THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. IN FOUR CANTOS, ON MEN * MANNERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. TOGETHER WITH OTHER MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. BY EDWARD MORDAUNT SPENCER. LONDON . PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, AT 4, ST. ALBANS PLACE, ST. JAMES'S SQUARE. 1846. LONDON : PRINTED BY 0. LILLEY, 148, HOLBORN BARS. KM PREFACE. Perhaps there is no art more difficult than the cul- tivation of literature ; where the obstacles are more numerous, or where the attainment of sterling repu- tation is fraught with those disadvantages which too frequently prove insurmountable barriers to a young author. Mark — ] say a young one ; and for this reason,— though a man may possess talent, though he may evince much genius and ability, these will avail but little ; for unless he has some friend in the pub- lishing world who will bring his name before the public, he must either publish himself, or the chances are, ere a publisher deigns acceptance, the moths will C* tro IV PREFACE. have consumed his manuscript, for while, on the one hand, he who has attained eminence is almost worshipped by the class alluded to ; so, on the other, one unknown to fame is treated with coolness and apathy. Now I trust the introduction of the above remarks will not lead my readers to suppose 1 have been ac- tuated to express my sentiments either from private pique or any other petty personal consideration ; such a conclusion would be erroneous ; I speak of that body, not individually, but collectively ; not of one, but of all ; and therefore trust no misconstruc- tion will be placed thereon. The first of the following poems has been written with a view of depicting real life— to point out the abuses of the age, its follies and its foibles; how far I have succeeded will be for the reader to deter- mine. It has been written, by sundry scraps at all PREFACE. V seasons ; thoughts imbibed during the day frequently not committed to paper till night. Thus I have la- boured under some disadvantage ; nor should I thus early have been induced to lay my humble efforts before the public, but for the importunities of many private friends. The minor effusions need no com- ment, they will doubtless speak for themselves ; and that the whole may, in the absence of greater merit, serve to wile away a tedious hour, is the earnest wish of THE AUTHOR. London April, 1846. CONTENTS. PAGE The Heir of Abbotsville. Canto the First . . . 1 „ ,, Second . . .15 „ „ Third . . .29 „ „ Fourth . . .42 Hylda 57 The Dream 01 Where is true Happiness found 70 Monody to the Memory of the late Sir Robert Sale . 75 Tribute to the Memory of Mr. Strickland the Comedian 77 An Acrostic 79 Stanza to Louise Smile, Mary my Darling . Oh, how can I smile, Love? The Rose of Tralee . Oh, I could chide him not ! Forget me not .... Oh, would that we never had met ! To Clarinda .... 80 81 82 83 84 85 87 88 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE, CANTO THE FIRST. ARGUMEN T. The Introduction — Invocation to the Muse of Poetry — Life as it is and as it might have been — Its joys and its sorrows — Comparison between Man's pristine happiness and his present state — The ravages of Time : the import thereof a warning counsel to mankind — The subject of the poem : Abbotsville, its locality, rural scenery, and general description — Its lordly owner, the Earl of Fitz-Errol — Retrospective glance at his early life, and youthful follies; his subsequent marriage — A twelvemonth flies away — His gleam of sunshine over- cast by autumn's cloud — His bereavement attendant on the birth of his son, the Heir of Abbotsville — His sorrow and anguish of mind — His love for that which death had spared, his infant son — Concluding remarks on Canto I. Spirit of Poetry ! thy aid I ask, Thy smile I woo, to consummate my task. Guide thou my footsteps through thy tangled maze, Smile on my efforts, and assist my lays. The Muses' temple is my earnest aim ; Within their shrine I fain would place my name : Such is my wish, and such my fond desire — To this one goal my ardent thoughts aspire , To paint anon, in vivid colours clear, Life as it is within this lower sphere. THE HblR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Smile, then, fair Genius, round me weave thy spell, While ] of men and manners seek to tell. If man review the retrospect of life, The varied change with which 'tis ever rife, The alternate hour of sorrow and of joy, The bliss that grief but seldom fails to cloy, The pleasing dreams which o'er his brow have play'd, Ere cherish'd hopes by time have been decayed ; If mem'ry turn unto those bygone days, When nought but pleasure met his youthful gaze, When nought arose to cloud his pathway fair, When angry passions found no refuge there, When love and joy and happiness entwined In blissful union around his mind ; If man recur to these, and then revolve Within his mind the cares which oft devolve On riper years,— the frequent grief, the pain Which proves to real bliss an endless bane, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSV1LLE. The many hopes that destiny denies, The world's deceit, hypocrisy's disguise, The cup of woe he oft is forced to drain, The endless strife that e'er appears to reign Within man's breast, usurping virtues fair Which otherwise would hold dominion there, And the cold look when low'ring clouds appear In threat'ning form to crush his whole career, The freezing glance each eye appears to shed Where'er adversity attempts to tread, The torpid apathy, the cold disdain The world evinces in the hour of pain ; If man indulge reflection such as this, And then revert to that fair state of bliss To which by Providence 'twas once design'd The human race should ever be consigned, Till man's imprudence caused the mournful fall, And by his crime brought misery on all ; If he compare in this reflective strain, That former state of bliss, and this of pain, B 2 4 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. I ween compassion will draw forth a sigh For man, who fell from an estate so high ; I ween the tear will scarcely be suppressed, I ween that sorrow will his soul invest, To think man's fault caused real bliss to flee, — To think that sin should harbour misery, — To think what life indeed might once have been, Save but for that, a truly blissful scene ; Man would his pristine glory have retained, And in the image of his Maker reign'cl ; He like the angels would have lived on high, — But now, alas ! man is but born to die. Where'er we turn, in ev'ry land and clime, How plain appear the ravages of time ; Where'er we gaze, where'er our footsteps tread, If 'mong the living or the mould'ring dead, — If in the courts of palaces we stray, We find they are not proof against decay, — THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. If in the city or the dazzling town, If 'mong the monuments of proud renown, If in the hamlet or secluded vale, If in the forest or the woodland dale, It matters not, — the eye in ev'ry place, Where'er it turns, Time's mighty hand can trace. Man cannot stop, or check its onward course, — He cannot lessen or increase its force ; No art of his its potent arm can stay, For over all alike it holdeth sway. Thus do we see, in ev'ry rank and grade, When time decrees it, man must also fade ; Thus e'en by Providence was it designed, To paint a moral picture for mankind ; Thus we perceive the end for which 'twas given, To turn the heart of man to God and Heaven, To purge his soul of noxious passions free, And thus prepare him for eternity. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. * With thee, my muse, I fain would now repair To rural scenes, where all is bright and fair ; Remote from sorrow, where no turmoils reign, But all beams happiness devoid of pain ; A verdant spot, with many a charm replete, Far from the world's false glitter and deceit ; Where nature, clad in garb of sunny green, Imparts a radiant beauty to the scene ; Where hill and dale alternately appear, And many a lake of crystal water clear, Whose limpid streamlets scarce appear to flow, Save when the soft and gentle zephyrs blow ; Where flow'ry meads luxuriantly fair Diffuse a fragrant perfume thro' the air ; Where snow-white lilies raise their lofty head, Where flow'rets spring beneath the traveler's tread ; Where, rich in ev'ry tint, the fragrant rose, The perfumed eglantine, and woodbine grows; ' Where the shy deer in sportive gambols play, And all the sweets of liberty display; THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 7 Where feather'd warblers nimbly hop along- From branch to branch, and chant their tuneful song* From dawn of day until the close of even, Free as the breeze that fans the face of heaven. Such are the charms that shine resplendent here, That meet the traveler's gaze both far and near ; Such are the beauties of this blissful scene, Where life appears a paradise serene ; Such is the spot where vision doth reveal The lofty turrets of fair Abbotsville. A noble lord possess'd this wide domain,— A man whose simile you'd seek in vain; One who had mingled in the busy world, On whom the spleen of scandal had been hurl'd; One whom, 'twas said, had in his younger days Mix'd much in pleasure's too alluring maze ; One who'd rank'd high in fash'nable renown, Whose deeds had form'd the gossip of the town. 8 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. At which I ween few men will wonder, since He was the boon companion of a prince Whose name with all that's evil is allied, Who as a debauchee both lived and died ; With whom, in fact, he spent one half his time, With whom he mix'd in revelry and crime, With whom he join'd in scenes of wanton mirth, — Scenes that were far more fit for H— 11 than earth. Such was Fitz-Errol in his younger day, Till time caused youthful follies to decay, — Till God cut short that Royal Rake's career, Who died unmourn'd e'en by a nation's tear. 'Twas then remorse inclined Fitz-Errol's mind To better deeds ; thus, leaving vice behind, He quitted London's gay, licentious town, The amphitheatre of his renown, To drown those pangs of conscience he might feel Amid the fairy charms of Abbotsville ; And there he led, apart from worldly strife, A happy, quiet, and secluded life. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. I There he abode in that delightful spot Till all his former follies were forgot ; There he essay'd, and with success, to find A balm to ease his conscience-stricken mind, To soothe the wound that with compunction bled, And o'er the past oblivion to spread. Behold the means successfully he tried, To turn his path from vice to virtue's side ; We find him here— still in the prime of life- Become a Benedict,— for he a wife Had wed, a lady of exalted birth, Possessing virtues of intrinsic worth, With whose fair charms of person were combined, A noble, gen'rous, and accomplished mind. Such was the bride Fitz-Errol made his own, Before the altar of Jehovah's throne. Fair was the day, serenely broke the dawn, — Sol shone resplendent on that happy morn, On which the lord of Abbotsville, with pride Led forth his lovely and devoted bride. 10 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Shall I now sing of hours quickly flown, When morning's light to ev'ning's shade had grown ? Nay, here Fll pause,— near hallow'd ground I tread ; It is not meet to sing of hours that fled In bliss elysian. Fair modesty would spread Her all-concealing mantle o'er the nuptial bed. Here, then, Fll pause ; enough for me to say, That both were happy on their bridal day ; Both felt those joys the married state imparts, Both felt its witcheries, and both its arts ; Yet little thought they in that blissful hour, How soon misfortune would upon them lour. Aye, little thought they, ere a year should flee, One would be summon'd to eternity ! . Yet such is life, and such the common doom ; Thus hopes are crush'd, and buried in the tomb. Well 'tis for man that vision cannot see The dreary aspect of futurity. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 11 Scarce had a fleeting twelvemonth past away Since Abbotsville with happiness looked gay; Scarce had the winds of hoary winter fled, Scarce had the vernal spring displayed its head ; Yet in that time, within that little space, How great a change th ? enquiring eye might trace. No more, alas ! did Abbotsville look gay, No more did joy upon each feature play ; Gladness had vanished, it would even seem, Like to the fleeting fancies of a dream; Clouds in the heavens, threatening from afar, Had dimmed the brightness of the morning star; Fond hopes were blighted, cherished visions fled, — Fitz-ErroPs bride was numbered with the dead ! Alas ! she lay within the clay-cold tomb, E'en as a flower blighted in its bloom. With tears he mourn'd her, and with secret grief He mourned those bygone hours of bliss so brief; One solace only could his anguish find, One balm alone to heal his wounded mind ; 12 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 'Twas in that little pledge of mutual love The mother left below when call'd above, — In that fair charge, committed to his care By her he loved ; for 'twas her last fond pray'r, To guard with anxious eye the treasure given, Till God should summon him to her and Heaven. No wonder then that he found refuge there, When gazing on its little brow so fair, He fondly fancied that his eyes could trace The mother's features in the infant's face. No wonder that he inark'd with watchful eye, Its ev'ry movement and its ev'ry cry ; Or that his bosom should affection feel, Or that he should in adoration kneel Before that God, who in his mercy mild, When death cut off the mother, spared the child. Love for the mother would alone impart Paternal feelings to a father's heart, — Love for the mother, who had quitted earth In giving to her little offspring birth, — THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 13 Love for the mother, who, in beauty's dress, Departed in the garb of loveliness, — Love for the mother, who, in maiden bloom, Descended to the narrow confines of a tomb, — These would have fanned affection in his breast, Had aught been wanting to impart a zest ; But other causes made his bosom feel An ardent love, which words can scarce reveal ; His ev'ry look, his ev'ry act implied A father's feeling, and a father's pride. In that fair child he saw his future heir ; No wonder then that he found comfort there ; No wonder he a father's love should feel For that young babe, the Heir of Abbotsville. The infant child thus launch'd on life's rough wave, Was christen'd " Edward," o'er his mother's grave. It was a solemn, yet a mournful scene— Though one in life which is too often seen,— One being is lower'd to the clay-cold tomb, Another usher'd in the world to bloom ; 1-i THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. Yet such is life, — composed of bliss, of pain ; Now all is joy,— now all is rent in twain. Time onward rolPd : I must not linger here, On ev'ry hour of childhood's fleeting year : Enough to say, that Edward knew no care ; Life was to him a pure Elysium fair, Free from all turmoils, void of worldly pain ; While bliss around him ever seem'd to reign. Here must I pause ; for filmy clouds conceal, In chaos wrapp'd, the Heir of Abbotsville. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. CANTO THE SECOND. ARGUMENT. Comparison between the rich and the poor — The pride of birth ; the noxious tendency thereof. The landed aristocracy of England ; cursory glance at prohibitory duties on Corn, also on the Game Laws ; illustration of the bane- ful effects of the latter — Self, the general feature of the landowner ; what the nation otherwise might be — Time recalls the imagination to Abbotsville ; its rural charms in bygone years ; the village sports upon a summer eve — Helen the fairest maid of Abbotsville; her youth, her beauty, and her maiden charms — Her companion ; a stranger to fame, although the child of luxury, recognised as Edward St. Aubin, heir of Abbotsville. His long and ardent attachment towards her — Night veils the village green in darkness ; departure of the village train — Edward leading Helen through the vale of Abbotsville ; declares his love to her ; the reply— The parting scene — The first farewell — Concluding remarks on Canto the Second, Compare the wealthy with the lowly poor, The noble's mansion with the cot obscure, Contrast the splendours that attend the great With all the ills that on the humble wait ; The rich, who have no single wish denied, — The poor, whose daily wants are scarce supplied ; They who possess extended meadows fair, With they whose portion is the desert air ; Survey them both, and thou wilt plainly see The bad effects of inequality ! 16 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. With wealth and honour springs the pride of birth, Pride which is ever found to reign on earth, Which dwells within the noble's haughty breast, And seeks his better feelings to molest ; Taught from the cradle to despise the poor, Taught to oppress the humble and obscure, To spurn and crush them *f offence is given, And cast them helpless on the winds of Heaven. Can they the wealthy owners of the soil, Know what is labour,— they who never toil ? Can haughty dukes, in luxury array'd, Know half the ills in poverty displayed ? Or in their ardour as the farmer's friend, Would some a curry tonic recommend ? — In truth they would not, nor would the,y maintain Those cursed imposts laid on foreign grain. Would they debar the poor from being fed, Would they deprive them of their daily bread ? THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 17 If they but felt that all for all was given, They surely would not tax the bread of Heaven, Or seize that peasant with a patriot zeal Who traps a pheasant for his children's meal, Then cast him pitiless within the jail, Where crime and immorality prevail; There in that Pandemonium of sin, Forsake the wretch amid temptation's din, Within that vortex to abide his time, Till he comes out a felon old in crime, Tow'rds home he turns, but what a change is there- No wife appears — no smiling children fair — No kindly voices greet his listening ear ; All is forsaken, desolate and drear. He seeks his friends, but with averted eye They heed him not, but coldly pass him by. 'Tis plain they will not own his friendship now, — A felon's name is branded on his brow. His wife — his children— all he loved are dead ! No place has he to rest his aching head. 18 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. The parish poor-house is the wretch's doom, Save that he has no home except the tomb. Thus 'tween the two ere long he doth decide, And to his code of crime adds suicide. Such are the scenes that daily life supplies, — Facts that transpire devoid of aught disguise ; Pictures too true for any to deny, That hourly pass beneath the nation's eye. Yet such is man, — the autocrat I mean, — Self will not let his better part be seen ; Its venom fastens on his very soul, And seems his only stimulus and goal ; If but his heart to charity were given, If he but ponder 'd on the will of Heaven, Sordid self-interest would disappear, — No cry of want would fall upon the ear, — The noble's fame would echo thro' the land, And in the shrine of future ages stand ; His name the peasant ever would revere, His name would ever to their hearts be dear, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSV1LLE. J 9 Yet stay, my feelings I must here conceal, For time recalls me back to Abbotsville. Time bids me now my wand 'ring steps retrace Back to the beauties of that fond-loved place, Where oft in childhood's gay but fleeting hour, Fve lingered in the woodland grove and bow'r, With gladsome heart, and spirits light as air ; For I in childhood knew no grief or care. Thus would I in imagination steal, And gaze once more on lovely Abbotsvill e. Again Fd sing of charms that linger there, Again Fd gaze upon its pastures fair, Again Fd linger in that once fair spot, And tell of pleasures past, but not forgot; Again Fd mingle in the village throng, Again I'd listen to the rural song, The tuneful lute, the playful timbrel gay, As thro' the blythesome dance I led the way ; c 2 20 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Once more I'd join; as erst in hours fled, With they who now repose among the dead ; Thus would I fain revert to days of yore, Days that have vanished to return no more. Some few short summers back, at that still hour When nature, deck'd with many a varied flow V, Diffused around in harmony serene A genial verdure to the rural scene ; When Phoebus slept unseen by mortal eye, 'Neath the horizon of the western sky, » And many a peasant homeward bent his way, To seek repose after the toilsome day ; When village maidens decked in gay attire, Went forth to greet each fond returning sire, Or favour'd swain they seem'd by chance to meet,- But whom in truth they sought intent to greet, To lead them forward to the village green, To taste the pleasures of (hat blissful scene, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 21 Where lads and lasses as the noonday fair, Tripp'd gaily on, devoid of grief or care ; Where many a lute in harmony was strung, And many a song in melody was sung ; Where many a jibe and many a jest went round, And nought but joy and happiness were found. 'Twas thus that I, upon an eve like this, With others mingled in its varied bliss; When, as I gazed upon the village train, Mine eye met one I ne'er shall see again ; In form so fair, so exquisitely made, Outvieing all a sculptor e'er display'd, Possessing charms in loveliness array'd More rare than artist's pencil e'er pourtray'd ; A village maiden, fairer than the morn, In thought more pure than infant babe unborn. Her eyes — so brilliant, of a sparkling jet — Diffused eflulgency where'er they set, 22 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Her flowing ringlets, of a raven hue, Like to the twining honeysuckle grew, Extending even to her bosom fair, Clustering round in varied ringlets there ; And when she smiled, upon her cheek arose A tint more lovely than the choicest rose ; Her ev'ry movement tended to display More than imagination can convey. Fairer than Hebe deck'd in beauty's dress, She seem'd the very type of loveliness. Such was fair Helen, loved where'er she went, Tho' not the daughter of the opulent : Where'er she turned, on her kind faces smiled, Tho' but a lonely widow's only child; Caress'd by all around the village plain, And oft the theme of many a woodland strain ; So pure in heart, replete with filial love, She seem'd more suited for a world above ; While, in the rural valley where she dwelt, Vice was unknown, compunction never felt. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 23 By all admired, and designated there, Helen the fairest maiden of the fair. While thus I gazed, beside her might be seen A youth of manly brow and noble mien, Who led her thro' the village dance with glee, Seeking no greater notoriety ; Alike a stranger to the path of fame, He viewed the rich and lowly as the same ; He sought not honour in the world's renown. He envied not the coronet or crown, JXor little cared for all the pomp and pride Which to the son of luxury's allied ; Who, tho' the scion of a noble line, Seem'd willing wealth and title to resign, If but his footsteps could but tarry near The lovely maid his bosom prized so dear. He sought no higher object to attain, Save but from her a pleasing smile to gain ; 24 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Nor e'er repined, if but his eyes could steal A glimpse of Helen of fair Abbotsville. I knew him well from infancy till now, — Misfortune ne'er had lighted on his brow; To him life's path had ever been serene, No threatening clouds had frown'd upon the scene ; His morning star shone brilliant as the dawn, His op'ning course was fair as summer morn; On him Dame Fortune hitherto had smiled And mark'd him as her own especial child. Thus unto thee in him would I reveal, Edward St. Aubin, Heir of Abbotsville. 1 mark'd these twain as evening glided by, 1 mark'd each action with an anxious eye, I mark'd them tripping thro' the giddy throng, J mark'd them listening to the rural song, I mark'd the joy upon his face pourtray'd, I mark'd the modest blush her check display 'd, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSV1LLE. 25 Whene'er their eyes each other's features met, Or when their gaze upon each other set. Thus evening waned, and night was drawing nigh, While many a star illumed th* effulgent sky ; The village pastimes now were at a close, And nature slumbered in serene repose ; The peasants homeward had their steps inclined, The green appeared to solitude consign'd ; No sound was heard, no murmur in the air, But night in stillness reign'd supremely fair. Anon the harvest moon illumed the sky, Diffusing lucid brightness far and nigh, When, as I gazed, its silv'ry rays reveal'd What ev'ning's veil had hitherto concealed. Methought that all had left the village green, But lo, St. Aubin's form might still be seen, — Yet lingering not alone, for at his side Stood Helen the fair flow'r of eventide, With whom, towards the vale his steps he bent, Indulging love's soft converse as they went ; 26 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. For Edward, pained by Cupid's fatal dart, To her confess'd the passion of his heart, — To her he told that secret of his breast Which long had rack'd and broke upon his rest, — To her he vow'd, whate'er his fate might be, Unchanging love and lasting constancy. Thus did St. Aubin advocate his suit,— Then came a pause, and all was still and mute. AlikeYorgetful of the waning hour, They linger'd in a verdant, shady bow'r. And thus in silence moments glided by, Until St. Aubin press'd her to reply, When hectic blushes outwardly displayed The innate feelings of the village maid, Around her lovely face extending o'er, Which made her look more beauteous than before. Awhile she paused, then breathed a fond reply, When at the instant, softly murm'ring by, A gentle zephyr traveling on its way, Caught up the sound and bore it far away. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 27 Whate'er it was, although unheard by me,—- To all on earth save one a mystery,— It matter'd not, for I could well descry Its purport graven in St. Aubm's eye. Then came the parting, and the fond embrace, With lip to lip and face inclined to face ; 'Twas then St. Aubin felt ethereal bliss, When first he printed on her lips a kiss ; 'Twas then his heart felt all that ardent zeal Which such a moment ever doth reveal. Anon they pledged eternal lasting troth, And mutual vows w r ere interchanged by both. Yet here HI pause, on this no more HI dwell, For they who've linger'd under Cupid's spell Need no description of a scene like this, For they have doubtless tasted of its bliss. They who have loved are conversant full well With all comprised within a first farewell ! 28 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Thus then they parted, each with joyful heart ; For little thought they, joy would soon depart ; Alike unconscious of the care and strife With which man's earthly pilgrimage is rife, They little thought that wintry clouds were nigh. To darken o'er their vernal sunny sky ; They little thought that happiness would flee, And leave them helpless in adversity ; They little thought that fondest hopes would fade, Like to a flower blighted and decay'd ; In bliss imaginary both reclined, While tow'rds each other ev'ry thought inclined ; As yet with doubt their breasts had ne'er been rife ; And thus in hope they linger'd :— such is life ! THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. CANTO THE THIRD. ARGUMENT. The morning of life : its happiness compared to that of maturer years — Simi- litude of man — Youth ; the first disquietude — Love ; its chequered course and varied tendency — Abbot sville— St. Aubin ; the cloud that occasionally settles o'er his brow — Helen ; far different her transient happiness — Sus- picion enters on Fitz-Errol's mind — Rumours reach him of Edward's inti- macy with Helen — His anger thereat, and firm resolve to ascertain the truth — His encounter with the lovers, whom he comes on unawares when seated in the trysting bower — High words ensue ; Fitz-Errol upbraids his son, and desires him to leave Abbotsville an outcast for ever, or instantly repair to college — Edward's choice guided by Helen — Her noble disinterestedness for his future welfare— St. Aubin's reply — Fitz-Errol quits them — Night draws near — The lovers part ; their last adieu — Departure of Edward for Oxford, and concluding remarks on Canto III. When man is young, ere life begins to dawn In all the brightness of a summer morn ; When peace and happiness appear entwined, In amity and union combined ; Ere fitful fancies lure the youthful head, Ere transient visions hover round the bed, Ere man discriminates 'twixt hope and fear, Ere joy and sorrow in their turn appear, Free from those passions which in anger ride In after years o'er life's maturer tide, 30 THE HEIR OF ABDOTSVTLLE. Void of those clouds which but too often mar The brilliant rising of the morning star; Then is man's life from every turmoil free, — A transient dream, that lacks reality. Like to a flower fashion 'd to adorn, In size expanding with the opening morn, In form, in beauty, tending to display Creation's miracles in bright array ; Or like the off-shoot of the blooming rose, Which day by day in greater beauty grows, Until at length th' observing eye may see It open forth in full maturity ; E'en such is man, when childhood fleeting by, Declines, like Phoebus, 'neath the western sky. When infancy succumbs, and disappears Amid the charms of manhood's riper years, Then man shines forth by heavenly decree, In semblance fashion'd as the Deity. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 31 There is a charm, a talisman, forsooth, That lurks around the sunny path of youth; Those who were youthful, those who are, must know The thoughts with which the heart is wont to glow,— Those blissful hours when love was at its height, When fond expectancy gave forth delight. Few can forget, while memory's ties remain, Those joys, once vanish'd, never felt again ; When seeds implanted in the heart, First bore the fruit of nature, not of art ; When they displayed, in rich and varied hue, Full many a flower to the human view ; When they presented to the eye, defined, The sev'ral passions of the human mind. Few can forget, when from its latent bed The tender passion first displayed its head, When they became, they scarce knew when or where, The fond admirer of some object fair; When hope and fear by turn their place resigned, When each alternately reign'd in theirtnind. 32 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. Can man be callous to the spell of love, Which first destroyed, then raised his hopes above The pinnacle of fear, and sank to sleep, Calm in his bosom as the stillsome deep? Most must have felt that charm — some more — some less, Which here gives pain, and there gives happiness. Oh ! that the spell that passion doth impart, Ne'er foster'd sorrow in the human heart ; So fair a virtue in the bosom born, So often causing wretchedness forlorn ! Would that it were not to alloy e'er given, Then might we hail it as a type of Heaven ! Thus, even thus love's chains appear W to steal O'er youthful hearts that dwelt in Abbotsville. Time onward sped, the lovers often met; As yet they knew not sorrow or regret. St. Aubin loved, — by love he was beguiled, For Helen ever on her Edward smiled. THE HETR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 33 Thus both were happy, free from ev'ry pain, As though nought e'er could rend their love in twain • Thus then they linger'd, tho' at times, His true, O'er Edward's brow distrust her mantle threw. A kind of transient vision in disguise Would now and then before his eyes arise, A whisp'ring monitor, which seem'd to say, Ere long his happiness might flee away. Anon, again, when sleep his eyes would close, The phantom still disturbed his calm repose ; For Edward felt, if but his father knew The stem on which his future prospects grew, — If he imagined that his mind was sway'd By her, the fair but humble village maid, — He felt, he knew he would oppose his choice, Nor deign to listen to affection's voice; He felt, he knew he would at once disclaim And spurn that son who bore his father's name ; He felt, he knew his proud, capricious views, Would all approval of his choice refuse,— 31 T4IE HEIR OF ABDOTSVILLE. Would mar the dreams in happier moments drawn, And leave his prospects blighted and forlorn. With Helen all was happy ; young and fair, She knew no fear, experienced no care ; Still, though so young, yet was affection's zest Than his more deeply planted in her breast : In him, St. Aubin, all her hopes were placed, All other thoughts seem'd from her heart erased. In love more fond, her youthful soul would soar, And hover near the being she did adore. So proved the sequel, when in after years, Joy turn'd to sorrow, gladness into tears ; When mem'ry vanish'd, and could e'en forget, And absence caused no sorrow or regret. Suspicion, ever busy, ever rife With grief and pain, dread harbinger of strife, That lurks in each dark crevice of the mind, And sheds its baneful mantle o'er mankind; THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 35 That makes man revel in another's pain, And o'er the frailties of his fellow reign ; That plants its venom in the human breast, And lulls our kinder sympathies to rest; Would that thy tongue were otherwise inclined Than sowing discord in the human mind, Than blighting dreams we indistinctly see, And casting shadows o'er futurity ! But such is man, and such the common lot, — Where scandal reigns, sincerity is not. Rumour had whisper'd in Fitz-Errol's ear, A warning sound of fast approaching fear, Which told him Edward would ere long destroy Those hopes he fondly deem'd without alloy ; That time's strong arm would hasten to decay, Those dreams which now shone lucid in array. Thus, on a certain day, as evils oft betide, Fitz-Errol miss'd St. Aubin from his side ; D 2 3G THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. And as he ponder'd somewhat ill content, He seem'd to have a strange presentiment. Misgiving stole upon his troubled breast, Distrust and doubt his inward man possess'd. As thus he sat, his look at once defined, 'Twas Edward's absence occupied his mind. Thought he, — can scandal's busy tongue, forsooth, Have utter'd in reality the truth ? Can I give credence — shall I be so bold, To place reliance upon all that's told ; On all that passes o'er my troubled brain, That seems to sever cherish'd hopes in twain ; — Nay, can it be, that I have been so blind ? — The thought itself ne'er enter'd in my mind, That he, my son and heir, hath e'er display'd Undue attention to this village maid. Yet stay, reflection,— I'll at once allay All rising doubts that in my bosom play. Thus sad in heart, in mind oppress'd and weak, He went the object of his search to seek. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 37 Here will I leave him for awhile, to tell How round the lovers Cupid weaved his spell. 'Twas ev'ning, at that fair, enchanting hour, When lovers hasten to the fay' rite bow'r, When joy and happiness illumes each face As they approach the usual trysting place ; Where mutual vows are given and received, Where all that's utter'd is in truth believed ; At such a time, at such an hour as this, In all the ecstacy of perfect bliss, St. Aubin with the village maid reclined Where jessamine and honeysuckle twined, Beneath whose branches they appeared to me More like a painting than reality. Their theme was love; — each in low whisper spoke, When on their ears intruding footsteps broke. St. Aubin turn'd, and, much to his amaze, His father's features met his wondering gaze. 38 THE HEIR OF ABDOTSVILLE. Yes, 'twas too true — it could not be denied — There sat the maid, reclining at his side ; Anon occurr'd upon that cherish'd spot A scene which memory hath ne'er forgot : Fitz-Errol swore, with feelings deeply shorn, And cursed the day on which that son was born. Fair Helen nestled in her lover's breast, E'en as a bird takes refuge in its nest ; While Edward gazed with calm and placid mien, Unmoved and unaffected by the scene ; Until again upon the silence broke Fitz-KrroPs voice, who thus in anger spoke : "I swear unless my mandate be obey'd,— Unless you henceforth quit this village maid, You shall from Abbotsville an outcast be, A victim to the pangs of penury ; And I all cognisance will hence disclaim, Nor own that son who bears St. Aubiu's name \ All kindred ties I swear I will deny, And pass thy claims to future honours bj ; THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 39 Thus will I leave thee to thine own despair, No more to Abbotsville the envied heir. And here he paused. St. Aubin heard the threat. When gazing round, his eye fair Helen's met ; And as he looked upon her features fair, He read her innate feeling graven there ; Then as he press'd her closer to his heart, She whispered, — " Edward, for thy sake depart. 'Twere best thy father's mandate to obey,— His will is mine— I pry'thee do not stay ; For know, thy future welfare is to me More dear than worldly pomp or pageantry. Though once, indeed, I deem'd my Edward mine, His father wills I should that love resign ; Though once I thought futurity implied That I should be St. Aubin's happy bride, Fate wills it otherwise,— it must not be ; Love vaunteth nothing, 'tis my destiny." St. Aubin's brain in tumult seem'd to whirl ; Transfix'd, he gazed upon the noble girl, 40 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. Who urged compliance to her fond request, Then sunk o'ercome upon his throbbing breast ; Her cheeks came wan, — no more was roseate hue, But death-like white, presented to the view; Nature lay prostrate, all her functions fled, She look'd less like the living than the dead. So matters stood when Edward, undismayed, Unto his father's ear his thoughts convey'd. Said he, — " Since, sire, it hath become thy will, I must succumb, and thy commands fulfil ; And though 'twill cause me much regret to feel For Helen's sake, I'll leave fair Abbotsville." Such were the words that rose from out his heart, Which pristine love alone could e'er impart; The potent spell which o'er his bosom play'd, His adoration for the village maid. 'Twas these alone that made him take that path By which to palliate a father's wrath ; It was but natural he should adore, For now he loved who ne'er had loved before THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. 41 Hope in expectancy arose above, Around the chaos of his maiden love. Men are but human, and more oft they see Life as a vision, than reality. Fitz-Errol left, and Edward heaved a sigh, As watching Helen with an anxious eye, Whose reason gradually appear'd to dawn, And break in splendour thro' the hazy morn ; When e'en anon her loveliness to grace, A smile illumed her fair and beauteous face. Fond vows were made beneath Jehovah's throne, — Vows that have since into oblivion flown ; And then in converse full an hour was spent, Until the curfew's sound a warning lent, When 'mid regrets, too great for me to tell, The lovers parted, and exclaim'd Farewell ! 42 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Old Time sped on, and many a long day fled, While filmy chaos o'er my vision spread. Edward left home, a student to explore That celebrated seat of classic lore, Where the clear streams of Isis softly glide From bank to bank with each alternate tide ; There was he placed in Alma-mater's arms, And found ere long a college life had charms. So strong did they upon his feelings steal, That he grew callous e'en to Abbotsville. There will I leave him, and repair again To her whose bliss caprice had snapp'd in twain, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. CANTO THE FOURTH. ARGUMENT. Absence the cause of regret — Abbotsville ; Helen — Oxford; cursory description thereof — A college life ; its baneful influence over St. Aubin — Helen's sorrow thereat, — Edward's majority : departure from college and advent in London— — The pleasures of the season, in which St. Aubin revels — Husband-catch- ing in the higher circles — St. Aubin becomes blaze ,* meeting an old friend, Lord De Vere, is by him induced to enter a certain Pandemonium — The result — An habitue thereto — On a certain night thus engaged he receives intel- ligence of the sudden illness of his father, and summoning him immediately to Abbotsville — His delay ; the consequence, a quarrel ; a duel, and his own death — Interment of the body at Abbotsville, with that of the Earl, who expired ere his son's corpse arrived — Helen — On the eve succeeding the Poet visits the tomb, when he descries Helen approach and kneel beside the grave in prayer; appearing to totter, ere the Poet's hand can save, she falls a corpse upon her lover's grave, a victim to disappointment produced by paternal caprice— The moral — Concluding remarks to the reader, Who hath not felt, who may not e'en feel yet, The pangs which absence yieldeth of regret ? Who hath not known alternate hope and fear, When far removed from those we cherish dear ?— I ween but few whose breasts with fondness glow, Or in whose hearts affection's streamlets flow. Thus, then, in common, did fair Helen feel Regret when Edward quitted Abbotsville ; She little thought that time would make her rue That love of his which now she deem'd so true, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. And thus she linger'd in her maiden prime, While onward flew the hasty hand of time. I'd now repair, as I was wont of yore, To that fair seat of ancient classic lore, Where I have often, 'mid its faiery maze, Pass'd many hours of childhood's early days. Again Fd gaze upon the op'ning scene, The antique bridge*, the lofty Magdalene f. Or stroll to Christen urchj, or St. Peter's tow'r,§ Or in the meadow^f pass the ev'ning hour, Where, softly stealing o'er th' enchanting scene, Fair Isis glides in harmony serene. Here would I tarry, for its walls conceal My heart's fond care, the Heir of Abbotsville. • Magdalene bridge, a pretty spocimen of ancient architecture. f Magdalene college. X Christchurch college. S Supposed lube upwards of a thousand years old, the oldest church in the city, % Christchurch meadow, a place of favourite resort. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 45 It seems, the college that St. Aubin chose, Was one which ev'ry Oxford scholar knows ; Above whose portico appears in view, A huge proboscis of a brazen hue, From which, some wags imagine, thence arose The name the college goes by — Brazen-Nose. Two years had vanished over Edward's head, Since he from Abbotsville a student sped ; In which short space, although you'll deem it strange, The hand of time had wrought a mighty change. Each classic gem lay useless on its shelf, For those who chose to study— not himself; His pastime was, to hie to Blenheim Park, There spend the day, and finish with a lark ; At night returning, full of boist'rous glee, Indulge his fancy in some hoyden spree, — Let loose the cattle in the neighboring field, Or e'en, perchance, if to his strength 'twould yield, Unhinge the toll-bar, carry it away, And thus divest the tollman of his pay; 46 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. Or, as lie pass'd the tavern near the town, Reverse the sign, and turn it upside down. Such are the pleasures, if they such can be, That reign within the university. While thus St. Aubin wiled his hours away, To Abbotsville I would thy thoughts convey ; There would I place thee for awhile, to scan That lovely face which is so pale, so wan ; There would I place thee, to observe that brow, So fair but yesterday, so clouded now ; There would I place thee, by fair Helen's side,—. Poor, faded flower, once the village pride, — To mark the wild expression of that eye, The vacant look with which it passeth by, Imparting tokens of a mind distressed, That plainly told the heart was ill at rest. In hope, her heart, her ev'ry thought was set, Until she heard that Edward could forget ; Oppress'd, she wander d thro' the valley now, With settled melancholy oil her brow, THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVTLLE. 47 Where oft she'd roved with youthful, girlish glee, And pictured visions of futurity. No more were beauty's lineaments display'd, As once they were, upon the village maid ; Her varied charms were fleeting fast away, And she, deceived, was pining to decay. About this time, on reference I see, St. Aubin came to his majority ; When he, it seems, was by an aunt's behest Entitled to a somewhat large bequest ; And so, no more dependent on his sire, He sought to gratify each new desire. With gladsome heart, and spirits light as air, To Leeds' gay town he hastened to repair, Where, you must know, such is a lord's renown, Scarce had he even been a day in town, Before the Post announced with usual zeal, — Arrived at Farrance's-— Lord Abbotsville.* * Title by courtesy. 4S THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Anon the news of course instanter spread, That he was rich, so busy rumour said ; Anon fond mothers pictured prospects fair, And built their empty castles in the air. 'Mong these was Lady Kersey, whom we find, In such manoeuvres seldom is behind; She has a daughter, one left out of three, Named Emmentina,— of celebrity ; Whose sister Larah, but a few years since, Wed Huskehazey, a poor German prince ; The other, Madela, I much suspect, There are but few who cease to recollect, Who lately figured as the self-willed lass At Gretna-green, — it was a comic farce. Thus Lady K , though some indeed might scolf, Imagined Emmentina would go off. But stay, ere this I ought to have implied, At this time Madela was not a bride. So Lady K , with much consummate skill, Essay'd to mould our hero to her will. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 49 But ere the bird was captured in the snare, The net gave way, and left him free as air. Thus, tho' p'rhaps at my simile you'll laugh, It shows birds are not always caught by chaff. The London season now was at its height, When Edward revell'd in each new delight ; About which time, the newspapers report His presentation to the Queen at court. And henceforth he by all was look'd upon, In lordly circles, as a man of ton, Thus in each salon he appeared to be The central object of its brilliancy; His absence seem'd all merriment to mar, And ladies christen'd him the Evening Star. For you must know, he always had at hand, Some ready pun or bon mot at command. And men of wit, and sparkling repartee, Are always courted in society. At Almack's also he was seen to shine, A frequent vofry at the op'ra shrine ; 50 THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. Or, I should rather have observed before, Tlr attractive magnet was in Terpsichore. Yes, there he'd sit in rapture ev'ry night, And hail la premiere danseuse with delight ; With eager eye each classic group survey, And praise each tableau vivante they'd display. Thus, like the bee that Hies from flow'r to flow'r, So Edward sought new pleasures to devour. Friends he had plenty, snch as e'er are found Wherever wealth or fortune's smiles abound ; Whose friendship, like unto a fragile flow'r, That speaks of promise in the summer hour, Yet when the winds of winter o'er it play, It fades, declines, and vanisheth away. About this period, it would appear, He met an old acquaintance, Lord De Vere ; Who had, it seems, but just arrived in town, Where he already had achieved renown. Like most young men, De Vere was rather gay, But, more the pity, he was given to play. THE HEIR OF ABBOTSVILLE. 51 Induced by him, St. Aubin enter'd in A certain Pandemonium of sin : Fortune smiled graciously, he went away, The winner of a thousand pounds at play. Now mark what follows, and eschew the evil That ever falls on those who serve the devil. One night he sat with eager, watchful eye, His ev'ry thought seem'd centred in the die, The fiend appeared his very soul to clasp, He held the dice-box ready in his grasp, When, at the instant in his hand was placed, A letter, mark'd from Abbots ville — in haste. He tore it open quickly, read it through, — Its purport here I will unfold to you. 'Twould seem 'twas written by Fitz-ErroPs will, Who'd somewhat suddenly been taken ill, And growing worse, an old and valued friend Advised that he should for St. Aubin send. Such was the letter, which on having read, Said he, (j THE HEIR OF ABBOTSV1LLE. Thus perish'd Helen ! may she rest in peace, The victim of an autocrat's caprice. Thus ends my poem, if you've read it through, I would, kind reader, say a word to you. The world is oft too ready to condemn Mankind, — alas, too ready to contemn. I do not tell thee whence my subject came, — From truth or fiction,— -that is not my aim. To you the point is open to decide, To profit by the moral that's implied. Caprice too often proves a noxious bane, That severs human happiness in twain. Thus, to the world, to say if false or true, The poet leaves his oflering.— Adieu ! HYLDA. LEGENDARY POEM OF WHARFDALE, THE LEGEND. Eight miles from the city of York formerly stood a convent for nuns of the Cistercian order, contemporaneous with which was a monastery at Acaster-Malhis, — whose several inmates, tradition relates, had access to each other. On the eve of St. Mark, the lady abhess had summoned the archbishop from Caywode to chant high mass, to set at rest the wandering spirit of sister " Hylda," which for seven years had so haunted the convent and valley, that the peasants, in fear, had fled. Midnight came; the curfew brought all to their several stations ; the archbishop was already before the altar ; all were in the act of si- multaneously raising their voices to heaven, when loud knocking resounded from the outer gate. The portress told her beads and crossed her breast, and with difficulty opened the door, which seemed as it were to deny admission to the stranger, when the dim light of a flickering taper revealed the figure of a Palmer, clad in weeds of penitence, who related to the portress, his pilgrimage. A short time elapsed, and as he was concluding his history, the curfew again tolled, and the portress hurried him to the chapel, to take part in the holy ceremony. But scarce had he entered ere the earth quaked, and the elements seemed arrayed against each other ; when the figure of Hylda appeared, and laying bare her breast, displaying a deep wound therein, she exclaimed, — " In me behold sister Hylda, ruined, then murdered by the Palmer ; in him behold Friar John. I died unconfessed, and till now have been doomed to purgatory ; but now I go to my rest. Anon she vanished, and with her the Palmer, who was ne'er seen more. Old Tradition. See Shaw& Wharfdale. 59 HYL'DA. List, list, my muse, I fain would soar In thoughts ideal to days of yore ; In fancy's car I fain would sail, And chant the beauties of Wharfdale, Then pry'thee smile, oh fair Verbeia, Vouchsafe my fragile bark to steer. Td first repair to famed Cay wocle, Where once the ancient convent stood, Or hence depart, through tangled maze, And on fair Selby Abbey gaze; From thence to Caley Hall p'rhaps stray, And gaze upon the vale's display ; To rural Leathley then wend on, The nunnery at Arthington ; 60 HYLDA. Or ii, indeed, 'twere in my pow'r, At Harewood spend a quiet hour. Yes, there would I in fancy stray, And to Wharfdale present my lay. Of the past I sing, of a legend wild, A tradition well known to man and child. Let those who doubt or discredit my talc, Go and ask the peasuntry of Wharfdale. Where now the grass luxuriant grows There Appleton's cloisters formerly rose. So tradition reports, and though false or true, The legend I now will unfold to you. Wharfdale, 'tis said, some centuries back, Was haunted both night and day, By a wandering spirit veiled in black, That to Heav'n had lost its way. HYLDA. 61 The peasants, scared, from the valley fled, And left it forlorn and bare : No sound was heard save the wild beast's tread, Or the owlet in the air. Whose was the spirit that thus expell'd Each peasant from his dwelling? And what was the cause that thus impelFd The Wharfe in anger swelling ? 'Twas the shade of one who long had dwelt In Appleton's sacred walls, Who before the Virgin's shrine had knelt,— 'Tis she who for justice calls. And thus upon the eve of St. Mark The abbess this notice gave, That iriass should be sung that night at dark, Lost Hylda's spirit to save. 62 HYLDA. Night soon arrived, and the curfew's toll Bad each one thither incline ; Caywode's archbishop, in sacred stole, Appear'd before the shrine. And Acaster's monks were also there In solemn convocation, Prepared to raise their voices to pray'r To heav'n in supplication. Anon at the portal sounds were heard That nigh rent all in sunder, While the portress knelt, and ere she stirred, Began her beads to number. Then she oped the door ; in grey weeds clad, On the step a Palmer stood ; — lu tremulous fear, like one half mad, She demanded what he would ? HYLDA. C3 The thunder roll'd and the lightning glared, The night blast roared as the sea, When opening his lips, he wildly stared, And exclaimed, — " Pray list to me: (i Fve perilFd my life both night and day, " By land as well as by sea ; " Yet the tempest's howl or war's array "Never yet wrought fear in me. " In Palestine, at King Richard's side, " And at Acre's dire affray, " When the Paynim force our strength defied, " 'Mid slaughter I fought my way. " Before Jesu's tomb in Palestine, "In Italy, France and Spain, " I've worshipp'd at every holy shrine, "But it hath not eased my pain, 64 HYLDA. "As hither I bent my steps this night, " At the Virgin's shrine to kneel,