA MORATA LI.NES WRITTEN SOON AFTER THE RETURN OF SIR IIE.NK POTTINGER FROM CHINA, IN 1845 . ST. helen's-auckland ERNESTO NOTE 1 ;i-2 34 39 45 56 58 69 70 71 73 81 85 !tl THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. A CLOUDY night descended on the slopes Of Mountfield, and the scattered woods heyond, Where lay the Saxon force ; and now the wind Till sunset that had seemed to hold its breath, Burst forth in gusts and flaws, the sea far oflf Sounding a dirge a day before the time. A flush of light was in the Southern sky, Cast from the Norman camp, and more remote At intervals around, from Lunsford-heath To Broad-oak-cross, and Udiraore to Ilooe, The frequent watchfire glimmer 'd, where the boors. 2 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Though scared yet greedy, grimly lurked aloof, Expecting plunder when to-morrow's storm Should leave the wreck of battle on the plain. So fell the night. Upon the Saxon flank A forest stood, within whose wavering skirt Was scoop 'd a shelter for King Harold's tent. And thither when the fitful wind was lulled Came sounds of jollity and boisterous songs, Wliich did not please the King. — " Leofwyn, Brand, Go bid the chiefs abate this barbarous mirth, And counsel them that cannot sleep to pray." They went, and shortly there was silence. Then The King composed himself as seeking rest ; But though his limbs were motionless, the Page Who watched him, noted that his eyes were closed More fast than if in sleep, and that his lips Were ever and anon compress 'd to curb A quivering movement. Suddenly he rose, And shouted for the Page — but he was there. THE EVE OF TUE COXQCEST. ■•Go, Ina, t-ro the night waste further, go. And bring me from the Convent where she sleeps Edith, my daughter ; I would hold discourse With her of former days ; and wanting this My soul is not consenting to repose." So Ina thro' the tangled thickets ran, Much carping at the absence of the Moon, And doubting in the darkness lest his speed Thro' misdirection should induce delay. But soon he reached the Convent in the groves Of Penshurst, now the shield of Uarold's house, Lonj: after to be otherwise renowned. " Sleeps she, the Lady Edith :"' "No," they said, " Nor will she be persuaded ; she is now At Nocturns in the chapel." Thither he ; But ere his entrance had the service ceased. She kuelt ujton the altar steps alone In mourning loosely clad, with naked arms That made an ivor>- cross upon her liroasl. 11 '2 4 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. She mourn 'd and pray'd for that revolted Earl Her uncle Tostig, he that fell at York A month before, in arms with aliens join'd, In overthrow with that Norwegian King Who got from Harold what when terms were named The Saxon proiFer'd with abrupt disdain — " Six feet of ground, — or seven, for he was tall." She mourn'd her uncle, spite of his revolt. Because she loved the stock whereof she came, And knew them noble even when most misled. " The King would see you. Princess, ere he sleeps, For he is troubled in his mind." She rose, And rising seem'd the vision of a Saint, Awaiting her assumption. In her mien Celestial beauty reigned with sovran grace, And holy peace which holier raptures left Not colourless, but like a sunset sky, Partaking of their glories. So she rose, And bending as once more she cross 'd herself, Went forth in haste though calm. THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. J By shorter paths, For they were known to her, she led the way, By garth and croft, and thro' the ferny brake, And o'er the stepping stones that spann'd the stream, And where the deer-browsed elms in Penshurst Park Spread o'er the sward their level circular roofs ; And nimbly now and with less doubtful speed Than Ina's by the parting ways perplex 'd, They reach 'd the forest in whose wavering skirt Was scoop 'd a shelter for King Uarold's tent. Meanwliilc the King sate brooding, deep in thought ; Nor, save for mandates needful to be given As notices were brought from spies and scouts. Had raised his forehead from his folded hands : The time was tedious to the troubled King. At length the imbedded floor of tough beech leaves, Slow to rejoin the dust from which they came, Returned the tremulous pressure of a foot So light and soft the Woodland Genius 6 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Mistook it for an echo of the steps By Oreads planted there in days of old. Then Harold, rising as the Princess knelt, Threw off the cloud that veil'd him, and appear'd His very self, a man of godhke mould. Radiant, but grave. — The greeting o'er, he sat Upon a rough-hewn couch with rushes strown ; And she upon a mantle at his feet Half sat, half lay, her face upturned to his, Hands clasp'd across his knee. Then spake the King "Since sunset, when the marshalling of the force Was ended, in this dark nocturnal void The Past has come upon me. Should I fall To-morrow, I shall leave behind me few. It may be none, to tell with friendly truth My tale to after times. Of those that now Surround me and have battled by my side In former fields, too many are estranged For love of lucre, seeing I withheld THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. The spoil of that rich \'ictory in the North, To spare my people, ravaged by the wars : These, if surviving me, shall bear me hard. The Many, for whose dear behoof I lose The suffrage of the Few, are slow to praise A fallen friend, or vindicate defeat. To-day the idol am I of their loves ; But should I be to-morrow a dead man, My memory, were it spotless as the robes That wrapp d the Angels in the Sepulchre, Should see corruption. Therefore in the ear Of one whom Nature destines to outlive, If God should so see good, my mortal term Arriving soon or late, I fain would leave Some notice of those things wherein I err'd. And those wherein they err that taint my fame. Thy brethren tend their charges or repair Their strength in sleep ; but thou art wise to know, And lov'st to hearken. So long as thou liv'st. Of what I tell do thou thy memory make 8 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. A living record ; and before thou diest, Unmixed witli lies and flatteries, in the hook Wherein the Saxon Kings are chronicled, See it be written." With a wistful gaze The Princess waited whilst her sire revolved The matters he would speak of. More than once She press 'd her Ups upon the massive hand That lay beside her, rough and weather-stain'd ; Then gazed again. He knew not what she did ; His thoughts were travelling into distant times. At length they wrought to utterance : — " In my youth How gaily deck'd, how fortunately fair, My life before me lay. My father then Had graciously and of his bounty given The crown to Edward, his obsequious King. I ruled in Kent, and held thro' him such power, That justice, which the people long had ceased To dream of and forgotten to be due, THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Was feasible ; and mercy, which had sccm'd A gift reserved to God, was mine to grant. So love flow'd on me from a thousand springs And pour'd itself around me like a flood. I flourish'd as a bay tree. By my side A noble brotherhood of six fair youths Grew lustily, my father's younger sons ; Of whom, with loyal and fraternal faith Four have still follow 'd me thro' chance and change, Inalterable ; two have pass'd from earth And stand before their Judge ; I judge them not. Last of the six in order, first in love. Was Ulnoth, in the beauty of his prime, Who seem'd a creature sent by God to fill The world with love. A goodlier sight this Earth Beheld not in its goodliest golden days. A frank and friendly joy adorn'd his face. Exuberant, but in its wildest mood Forgetful of no courtesy nor grace Of generous kindness dealt to high and low 10 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Like rain and sunshine, affluent from the heart, With no respect of persons, a good-will That could not be contain'd. Ulnoth I loved Next to thy mother, Edith, while she lived ; And when her spirit, purified by pain Whilst here abiding, was translated hence, I loved him of the living best. That love I to this hour rejoice in and retain, Not deeming what it cost me worth a sigh. Thus in the earlier years of Edward's reign Well fared my father's house. But joy is short ; And soon upon our glorious break of day. So rich in sunshine and so fresh with dew. We saw the clouds to gather from that side Whence now the storm assails us. Normans soon Began to flock to impotent Edward's court. Who, in his wily weakness, whilst he shower d His favours on our house, yet hated most (A customary baseness in the weak) THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 11 Ilim to whom most he owed, and sought to sap My father's fortunes when he seem'd to build. The Norman coiutiers, who could dance and sing Or fast and pray at pleasure, worm'd their way, And quickening the dull hatreds that they found, Pour'd very poison in King Edward's ears. By falsehood they prevail'd ; nor less by truth. They told him, which was true, that we despised His person and his power : they said besides We practised to overturn the tottering throne That now we overshadow'd ; which was false. But whatsoe'er shall furnish pleas for fear Finds credit with a coward, and the King 15elieving all they bid him, strove to bate Our formidable fortunes, and to lift His foreign minions into power. They thence Toole courage whom they injured to insult ; And Eustace Count of Boulogne, on his way To France by Dover, with such desperate pride Demcau'd himself, the townsmen rose in arms. 12 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. And I who ruled the seaboard was constrain'd To drive him back. The King's aceustom'd fear Was startled into anger, and he bade My father and myself appear forthwith Before the Witena. We raised a force ; But then my father falter'd, and the King Propounding terms, a compact, to my heart Most grievous, was concluded, from which seed Sprang mostly my misfortunes and my faults. For Ulnoth as a hostage was consign 'd For surer custody to William's hands, This Nonnan Duke. Ere long my father died ; And Edward's dread and hatred of our house Relenting, for 'twas he had scared him most, I grew in greatness ; and the wars in Wales, — Which country 'twas my fortune to reduce To unaccustomed tamencss — and with these Earl Alfgar's insurrection — which, tho' fierce, I quell'd by force and hcal'd by clemency — TnE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 13 Exalted my renown, and to my zeal Experience added ; and as Edward's health Went yearly more to waste, the people's voice Design'd me for the throne. My path scem'd straight At home, but I foresaw that foreign leagues, And strife and envy, shoidd confront my steps WTicu once afoot ; and knowing this I knew ^Vllat dangers should arise to Ulnoth then, If he were then still caged in William's court. For though the Norman had not yet divulged Ilis own preposterous claims, yet him I knew With all my foreign foes confederate. Wherefore, or e'er the stirring time should come. Twas first my care to compass the release Of Ulnoth. To my instances the King Made answer still that William and not he Detained him ; hut in truth hu greatly grudg'd This maiiiprize of my loyalty to let loose. To William thus remitted, 1 resolved 14 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. To him to go ; ■which doubtless pleased the King, As privy to the Duke's audacious schemes, Nor loth that I should stumble on his toils. " Through divers dangers, shipwreck first, and next Captivity, I reach'd the Norman court. Right joyful was that day. The politic Duke Received me with all honours short of those To sovereign Princes paid. Procession, game, Banquet and dance, with songs of every strain, Lays, virelays, delays and roudelays, A fortnight of festivities fill'd out. But festive beyond all that song or dance Could publish of festivity, to me Was'Ulnoth's face, fulfill 'd of all delight, That seem'd to lavish like a miser's heir It's hoard of joy. The meanest of the train That follow'd at my father's heels or mine In former days, appearing to him now. Even as a brother would have welcomed been. THE EVE OF THE COXQUEST. lo \\ hat welcome then was mine ! Of all his race The one who loved him best, whom best he loved, Through dangers to his house of bondage come, And haply his deliverance to achieve. From treating with the Duke I held aloof Till 1 should see and learn : with Ulnoth still Deligliting to consume the livelong day Associate in the chase, or as he list, In groves and gardens, regally adorn 'd With fountains and with daintiest flowers, nor less With frequent gleam of damsels thither brought By choice or chance, or choice attending chance, In throngs or sole, that many a chaplet twined, And chauntcd many a lay. Of these the first In station and most eminently fair. Was Adeliza, daughter of the Duke. A woman-child she was : but womanhood By gradual afflux on her childhood gain'd, And like a tide that up a river steals 16 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. And reaches to a lilied bank, began To lift up life beneath her. As a child She still was simple, — rather shall I say More simple than a child, as being lost In deeper admirations and desires. The roseate richness of her childish bloom Remain'd, but by inconstancies and change Referr'd itself to sources passion-swept. Such had I seen her as I pass'd the gates Of Rouen, in procession, on the day I landed, when a shower of roses fell Upon my head, and looking up I saw The fingers which had scatter'd them half spread Forgetful, and the forward-leaning face Intently fix'd and glowing, but methought More serious than it ought to be, so young And midmost in a show. From time to time Thenceforth I felt, although I met them not, The visitation of those serious eyes, The ardours of that face toward me turn'd. THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 17 These long I understood not ; for I knew That she in fast companionship had lived With Ulnoth ; and albeit his joy and pride Had been in eloquent speech to magnify My deeds, in so much that the twain had lived And revell'd in my story, yet I deem'd That she must needs have prized beyond the theme The voice that graced it ; and contrasting now My darkening days with Ulnoth's gracious prime, I scarce could bring myself to think that eyes, Howe'er by fancy misinform'd, could err From him to mc. But Ulnotli was a boy When first she knew him, nor was yet renown'd ; And woman's fancy is more quick to read In furrow'd faces histories of wars And tales of wonders by the lamp of fame, Than in the cursive characters of youth, How fair soever written, to descry A glorious promise. Thus betwixt these twain A love that burst too early into bloom c 18 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Was sever'd ere it set. For Ulnoth's part, He, in his nature buoyant, liglitly held By all his loves save that he bare to me ; And lightly, with a joyful pride, he saw Her heart to me surrender 'd, and himself Of some unsettled moiety disseised. Such shape to him the matter took. For me, Her excellence of beauty, and regards Rapt oftentimes, forgetful of the earth, Of earthly attributions unaware In him her fancy glorified, — regards That seem'd of power to make the Heaven they sought. Did doubtless touch what time and public cares And household griefs had left me of a heart. I loved the lady with a grateful love. Tender and pure, not passionate. Meantime, I search 'd the Duke, and saw myself by him With subtlest inquisition search'd in turn. His eye was cold and cruel, yet at times THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 19 It flash 'd with merriment ; his bearing bold, And save when ho had pui-poses in hand, Reckless of those around him, insomuch He scarce would seem to know that they were there. Yet was he not devoid of courtly arts, And when he wish'd to win, or if it chanced Some humour of amenity came o'er him. He could be bland, attractive, frankly gay. Insidiously soft ; but ay beneath Was fire which whether by cold ashes screen 'd Or lambent flames that lick'd whom at a word They might devour, was unextinguish'd still. •'It chanced he had a quarrel now afoot With Conan, Count of Brctagne, against whom He took the field. I gladly with him went For exercise in arms, and gave what aid I could in council : lUit the more he found In mo of succour and resource, the more A jealous care possess'd him. Not the loss c 2 20 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. He courted and cajoled me, costliest gifts Conferring with a light and lavish hand. My suit for Ulnoth's liberty at once He granted ; and of all he had to give The prime of gifts most precious in his eyes, His daughter Adeliza, in his heart He plainly purposed then, if all went well, To proffer. Her from cradled infancy He carried with him wheresoe'er he went By land or sea, in peace or war, and now In camp or town, in tent or citadel. She ever was at hand to share the joy When we return 'd successful from assault Or deed of arms. One evening in the dusk, The sunset red confronting the pale Moon, Returning I alighted at her tent. But not successful. Barely and with blows. And desperate riding for full many a mile, Had I that day escaped an ambuscade. THE EVE OF THE CON*^UEST. My horse, as I dismounted, fell down dead, (Wliich grieved me to the heart, for we were friends) And I was pale with sorrow and fatigue, And somewhat by mishap discountenanced. She met me at the door and in my face Read more than what was true ; and presently Kspying as I laid my casque aside Some streaks of blood that she mistook for mine, She fainted. In my then disconsolate mood, A softness such as hers distilled itself Like balm upon my senses ; and when at length Her spirit was rekindled from its trance. And reassured, I told her my life's blood Should thenceforth vaunt a value not its own As flowing from a con.sccratcd fount, A heart thenceforward hers. She hid her face An instant in her hands, then flung them forth Revealing all the passion of her joy. That neither smiled nor laugh'd, but mantled hii^di Ktfulgent and incfl'ably divine. 22 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. A moment more and she was gone ; her soul Demanding solitude and secret haunts To put away its treasure. I forthwith, As honour now enjoin 'd me, sought the Duke, And craved her hand in marriage. WilHam smUed ; And there was satisfaction in his smile ; But simple satisfaction was not all. An exultation temper'd by a doubt Was in it, and a joy with fear commix'd And tainted by a secret self-rebuke For odious aims and treacherous intents. In simulated frankness he bestow'd The priceless boon, with only this reserve, — That seeing she was yet of age unripe. The nuptials should not now be solemnized, But wait his time ; which, softly he subjoin'd. His heart should hasten. But e'er many days The portent that perplex'd me in his smile I well could construe. By uneasy hints Tri£ EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 23 And intimations sounding me, the Duke Unfolded soon his lust to be a King, And seize on England. lie essay'd to gild This thunder-cloud of dark designs to me With promise of a station next himself, Earldoms and honours, all the crown could give. Earldoms and honoiu-s ! Had my fallen estate Been lowlier than the lowliest Saxon Serf's, And hopeless, not of crowns alone, hut bread, The Tempter, though the same that tempted Eve, Could not in all his devilry have devised The bribe that would have bribed me to betray My country to a foreign yoke. I felt As worse than wrong or rapine, blows or death, The insult of the overture. Withal, Knowing my danger should I once disclose My anger and my just resolves, or wake Suspicion, I descended to defeat Like arts with like, dissembling with fair shows My inward indignation, although clear 24 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. In blank refusal of my fealty. " With anxious outlook sought I next to know If yet the road to England open lay For me and Ulnoth, nor had far to seek. Advices soon were brought me, as by friends Betraying for my sake the Duke's behests, But verily by instruction from himself. That all the ways were guarded : we were watch'd ; And, for a further menace, hints were dropp'd Of dungeons, gyves and tortures, — things too vile For William, in whose eyes the world's esteem Went not for nothing, truly to perpend. But such as it was infamous to name. " As calmly as I might I now survey'd The state in which I stood. I call'd to mind With what a cordial confidence at first I sought his hospitality ; how since We side by side had fought ; how schemes of mine TOE EVE OF TIIE CONQUEST. Had borne him fairest fruit, and twice mine arm Had saved him when in peril of his Hfe. I thought of these things and my inmost soid Revolting from his perfidy, resolved It shouJd not prosper. Edith ! shall 1 dare In presence of thy purity to speak Of what I bent my nature to sustain ! I swarc with purposed falsehood to uphold The Duke's pretension. Then the way was free, And hastily as flying from my shame, To England I rcturn'd. The rest thou know'st. I married Morcar's sister, by that tie, Though death dissolved it in a short three months, Making the North my own. A few months more And Edward's death ensued. The Witena Had counsell'd him to leave the crown to mo By testament ; but he had drcam'd a drt'iun How A palo comet in the Northcni sky. Which now was visible, did shake its head. 26 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. And the Seven Sleepers turn'd themselves in sleep. He made no will. But not the less the cry- Rang out in one concent from North to South, From East to West, Earl Harold shall he King ! My marriage had forewarn'd the Duke, whose ships Full fledg'd were waiting till the wind was fair, Wlien Tostig and Hardrada's wild descent And transient triumph summon'd me to York. A bloody day determined in the dust Their pride and prowess. Scarcely were they cold, When posts from Pevensey at speed despatch'd Announced the Duke's approach. At double speed I march'd to meet him. Here we stand opposed ; And here to-morrow's sun, which even now. If mine eyes err not, wakes the eastern sky, Shall see the mortal issue. Should I fall. Be thou my witness that I nothing doubt The justness of my doom ; but add thou this. The justness lies betwixt my God and me. Twixt me and William " THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. 27 Then uprose the King ; His daughter's hands half startled from his knee Dropt loosely, hut her eye caught fire from his. He snatched his truncheon and the hollow earth Smote strongly that it throbb'd : he cried aloud — " Twixt me and William, say that never doom Save that which sunders sheep from goats, and parts Twixt Heaven and Hell, can righteously pronounce." — He sate again, and with an eye still stern But temperate and untroubled, he pursued : " Twixt me and England, should some senseless swain Ask of my title, say I wear the Crown, Because it fits my head." King Harold paused ; And resting for a moment's space his brow Upon his hands, revolved a diH'ercnt theme. — " Oh Edith," he resumed, " of one thing more 28 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Pain and remorse impel me now to speak. My vow to Adeliza rankles here As though my heart were broken in its breach ; For she was faithfuUer than her sire was false. To her, if I be slain, do thou repair, (For in the Norman camp or in the fleet She surely shall be found,) and bid her know I swerved not from her in my heart, but Fate, Ruled by her father's mandate, had decreed We could not meet in marriage : Say beside I make not this the scapegoat of my guilt, Which amply and in anguish I avow ; Nor make I it a pretext to implore Her prayers and her forgiveness, seeing these Would be, though faithlessness were loveless too. Assured me by her natm-e's sweet constraint. But I bequeath this message of my love, That knowing thus it died not with my death, Her sorrow, by a soft remembrance sooth 'd, May sleep and dream, and dreaming things divine THE EVE OF TIIE CONQUEST. 29 Be gloriously transfigured by a hope. For love that dies not till the body dies Shall with the soul survive." Iving Harold ceased. For now a phantom of a sound, that scem'd Blown by a distant trumpet from the south, Caught his quick ear. lie sprang upon his feet. Then cheerfully the Saxon trumpets blew Their prompt reply. The leaders from their tents Came trooping, jocund, with a nimble tread, Their helmets glancing in the early sun ; And as they gain'd the forest's edge, the cry Of Harold rose. Him Edith help'd to arm ; Which ended and a brief embrace exchanged, Upbonie upon the blessing he bestow 'd She with a lofty courage went her way. Long was the day and terrible. The cries Of "God to aid!" "The Cross!" " The Holy Cross! " With sfings of Uuland and of Roncosvallca, 30 THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST. Were heard, then lost in dumbness and dismay. A mighty roar ensued, pierced thro' and thro' By shrillest shrieks incessant, or of man Or madden 'd horse that scream'd with fear and pain Death agonies. The battle, like a ship Then when the whirlwind hath it, torn and tost. Stagger 'd from side to side. The day was long ; By dreadful change of onset or feign 'd flight, And rout and rally, direfuUy drawn out, Disastrous, dismal. Night was near, and still The victory undetermined, when a shaft Pierced Harold in the throat. He fell and died. Then panic seized the Saxon host, pursued With hideous rage till utter darkness hid From human sight the horrors of the field. In Waltham Abbey on St. Agnes' Eve A stately corpse lay stretch 'd upon a bier. The arms were cross 'd upon the breast ; the face. Uncover 'd, by the taper's trembling light THE EVE OF TUE COXQCEST. 31 Show'd dimlj the pale majesty severe Of him whom Death, and not the Xorman Duke, Had conquer 'd ; him the noblest and the last Of Saxon Kings ; save one the noblest he ; The last of all. Hard by the bier were seen Two women, weeping side by side, whose arms Clasp 'd each the other. Edith was the one. With Edith Adeliza wept and pray'd. 1. Soft be the voice and friendly that rebukes The error of thy way, For sickness hath the summer of thy looks Touched with decay. II. Now may be pardoned, even for virtue's sake, Words of less gaU than grief — The warning of autumnal winds that shake The yellowing leaf III. They bid thee if thou leav'st thy bloom behind, Bethink thee to repair That ravage, and the aspect of thy mind To make more fair. 33 IV. Let not thy loss of brightness be a loss, VMiich might be countless gain, If from thy beauty it should purge the dross, Eat out the stain. Then beauty with pure purposes allied Wouldst thou account — to lift The minds of men from worldUness and pride- A trust — not gift. VI. Oh ! may thy sickness, sanative to thee, Bring thee to know that trust ! That so thy soul may to thy beauty be Not less than just. LINES WRITTEN IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE HONOURABLE EDWARD ERNEST TILLIERS, WHO DIED AT NICE, ON THE 30tH OCTOBER, 1843. I. A GRACE thougli melancholy, manly too, Moulded his being : pensive, grave, serene, O'er his habitual bearing and his mien Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw A shade of sweet austerity. But seen In happier hours and by the friendly few, That curtain of the spirit was withdrawn, And fancy light and playful as a fawn. And reason imped with inquisition keen. Knowledge long sought with ardom- ever new, And wit love-kindled, show'd in colours true 35 What genial joys with sufferings can consist. Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist Touched hy the brightness of the golden dawn. Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green, And sunlights tlirown the woodland tufts between. And flowers and spangles of the dewy lawn. II. And even the stranger, though he saw not these, Saw what would not be willingly passed by. In his deportment, even when cold and shy, Was seen a clear collectedness and ease, A simple grace and gentle dignity, That failed not at the first accost to please ; And as reserve relented by degrees, So winning was his aspect and address. His smile so rich in sad felicities. Accordant to a voice which charmed no less, Tliiit wlio but saw him once romcmbcrud lung, And some in whom such images arc strong I) 2 36 Have hoarded the impression in their heart Fancy's fond dreams and Memory's joys among, Like some loved rehc of romantic song, Or cherished master-piece of ancient art. III. His Ufe was private ; safely led, aloof From the loud world, — which yet he understood Largely and wisely, as no worldhng could. For he by privilege of his nature proof Against false glitter, from beneath the roof Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed With stedfast eye its flickering light and shade, And gently judged for evil and for good. But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof Li public strife, his spirit glowed with zeal, Not shorn of action, for the public weal, — For truth and justice as its warp and woof, For freedom as its signature and seal. His life thus sacred from the world, discharged From vain ambition and inordinate care, lu virtue exercised, by reverence rare Lifted, and by humility enlarged, Became a temple and a place of prayer. In latter years he walked not singly there ; For one was with him, ready at all hours His griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to share, Who buoyantly his burthens helped to bear, And decked his altars daily with fresh flowers. IV. But farther may we pass not ; for the ground Is holier than the Muse herself may tread ; Nor would I it should eclio to a sound Less solemn than the service for the dead. Mine is inferior matter, — my own loss, — The loss of dear delights for ever fled, Of reason's converse by affection fed. Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 38 Friend of my youth I though younger yet my guide, How much by thy unerring insight clear I shaped my way of Hfe for many a year, What thoughtful friendship on thy deathbed died ! Friend of my youth, whilst thou wast by my side Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath ; How like a charm thy life to me supplied All waste and injury of time and tide, How like a disenchantment was thy death ! LAGO VARESE. I. I STOOD beside Varese's Lake, Mid that redundant growth Of vines and maize and bower and brake WTiich Nature, kind to sloth, And scarce solicited by human toil, Pours from the riches of the teeming soil. II. A mossy softness distance lent To each divergent hill. One crept away looking back as it went, The rest lay round and still ; The westering sun not dazzling now, tho' briglit, Shed o'er the mellow land a molten light. 40 LA60 VARESE, III. And sauntering up a circling cove, I found upon the strand A shallop, and a girl who strove To drag it to dry land : I stood to see — the girl looked round — her face Had all her country's clear and definite grace. IV. She rested with the air of rest So seldom seen, of those Whose toil remitted gives a zest Not languor to repose. Her form was poised yet buoyant, firm tho' free, And liberal of her bright black eyes was she. v. Her hue reflected back the skies Which reddened in the west ; And joy was laugliing in her eyes And bounding in her breast. Its rights and grants exulting to proclaim Where pride had no inheritance nor shame. LAGO VARESE. 41 VI. This sunshine of tho Southern face, At home we have it not ; Anil if they be a reckless race, These Southerns, yet a lot More favoured on the chequered earth is their's, — They have life's sorrows, but escape its cares. VII. For her if Sorrow lay in wait She saw not he was nigh, And if a smile could dazzle Fate, He might have past her by ; Oh would that Titian's pencil had been mine ! Then had that smile been lastingly divine. Vlll. There is a smile which wit extorts From grave and learned men, In whose austere and senile sports The plaything is a pen ; And there are smiles by shallow worldlings worn To grace a lio or laugh a truth to scorn : 42 LAGO VARESE. IX. And there are smiles with less alloy Of those who, for the sake Of some they love, would kindle joy Which they can not partake ; But her's was of the kind which simply say They come from hearts ungovernably gay. X. And oh ! that gaiety of heart ! There lives not he to whom Its laugh more pleasure will impart Than to the man of gloom ; Who if he laugh, laughs less from mirth of mind Than deference to the customs of mankind. XI. The day went down ; tlic last red ray Flashed on her face or ere It sank — and creeping up the bay The night-wind stirred her hair ; The crimson wave caressed her naked feet With coy approach and resonant retreat. LAGO VARESE. 43 XII. True native of the clime was she, Nor could there have been found A creature who should more agree With everything around, The woods, the fields, and genial Nature, rife With Hfe and gifts that feed and gladden life. XIII. Congenial all that met the sight, But iu what met the mind The spirit's intuition might A discrepancy find ; For foresight is a melancholy gift Which bares the bald and speeds the all-too-swift. XIV. Mcthought this scene before mine eyes, Still glowing with yon sun Wliich seemed to melt the myriad dies Of heaven and earth to one, A divers unity — methought this scene, These undulant hills, tiic woods that intcn'enc. 44 LA60 VARESE, XV. The multiplicity of growth. The corn-field and the brake, The trellised vines that cover both, The purple-bosomed lake, Some fifty summers hence may all be found Rich in the charms wherewith they now abound. XVJ. And should I take my staff again. And should I journey here. My steps may be less steady then, My eyesight not so clear, And from the mind the sense of beauty may Even as these bodily gifts have passed away : XVII. But grant my age but eyes to see, A stiU susceptive mind, All that leaves us and all that we Leave wilfully behind, And nothing here would want the channs it wore Save only she who stands upon the shore. LAGO LUGANO. 1. Gone are some sixteen summers since the day When rambling by Varcsc's reddening lake, I met that merry maid, and for her sake Wove the brief chaplet of that perishing lay : * Now let me weave another if I may. For once again my wandering way 1 take Thro' lands where music chimes from every mouth, And where the sun lights up with cloudless ray The chambers of the south. • Sec ihc foregoing jioeiii. 46 LAGO LUGANO. II. Gone are those summers — youth, and health are gone, And feebler and less frequent are the gleams That startled erst my heart and filled my dreams From transitory faces that but shone An instant on my path ; and few or none Are now the soaring hours when fancy teems With visions fair : so be it ! I recall The past without regret — for here is one Whose love repays me all. III. My youth without its hardness and alloy I have in her, and much that ne'er was mine, A simple heart, a human face divine Where tears of tenderness with radiant joy Will oftentimes alternate, nor destroy Each other's traces, — these with wit combine And graver gifts, to yield me treasures more Than all youth's fancies fugitive and coy Returning could restore. LAGO LCGANO. 47 IV. And she was with me, and alone we strayed By Lake Lugano one delightful morn, Thro' woods not yet dismantled nor forlorn, For old October slept beneath their shade Forgetful of his function, to upbraid The leaves light dancing and the fields forewarn Of cominc: winter : Like the hsfht leaves we In sunshine were as sumptuously arrayed As summer's self could be. V. We pass'd the wood, and where high walls between And thro' rich vineyards thick with clusters red A causeway to the owner's dwelling led, We rested in the shade ; for there a screen Of branches of the vine had fashioned been To arch the causeway's entrance overhead : Nature had nearly done it ; but the art Of some kind hand that loved her might be seen As architect in part. 48 LAGO LUGANO. VI. The lake lay glimmering through the wood below ; From its sweet shores upsprang the mountains stern, And mid the loftiest we could well discern One that was shining in a cusp of snow. A butterfly went flickering to and fro Hard by, and seeing he had yet to learn The arduous lesson how to spend an hour Of holiday aright, we bade him go And fasten on a flower. VII. Our book for us : of amaranthine hues The flowers that to the free but searching sight Did there disclose their inmost beauty bright ! Flowers were they that were planted by the Muse In a deep soil which the continual dews Of blessing had enriched : no lesser light Than what was lit in Sydney's spirit clear Or given to saintly Herbert's to diffuse Now lives in thine, De Vere. LA60 LUGANO. 49 VXII. So passed the noontide hour ; the breathless air Propitious to the intent mind's equipoise, And silent all, save now and then the noise Of a light rustling in the ivy, where With short quick run, and sudden stop and stare, The lizard fled surprised. But strenuous joys And claiming respite from their stress and strain Are those which verse imparts, if read with care And written to remain. IX. Xow therefore we arose and went our way ; And as we passed the dwelling where abode The owner of the vineyards, in the road There stood two daughters of the house : the sway Of English manners overturned that day Permitted us to speak ; a marvellous mode Of foreign speech was mine, but it ex])re8Sfd To willing listeners what I wished to say As amply as the best. so LAGO LUGANO. X. A frank amusement in the eyes of each Detracted nothing from their courteous cheer ; Their sister voices were, tho' sweet, not clear, But sounded softly hoarse, as sounds the beach Of some cliff-sheltered cove or inland reach Where the sea slumbers, — voices to our ear That spalie a life of liberty and ease. Where simple hearts redound to simple speech And simple pleasures please. XI. We asked for fruit ; yet kindlier than before They bade us in, and we were seated soon In the bowered window of a large saloon ; A wench whose face a double welcome wore For them and for herself, produced good store. And fast the minutes fled : companions boon By flowing cups exalted scarce could be Than those two girls irradiated more. More happy than were we. LAGO LUGANO. 51 XII. Too fast the minutes fled ! We bade adieu To each kind .sister not without regret, Nor lingered now ; for now the sun was set, And of the stars, though most were faint, a few Began to gUtter in the paler blue. Ere long we reach 'd our goal — a point where met Lake, vineyard, chestnut wood, and whence was seen Fairest of mountains, soft but awful too, St. Salvador serene. .xm. Thence we returned, revolving as we went The lessons this and previous days had tauglit In rambling meditations ; and we sought To read the face of Italy, intent AVith equal eye and just arbitrement To measure its expressions as we ought : And fliiefly one conclusion did we draw, — That liberty dwelt here with Heaven's consent. Though not by human law. K -2 52 LAGO LUGANO. XIV. A liberty imperfect, undesigned, — A liberty of circumstance ; but still A liberty that moulds the heart and will And works an inward freedom of the mind. Not such is statutable freedom : blind Are they to whom the letter which doth kill Stands for the spirit which giveth life : sore pains They take to set Ambition free, and bind The heart of man in chains. XV. Ambition, Envy, Avarice, and Pride — These are the tyrants of our hearts : the laws Which cherish these in multitudes, and cause The passions that aforetime lived and died In palaces, to flourish far and wide Throughout a land — (allot them what applause We may, for wealth and science that they nurse And greatness) — seen upon their darker side Bear the primaeval curse. LAGO LUGANO, 53 XVI. Oh England I " Merry England," styled of yore I Where is thy mirth ? Thy jocund laughter where ? The sweat of labour on the brow of care Makes a mute answer — driven from every door ! The may-pole cheers the village green no more, Nor harvest-home, nor Christmas mummers rare. The tired mechanic at his lecture sighs. And of the learned, which, with all his lore. Has leism-e to be wise ? xvn. Civil and moral liberty arc twam : That truth the careless countenances free Of Italy avouched ; that truth did we. On converse grounds and with reluctant pain. Confess that England proved. Wash first the stain Of worldliness away ; when that shall be, Us shall •' the glorious liberty " befit Whereof, in other far than earthly strain, The Jew of Tarsus writ. 54 LAGO LUGANO. XVIII. So shall tlie noble natures of our land (Oh nobler and more deeply founded far Than any born beneath a southern star) Move more at large ; be open, courteous, bland. Be simple, cordial, not more strong to stand Than just to yield, — nor obvious to each jar That shakes the proud ; for Independence walks With staid Humility aye hand in hand, Whilst Pride in tremor stalks. XIX. From pride plebeian and from pride high-born, From pride of knowledge no less vain and weak. From overstrained activities that seek Ends worthiest of indifference or scorn, From pride of intellect that exalts its horn In contumely above the wise and meek. Exulting in coarse cnielties of the pen. From pride of drudging souls to Mammon sworn. Where shall we flee and when ? LAGO LCGAXO. 5 XX. Oue House of Refuge in this dreary waste Was, through God's mercy, by our fathers built, — That house the Church : oh England, if the guilt Of pride and greed thy grandeur have abased, Thy liberty endangered, here be placed Thy trust : thy freedom's garment, if thou wilt, To piece by charters and by statutes strive, But to its personal rescue, haste, oh haste ! And save its soul alive. XXI. Thus poured we forth our hearts : but now 'twas late; The stars were fuUy out, and other light Was none ; in secret sessions of the night The mountains closing kept a gloomier state. A boat whose oars with punctual sound sedate Seemed like the pulse of silence, stole in sight And sped us to the town. — End, end they must, Such days ! But lasting are the gains and great Tlicy leave behind in trust. THE AMPHITHEATRE AT POZZUOLI. The strife, the gushing blood, the mortal throe, With scenic horrors filled that belt below. And where the polished seats were round it raised, Worse spectacle ! the pleased spectators gazed. Such were the pastimes of times past ! Oh shame ! Oh infamy ! that men who drew the breath Of Freedom, and who shared the Roman name. Should so corrupt their sports with pain and death. — The pastimes of times past ? And what are thine. Thou with thy gun or greyhound, rod and line ? Pain, terror, mortal agonies, that scare Thy heart in Man, to brutes thou wilt not spare. TIIE AMI'IIITIIEATRE AT POZZCOLI. 57 Are their's less sad and real ? Pain in Man Bears the hiiih mission of the flail and fan. In brutes 'tis purely piteous. God's command, Submitting his mute creatures to our hand For life and death, thou shalt not dare to plead ; He bade thee kill them, not for sport, but need. Then backward if thou cast reproachful looks On sports bedarkening custom erst allowed, Expect from coming ages like rebukes ^V^len day shall dawTi on peacefuller woods and brooks, And clear from vales thou troublcst, custom's cloud. ALWINE AND ADELAIS. a jFortst Scene. ALWINE, The path is to your right ; be not alarmed ; For I have haunted this old forest long And learnt its ways. ADELAIS. I have no fears — with you. HILDEBRAND. I heard a horn but lately, nor long since I saw the King. It is not far we've wandered, And after facing that so insolent sun In all his mid-day triumph mounting high, How grateful is this gloom ! these sylvan vaiJts, How they protect the spirit ! ALWIXE AND ADELAIS. 59 ADELAIS. I could dream I were a maid that for the cloister quits The monarch's court, finding in this retreat That peace the world refused her. U1LDEBRA>D. Rather say That peace it had not to bestow. Your thought Might fancy from her wardi'obe well attire With many an apt similitude ; to chauut Moruiuff and evening service there is here A numerous choir, nor is their song of praise Less sacred because cheerful ; and at noon Comes meditative stillness, or by fits Some soft confession of a wandering wind Makes silence audible and sweet repose Aware that it exists. By fancy fed 'Tis thus we revel in resemblances ; lUit truth . . . 60 ALWINE AND ADELAIS. ALWINE. Renounces and abjures them ! No, Love, if you will, the woods, and love their ways, But I beseech you, love not for their sake The life to which you liken them. Believe me, The cloisters of the forest merit praise For innocence and peace, which never yet Those of the convent justified. ADELAIS. Tome Ere yet my credulous childhood had been taught To question what I saw, the cherub choir, The chaunt, the thuribule, the stoled procession. Seemed heaven itself more than the way to heaven, And as the tournaments and shows of war Fill high the hearts of boys, so me a girl Did ceremonials of the Church enchant. Raise to religious rapture, and uplift With fond desires to wage the war of faith In a conventual life. And arc they gone ? Those fond desires — that rapture of the heart ? ALWIXE AXD ADELAIS. 6] ALWINE. They are — they arc — I give them God's good speed. HILDEBRAND. Far other lessons shall wc learn from Him WTio for the love of man was made a man, Walking the earth in love, by links of love With man associate humanly in life, And human sorrow deifying in death. That so this cursory world he might bequeath A practicable passage, not impure Since trodden of his feet. — I stretch too far The privilege of the old to teach their betters. Farewell — that cry recalls me to the chase. (Exit.) ALWINE. A tale there is pertaining to this wood Wlxich, but that I should tell it ill, might steal Some moments you would not repent to spare From the day's pastime. ADKLAIS. Place mc on the trunk 62 ALWINE AND ADELAIS. Of that uprooted oak, where shine and shade, Moved by the wandering minstrel in the trees, Dance to his music. Tell me now the tale. ALWINE. Once on this forest's edge a castle rose That dwarfed to very shrubs its loftiest oaks, A ruin now, half buried, half o'ergrown. Sole did it stand, dividing warlike states, As midway in a torrent some huge rock ; And in it dwelt a maid whose shapely form Was like the hare-bell that so lightly springs Out from the huge rock midway in the torrent ; And from its turrets could the maid descry A convent in a valley, which with looks Wistful and sad she oft regarded long, For she was weary of wild usages, And sick because the eyes that looked at her Were cold and obdurate and haughty. ADELAIS. AU? ALWIKE AND ADELAIS. 63 ALWINE. Some more, some less. — And finding thus no rest, She went one night to seek the Sibyl's cave Deep in the forest, and to know from her (That Sibyl ever young who witness bore With David of the course and end of time) Which life were worthier, — that which braved the world And all its trials, or which fled the world And knew no trials, but was blankly pure. ADELAIS. What answer made the Sibyl ? ALWIXE. None by word. She took her by the hand and led her far Through brake and brier in darkness many a rood. And stopped where bubbled up a fountain clear Beside an ancient cross : Lo ! here she said Life springcth : then with measured step sedate Advanced again, but counting as she went. And stopped again : and here, she said, behold 64 AlWINE AND ADELAIS. The parting of the ways — Life sunders here. With that she sang a low sweet melody, Mysterious but penetrating too, Which with a slow and subtle magic crept Into the bosom of the darkness. Soon It ceased, and as it ceased, a glorious light Forth from the bosom of the darkness burst, And filled the ways of life. ADELAIS. What ways were they ? ALWINE. The maiden where she stood could see but twain, Each a long avenue ; of yews was this And palms commingled ; that, of various growth ; Each with a roof of intertangled boughs And crossways at the close an open grave. Midway the path beyond the one grave grew A single cypress ; at each end the other A willow. Down the path of palms and yews ALWIXE AND ADELAIS. 65 A bloodless pliantom of a woman walked, Hooded and veiled, with languid step and slow And oft reverted head. Once and again A holy rapture lifted her, and scarce She seemed to touch the ground ; but presently It left her, aaid with languid step and slow And drooping posture passed she on her way, Still pra}'ing as she went, but stumbhng still Thro' weariness o'er sticks and straws, and still With sticks and straws she quarrelled as she prayed. ^^1len she approached the grave that crossways closed The avenue, though weary of the way, She seemed not glad, but shuddered and recoiled. Shaking thro' weakness of her weariness ; And tho' she upward looked, looked backward too, And so with arms that clasped the solitude She slowly disappeared. — This way of life. The Sibyl said, is the way celibate. Where walks erroneous many a monk and nun ; The good therein is good that dies therein 66 ALWINE AND ADELAIS. And hath no offspring ; neither hath the evil ; For He that out of evil bringeth good Begets no issue on the evil here ; Probation blotted from the book of hfe With evil good obliterates, for these two, In quality though opposite and at war, Are each to each correlative and essential, And evil conquered maketh moral good, With virtue, which is more than innocence. But now, she said, behold that other way. The maiden turned obedient, and beheld Where at the outset from a myrtle bower A figm'e like Aurora flushed with joy Leapt lightly forth, and dancing down the path Shook the bright dewdrops from the radiant wreath That crowned her locks profuse ; ere long the flush Subsided, and the bounding steps were stayed ; But firmly stiU and with a durable strength She travelled on : not seldom on her way A colom-ed cloud diaphanous, like those ALWINE AND ADELAI8. 67 That gild the moru, concealed her ; but ei-e long She issued thence, and with her issued thence A naked child that rolled amongst the flowers And laughed and cried : a thicker cloud anon Fell round her, and from that with sunken eyes She issued, and with stains upon her check From scalding tears ; but onward still she looked And upward still, and on her brow upturned And on the paleness of her penitent face A glory broke, the dayspring from on high : Thenceforth with loftier and less troubled strength And even step she trod the tremulous earth, Elastic, not elate : the grave was near That croBsways cut the path ; but with her went A company of spirits bright and young Wliich caught the blossoms from her wreath that fell And gave them back. And as she reached the close, Gazinc betwixt the willows far beyond Full many a group successive she descried With wreaths like hers, and as she softly sunk 68 ALWINE AND ADELAIS. A heavenly hope which like a raiuhow spanned A thousand earthly hopes, its colours threw Across the gloomy entrance of the gTave. This, said the Sibyl, is the conjugal way — With joys more free and nobler sorrows fraught, Which scatter by their force life's frivolous cares And meaner molestations ; stern the strokes, The struggles arduous which this way presents, And fearful the temptations ; but the stake Is worthier of the strife, and she that wins Hears at the gates of heaven the words " Well done " And " Enter thou." — The Sibyl ceased ; the maid Looked round, and saw — not her, but in her place A suppliant bending low : he pressed her hand Imploringly, and asked her, — " of those ways Which choosest thou ? and is it not the last ? " What answer to that lowly suppliant gave That maiden mild ? ADELAIS. I think she answered " Yes." SONNET IN THE MAIL COACH. What means at this unusual hour the lisfht In yonder casement ? Doth it hint a tale Of trouhle, where some maiden mourner pale Confides her sorrows to the secret nifjht ? Or doth it speak of youth uprising hright With glad alacrity ere morning hreak. To chase a hope new-started ; or — but lo ! The wan light creeps with stealthy motion slow Across the chamber : shall we token take From this, that o'er sick bed or mortal throe Sad watch is kept ? — Small answer can I make, Nor more can of that dim -seen watcher know, Than that some object, passion, throb, or ache, Has kept some solitary heart awake. For me no roseate garlands twine, But wear them, Dearest, in my stead ; Time has a whiter hand than thine, And lays it on my head. n. Enough to know thy place on Earth Is there where roses latest die ; To know the steps of youth and mirth Are thine, that pass me by. LINES WRITTKN AFTER VISITING THE GHAVE OF OLYMPIA MOUATA AT IIEIDELIiEUG. A TOMBSTONE in a foreign land cries out, Oh Italy ! against thee : She whose death This stone commemorates with no common praise, By birth was thine : hut being vowed to Truth, The blood-stained hand that lurks beneath thine alb Was raised to strike ; and lest one crime the more Should stand in thine account to heaven, she fled. Then hither came she, young but erudite. With ardour flushed, but with old wisdom stored, (Which spake no tongue she knew not) apt to learn And eloquent to teach, — and welcomed here 72 OLYMPIA MORATA. Gave the brief beauty of her innocent Ufe An aUen race to illustrate, and here Dying in youth (the beauty of her death Sealing her life's repute) her ashes gave An honour to the Land that honom-ed her. Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! which killest The Prophets ! if thy house be desolate, Those temples too are desolate, and that land, Where Truth's pure votaries may not leave their dust. LIXES WRITTEN SOON AFTER THE RETURN OF SIR U. POTTINGER FROM CHINA, IN 1845. — « I. The Million smiles ; the taverns ring with toasts ; A thousand journals tecra with good report And plauditory paragraph ; with hosts Of thankful deputations swarm the streets ; His native city of her hero hoasts ; The minister who chose him, in the choice Exults ; and, prompted to its part, the court The echo of the country's praise repeats, And by the popular pitchpipc tunes its voice. 74 II. But where is he whose genius led the way To all this triumph ? Elliot, where is he ? — When first that Monster of the Eastern sea, That hugest empire that for ages lay Becalmed heneath the sun, with strange see-saws Convulsively unsheathed its quivering claws, 'Twas he that watched its motions many a day. Foreseeing and foretelling that the sleep For those unnumhered centuries so deep Would pass ; and when its rage and fear at length Shook off the numhness from its labouring strength, 'Twas he whose skill and courage gagged its gaping jaws. in. Justice, Truth, Mercy, — these his weapons were ; And if the sword, 'twas wielded but to spare Thro' timely terror worse event. With rare And excellent contempcrature he knew How best on martial ardour to confer 75 The honours that are then alone its due \Mien patience, prudence, ruth are honoured too. When to relent he saw, and when to dare. Sudden to strike, magnanimous to forbear ! Prone lay the second city of that land, Third of the world, a suppliant at the feet Of him whom erst she gloried to maltreat ! But then a great heart to itself was true — On the rash soldier's bridle was the hand Of Elliot laid, with calm but finn command. IV. Thou mighty city with thy million souls ! To England, thro' that rescue, art thou made A treasure-house of tribute and of trade ! To England, whose street-statesmen, blind as moles, Scribe-taught, and ravening hko wolves for blood Spared not his wisdom's temperance to upbraid Who thus thy ruin righteously withstood ! Thou mighty city, for thy ruler's faults. Not thine, how many an innocent had bled, How many a wife and mother hung her head In agony above thy funeral vaults, What horrors had been thine, what shame were ours, If he, by popular impulses betrayed, Or of rash judgments selfishly afraid, Had rendered up thy wealth and blood to feast That hunger of the many-headed beast Which its own seed-corn tramples and devours. V. But service such as his, to virtue vowed, Ne'er taxed for noise the weasand of the crowd, Most thankless in their ignorance and spleen. His glory blossoms in the shade, unseen Save by the few and wise ; to them alone His daring, prudence, fortitude are known. — In the beginning had his portion been. Even as a pilot's in a sea un2)loughed By cursive keel before, when winds pipe loud, 77 And all is undiscovered and untried. To take the difficult soundings in the dark ; And then with tentative and wary course, And chanffinpf oft with change of wind and tide, The shoals to pass, evade the currents' force. And keep unhurt his unappointed bark ; — A tentative and wary course to steer. But ever with a gay and gallant cheer. This task performed, when now the way Avas clear, The armament provided, and the mark. Though hard to be attained, was full in sight, L'pon his prosperous path there fell a blight. Distrust arrested him in mid-career. VI. Another reaped where he had sown : success, Doubtless well-won, attended him to whom The harvesting was given : his honours bloom Brightly, and many a rapturous caress The populace bestows — what could they less ? 78 Far be from me malignly to assume That popular praise, how oft soe'er it swerved From a just mark, must needs be undeserved : But knowing by whom the burthen and the heat Was borne, — with what intrepid zeal, what skill, Care, enterprise, and scope of politic thought, — Thro' laboiirs, dangers, obloquy, ill-will, Battles, captivities, and shipwreck, still. With means or wanting means, alert to meet In all conjunctures all events, — if aught Could make a wise man wonder at the ways Of fortime, and the world's awards of praise, 'Twould be, whQst taverns ring and tankards foam Healths to this hero of the harvest-home. To think what welcome had been his whose toil Had felled the forest and prepared the soil. VII. What makes a hero ? — Not success, not fame. Inebriate merchants and the loud acclaim 79 Of glutted avarice, — caps tossed up in the air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair. Bells pealed, stars, ribands, and a titular name, — These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward ; for never yet did these Refresh the soul or set the heart at ease. — What makes a hero ? An heroic mind Expressed in action, in endurance proved : And if there be pre-eminence of right, Derived thro' pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved. Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse, — ingratitude and poisonous darts Launched by the Country he had served and loved: Tliis with a free unclouded spirit pure. This in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown : 80 This is the hero's complement and crown ; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts. ST. HELEN'S-AUCKLAND. I. I WANDER o'er each well-known field My boyhood's home in view, And thoughts that were as fountains sealed Are welling forth anew. II. The ancient house, the aged trees, They bring again to light The years that Ukc a .summer's breeze Were trackless in their fliulit. 82 ST. HELEN S-AUCKLAND. III. How mucli is changed of what I see, How much more changed am I, And yet how much is left — to me How is the distant nigh ! IV. The walks are overgrown and wild, The terrace flags are green — But I am once again a child, I am what I have been. V. The sounds that round about me rise Are what none other hears ; I see what meets no other eyes, Though mine are dim with tears. VI. The breaking of the summer's morn — The tinge on house and tree — The billowy clouds — the beauty born Of that celestial sea. ST. HELEN S-ADCKLAXD. 83 Vll. The freshness of the faery laud Lit by the golden gleam . . . It is my youth that where I stand Surrounds me like a dream. Vlll. Alas the real never lent Those tints, too bright to last ; They fade, and bid me rest content And let the past be past. IX. The wave that dances to the breast Of earth, can ne'er be stayed ; The star that glitters in the crest Of morning, needs must fade : x. But there shall flow another tide. So let me hope, and far Over the outstretched waters wide Shall shine another star. 84 ST. HELEn'S-AUCKLAND. XI. In every change of Man's estate Are lights and guides allowed ; The fiery pillar will not wait, But parting, sends the cloud. XII. Nor mourn I the less manly part Of life to leave hehind ; My loss is but the lighter heart, My gain the graver mind. ERNESTO. TnocGnTFULLT by the side Ernesto sate Of her whom, in his earlier youth, with heart Then first exulting in a dangerous hope, Dearer for danger, he had rashly loved. That was a season when the untravellcd spirit, Not way-worn nor way-wearied, nor with soil Nor stain upon it, lions in its path Saw none, — or seeing, with triumphant trust In its resoiu-ccs and its powers, defied, — Perverse to find provocatives in warnings And in disturbance taking deep delight. 86 ERNESTO. By sea or land he then saw rise the storm With a gay courage, and through broken lights, Tempestuously exalted, for awhile His heart ran mountains high, or to the roar Of shattered forests sang superior songs With kindling, and what might have seemed to some. Auspicious energy ; — by land and sea He was way-foundered — trampled in the dust His many-coloured hopes — his lading rich Of precious pictures, bright imaginations. In absolute shipwreck to the winds and waves Suddenly rendered. By her side he sate : But time had been between and wov'n a veil Of seven years' separation, and the past Was seen with softened outlines, like the face Of nature through a mist. What was so seen ? In a short hour, there sitting with his eyes Fixed on her face, observant though abstracted, Lost partly in the past, but mixing still I ERNESTO. With his remcDihraaccs the life hcfurc him, He traced it all — the pleasant first accost. Agreeable acquaintance, growing friendship. Love, passion at the culminating point When in a sleeping body tlu'ough the night The heart would lie awake, reverses next Gnawinir the mind with doubtfulness, and last The aftcctionate bitterness of lovo refused. Rash had he been by choice — by wanton choice Deliberately rash ; but in the soil Wlicre grows the bane, grows too the antidote ; The same young-heartcdness which knew not fear Renounced despondency, and brought at need With its results, resources. In his day Of utter condemnation there remained Appeal to that imaginative power Which can commute a sentence of sore pain For one of softer sadness, which can bathe Tlie broken spirit in the balm of tears. And more and better tu after days ; for soon 88 ERNESTO. Upsprang the mind within him and he knew The affluence and the growth which natm-e yields Aftei* an overflow of loving grief. Hence did he deem that he could freely draw A natural indemnity. The tree Sucks kindlier nurture from a soil enriched By its own fallen leaves ; and man is made In heart and spirit from deciduous hopes And things that seem to perish. Thro' the stress And fever of his suit, from first to last, His pride (to call it by no nobler name) Had been to love with reason and with truth. To carry clear thro' many a turbident trial A perspicacious judgment and true tongue, And neither with fair word nor partial thought To flatter whom he loved. If pride it was To love and not to flatter, by a breath Of purer aspiration was he moved To sufi"er and not blame, grieve, not resent, And when all hopes that needs must knit with self ERNESTO. 80 Their object, were irrevocably gone, Clierish a mild commemorative love, Such as a mourner might unblamcd bestow On a departed spirit. Once again lie sate beside her — for the last time now. And scarcely was she altered ; for the hours Had led her lightly down the vale of life. Dancing and scattering roses, and her face Seemed a peq)etual daybreak, and the woods Where'er she rambled, echoed through their aisles The music of a laugh so softly gay That Spring with all her songsters and her songs Knew nothing like it. But how chanfred was he I Care and disease and ardours unrepressed. And labours unremitted, and much grief, Tfad written their death-warrant on his brow. Of this she saw not all — she saw but little — That wliicli she could not choose but .see siie saw — And o'er her sunlit dimples and her smiles It 90 ERNESTO. A shadow fell — a transitory shade — And when the phantom of a hand she clasped At parting, scarce responded to her touch, She sighed — but hoped the best. When winter came She sighed again ; for with it came the word That trouble and love had found their place of rest And slept beneath Madeira's orange groves. THE END. i NOTES. Page 48, stanza vii. " No letter liyhl Than what teat lit in Si/dmy't sjiiril clear. Or ijiven to taintli/ Herbert's to diJTute, Now livet in thine, De ['ere." As tliere are two poets of this name, it may bo proper to mention that these lines liave reference to Aubrey De Vere, Author of " The Waldenses and other Poems," and of " The Search after Proserpine." Of the two stanzas at i>. 70, tiic former is by him. UKADBl'Uy LOMJON AND EVANS, PRINTKKS, WHITHFRIARS. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below APRS 9 1957 -"^ REC'D LU-fJlft I I a, OCT 2 B,'*^^ ^«' OCT 2 6 1973 DISCHARGf-ygt FEB 2 m REC'O luam ,. ,. a 8 •.' DEC 18 lOmll, '50(2555)470 THE LIBRARY .rf-v ■»-i ^1 tt ■■■ fl'f^ r\ 1 II 3 1158 00660 4 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY innptiiiiiiin lillli illll II lllllllll |iiitniiinnin|ii| AA 000 376 478 4 J iV^: