UC-NRLF $B E67 Tfil cr o > 3^ ''^^^ \-^l^. '^"'sr^^^^ .mm>- ^ . >j^ ' "^^-^ ^-"^ ' J -^ "rl.,^ ^asai^^Kl 1^^ ;> >_j>. ' 3^ :*> ,.3 . ' ^^ "-"^s;^-*^-, ---. * "> 3*h ^^^,*^'^ ^' ^3>^ >>>-?> 5^ ^:|y5> >":tt>^ ^ ^ ^-^ : >^^^ - -^.^asrfi^i^, ,"* 'J3 >J^> ^ J^ ^>::afc T^ >. Jfc >"^ ji^TT^^^^ > >^ J :: -y-^ |^^^B'^>.' > ^ >">.> ' ^^-^"^'^Si iP** ^".83^ 1, > ' >> ^,i, > _ -^gSr ^^u?^ > '. > > ; >^ >> Hh 'wjjSSi; . ''^^..^'KJKBp ^^^ ^*^iv3^ > ^^'^ ':3?'^ ^'^ "^^SK ^ . >-^ :i - > -- / ^ --r^*- l^^,\.,/^' :^^i-:. ' ,. . ^-^^**'^ > > ^^Ull^ ., ""-^ w". "^^ ' "Ti' ' * ' ,' **0'jB8*^-yr'^'^'^'^ "^ .:^^^ "s.. ' > ^ ^^^* "^ "'' > "i*j.- ' ^ -^ ::>^* iif^ v.^^,^ >.^. ^ ^iltei. -^ #'' ^ :^3> _>2,:^ .^23it3^ ;is U^lL^ ^.m \'> >' ^^-> >v- >-^?&^-. tM <( ^ OXFORD PRIZE POEMS A COLLECTION ENGLISH POEMS AT VARIOUS TIMES OBTAINED PRIZES UN]5V^jE:$I:T.Y. OF Q^i^jORD. OXFORD: PRINTED FOR J, H. PARKER, J. VINCENT, AND H. SLATTER. MDcrx-xxxix. ? ^ > *> <> ' VINCENT, PRINTER, OXFORD. CONTENTS. Recited Pa^e 1768 The Conquest of Quebec 1 1771 The Love of our Country 10 1772 Beneficial Effects of Inoculation * . 15 1791 The Aboriginal Britons 22 1803 Palestine 38 1806 A Recommendation of the Study of the Remains of Ancient Grecian and Roman Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting 6 1 1807 Moses, under the direction of Divine Providence, conduct- ing the Children of Israel from Egypt to the Promised Land .....%... 65 1808 Mahomet 78 1809 John the Baptist 93 1810 The Statue of the Dying Gladiator 105 1811 Parthenon 109 1812 The Belvidere ApoUo 113 1813 The Pantheon 117 1814 Niobe 121 1815 Temple of Theseus 125 1816 The Horses of Lysippus 129 1817 The Famese Hercules 133 1818 The Coliseum 137 ty^^ m^ Ok IV CONTENTS. Recited Page 1819 The IphigeniaofTimanthes . . . ; 141 1820 The Temple of Diana at Ephesus 145 1821 Psestum 149 1822 Palmyra. 158 1823 Stonehenge . 157 1824 The Arch of Titus 161 1825 The Temple of Vesta . . 165 1826 Trajan's Pillar 169 1827 Pompeii 173 1828 Richard Coeur de Lion 183 1829 Voyages of Discovery ,....' 193 1830 The African Desert 201 1831 The Suttees 213 1832 Staffa 227 1833 Granada 237 1834 Hospice of St. Bernard 249 Congratulatory Addresses 261 303 1835 The Burning of Moscow , . . 305 1836 The Knights of St. John 317 1837 The Gipsies 331 1838 The Exile of St. Helena . . 345 THE CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. 'ETrlaraarde yap S^ttou on ovre ttXtjOSs iffrtv, ovrc Icx^s 7} iv t<2 TToXefi^ rcLs viKas iroLOvaa' aAA.' oTrSrepoL tiv crvv ro7s @o7s ra7s xpvxcus eppwfievecTTepoi IcoffLV M rovs iroXefilovs. Xeiioph. Cyri Exped. lib. iii. Farewell ye Naiads who your tresses lave Where Isis rolls her unpolluted wave : Far off to regions unexplor'd I fly, To savage nations and a frozen sky ; Where the Laurentian stream his copious stores In whitening torrents to th' Atlantic pours ; Where never echo his steep banks along Heard the sweet accents of a Muse's song ; But shouts of barb'rous dissonance resound, And blood of warriors bathes the reeking ground. Long time the bashful Muse, content to stray Where list'ning swains approv'd her simple lay, "i \'^ ^ ij' dcJ^iibi] ST of quebec. rj f I * - "^ " , , *' , '^ 'J '-' " ' ' ' * " ' ' By^^ti yriytuio-r'd^ arid unknown to fame, Had learnt to warble only Delia's name ; Nor from her silent caves and grottos led Had dar'd the crimson fields of war to tread : New ardors now her throbbing breast invade ; For themes untried she quits the chequer'd shade ; Fierce transport bears her o'er th' embattled plain. And softer pleasures call her back in vain. So, from the toils of martial service freed, Thro' flow'ry meadows roves the warrior steed ; Now plunges in the river's crystal tide. To slake his thirst, or cool his glowing side ; Now on soft herbage rolls in wanton play, And lengthens out with ease th' inglorious day: But when the trumpet's piercing clangor sounds. He leaps indignant o'er opposing mounds, Untasted leaves the gusting rill behind, And flies to fame impetuous as the wind. Where on a clifl* Quebec's high tow'rs arise. Braving with warlike show the neighb'riug skies, Wolfe all the various arts of combat tried. And pour'd his thunders on its rocky side : But though unshaken stand the solid walls, While ceaseless the resounding tempest falls. Victorious hopes his dauntless breast inspire, Nor danger can appal, nor labour tire ; CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. Armies from him receive the gen'rous rage, And with new strength increasing toils engage ; Where through the ranks he turns his glowing eyes, Again th' expiring flames of battle rise. Ere the still evening's dusky shades jDrevail'd, Far up the stream the crowded vessels sail'd ; There the bold Chief unfolds his mighty plan, And martial fury spreads from man to man ; Till on her sable pinions night descends, And round the bands her friendly veil extends : Then, swiftly borne by the retreating tide. Unseen and silent o'er the waves they glide ; And winding cautious near the hostile shore. Its treach'rous shoals and op'ning creeks explore ; Till safely the appointed strand they reach, And spring tumultuous on the slipp'ry beach. Where rising hills the western tow'rs inclose, And weak of fabric the low bulwark rose ; Where France had trusted no advent'rous foe Could gain the mountain laboring from below ; Planting his feet against its steepy side, Foremost press'd Valour on with daring stride ; Sage Conduct, Resolution void of fear, And Perseverance clos'd th' unshaken rear. Arduous they climb ; and where the dubious way Perplex'd with brakes and twisting branches lay, b2 4 CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. Through pathless wilds and unfrequented shades Eager though slow advance the bold brigades ; With ceaseless toil its craggy side ascend, And their thick phalanx o'er the plain extend. Soon from th' Atlantic rose the golden day, Dispeird the gloom, and roll'd the mists away; To rising winds the red-cross banners stream. And the bright arms of thronging cohorts gleam. The sons of Gaul, with horror in their e3'e, . Through scatter'd fogs the sudden lustre spy ; ^ These from their posts in wild confusion start ; These haste the fatal tidings to impart ; The savage bands awake their deathful yell. And the loud shout with hideous discord swell. Yet, ere the legions to close combat ran. Some chosen warriors press'd before the van ; Where treach'rous shrubs protect the secret stand. In dreadful ambush lurk th' insidious band ; No vulgar deaths attend their fatal aim. But warrior chiefs, the fav'rite sons of fame. Wolfe in the front of danger led the way. And with stern pleasure view'd the close array : On him their eyes the latent warriors bend. And leaden deaths in hissing show'rs descend ; His manly arm receives the grisly wound, And the red current streams upon the ground : CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. Yet from his troops the prudent Chief eonceal'd The gushing tide, and strode along the field. At length the battle, front to front oppos'd, In deeds of death and furious onset closed : Now echoing peals of mortal thunder roar. And pitchy volumes cloud the combat o'er ; Now bursting flames the waste of war display. And for a while recall the gleam of day. So when thick flashes of the northern light With streamy sparkles gild the face of night, Sudden the blazing coruscations fly, Rise the bright hills, and meet th' astonished eye ; Sudden the momentary prospects fade. And earth lies buried in surrounding shade. Mean time fair Vict'ry o'er the crimson plains Hov'ring, her scale in equal poise sustains. Soon as to Albion's sons the goddess flew, The Gauls retire, the victor troops pursue ; In black despair recoils the fainting band. Sunk is each heart, and weaken'd every hand. But while the British Chief his troops led on To pluck those laurels which their arms had won. Some winged fate his mighty bosom tore. And low to earth the gallant Warrior bore. His friends with pity mark his parting breath, And pause suspended from the work of death. 6 CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. No more the vanquish'd in their scatter'd rear His well-known voice, inspiring terrors, hear : Elate with joy, the bleeding Chief they view. And the long labours of the day renew. Now their defeated hopes the Britons mourn, And from their grasp the wreath of conquest torn ; Till through the breaking squadrons Townshend flies. Revenge and fury sparkling in his eyes ; Fierce over slaughtered heroes tow'rs along. Collects the war, and fires the yielding throng. Meanwhile their Chief his sad associates laid Beneath the covert of a neighb'ring shade; Thence, as the sanguine torrent ebb'd away, He strove the scene of tumult to survey ; Rous'd by the martial thunder of the field, By fits his dim expiring eyes unseal'd; Then, sick'ning at the piercing blaze of light, Turn'd from the ranks of war his aching sight : Yet, fondly anxious for his country's fame, Long as the vital spirit feeds its flame. Oft he requires of each attending friend O'er the wide plain their careful view to send. And mark if Gaul the conquering bands repell'd. Or yet their flight the broken legions held. " Sweet peace be thine," replied the warrior train, ** In this sad hour, and soften eY^rj pain j CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. 7 ^* For lo ! thy Townshend at his people's head << Urges the rout, and conquers in thy stead, " Resistless bids the tide of slaughter flow, ** Scatters their ranks, and lays their heroes low." To whom the Chief; " I die, since this is giv'n, ** Content, and ask no other boon of Heav'n." He could no more ; th' unfinish'd accents hung In sounds imperfect on his falt'ring tongue ; His mighty spirit fled, and mix'd with wind; Yet virtue left a conscious smile behind. Nor longer now the bloody slaughter rag'd With distant thunders : man with man engag'd : Those who from Caledonian hills descend, Where tow'ring cliffs their rugged arms extend, (Stern sons of havoc, practis'd to obey The various calls of ev'ry dreadful day; Now in close order and collected might To wait the tumult of advancing fight; Now fearless the divided lines expand, Ravage at large, and mingle hand to hand !) With piercing cries the hostile files invade, And shake aloft in air the massy blade : Where'er their falchions heap the slaughter round. Crowds roU'd on crowds bestrew the loaded ground ; While rushing to the front with equal speed, Their brave companions of the war succeed. 8 CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. With desp'rate anguish torn and glowing shame, That ill successes blast his ancient fame, Moncalm, in vain exerting ev'ry art, Performs a leader's and a warrior's part : But now no more his keen reproach controuls The coward terrors that unman their souls : No sense of glory fires the vet'ran's breast, With horror chilFd, and heav'n-bred awe deprest. As, where his squadrons urg'd their course along, Raging he travers'd the disorder'd throng. Some British falchion sped the deathful wound. And hew'd th' indignant chieftain to the ground ; Wedg'd in the rout the gasping hero lay, And with faint murmur sigh'd his soul away. To swifter flight the Gallic legions yield. And trembling quit the long-contested field ; Part hasten to the stream whose waves contain Th' extensive limits of the fatal plain ; Part to the bulwarks, from whose lofty height Their friends desponding view th' unequal fight. Soon as the morrow's sun with genial ray To the bleak climate gave returning day. The victor's mercy Gallia's sons implore. And trust the fickle chance of war no more ; Their ample gates unfold ; along the strand In silent sorrow moves the vanquish'd band ; CONQUEST OF QUEBEC. 9 While, flush'd with triumph, and of conquest vain. Pours tow'rd the captive walls the British train. Thus from their toil the glorious heroes rest, And peaceful rapture swells in ev'ry breast ; Save that as oft the glowing tale they tell Of such as bravely fought, or greatly fell, Wolfe's early fate their pensive mind employs, And manly sorrows check their rising joys.. Illustrious shade ! if artless hands like mine Ck)uld for an hero's urn the chaplet twine. The Muse for thee should cull each op'ning bloom. And with unfading garlands deck thy tomb : For oh ! what youth, whose rev'rent feet are led To those sad mansions of the mighty dead. Where martial trophies in rich sculpture show The sacred ashes that repose below, But, kindling at the view, for glory burns. As on thy name his sparkling eyes he turns? Ages to come shall thy great story hear. And pay the pious tribute of a tear ; Thy wondrous deeds shall vet'ran sires recite, Thy prudence in debate, thy toils in fight ; And ev'ry warrior to the tale reply, " Be mine like him to conquer, and to die." MIDDLETON HOWARD, Wadham College. THE LOVE OF OUR COUNTRY. Eh olcoyos 6.pi A cavern at a small distance from Mecca, to which the youth- ful enthusiast nightly retired. 7 Mahomet was left an orphan at a very early age. MAHOMET. 81 A new-born faith, a Prophet's glorious name, Conquest, and kingly powV, and deathless fame Obscurely mingled, like a fev'rish dream, Or twilight landscape but the sober beam Of rising Reason chas'd each wild' ring shade. And Fancy shrank from what herself had made. But still the star of eve, a& darkness fell, Saw the lone man in Hera's secret cell : Still, with new fires, ambition's phrensy burn'd, Still fancy's shadowy scene more strong return'd. And stiH th' Enthusiast drank, with greedier gaze. The dawning glories of succeeding days, And well-nigh deem'd some sacred impulse giv'n, Some angel-vision from according Heav'n. Shapes, dim of late, by hope's broad beam illum'd, A fuller form, a bolder tint assum'd ; Till the vast whole in bright succession mov'd, And Reason doubted, wonder'd and approv'd. But few the fruits that crown'd his early toil, For rude the clime, and stubborn was the soil. Blind bigot Zeal, with Pride of jealous mind, And ancient Faith in hostile league combin'd ; Vain then was Anger's threat, and Flatt'ry's strain. And soft Persuasion's honied breath were vain. Yet burn'd unquench'd the fever of his soul. And Hope still spurr'd him to the glitt'ring goal. G 82 MAHOMET. Not, though (thus proud his vaunt) ^ the solar blaze Should pour around him all its countless rays ; Not, though, to check his glory^s high career, The full-orb'd Moon should quit her starry sphere ; Not, o'er his head should crashing thunders peal, And yawning Hell his last abyss reveal, Back would he shrink, but still right onward bear, And draw new fire, new fury from despair. Not such his boast, when, through th' involving shade, Trembling, he fled before the Koreish blade ; Not such, when, sad in Thor's^ dark cave reclin'd. He caught the moanings of the midnight wind ; While Terror heard, in evr'y passing breath. The keen pursuer's step, the sound of death. Exile of Mecca ! in that fearful hour. Who was thy shield, thy bulwark, and thy tow'r ? Say, was it he, that seraph son of fire,^ Who wont thy lonely musings to inspire ; Who bore thee through the night-air's drear expanse,^ On wing more rapid than a shot-star's glance ; ^ If they should place the sun on my right hand, and the moon on my left, they should not divert me from my course. Gibbon's Roman Empire, vol. ix. p, 285. * Three days and three nights Mahomet lay concealed in this cavern after his flight from Mecca. 1 Gabriel, with whom the Impostor pretended to hold frequent converse. " This alludes to his famous night-journey to heaven. MAHOMET. 83 Op'd to thy feet heaven gate, and to thine eye Bar'd the full blaze of cloudless Deity ? No it was He, at whose divine command, Famine and plague afflict the guilty land ; Whose awful will th' unconscious winds perform. Who wings the lightning, and appoints the storm ; His heav'nly counsels, too sublime for man. His secret mind decreed thy lengthen'd span : He bade the dove her saving labours ply,^ To stay th' intruding foot, the searching eye ; He hung with insect web the rock-stone rude, To tell that all within was solitude ; Unseen, He snatch'd thee from th' unequal strife,* And gave thee back to liberty and life. 'Tis thus, while Conquest waves his crimson wing, And prostrate Mecca hails her Prophet-King, As, oft through Hera's mountain-cave he strays. Comes o'er his breast the thought of other days ; And it is sweet, mid vict'ry's smiles, to muse On peril past, and fortune's changeful hues, ^ Sweet, as to weary mariner the roar Of winds and waves, that he shall tempt no more. 3 We are told, that, when Mahomet was concealed in the cave of Thor, his pursuers were induced to retire by the sight of a pigeon's nest and spider's web, whence they concluded the place was solitary and inviolate. ^ He was overtaken bv the Koreishites, but escaped. g2 84 MAHOMET. For now is peril past, and toil and dread, Like the thin cloud at summer dawn, are fled; And with them mercy vanished ; the rude sound Of triumph's joy her parting accents drown'd; Imposture casts th' unheeded veil away, And bares his front, unblushing, to the day ; No flatt'ry now is his, no honied breath. Nought but the stern award, *^ Belief or Death/' Gay shines the morn, and light the sunbeams glance From mail, and crested helm, and quiv'ring lance ; Loud clangs the trump ; with shout and martial state The answ'ring legions pour through Mecca's gate ; Part borne aloft on neighing steed, and part On foot slow-pacing ; but the same full heart Seems each to urge, as each, with conscious might, Grasps the sheath'd blade, and, eager, pants for fight. And see, where tow'rs the Prophet-Chief on high, Strength nerves his arm. Defiance lights his eye ! With kindling soul he views the length'ning train. And holds, in pride of thought, unbounded reign ; Then, as the glowing scenes his breast inspire. Lifts his tail spear, and pours the word of fire. " Soldiers of God ! whose manly hearts beat high, " With valorous zeal, and ardent piety ; " Who burn your Prophet's name abroad to spread, " And deal Heav'n's vengeance on th' unfaithful head; MAHOMET. 85 " Soldiers of God, with dauntless souls advance, ** Smile at the sabre, and defy the lance ! " 'Tis yours, if, seam'd with many a hallo w'd scar, " Stern Azrael^ snatch you from the grasp of war, " O'er Sirat's bridge,^ with lightning-speed, to fly, *^ And spring at once to seven-fold ecstasy. ^' Yes, it is yours mid argent fields to stray, " Space without bound, and everlasting day ; <' Gardens as Eden fair, where Love shall strew *' Fresh flow'rs, fresh sweets, that Eden never knew ; '' For Beauty, blooming in eternal charms, " Wooes warrior Valour to her virgin arms : *' And, crown'd with thornless roses, young Desire '' Feeds Rapture's flame with never-dying fire. '' There, whileyour vermeil wounds 7 atone each crime, ^' And add new grace to manhood's goodly prime, ^^ There, through green meads unwearied shall ye rove, " Breathe the still freshness of the twilight grove, " Or by some streamlet's palmy marge recline, " And drain, uncheck'd, rich juices of the vine,^ * Azrael is the angel of death. ^ A bridge which, according to the Mahometan faith, all dis- embodied spirits must pass in their way either to Paradise or Hell : the former shall traverse it with " lightning-speed." " Their wounds shall be as resplendent as vermillion. Gibbon, ^ Alluding to their present restriction from the use of wine. 86 MAHOMET. " Till o'er each sense delicious languor creep, ^' More soft, more soothing, than the dews of sleep. " Such is your lot, if Honour build your tomb ; '' Not so, if coward Baseness seal your doom. " What, mid yon barren wilds, tho' whirlwinds bring " Thirst and despair upon their sanded wing; 9 *' Yet heav'nly are those wilds to vaults, where pain " And scorpion torments hold eternal reign. " There, wrapt in fires that ask no feeding oil, '' With fiercest heat your madd'ning brain shall boil, *' Till, parch'd and black, your flesh, by flames embraced, " Shrivel, like palm-leaves on the desert waste. " Nor think, one drop from rank and stagnant pool, '' One smallest drop, your burning tongues shall cool; ' " Worlds should not buy it ; but one sulph'rous wave, " Unfathom'd flood, your writhing limbs shall lave.^ " Then on to fight, and Allah nerve your hands ! '' And lo ! e'en now, methinks, angelic ^ bands " Hang o'er our foes, and, from the car of flame, " Launch the red bolt, the forked lightnings aim. ^ The soldiers complained of the heat of the desert : " Hell is much hotter," replied the indignant Prophet. Gib, vol. ix. 319. 1 All the preceding images, both of pleasure and pain, are ac- curately copied from the Koran. 2 It is fabled, that at the battle of Beder three thousand angels supported the troops of Mahomet, and that many of these hea- venly warriors constantly accompanied his army. MAHOMET. 87 ** Nor shrink ! for know, to each th' Eternal Mind, *' Excluding chance, his death-day had assigned ; '' Peace could not shield from its predestin'd pow'r, *' War's thousand perils cannot haste its hour ^^ Then on to fight ! and be the battle-word, *' Woe to the Proud, the Koran or the Sword !" Swift as th' electric shock, the fervour runs From rank to rank, and burns through Mecca's sons. Hope leads the van ; while press upon the rear Dishonour foul, and hell- foreboding Fear : Instant each blade leaps willing from its sheath, And on they rush to conquest or to death. Weep, lost Arabia, land of sadness, weep ! Rude o'er thy head the storms of battle sweep. Oft have thy deserts heard the angry roar Of midnight tiger, all athirst for gore ; Oft have they seen the Simoom's purple blast Shed plague, and death, and ruin as it past ; Yet not the Simoom's blast, nor beast of night, Raor'd half so fierce as Mecca's fiends of fiffht. Dreadful they came ; and, as the torrent flood Rolls down its stream huge rock and ancient wood. Till all, save where some scatter'd stems remain. Lies one wide wat'ry scene, one liquid plain ; So, through thy land, each tribe and wand'ring horde Sank trembling down before Mohanyned's sword. 88 MAHOMET. And to the Koran's sterner rule resim'd o The charter'd birthright of a free-born mind ; Save that some nobler few, content to roam, Their wealth the jav'lin, and the waste their home, Dar'd live, though poor yet proud, though exil'd free. Or die, the martyr-sons of Liberty. But, sated now with blood, and bow'd with spoils. Shrinks Mecca's Lord from war's severer toils ; And, while his hell-hounds track the deadly scent, Sleeps in the rosy shade of Pleasure's tent. As round him Beauty's varied blossoms rise. On vagrant wing, from flow'r to flow'r he flies, And drinks, as chance or guiltier choice impels, Unhallow'd waters from an hundred wells. Slave of thy lawless will's imperious reign ! Oh ! hadst thou known to burst th' ignoble chain ; Hadst known to quench the flame of wild desire, And light at Hymen's torch love's chaster fire Affection's smile had cheer'd thy parting gloom. And widow'd Virtue sorrow'd o'er thy tomb ! For high the bliss that waits on wedded love. Best, purest emblem of the bliss above ! To draw new raptures from another's joy ; To share each grief, and half its sting destroy ; Of one fond heact to be the slave and lord, Bless and be bless'd, adore and be ador'd ; MAHOMET. 89 To own the link of soul, the chain of mind, Sublimest friendship, passion most refin'd : Passion, to life's last evening-hour still warm. And friendship, brightest in the darkest storm Lives there, but would, for blessings so divine. The crowded Harem's sullen joys resign ! But still, Mohammed, rove ; still bid thy soul Drain the foul dregs of pleasure's madd'ning bowl ; Still swell thy pow'r, with pride still feed thy heart Yet know, thy pow'r, thy pride shall soon depart ! For not the Harem's joys, nor pleasure's draught, Though to its dregs the madd'ning bowl be quafF'd ; Not all th' ideal Prophet's high renown. The victor's laurel, and the monarch's crown. Can the slow venom ^ check, whose mortal force Hath through thy veins, for four long years, its course Wound unperceiv'd, and gradual, in its way, Pal'd thy cheek's bloom, and dimm'd thine eye-ball's day. Medina, thou whose guardian arm outspread First gave its safety to thy Prophet's head ! Again, fond city, ope thy shelt'ring breast. Again receive him to thy seat of rest ! ' Mahomet died by slow poison, administered to him four years previous to his decease. 90 MAHOMET. But not, as then, prepared his brow to gem With purple pomp, and kingly diadem, But his frail dust to shroud ; for now his sun Is set in death's cold shade, his race is run ; And O ! may Darkness, deep as ancient night, Close o'er his name, and veil it from the sight ! Vain, fruitless wish ! no mighty voice hath said> *' Here, Sea of ruin, shall thy waves be stayed ;" But still they roll resistless ; on the tide Ensanguined Zeal and gaunt Ambition ride. Byzantium sinks o'erwhelm'd, and fades away The last faint beam of Latium's brighter day, While Rome's^ proud Eagle, he whose pinions wav'd O'er Libya's strand, and Thule's tempest brav'd, With flagging wing, and crest to earth bow'd low, Indignant dies beneath a Moslem's blow. Alas for Palestine ! her palmy vale. Her grove of nard that scented ev'ry gale, Her corn-lands thick with sheaves, her crystal rills, Her flocks that feed upon a thousand hills. Her Faith than flocks, and groves, and vales more dear All own the triumphs of Medina's spear. * Alluding to the removal of the seat of empire from Rome to Constantinople, and the subsequent conquest of that city by the votaries of Mahomet. MAHOMET. 91 For Afric weep ! her rich and radiant store, From Ophir rifled, gem and golden ore ; Her ravag'd lands, that erst so beauteous smiFd, From Nile's fair bank to Niger's margin wild ; Her sons, immersed in slavery's darkest night. All tell the ruf&an Moslem's conqu'ring might. But oh ! if yet the tide of song may flow In sadder stream, and murmur deeper woe ; If yet one tear be warm in Pity's urn That tear, that song, to wasted India turn ! For she was happy once ; her citron groves Sigh'd to the whispers of the purest loves ; Her proud Pagodas, in the First of time. Saw Science born, and wondrous Lore sublime ; Lovely, she slept in Cashmere's fairy bow'rs. Or sat enthron'd on Delhi's strength of tow'rs. How chang'd the scene ! pale Hymen's altar falls ; Th' impure Seraglio rears its prison-walls ; Steals o'er the soul the Koran's chilling gloom. And Science westward bends her parting plume. But time speeds on ; and though th' Impostor's pow'r Fiercely hath rag'd its dark and dreadful hour ; Though rude o'er Afric's sands the whirlwind pass'd. And Asia rock'd beneath the rolling blast Yet Hope, soft-smiling, lifts her Seraph form, And points to sun-bright days, beyond the storm ! 92 MAHOMET. Hail, sun-bright days ! more fair, than was, of old, Saturnian age, by fabling Fancy told Hail, sun-bright days ! bring on your radiant train. Peace, Mercy, Love, resume your halcyon reign ; Bid ancient Lore, and classic Taste refin'd, Raise the low thought, and harmonize the mind; While heav'n-born Truth, (though dimni'd, forbid to fade,) With beam more strong from Error's transient shade. Breaks forth unclouded, and on Mecca's night Pours the full flood of everlasting light. MATTHEW ROLLESTON, 1808. University College, JOHN THE BAPTIST. Hark ! through the desert wilds, that awful voice Swells on the gale, and bids the world rejoice ? What Prophet form, in holy raptures led, The gray mists hov'ring o'er his sacred head. Prepares on earth Messiah's destin'd way, And hastes, the mighty Messenger of Day ? Lo ! echoing skies resound his gladsome strain, " Messiah comes ! ye rugged paths be plain ; ^' The Shiloh comes ! ye tow'ring cedars bend, " Swell forth, ye valleys, and, ye rocks, descend ; " The withered branch let balmy fruits adorn, " And clust'ring roses 'twine the leafless thorn ; " Burst forth, ye vocal groves, your joy to tell " The God of Peace redeems his Israel." How beauteous are the feet of those who bear Mercy to man, glad tidings to despair ! Far from the mountain's top, they lovlier seem Than moonlight dews, or morning's rosy beam ; Sweeter the voice than spell or hymning sphere, And list'ning Angels hush their harps to hear. 94 JOHN THE BAPTIST. Rous'd at the solemn call, from all her shores Her eager tribes, behold, Judaea pours ! Though scarce the Morn asserts her bashful sway, And doubtful darkness still contends with day, I see them rush, like rolling surges driv'n. Or night-clouds riding o'er the glooms of heav'n. There waves the white robe through the dusky glade, Here passing helms gleam dreadful through the shade. Faint o'er the cliffs the fading torch-light plays. And dying watchfires fling their sullen blaze ; Fly the scar'd panthers from their pierc'd retreats. While Salem wond'ring mourns her desert streets. Why crowd ye cities forth ? some reed to find, Some vain reed trembling to the careless wind ? Or throng ye here to view, with doating eye. Some chieftain stand in purple pageantry ? Such dwell in kingly domes no silken form Wooes the stern cliff, and braves the mountain storm : What rush ye then to seek ? some Prophet-Seer ? One mightier than the Prophets find ye here The loftiest bard that wak'd the sacred lyre. To him in rapture pour'd his lips of fire ; Attun'd to him the voice of Sion fell Thy name, Elias,i clos'd the mystic shell. ^ The advent of St. John under the name of Elijah, the last circumstances foretold in ancient prophecy, is here alluded to. JOHN THE BAPTIST. 95 Alas ! how dark a flood of woes and crimes, Since that dread hour, has whelm'd the fateful times ! How oft has Israel's Ark, by tempests toss'd, Sent forth her raven's wing, and found no coast ! Now fairer scenes her kindling eye discerns. With hope's green branch the welcome Dove returns, And, gladly soaring past the prospect drear. Hails the bright Star^ that tells the Day-spring near. Yes ! surely born to more than mortal pow'r, Glory hath mark'd him from his earliest hour : Offspring of age, on wings of radiance borne, A warning Angel told his natal morn ; Hail'd by prophetic matrons to the earth. The speechless spake, to bless him at his birth. Sweet was the strain, when first with fond surprise The hoary parent kiss'd his infant eyes. From his rapt lips the spell of silence broke, And Inspiration thrill'd him as he spoke. Such was his birth ! nor less august appears The wondrous fate that led his rising years : For lo ! sequester'd from the haunts of men. Deep to the stillness of some shaggy glen, Where vice and folly faded from his view. The lonely youth, impell'd by Heav'n, withdrew 2 St. John is called " the Morning Star to the Sun of Right- eousness." 96 JOHN THE BAPTIST. There, near some brook, that dash'd in murmurs by, The rock his pillow, and his roof the sky, Clad in such savage robes as deserts yield, His food the wild sweets of the flow'ry field, Grave, pensive, bold, majestic, undefil'd. To holy manhood dwelt Devotion's child ; Descending Angels bless'd his rude abode. He drank th' inspiring flame, he felt the rushing God. Oft ere the dawn had ting'd the tallest steep, And man and nature still were hushed in sleep. High o'er yon ridge, in darkness, would he stray, To muse and wonder till returning day, Watch-tow'r sublime ! There, as the morning bright Swelled from dim chaos into life and light. Threw its broad beams o'er waste and misty wood, While rock and fortress, lake and glist'ning flood, Burst in full blaze of splendour to the skies To loftiest thoughts his kindling soul would rise ; Till, proudly soaring past this world of man. The mortal sunk, and Heav'n itself began. So rapt he stood, that oft revolving night Found him, unconscious, on the mountain's height; In vain the Tempest, round his 'fenceless head, Flung all its fires, its wildest torrents shed ; The sheltering robber saw his clouded form, And fled to shun the Genius of the Storm, JOHN THE BAPTIST. 97 Past are those hours! Along the silent dews His lonely walk no more the Sage pursues ; With gesture wild, rude garb, and speaking eye, An air of strange and dreadful majesty, See ! forth he comes, his holy office giv'n, Herald of Christ, high Harbinger of Heaven. Hark ! how the rocks his warning voice resound. And Jordan's caverns tell the strain around ; While poor and rich, the soldier and the sage. The bloom of youth, and hoary locks of age. In gathering crowds, Messiah's name adore ; And rush, all trembling, to the sacred shore ; Bend with pale rev'rence 'neath the sprinkled wave, Their crimes confess, and hail the pow'r to save. How chang'd the scene ! Are these the realms of dread. Which wand'ring footsteps scarcely dar'd to tread ? Where midnight lions roam'd the thickets rude. And all was wild and frightful solitude ! Now, lone no more, where'er it winds along, The lucid stream reflects a list'ning throng ; True to the life, their grouping shadows glide, And ev'ry passion paints the breathing tide. See ! young Amazement starting, as if light. Just glanc'd from heav'n, had caught his dazzled sight, H 98 JOHN THE BAPTIST. While Faith's full eyes their tranquil homage raise, And ev'ry feature fixes into praise. There kindling Hope with ardent look appears, Here soften'd Sorrow smiling through her tears, While timid Shame, as if herself address'd. Blushes to hear, and sinks behind the rest. But yet, not all unfeign'd Devotion brings To drink of life at Jordan's hallow'd springs ; Haggard and pale, their limbs all torn and bare. Not such yon Essens from their caves repair ; A gloomy race, attempting heav'n in vain. By wanton griefs and voluntary pain : Their sullen breasts no gleam of sunshine cheers, Blaspheming Mercy by eternal tears. And base the joy yon Sadducees can know. Sense all their bliss, and pain their only woe : Worms of a day, and fetter'd to the dust. They own no future dread, no heav'nly trust, But vacant come the passing scene to scan. And steal his bright preeminence from man. Far other those, by solemn mien confest. Broad scrolls of Scripture blazon'd o'er the breast. Who throng around the Seer, with fiendlike joy, List'ning to mock, and tempting to destroy Sainis in the crowd, a heav'n-ward look they wear. But Mammon mingles with their purest pray'rj JOHN THE BAPTIST. 99 Theirs the proud hope to sway Religion's rod, Zealots of form, yet traitors to their God. " And is it ye," th' indignant Prophet cries, Bright lambent terrors streaming from his eyes, '' O race of vipers, ye ! who timely come, ** To fly the thmiders of impending doom ? " Repent, repent : now think no more to plead ** Your sacred race, and Abraham's chosen seed. *' Behold, He comes ! in pow'r and judgment, forth, ^' Who looks with equal eye on all the earth, '' Whose piercing glance can read the soul within, " And wind the darkest labyrinths of sin : ^' He comes ! see ! stooping from the realms of day, *' The Lamb of God, to wash your crimes away. '* I lave with water ; but his hands inspire ^' The Holy Spirit, and baptize with fire/' The sage hath ceas'd and mark, how pale to hear Mute Expectation stands, and Awe, and Fear ! Guilt starts confess'd, and looks, with hopeless eye. To view descend some vengeful deity. But who is He, majestic, mournful, mild, Bright as a god, yet lowly as a child, Who meekly comes the sacred rite to crave, And add fresh pureness to the crystal wave ? Well may'st thou tremble, Baptist ; well thy cheek. Now flush'd, now pale, thy lab'ring soul bespeak ! h2 100 JOHN THE BAPTIST. 'Tis He, the Christ, by ev'ry Bard foretold ! Hear him, ye nations, and, ye Heav'ns, behold ! " The Virgin born to bruise the Serpent's head, ^' The Paschal Lamb to patient slaughter led, " The King of Kings to crush the gates of Hell, '^ Messiah, Shiloh, Jah, Emmanuel" See ! o'er his head, soft sinking from above, With hov'ring radiance hangs the mystic Dove : Dread from the cloud Jehovah's voice is known, " This is my Son, my own, my well-lov'd Son." Baptist rejoice ! thy gifted eyes have seen The brightest hour of man, since time hath been. By thee anointed for the ghostly fight, Heav'n's Warrior-Son assum'd his arms of light. Stern marches forth his deadly Foe to find. And wage th' immortal battle of mankind. And thou, oh saint of floods ! whose wave hath roU'd, Pregnant with wonder, from the days of old ; Scene of the hero's deeds, and prophet's song. Still, Jordan, flow, exulting sweep along. Bright as the morn from ocean's wavy bed. From thee Messiah rais'd his spotless head, Call'd all his glories forth, and pass'd sublime, To pour his light o'er ev'ry darkling clime. 'Tis done, and, vanish'd, like an airy dream. The list'ning crowds from Jordan's hallowed stream, JOHN THE BApTV^tx/: !' '.*r%toi: 1/ Primeval Solitude her reign resumes, And Silence saddens o'er the slumb'ring glooms And, Prophet, where art thou ? I hear no more Thy footsteps rustle on the reedy shore, Nor view thee sit upon the moonlight stone, Like the pale spirit of the wilds, alone. Alas ! far other scenes await him now ; Far heavier cares oppress his weary brow : Mid Salem's court he stands, in virtue's pride. And guilty Grandeur dwindles at his side. Yet, Jordan, oft shall Mem'ry's eye renew Thy willow'd banks, and hills of distant blue : There, if the wastes no kingly pomp display, No festive pleasures crown the jocund day. Yet Pride, and Avarice, and guilty Fear, Ambition wild, and dark Revenge are here, Passions and Appetites, a fiercer train Than e'er rush'd howling o'er the desert plain. Still shrinks he not in conscious virtue bold, No dangers daunt him, and no toils withhold. Where yon proud dome the sons of riot calls. And Salem's nobles crowd the gorgeous halls ; Where ev'ry charm that wealth and arts supply, In bright profusion meet the wondering eye ; See, stern, unmov'd, in native grandeur great. The Prophet tow'rs, and breathes the words of fate. ih^^^P^Kp'\ \ i^P^ f^^ BAPTIST. Yes, as he boldly brands each dark offence, Truth all his arms, his shield but innocence ; See Herod, mid his guards enthron'd on high, In pride of pow'r, in regal panoply, Shrinks 'neath the Hermit's gaze, by conscience stung, A paler Ahab from a bolder tongue. Oh Salem ! mid the storms that round thee roll, Frequent and loud, to warn thy slumb'ring soul ; Dash'd from thy hand when Judah's sceptre falls, And the stern stranger rules thy captive walls ; When now, more thrilling than the trumpet's blast, Elias stands, the mightiest and the last Of all the sons of prophecy, to tell That fate comes rushing on thee, Israel ; Say, canst thou still the wing of Mercy spurn, Hearing be deaf, and seeing not discern ; Sunk as thou art, and stain'd with holy blood, Still would'st thou madly swell thy guilt's dark flood ? Yet, Baptist, go exulting to thy doom- Though Rage condemn thee to the dungeon's gloom ; Yon dreary vault where morn can never break, Nor ev'ning zephyr fan thy fever'd cheek, Nor Friendship's voice, in sorrow doubly dear, Pour its fond music in thy lonely ear Yet thine are joys the tyrant never knew; Hope's fairest flow'rs thy rugged couch shall strew ^ JOHN THE BAPTIST. , 103 Thy nights in blissful visions glide away, And holy musings steal its length from day. For thee, O king, to drown corroding care, Command the feast, and bid the dance be there ; Still mid thy blazing halls, in trappings proud. Affect the god, and awe the flatt'ring crowd. Yet though the lute and shell and horn prolong The burst of melody, and swell the song ; Though witching beauty tries each wily art. And wooes and wins and rules thy pow'rless heart ; What though to heav'n thy guilty revels swell. Far brighter raptures cheer the captive's cell Glad is the tale consenting tongues record : " Messiah reigns, high deeds proclaim the Lord. " The deaf can hear, the blind receive their sight, ^' And withered Palsy springs with new delight ; " On Pain's pale cheek reviving roses bloom, '* And shrouded Death starts wond'ring from the tomb." Enrapturing thought ! what now demands him more ? His task is done, his holy cares are o'er ! Messiah reigns, belie v'd, confess'd, ador'd. And earth's remotest climes shall own his word. Then, tyrant, yield, thy fatal vow fulfil ; Rush, fell enchantress, glut thy vengeful will ; Exhaust th' inventive cruelty of hate, And learn how Virtue triumphs o'er its fate. 104 , JOHN THE BAPTIST. Backward he looks with self-approving eye, Before him smiles bright Immortality : Forgiving, fearless, calm, he yields his breath, And mounts to glory on the wings of death. Yes, if, in triumph through the realms of air, His form unchanged no wheels of lightning bear ; Not less august his martyr'd soul shall rise Again, Messiah's herald, to the skies. Whence, oh, if, stooping from thy starry sphere. Thou deign'st one future thought in pity here, Pleas'd shalt thou view thy holy rite confessed. Thy name rever'd, where glows the human breast, Thy Master's reign to age nor clime confin'd, The world his temple, and his race mankind. C. H. JOHNSON, 1809. Brasen-nose College. r'^,,. "*' c t fPtC MtC ^ i o ^^ H ^ vi!n:> > f #(( Cv^ff X*; <((?( ..('.* c.'-***^*" f N u}]!'^ t|., \\,l\, \ A'l't NIOBE. Still o'er yon rock-built towers the heavenly foe Hovers in gloom, and bends the fatal bow; Still, as the arrows urge their vengeful speed. Thy princes, Thebes, thy sons, Amphion, bleed. Low lie the honours of that boasted race. Youth's manly bloom and beauty's virgin grace. And the last victim now, in wild despair. Flies to her mother's breast to perish there. Closely she clings, her throbbing heart beats high, And fear looks eager from her youthful eye. Undaunted Art ! and could thy magic power Recall the terrors of that dreadful hour, Bid the cold stone with life and passion glow. Pant with affright, and heave with silent woe ? Yes, at thy touch the rugged mass grew warm, And softening shrunk and melted into form. O'er ev'ry feature spread the mimic pain. And the pale parent liv'd and mourn'd again. Earnest to save, but pow'rless to defend. Still o'er her child the princess seem'd to bend, 122 NIOBE. As if she wish'd, ere yet the shaft had flown, That tender frame might mingle with her own, Till death no more his shuddering prey could trace, So lost and buried in the firm embrace. Stately her form, as when the wond'ring throng Stood awed and breathless as she mov'd along. When, maddening in her pride and headlong ire, Her fair cheek glowing with delirious fire, Scorn in each glance that spoke her haughty mind. Her long, loose tresses waving on the wind, Sublime in impious majesty she came To brave Heaven's power, and mock Latona's name. But quench'd in sorrow now that frenzy dies. Sadly they plead, those full, imploring eyes ; E'en such a look some captive wretch would throw, Who ask'd, yet hop'd not mercy from his foe ; Where pride, though vanquished, lives, and strong desire That lingers still, if hope itself expire. Fix'd and unchanging with her latest breath, Those lines of anguish shall congeal in death. When, charged with two-fold fate, the same bright dart Has pierc'd the child, and burst the mother's heart. With deep and stifling agony opprest, The pulse of life seems pausing in her breast, Set is her eye, that speaks its latest prayer. Her soul, her being, seem suspended there ; NIOBE. 123 No sound, no sign shall mark her dying pains, No deadening chill creep sluggish through her veins, Her mightier fate shall bear no faint delay, But, lightning-like, at once be seen and slay. JOHN LEYCESTER ADOLPHUS, 1814. St. John's College. ^ g e 1^ TEMPLE OF THESEUS. Amid the wrecks of age, o'er wasted lands, Fix'd as his fame, the Hero's Temple stands : Though many a pile, wide mouldering on the plain, Mark the dread scene of Desolation's reign ; Though desert fields, and rifted towers declare The shocks of nature, or the waste of war ; Yet rear'd in monarch state that fane appears, Proud o'er the lapse of twice ten hundred years, And seems to live an emblem to the brave, How Time reveres the Patriot Hero's grave. Above the pride of Art, and boldly plain. In simplest grandeur stands the Dorian fane ; High on the strength of six fair pillars borne, The stately front o'erlooks the gate of morn. While Time's warm tints, with mellow lustre thrown. In dusky gold imbrown the channel'd stone. Fix'd on th' unrivalFd deeds Alcides wrought, Here Mycon's soul the flame of glory caught, Till breathing sculpture, spread through every part. Had vanquish'd Nature, and exhausted Art. 126 TEMPLE OF THESEUS. What though the sullen tempests, as they pass, With envious wounds invade the perfect mass ! 'Tis but the scar that veterans joy to shew. The pledge of conquest o'er a stubborn foe. Far stretch'd on either side, a shapely file Of fluted columns lift th' incumbent pile ; Where once, rich-blazon'd on the bossy stone, In sculptur'd pomp the spoils of battle shone ; In friendship's cause there Theseus sped the blow That plung'd in death the Centaur-fiend below ; But these- are sunk in dust ; or, dimly seen. Yet strive to image what the past hath been ; As oft at eve remains a blushing ray, That parting tells how glorious was the day. More inward still, half hid in twilight shade Of cloister'd wall, are stranger scenes display 'd : Chaf'd at the wrongs that threat his country's doom, The Hero Spirit rushes from the tomb ; Rous'd to new rage beneath his champion eye. Each Grecian claims the gen'rous right to die : While gods in awful gaze exult to see The proud Invader fall'n, the Patriot free. Such the fair pile, where, shrin'd in holy cell, The slumb'ring ashes of the mighty dwell. Where Tweddell, youthful shade, to classic rest Sinks, like a wearied child, on Science' breast. TEMPLE OF THESEUS. 127 And in the sacred scenes he lov'd to roam, Finds the last honours of a kindred home, While Muses, mourning whom they could not save, Still guard his fame ; for Athens is his grave. SAMUEL RICKARDS, 1815. Oriel College. ,K ^ THE HORSES OF LYSIPPUS. If e'er, my soul, o'er Pindar's living lyre Thy fancy hung, and caught the poet's fire : If e'er, enraptur'd o'er each glowing song, She sees the victor steeds, and hears them bound along; Mount up, my soul, and with excursive eye, Behold where Venice proudly courts the sky; Behold where, beauteous 'mid the wreck of years, Each matchless courser warm with life appears. With many a pause, majestically slow. Proudly they tread the sacred arch below ;i Pleas'd, in each limb the artist's skill we see Boldly correct, and temperately free : Here the arch'd neck, and gentle heaving side. Mantles with grace, and swells with generous pride; There chastening Art her softer touch applies. And strength reveal'd, with mix'd concealment vies. Though every vein with temperate current flows. Though every muscle rests in calm repose ; I They are placed over the gate of St. Mark's church in Venice. K 130 THE HORSES OF LYSIPPUS. Yet theirs the force to whirl the warrior's car Triumphant, 'midst th' embattled ranks of war ; Or o'er Olympia's glowing course to fly, Borne on the winged speed of victory ! Such are the forms, that once, in bold relief, Enhanc'd the glories of some conquering chief, Doom'd, on the high ensculptur'd arch, to bear The laurell'd victor and triumphal car. Methinks I see, with haughty mien, above. In trophied state, the son of Libyan Jove ; From conquer'd earth to heaven his looks aspire. And the proud coursers share their master's fire ! What changes witness'd, and what wanderings past, Ye rest in peace, immortal steeds ! at last. Ye mark'd from her Tarpeian eyrie's height, The bird of empire wing her upward flight ; Ye mark'd her, drooping on the Pontic shore. Sink 'midst Byzantium's towers to rise no more ! Ye saw the new-born star of Learning rise In life and gladness, o'er Hesperia's skies : From Venice torn, ye saw its withering breath O'er Gallia's plains shed pestilence and death ! But see ! triumphant Justice sheaths the sword The spoiler vanquish'd, and the spoil restored ! See Venice, smiling 'midst her tears, receives The gift which Valour gain'd which Virtue gives ', THE HORSES OF LYSIPPUS. 131 With pleasing transports, each fam'd steed surveys, Which grac'dher brightest cheers her gloomliest days. Thus, when her palaces in dust decay When e'en her Titian's colours melt away Their matchless beauty shall her walls adorn, And bear Lysippus' fame through ages yet unborn ! ALEXANDER MACDONNELL, 1816. Christ Chukch. K'^ t < (r **0 ('.'( .. ;;a V^. ,r'* thp: FARNESE HERCULES, Still as the calm, yet awful as the storm When black' ning clouds the summer sky deform What more than mortal frame, or human face, Stands like the remnant of a mightier race ? See ! rear'd to life, with sinews that deride The pangs he suffered, and the death he died ; Conscious of giant strength, as when he trod The gods' lost empire, more himself than god Alcides breathes though mild, awakens still Wonder's mute gaze, or Fear's tumultuous thrill ; And proud that conquest leaves no foe to yield, Leans on the club he knew so well to wield ! Loose o'er its top the Nemean skin he threw, And bar'd his ample bosom to the view : Clasps his firm hand, in careless cold disdain, The fruit by sleepless monsters watch'd in vain : Yet secret triumph o'er his brow has cast That prize the loveliest, as that toil the last ! 134 THE FARNESE HERCULES. '' Away, ye lighter thoughts ! ye dreams, away, Where beardless youth, and sparkling beauty play," The master! cried ; and taught the stone to live With nobler charms than youth and beauty give ! Warm'd at his touch, Herculean limbs arose In full sublimity of deep repose : No airy elegance, that fancy sees Float in the dance, or tremble in the breeze ; No shapeless mass of rude colossal plan ; No Athos^ labour'd to the form of man ; But true proportions of resistless might ; Heroic mien, and lineaments, and height : The brow that looks security the soul That speaks from limbs of adamant control. Still o'er her son fond Virtue beams confest,^ And strength embodied swells the manly chest. Yet heave those veins in sculptur'd life alone ? Those muscles motionless ? that form a stone ? Gaze, where no curls the spreading shoulders deck, But closely twine, and shew the brawny neck : Gaze, till the rapt imagination deem The fabled labours were not all a dream ; ' Glycon of Athens. 2 It was proposed to Alexander the Great, that Mount Athos should be cut into a statue of himself. 3 Alluding to the choice of Hercules. THE FARNESE HERCULES. 135 But that strong arm o'er earth and hell prevail'd, And queird the Titans when all heaven had faiFd ; Back to their base uprooted mountains hurl'd, Bade nature tremble, and sustain'd the world ! Such, deathless offspring of that elder time, When Greece was bright in genius as in clime ; Since seen from earth in second life to start,^ The mighty model for Italian art : Such hast thou stood, 'mid war and change unrent, Firm as the front of Alpine battlement ; Mellow'd by age yet not by age o'ercome, The boast of Athens, and the pride of Rome. JAMES SHERGOLD BOONE, 1817. Christ Church. * This statue was dug from the earth after having been buried for many years. .- THE COLISEUM. Record of empire past, of splendour fled, Colossal emblem of the mighty dead ! How deeply solemn at this midnight hour To view thy relics of departed pow'r ! And mark, *mid skies serene, the moon's pale beam Through rents of ruin cast its tranquil gleam ; While Rome's dread Genius walks the hallow'd ground, And breathes the soul of inspiration round. Here rifted arches, nodding to their fall. In triple circuit lift the pillar' d wall : Though spoil'd by rapine of their binding brass, Self-pois'd they hang an uncemented mass r^ Here ruin'd piles their rugged front display Commingling strife of grandeur and decay ! Huge corridors, where sculpture breathes no more. But rank weeds cluster on the mould'ring floor Tons les trons que Ton voit ont ete faits dans le bas age, pour exstraire les crampons de bronze, qui liaient les pierres ensemble. V. Vasi Marien Romain. 138 COLISEUM. Deep cavern'd vaults where tuneless night-birds dwell, Or lurks the bandit in the lion's cell. No more slow-widening with proportion'd size, Tier above tier, those circling seats arise ; Whence erst, 'mid shouting throngs, imperial pride Look'd down unpitying while her children died What time the white-rob' d vestal's stern command Bade hero ruffians lift the hireling hand : Proud wreck of guilty majesty, declare Where now thy pomp ? thy crowding myriads where ? All all is past, and o'er the crumbling stone Still Desolation rears her giant throne. Yet nor barbaric sword, nor bigot rage, Nor the slow canker of corroding age. But thine own Romans marr'd the grand design, Hew'd princely fabrics from thy plunder'd mine j^ With felon hand defac'd thy form sublime, And tam'd that boast, which dar'd the waste of time. Nor yet had spar'd thee but her wand of peace Religion wav'd, and bade the ravage cease ; Bade the meek Cross its guardian influence shed, And rear'd her altars, where her champions bled.-^ 2 The Farnese and other palaces were built from the Coliseum. V. Eustace. 3 Many Christian martyrs were devoured by wild beasts on the arena. COLISEUM. 139 Yes awful Pile, declare to latest time How joined the reign of glory and of crime ; Still with that rugged form, that front severe. Tell lost Italia what her fathers were. Awe-struck I scan thy massive bulk, and see Majestic Rome's epitome in thee ; Her daring grandeur, cast in mountain mould Her pond'rous wreck, that speaks the great of old ; For thou, like her, canst mock oblivion's sway, Proud in thy fall triumphant in decay ! THOMAS HOLDEN ORMEROD, 1818. New Colllge. . \^. IPHIGENIA THE IPHIGENIA OF TIMANTHES. While the rapt world with ceaseless wonder views The rescu'd works of sculpture's Attic muse, Those forms by fabling bards on Ida seen, The heavenly Archer, and ihe Paphian Queen ; Why breathe no more the glowing tints, that erst By every grace on nature's bosom nurst. To the charm'd eye with soft enchantment threw Empassion'd life o'er all Timanthes drew. And bade in colour's magic radiance rise, Aulis, thy scene of virgin sacrifice ? There, in one group, distinguish'd, yet combin'd, Grief, pity, terror all that shakes the mind The mighty master pour'd ; and o'er the piece In weeping silence hung enraptured Greece ! Yet oft will fancy every touch renew. Bright as the rainbow, and as fleeting too : For mark at Dian's fane, where powerless, pale, Not glittering now in Hymen's roseate veil, 142 IPHIGENIA OF TIMANTHES. Not with light step, that shows the careless breast, Nor youth's gay cheek in smiles unclouded drest, But all her fate's worst, (Jarkest hues reveal'd, Without one hope to cheer, one friend to shield, In speechless gaze Iphigenia stands, And clasps at death's dread shrine her pleading hands: Yet on that cheek, bedew'd with beauty's tear, ' Still heroine firmness strives with female fear. And her last glance of life a ray shall throw Of pitying pardon on a father's woe. See all around the sad contagion spread Survey the pensive form, the drooping head Now e'en Ulysses feels, with mingling force. Compassion barb the stings of vain remorse Though check'd by patriot pride, and bigot zeal, Unbidden drops o'er softening Calchas steal ; In Ajax, sterner sorrow heaves the breast. And swells the lip with anger ill represt. But most that sunken cheek, and tear-dimm'd eye, Sad Menelaus, speak thy kindred tie Speak the fond wish without the power to save. Unless a parent spare the life he gave. 'Tis vain no aid offended heaven allows. The fillet binds the human victim's brows Edg'd is the murderous steel, and crown'd the shrine, Death only waits the monarch's fateful sign ! IPHIGENIA OF TIMANTHES. 143 Cythnian, enough ! thy art has rack'd the breast, Drain'd every grief, each passion's change exprest In mercy stay thy harrowing touch nor trace Weak nature's strife in Agamemnon's face Yon close-drawn robes' convulsive folds declare .... .... Away a father's heart is bursting there. HENRY JOHN URQUHART, 1819. New College. ^AW.iy -/^".S^/fo/- J^y^^/U^ iy .'?. f'.^y.r^^>,. .%/^ '/fiU THE TEMPLE OF DIANA AT EPHESUS. Still o'er Cayster's stream (as dimly play On Samos' hills the fading fires of day) The cold moon gleams ; yet no glad sound is there, The strains of sacrifice, the pomp of prayer : As when, beneath Diana's silver light. Her pale-eyed virgins hymn'd the lamp of night ; As when, all arm'd, beneath the beechen shade, Join'd the wild dance each Amazonian maid,i While Echo woke the Sardian groves among. And Berecynthos trembled at their song.- 'Mid the deep slumber of that lonely plain Dawn'd the first glories of th' Ephesian fane ; No wealthier floor the Pythian priestess trod. Her breast deep-lab'ring with th' inspiring God.^ ^ Sol /cat 'Afia^oj/iBeSf ttoAc/xou iiridvfiTjreipai, iv Kore irappaXir} *E7)y(p vTrh irpeiJiVi^' ircpl irpvXiv wpxh^OLvre. ' Bpafji 5* 7}x^ ^f)5tav, ^s T vofjihv BepKvvQiov. Callim. ets 'Apr'. ^ ...... . TOV 5* oijTL OcdoTCpOP Vlf/6Tat TJ^S, o(;5' a(pj/t6Tpop' pia. k^v YlvOwva irap^KOou Ibid. L 146 TEMPLE OF DIANA AT EPHESUS. Yet, at that shrine though thriird with holy fear Stern victors shrunk, and droptth' uplifted spear^ Nor awe restrained, nor Cynthia's fatal frown, Unhallow'd zeal, and avarice of renown, Or quenched the fires ambition rais'd, to claim The guilty splendour of a deathless name.^ Slow sinks the smouldering pile ; and o'er it brood' Primeval gloom and darkling solitude ; Yet not the less, triumphant o'er her foes, And pure from flame, Diana's Temple rose. Firm on its never-shaken basis stood,^ Secure of fate, and aw'd th' indignant flood.^ Lo ! on Ionia's polish'd pillars borne, Its bold front hails the rosy realms of morn ! Majestic monuments of lordly fame. Each the frail record of a regal name. Who now shall trace where Scopas' chisel taught The conscious stone to waken into thought ; . Or where, instinct with life, the tints grew warm Beneath Apelles' touch, and melted into form?^ * This was the only temple spared by Xerxes. Solin. c. 43. It was also spared by Croesus. Herod. 1. 5 Alluding to Erostratus. ^ The situation of the second temple was chosen as secure from earthquakes. An immense mass of building was raised to prevent the inundation of the marshes. Petit, de Amagon. I Alluding to Apelles' picture of Alexander. TEMPLE OF DIANA AT EPHESUS. 147 Works of the mighty dead ! before ye bow'd Through many an age the banners of the proud, Till burst from high th' eternal light of day; Before it groves and altars fade away, At once Apollo's vocal caves are still. And faint the echoes of Dodona's hill : Then shook, Diana, thy proud form of gold,^ Pale grew thy fires, and every altar cold, And, as th' Apostle rais'd his voice divine,^ The Prophet-seer fled trembling from thy shrine. Spoil'd by the Despot,^ by the Savage fir'd,^ Thy Temple tott'ring as its rites expir'd, E'en now thy columns hear, in lands unknown,^ The Moslem hymn, and worship not thine own ; While o'er thy plains, incumbent, Silence throws Its deep majestic gloom and terrible repose. W. EWART, 1820. Christ Church. 8 The statue of Diana is said, by Xenophon, to have been of gold. Anab. 5. 9 St. Paul at Ephesus. i Justinian and the Goths. * Several of the columns now support the church of St. Sophia at Constantinople. See Gibbon, \ ol. i. p. 432. PiESTUM. Mid the deep silence of the pathless wild, Where kindlier Nature once profusely smiFd, Th' eternal Temples stand untold their age, Untrac'd their annals in historic page ; All that around them stood, now far away Single in ruin, mighty in decay. Between the mountains and the azure main, They claim the empire of the lonely plain. In solemn beauty, through the clear blue light. The Doric columns rear their massive height, Emblems of strength untam'd : yet conquering Time Has mellow'd half the sternness of their prime, The Temples of Paestum owe more of the interest they possess to their situation than their history. They stand in the midst of a plain, once famous for its opulence and fertility, now scarcely in- habited, and visited by the destructive influence of the Mal'aria. Almost every trace of the city which surrounded them is gone, but the three temples have remained nearly entire and unhurt through the course of between two and three thousand years. The largest of the number is said to have been sacred to Nep- tune, the tutelary deity of ancient Posidonia ; and it has been conjectured, that one of the others was used as a court of justice. J50 P^STQM. And bade the lichen, mid their ruins grown, Imbrown with darker tints the vivid stone. Each channel'd pillar of the fane appears Unspoil'd, yet soften'd, by consuming years ; So calmly awful, so serenely fair, The gazer's heart still mutely worships thefe. Not always thus when beam'd beneath the day, No fairer scene than Paestum's lovely bay ; When her light soil bore plants of ev'ry hue, And twice each year her storied roses blew : While Bards her blooming honours lov'd to sing. And Tuscan zephyrs fann'd th' eternal spring. Proud in her port the Tyrian moor'd his fleet, And Wealth and Commerce fiU'd the peopled street ; While here the rescued mariner ador'd The sea's dread sov'reign, Posidonia's lord. With votive tablets deck'd yon hallow'd walls, Or sued for justice in her crowded halls. There stood on high the white-rob'd Flamen there The opening portal pour'd the choral prayer, While to th' o'erarching heav'n swelFd full the sound, And incense blaz'd, and myriads knelt around. 'Tis past the echoes of the plain are mute. E'en to the herdsman's voice, or shepherd's flute ; The toils of art, the charms of nature fail, And Death triumphant rides the tainted gale. P^STQM. 151 From the lone spot the trembling peasants haste ; A wild, the garden ; and the town, a waste. But They are still the same alike they mock Th* invader's menace, and the tempest's shock ; Such, ere the world had bow'd at Caesar's throne. Ere yet proud Rome's all conqu'ring name was known, They stood and fleeting centuries in vain Have pour'd their fury o'er th' enduring fane ; Such, long shall stand ; proud relics of a clime, Where man was glorious, and his works sublime ; While in the progress of their long decay, Thrones sink to dust, and nations pass away. G. HOWARD, 1821. Christ Church. ^ ^ ^ ALMYRA. O'er the Imsh'd plain where sullen horror broods, And darkest frown the Syrian solitudes, Where Morn's soft steps no balmy fragrance leave, And parch'd and dewless is the couch of Eve, Thy form, pale City of the waste, appears Like some faint vision of departed years. In mazy cluster still, a giant train. Thy sculptured fabrics whiten on the plain ; Still stretch thy column'd vistas far away The shadow'd dimness of their long array. But where the stirring crowd, the voice of strife, The glow of action, and the thrill of life ? Hear ! the loud crash of yon huge fragment's fall, The pealing answer of each desert hall. The nightbird shrieking from her secret cell, And hollow winds the tale of ruin tell. See fondly lingering Mithras' parting rays Gild the proud tow'rs once vocal with his praise ; But the cold altars clasping weeds entwine. And Moslems worship at the godless shrine. 154 PALMYRA. Yet here slow-pausing Memory loves to pour Her magic influence o'er this pensive hour ; And oft as yon recesses deep prolong The echoed sweetness of the Arab's song, Recalls that scene when wisdom's sceptred Child ^ First broke the stillness of the lonely wild. From air, from ocean, from earth's utmost clime The summon'd Genii heard the mutter'd rhyme, The tasking spell their airy hands obey'd, And Tadmor glitter'd in the palmy shade, Lo ! to her feet the tide of ages brings The wealth of nations, and the pomp of kings, And far her warrior queen from Parthia's plain To the dark ^thiop spreads her ample reign. Vain boast; e'en she who Immae's^ field along Waked fiercer frenzy in the patriot throng. And sternly beauteous, like the meteor's light, Shot through the tempest of Emesa's fight While trembling captives round the victor wait, Hang on his eye, and catch the word of fate Zenobia's self must quail beneath his nod, A kneeling suppliant to the mimic god. ^ " All these mighty things," say the Arabs, " Solyman Ebn Doud [Solomon, son of David] did by the assistance of spirits." See Wood's Account of the Ruins of Palmyra. 2 See Gibbon's Decline and Fall, chap. xi. PALMYRA. 155 But one there stood amid that abject throng, In truth triumphant and in virtue strong ; Beam'd on his brow the soul which undismay'd Smil'd at the rod, and scorn'd the uplifted blade. O'er thee, Palmyra, darkest seem'd to low'r The boding terrors of that fatal hour ; Far from thy glades indignant Freedom fled. And Hope too wither'd as Longinus bled. AMBROSE BARBER, 1822. Wadham College. STONEHENGE. Wrapt in the veil of time's unbroken gloom, Obscure as death, and silent as the tomb. Where cold oblivion holds her dusky reign. Frowns the dark pile on Sarum's lonely plain. Yet think not here with classic eye to trace Corinthian beauty, or Ionian grace : No pillar'd lines with sculptur'd foliage crown'd, No fluted remnants deck the hallow'd ground ; Firm, as implanted by some Titan's might, Each rugged stone uprears its giant height, Whence the pois'd fragment tottering seems to throw A trembling shadow on the plain below. Here oft, when Evening sheds her twilight ray, And gilds with fainter beam departing day. With breathless gaze, and cheek with terror pale, The lingering shepherd startles at the tale. How, at deep midnight, by the moon's chill glance, Unearthly forms prolong the viewless dance ; While on each whisp'ring breeze that murmurs by. His busied fancy hears the hollow sigh. 158 STONEHENGE. Rise from thy haunt, dread Genius of the clime, Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time ! 'Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age, And fling new radiance on Tradition's page : See ! at thy call, from Fable's varied store, In shadowy train the mingled visions pour : Here the wild Briton, 'mid his wilder reign, Spurns the proud yoke, and scorns th' oppressor's chain; Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,i Waves the dark wand, and chaunts the thrilling spell. Hark ! 'tis the Bardic lyre, whose harrowing strain Wakes the rude echoes of the slumbering plain ; Lo ! 'tis the Druid pomp, whose lengthening line In lowliest homage bends before the shrine. He comes the priest amid the sullen blaze His snow-white robe in spectral lustre plays ; Dim gleam the torches through the circling night. Dark curl the vapours round the altar's light ; O'er the black scene of death, each conscious star. In lurid glory, rolls its silent car. 'Tis gone ! e'en now the mystic horrors fade From Sarum's loneliness, and Mona's glade ; > On this spot it is said that the British nobles were slaughtered by Hengist. STONEHENGE. 159 Hush'd is each note of Taliesin's^ lyre, Sheath'd the fell blade, and quench'd the fatal fire. On wings of light Hope's angel form appears, Smiles on the past, and points to happier years : Points, with uplifted hand, and raptur'd eye, To yon pure dawn that floods the opening sky 5 And views, at length, the Sun of Judah pour One cloudless noon o'er Albion's rescued shore. THOMAS STOKES SALMON, 1823. Brasen-nose College. ' Taliesin, president of the bards, flourished in the sixth cen- tury. "W^: H M b THE ARCH OF TITUS. Lives there no trophy of the hero's fame, No proud memorial to record his name, Whose vengeful sword o'er Israel's fated land Stamp'd iron bondage with a conqueror's hand ? Beneath yon sacred hill's imperial mound, ^ With ruin'd shrines and fallen columns crown'd, Where Rome's dread Genius guards each mouldering stone, The cradle of her empire, and her throne ; Titus, thy Arch proclaims the peaceful sway Of taste, ennobling triumph's proudest day; Survives, the Forum's grandeur to recall. And weep deserted o'er its country's fall. Though dimm'd the outline now, not time o'erthrows Th' unrivall'd grace which in each fragment glows ; And Genius, beaming through each ruin'd part, Displays the glories of immortal Art. ^ The Arch is situated at the foot of the Palatine hill, M 162 THE ARCH OF TITUS. With mingling beauties crown'd,^ the columns tower, Ionia's graceful curve, and Corinth's flower ; And tapering as they rise aloft in air, The sculptur' d frieze and votive tablet bear. From o'er each column Fame ^ exulting springs. Seems stretch' d for flight, and waves her golden wings : Yet linger not ! within the circling space The storied walls more radiant beauties grace ; "^ In warlike pomp the triumph's rich array- Leaps from the living marble into day. High on his car the victor borne along Hears with exulting heart th' applauding throng ; With sparkling eye surveys the sacred spoil, And feels one hour o'erpay long years of toil. Lo ! Judah's swarthy sons before the car. The wither'd remnant of disease and war ! Rebellious passions light their faded cheek, And all the bitter pangs they dare not speak : And shall these trophies, from His temple torn. The living God, some idol shrine adorn ? 2 The building is of the Composite order, and one of the most ancient and beautiful specimens. 3 The two winged figures, apparently representing Fame. * The triumphal procession of Titus is sculptured on the walls in the interior. THE ARCH OF TITUS. 163 Shall we, shall Aaron's sons no more rejoice, Nor breathe yon trump with Conquest's silver voice,^ From Salem's holy mountain heard afar In days of festal gladness and of war ? Is then the seven-branch lustre sunk in night, Which shed o'er Israel's fate mysterious light ? Or shall its golden lamps with heathen flame Gleam as in scorn to point at Sion's shame ? Yes, it is quench'd ! till Judah's captive maid Wake from her woes beneath the palm-tree shade. Recall her wandering sons, abjure her pride, And bless th' Anointed King she crucified ! Th' unfading crown of David's glory claim, Yon Arch o'erthrown, and Rome itself a name. JOHN THOMAS HOPE, 1824. si M Christ Church. ^ Among the sacred ornaments are still to be seen the golden candlestick, the silver trumpets, &c. Vid. Numb. x. 8, 9, 10. THE TEMPLE OF VESTA. The dark pine waves on Tibur's classic steep, From rock to rock the headlong waters leap, Tossing their foam on high, till leaf, and flower. Glitter, like emeralds, in the sparkling shower : Lovely but lovelier from the charms that glow Where Latium spreads her purple vales below ; The olive, smiling on the sunny hill. The golden orchard, ^ and the ductile rill,- *^ The spring clear-bubbling in its rocky font, *' The moss-grown cave, the Naiad's fabled haunt,' '^ And far as eye can strain, yon shadowy dome. The glory of the earth. Eternal Rome. > Et praeceps Aiiio, ac Tiburni lucus, et uda Mobilibus pomaria rivis. HoR. ' " The ductile rill." The admirers of poetical description will remember with pleasure the charming picture which Virgil gives of the irrigation of lands in Italy : Et cum exustus ager morientibus aestuat herbis, Ecce, supercilio clivosi tramitis undam Elicit ; ilia cadens raucum per levia murmur Saxa ciet, scatebrisque arentia temperat arva. ViiiG. Georg. lib. i. 107. ^ These two lines were added after the decision of the prize. 166 TEMPLE OF VESTA. This, this was Vesta's seat sublime, alone, The mountain crag uprear'd her virgin throne In all the majesty of goddess might, Fann'd by pure gales, and bathed in cloudless light : Hers was the dash of Anio's sacred tide, The flame, from heaven's ethereal fount supplied. And the young forms that trod the marble shrine, For earth too fair, for mortal too divine. And lo ! where still ten circling columns rise High o^er the arching spray's prismatic dyes,"* Touch'd, but not marr'd as Time had paused to spare The wreaths that bloom in lingering beauty there E'en where each prostrate wreck might seem to mourn Her rifted shaft, her lov'd acanthus torn. Nature's wild flowers in silent sorrow wave Their votive sweets o'er Art's neglected grave. But ye, who sleep the calm and dreamless sleep. Where joy forgets to smile, and woe to weep. For you, blest Maids, a long and last repose Has still'd each pulse that throbs, ^ach vein that glows; For oft, too oft, the white and spotless vest Conceal' d a bleeding heart, an aching breast, 4 " Prismatic dyes." " The iris is formed by the rays of the sun over the lower part of the Alpine torrent : it is exactly like a rainbow, come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it : this effect lasts till noon." Byron's Manfred. TEMPLE OF VESTA. 167 Hope, that with cold Despair held feeble strife. And Love that parted but with parting life : Still would the cheek with human passion burn, Still would the heart to fond remembrance turn, Vow all itself to heaven, but vow in vain. Sigh for its thoughts, yet sigh to think again. And thou, Immortal Bard, whose sweetest lays Were hymn'd in rapture to thy Tibur's praise. What, though no more the listening vales prolong The playful echoes^ of thy Sabine song. Weep not her olive groves' deserted shade. Her princely halls,^ in silent ruin laid. Her altars mouldering on a nameless hill There all is beauty, all is glory still ; Flowers yet more bright than Roman maiden wreath'd; Prayers yet more pure than virgin priestess breath'd; A fane more noble than the Vestal trod The Christian's temple, to the Christian's God J RICHARD CLARKE SEWELL, J 825. Magdalen College. s *' The playful echoes." Jocosa raontis imago. Hor. * " Her princely halls. " Tibur was the favourite retreat not only of Horace and Virgil, but of Maecenas, and in after ages of the emperor Adrian. ' The church of St. Giorgio adjoins the temple of Vesta. '' ' $ TRAJAN^S PILLAR. Amid these wrecks of age how sweet to stray, As steals pale twilight o'er the blush of day ; And see, along those evening-tinted walls. Where the tall shadow lengthens as it falls, Still spar'd by time, yon storied shaft appears. Grey with the triumphs of a thousand years ; There, in the conscious majesty of might, The Father-Monarch 1 stood in cloudless light. And from his dwelling in the deep-blue sky Beheld the vanquish'd world beneath him lie. Mark, round its sides, as swells the sculptured strife. Each warrior-image starting into life ; The serried phalanx, and the light-arm'd band. Their eagles glittering on a foreign strand ; Here white-rob' d priests in long procession lead The victims destin'd to their Gods to bleed ; Disdaining slavery, there, the Dacian foe- Seeks death and freedom in the dagger's blow ; ^ An appellation of which Trajan was deservedly proud* - Decebalus, king of the Daci. 170 TRAJAN'S PILLAR. And tow'ring in the midst, yon kingly form, Whose out-stretch'd arm directs the battle-storm Fix'd his firm step, and high unalter'd mien, Stern as war's God, yet awfully serene ; Where'er he moves, destruction marks the way, Nor walls, nor woods, nor waves,^ his hosts can stay : Wild as some wintry torrent's echoing roar Rolls the dark war on Ister's fated shore ; Affrighted Dacia flies, nor now avail Her tempest-footed steeds, and linked mail ; Still press the victors on with sudden dread, Lo ! Danube, starting from his sedge-girt bed, WondVing, beholds the crowds that throng his flood, And stain his angry streams w^ith native blood. Such were thy sons, O Rome ! thy matchless pow'r, In the full blaze of thy meridian hour ; But where are now thy conquests and thy pride, Thy steel-clad hosts that swell'd war's sweeping tide? On those free rocks where gleam'd the patriot blade. The ruffian bandit plies his desperate trade. Yet 'mid thy setting, still some parting ray Tells of the brightness of thy former day, 3 The Roman soldiers, on the reliefs, are represented using the battering ram, cutting down and clearing woods that inter^ cepted their march, and throwing wooden bridges across the rivers. TRAJAN'S PILLAR. 171 Immortal Roman ! each time-hallow'd place Bids pausing memory all tliy acts retrace, Though now, thy form by bigot rage o'erthrown, Yon pillar bears an image not its own ; ^ Thy trophies gather'd from the well-fought field, That fill recording Victory's pictured shield,^ While virtue awes, while valour has its praise, Shall still command each rising hero's gaze, Bid his young spirit catch th' inspiring flame. And soar to deeds that rival Trajan's fame. WILLIAM WALTER TIREMAN, 1826. Wadham College. 4 The pillar of Trajan is now surmounted by a statue of St. Peter, erected in 1587, by pope Sixtus the Fifth. * Victory is personified on the column, surrounded by trophies, inscribing the exploits of Trajan on a shield. *0* i # POMPEII. How fair the scene ! the sunny smiles of day- Flash o*er the wave in glad Sorrento's bay ; Far, far along mid Sarno's glancing stream, The fruits and flowers of golden Summer beam, And cheer, with brightening hues, the lonely gloom, That shrouds yon silent City of the Tomb ! Yes, sad Pompeii ! Time's deep shadows fall On every ruin'd arch and broken wall ! But Nature smiles as in thy happiest hour. And decks thy lowly rest with many a flower. Around, above, in blended beauty shine The graceful poplar and the clasping vine ; Still the young violet, ^ in her chalice blue. Bears to the lip of Morn her votive dew ; Still the green laurel springs to life the while, Beneath her own Apollo's golden smile ; And o'er thy fallen glories beams on high The Beauty of the Heavens Italia' s sky ! How fair the scene ! even now to Fancy's gaze Return the shadowy forms of other days : ^ The violets of this district are proverbial for their abinidance and beauty. 174 POMPEII. Those halls, of old with mirth and music rife, Those echoing streets that teem'd with joyous life, The stately towers that rose along the plain, And the light barks that swept yon silvery main. And see ! they meet beneath the chesnut shades, Pompeii's joyous sons and graceful maids. Weave the light dance the rosy chaplet twine. Or snatch the cluster from the weary vine ; Nor think that Death can haunt so fair a scene, The Heaven's deep blue, the Earth's unsullied green. Devoted City ! could not aught avail When the dark omen 2 told thy fearful tale ? The giant phantom dimly seen to glide. And the loud voice ^ that shook the mountain-side, With warning tones that bade thy children roam. To seek in happier climes a calmer home ? In vain ! they will not break the fatal rest That woos them to the mountain's treacherous breast : Fond memory blends with every mossy stone Some early joy, some tale of pleasure flown; 2 Dio Cassius, Ixvi. relates, that, previously to the destruction of the city, figures of gigantic size were seen hovering in the air, and that a voice like the sound of a trumpet was often heard. Probably the imagination of the inhabitants invested with human figure the vapours that preceded the eruption. * Vox quoque per lucos vulgo exaudita silentes Ingens ; et simulacra modis pallentia miris Visa sub obscurum noctis. Virg. Georg. i. 476. POMPEII. 175 And they must die where those around will weep, And sleep for ever where their fathers sleep. Yes ! they must die : behold ! yon gathering gloom Brings on the fearful silence of the tomb ; Along Campania's sky yon murky cloud Spreads its dark form a City's funeral shroud. How brightly rose Pompeii's latest day ! * The Sun, unclouded, held his golden way, Vineyards, in Autumn's purple glories drest. Slept in soft beauty on the mountain's breast ; The gale that wanton'd round his crested brow, Shook living fragrance from the blossom'd bough ; And many a laughing mead and silvery stream Drank the deep lustre of the noonday beam : Then echoing Music rang, and Mirth grew loud In the glad voices of the festal crowd ; The opening Theatre's^ wide gates invite. The choral dance is there, the solemn rite ^ Pompeii was destroyed on the twenty-third of August, A. D. 79. See Plinii Epist. 1. vi. 16. 20 ; Dio Cassius, Ixvi. It re- mained undiscovered during fifteen centuries, ^ Eustace, and other modern writers, have thought it improba- ble that the inhabitants of Pompeii could have assembled to enjoy the amusement of the theatre after the shocks of the earthquake and other symptoms of danger which preceded the eruption ; but as their theatrical representations partook of the nature of religious solemnities, there does not seem sufficient reason to disregard the positive iissertion of Dio Cassius to the contrary. 176 POMPEII. There breathes th' immortal Muse her spell around, And swelling thousands flood the fated ground. See ! where arise before th' enraptured throng, The fabled scenes, the shadowy forms of Song ! Gods, that with Heroes leave their starry bowers, Their fragrant hair entwin'd with radiant flowers. Haunt the dim grove, beside the fountain dwell Strike the deep lyre, or sound the wreathed shell With forms of heavenly mould ; but hearts that glow With human passion, melt with human woe ! Breathless they gaze, while white-rob'd priests advance. And graceful virgins lead the sacred dance ; They listen, mute, while mingling tones prolong The lofty accent, and the pealing song, Echo th' unbending Titan's haughty groan. Or in the Colchian's woes forget their own ! ^ Why feels each throbbing heart that shuddering chill? The Music falters, and the Dance is still '^ Is it pale Twilight stealing o'er the plain? ^^ Or starless Eve, that holds unwonted reign?" Hark to the thrilling answer ! who shall tell When thick and fast th' unsparing tempest fell, ^ Ivory tickets of admission were found in the vicinity of one of the theatres, inscribed on one side with the name of a play of -^schylus, and on the other with a representation of the theatre itself. One or two of these are preserved in the Studio at Naples, POMPEII. 177 And stem Vesuvius pour'd along the vale His molten cataracts, and his burning hail : Oh ! who shall paint, in that overwhelming hour. Death's varying forms, and Horror's withering power? Earthquake ! wild Earthquake ! rends that heaving plain. Cleaves the firm rock, and swells the beetling main : Here, yawns the ready grave, and, raging, leap Earth's secret fountains from their troubled sleep ; There, from the quivering mountain bursts on high The pillar'd flame, that wars along the sky ! On, on they press, and maddening seek in vain Some soothing refuge from the fiery rain ; Their home ? it can but yield a living tomb. Round the lov'd hearth is brooding deepest gloom ; Yon sea ? its angry surges scorching rave. And Deathfires gleam upon the ruddy wave : Oh ! for one breath of that reviving gale, That swept at dewy morn along the vale ! For one sad glance of their beloved sky. To soothe, though vain, their parting agony ! Yon mother bows in vain her shuddering form, Her babe to shield from that relentless storm : Cold are those limbs her clasping arms constrain, Even the soft shelter of her breast is vain ! Gaze on that form ! 'tis Beauty's softest maid. The rose's rival in her native shade ; 178 POMPEII. For her had Pleasure rear'd her fairest bowers, And Song and Dance had sped the laughing hours : See ! o'er her brow the kindling ashes glow, And the red shower overwhelms her breast of snow; She seeks that lov'd one never false till then ; She calls on him who answers not again : Loose o'er her bosom flames her golden hair, And every thrilling accent breathes despair ! Even the stern priest, who saw with raptur d view. The deathless forms of Heaven's ethereal blue. Who drank, with glowing ear, the mystic tone. That cloth'd his lips with wonders not their own, Beheld th' immortal marble frown in vain. And fires triumphant grasp the sacred fane, Forsook at last the unavailing shrine. And curs'd his faithless gods no more divine ! Morn came in beauty still and shone as fair. Though cold the hearts that haiFd its radiance there, And Evening, crown'd with many a starry gem. Sent down her softest smile though not for them ! Where gleam'd afar Pompeii's graceful towers. Where hill and vale were cloth'd with vintage-bowers. O'er a dark waste the smouldering ashes spread, A pall above the dying and the dead. Still the dim City slept in safest shade. Though th wild waves another Queen obey'd, POMPEII. 179 And sad Italia, on her angry shore, Beheld the North its ruthless myriads pour ; And Nature scatter'd all her treasures round, And graced with fairest hues the blighted ground. There oft, at glowing noon, the village maid Sought the deep shelter of the vineyard shade ; Beheld the olive bud the wild-flower wave. Nor knew her step was on a People's grave ! But see ! once more beneath the smiles of day. The dreary mist of ages melts away ! Again Pompeii, 'mid the brightening gloom, Comes forth in beauty from her lonely tomb. Lovely in ruin graceful in decay. The silent City rears her walls of grey : The clasping ivy hangs her faithful shade. As if to hide the wreck that Time had made ; The shatter'd column on the lonely ground. Is glittering still, with fresh acanthus crown'd ; And where her Parian rival moulders near, The drooping lily pours her softest tear ! How sadly sweet with pensive step to roam Amid the ruin'd wall, the tottering dome ! The path just worn by human feet is here ; Their echoes almost reach the listening ear : The marble hall with rich Mosaic drest; The portal wide that woos the lingering guest : N 2 180 POMPEII. Altars, with fresh and living chaplets crown'd, From those wild flowers that spring fantastic round, Th' unfinish'd painting, and the pallet nigh, Whose added hues must fairer charms supply : These mingle here, until th' unconscious feet Roam on, intent some gathering crowd to meet ; And cheated Fancy, in her dreary mood. Will half forget that all is solitude ! Yes, all is solitude ! fear not to tread Through gates un watch' d the City of the Dead, Explore with pausing step th' unpeopled path, View the proud hall survey the stately bath, Where swelling roofs their noblest shelter raise ; Enter ! no voice shall check th* intruder's gaze ! See ! the dread legion's peaceful home is here, The signs of martial life are scattered near. Yon helm, unclasp'd to ease some Warrior's brow, The sword his weary arm resign' d but now, Th' unfinish'd sentence trac'd along the wall. Broke by the hoarse Centurion's starting call : Hark ! did their sounding tramp reecho round ? Or breath'd the hollow gale that fancied sound ? Behold ! where 'mid yon fane, so long divine, Sad Isis mourns her desolated shrine ! Will none the mellow reed's soft music breathe ? ^ Or twine from yonder flowers the victim's wreath? POMPEII. 181 None to yon altar lead with suppliant strain The milk-white 7 monarch of the herd again? All, all is mute ! save sadly answering nigh The nightbird's shriek, the shrill cicala's cry. Yet may you trace along the furrow'd street. The chariot's track the print of frequent feet ; The gate unclos'd, as if by recent hand; The hearth, where yet the guardian Lares stand ; Still on the wall the words ^ of welcome shine, And ready vases 9 proffer joyous wine : But where the hum of men ? the sounds of life ? The Temple's pageant, and the Forum's strife ? The forms and voices, such as should belong To that bright clime, the land of Love and Song ? How sadly echoing to the stranger's tread, These walls respond, like voices from the dead ! And sadder traces darker scenes are there. Tales of the Tomb, and records of Despair; In Death's chill grasp unconscious arms enfold The fatal burthen of their cherish'd gold ; ^ 7 Hinc albi, Clitumne, greges, et maxima taurus Victima. Virg. Georg. ii. 146. 8 On many of the walls the word Salve is carved over the door. 9 The amphorse which contained wine still remain, and the marble slabs are marked with cups and glasses. Eustace. * At the door of the court of one of the houses skeletons were found, one with a key, another with a purse. Ibid. 182 POMPEII. Here, wasted relics, as in mockery, dwell Beside some treasure lov'd in life too well ; There, faithful hearts have moulder'd side by side, And hands are clasp'd that Death could not divide ! None, none shall tell that hour of fearful strife. When Death must share the consciousness of Life ; When sullen Famine, slow Despair consume The living tenants of the massive tomb ; Long could they hear above th' incumbent plain. The music of the breeze awake ao^ain. The wave's deep echo on the distant shore. And murmuring streams, that they should see no more ! Away ! dread scene ! and o'er the harrowing view Let Nis:ht's dim shadows flino^ their darkest hue ! But there, if still beneath some nameless stone, By waving weeds and ivy-wreaths overgrown, Lurk the grey spoils of Poet or of Sage, Tally's deep lore, or Livy's pictured page ; If sweet Menander, where his relics fade. Mourn the dark refuge of Oblivion's shade ; Oh ! may their treasures burst the darkling mine ! Glow in the living voice, the breathing line 1 Their vestal fire our midnight lamp illume. And kindle Learning's torch from sad Pompeii's tomb! ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, 1827. Magdalen Hall. A^' (TdKITiK. DIE 1.1:^ RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. Anth. Gr-c. High praise be theirs, when reft was Salem's power, Who throng'd to combat round her ruin'd tower ; From her gall'd neck to wrest the heathen chain ; To loose the captive daughter's bonds again ; And the glad symbol of the cross expand In crimson beauty o'er the Saviour's land. Ages have laps'd ; her holy champions gone, The tyrant Soldan fills Judaea's throne. Mid the lone ruin, one deserted fane ^ Stands the sole record of the Christian's reign, Where e'en the spoiler sheath'd his ruthless blade. And Profanation's trembling arm was stay'd. Yet have her silent valleys heard afar The minstrel's harp, the stirring shout of war. 1 See Chateaubriand, Itineraire a Jerusalem, tome ii. p. 270. " Une seule eglise fut epargnee, et ce fut I'eglise du Saint Se- pulcre." 184 RICHARD COEUR DE LION. Hark ! sweetly floating o'er the martial throng. Wild as himself, VidaFs inspiring song ; 2 And see ! uprousing from his island lair, Poitou's stern lord, Britannia's king is there. Link'd with a band of brothers, sworn to brave The battle's peril, and the ocean's grave, Yet went he smiling from his father's hall, As speeding forth to some glad festival ; While joyously his death-doom' d squadrons move To the light lays of visionary love. Soft as the Dorian flute : for courage high Owns not the need of loftier melody : And to those minstrel warriors stoop'd the proud. When Cyprus trembled, and Sicilia bow'd. Onward they move ; while high in eastern state. Worthy his arm, unconquer'd thousands wait. Couch'd 'neath the date-empurpled palm-tree's shade, The sable banners to the sun display'd. For the wild precincts of their desert land. Their scanty fountains, and their fiery sand. See ! val'rous chiefs their wind-swift coursers wheel, And whet on Kishon's banks the patriot steel : 2 " Pierre Vidal, de Toulouse, troubadour qui suivit le roi Richard a la troisieme croisade, ne s'est pas rendu moins celebre par ses extravagances, que par son talent poetique." Litterature du Midi de I'Europe, par M. de Sismondi, tome i. p. 177. RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 185 A changeless race, whose giant might of old In shadowy types the mystic visions told ; O'er whose dark import, on Messina's shore, 'Tis said his eagle spirit lov'd to pore.^ Yet lo ! they fall : where frown'd th' insulting foe, Each passing peasant spurns the Mamluke bow ; And trampled lowly in the dust appear Th' Egyptian's scourges, and the Bedoween's spear. And who their victor ? came he to the fight With arm, that curb'd the champing charger's might ? With helm, reflecting back the sunbeam's ray ? Or faulchion, cleaving its resistless way ? No, on the pallet's humble mattress laid. From his wan cheek health's blushing roses fade ; * Wasted his strength ; the gleaming morion's pride Cast in keen anguish from his brow aside ; - Yet Acre fear'd, as twang'd the fateful string. E'en on his couch, the Lion-hearted King. 3 See " Rogeri de Hoveden Annales," (folio edition, 1596,) page 388, for an interesting account of a conversation between Richard and Joachim, Abbot of Calabria, respecting the inter- pretation of certain parts of the Apocalypse. ^ The fact of Richard's being brought on the field in a pallet, during the siege of Acre, in consequence of illness, and levelling the engines of w^ar from his couch, is given in Mill's His|;. of the Crusades, vol. ii. p. 45. 186 RICHARD C(E UR DE LION. What marvel then, if o'er th' ensanguin'd plain Pour'd sad Azotus all her strength in vain, Or if, reclining on her ruin'd throne, Mourn'd the falFn Queen, dismantled Ajalon, When, nerveless now no more, his healthful hand Wielded the terrors of the magic brand, By Arthur borne, beneath whose charmed spell Each shadowy knight and phantom warrior fell, Nor less shall Mecca's paynim heroes turn Still from thy edge, " resistless Kaliburn."^ Weep, city of the saints religion's sway Kindles round thee the tumult of the fray ; Round thee, by Moslem deem'd the hallowed seat, Where the freed tenants of the tomb shall meet j Round thee, where views the Christian's purer faith With tearful joy his Saviour's scene of death, While rings at twilight on his startled ear The herald's cry, " Save, save the Sepulchre. "6 No beaming glance of triumph hails thee now : With eye despondent, and with clouded brow. 5 " Resistless Kaliburn he wields." Warton's Crusade. See Warton's Hist, of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 125. ^ " The army always halted at night-fall ; heralds thrice cried aloud, " Save the holy Sepulchre." Mill's Hist, of the Crusades, vol. ii. p. 53. RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 187 Though victor, leaning on his useless sword, Bends the proud form of Albion's baffled lord. Degen'rate France ! his thoughts were fix'd on thee, Thy knights home speeding o'er the midland sea, Thj vows abandoned and thy faith forsworn, Thy prince, that left the lion heart forlorn. He turn'd, where, slumbering in their calm repose, The captive city's towers of beauty rose, Where her unrescu'd halls the faithless trod, And her clos'd portals held the foes of God, And sadly waking from his cherish'd dream, Shunn'd to behold, since powerless to redeem. 7 The red cross past on Jaffa's star-lit shore Hush'd is the war-cry, and the fight is o'er ; And far in Austria's shades thy sun hath set, Light of the brave, renown'd Plantagenet ! Is this thy faith, false Prince? The gen'rous foe^ Cool'd his lip's fever with the draught of snow : For him in bounty spread the sparkling feast, Crown'd witli the fruitage of the glowing East, 7 <'The hero (Richard) ascending an hill, and veiling his face, exclaimed with an indignant voice. Those who are unwilling to rescue, are unworthy to view, the sepulchre of Christ." Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. xi. p. 148. 8 See Mill's Hist, (from Hoveden) vol. ii. p. 62. 188 RICHARD CGEUR DE LION. And frankly stooping from his high command, Ask'd but the surety of his profFer'd hand.9 But thou, sworn friend, when bright his fortune shone, Buckling with him thy crested armour on. Proud if he gave, in those tempestuous days. The welcome meed of his all-courted praise. Though, fleetly gliding from thy changeful heart, All but the rankling stings of envy part. Thou canst not chase the fairy forms that bless His musing thoughts, and soothe his loneliness. Romantic Poesy ! 'twas thine to shed Thy radiant halo round the captive's head. Oh welcome in the bright and laughing mood, But dearer far, when all is solitude. How err'd the Grecian bard,i who deem'd thy power Sway'd but the sparkling bowl, the festive hour, Leaving the sad and destitute to pine Without one solace from a note like thine ; 9 " Dans ce Traite de Treve qui fut conclu I'an 588 de Phegire, Ben Schuhnah remarque, que ni le roi d'Angleterre, ni Saladin, ne jurerent point, mais donnerent seulement leur main." D'Her- belot, Bibliotheque Orient, p. 744. 1 vfjLvovs ttI fikv Bakiais, M t' elXairivais, koX irapa heiitvois evpouTO, ^lov repirvcLS aKods' (TTvylovs 5e ^poriav ouSels \{)Tras cijpero fiovCT) kol iroKvx^P^ois tfidais iraveiv . Eurip. Medea, 195. RICHARD C(EUR DE LION. ^ 189 For faithful still, those darksome cells among, Wreath'd thy " gay science"- all its flowers of song. Music ! for thee hell's shadowy gates unclos'd, And the rack'd spirit on his wheel repos'd : Oh ! ill hath fable fix'd thy fancied throne High on the top of sunny Helicon ; Or by Castalia's fount, and Pimpla's stream Plac'd thee rejoicing in the noon-tide beam : Thy holier shrine is in affliction's gloom, The maniac's chamber, or the darkling tomb ; When list'ning frenzy, heedless of his chain. Wears the soft smile of infancy again ; When hopeless sorrow, as she drinks the lay, Lifts her pale form, and wipes her tears away ; As now, while burning with thy living fire. The minstrel monarch sweeps his mournful lyre : Mark how, sure index of the kindling soul. His eyes with all a prophet's prescience roll ; List, while to rapture bursts the breathing line, " Perpetual thraldom shall not yet be mine.'^^ 2 " El gai Saber." Sismondi, Litter, du Midi de I'Europe. 3 " Je sai de voir que ja trop longuement Ne seirie ca pris," are lines found in a sirvente composed by Richard during his im- prisonment they are rendered in Sismondi, " Perpetual thraldom is not yet riiy doom." 190 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. Did not a Seraph answer ^like the sound Heard floating oft the sainted death-bed round, When heav'n-born music, bidding sorrow cease, Wafts some pure spirit to the realms of peace ? No sweet, but earthly, each reechoed word Has gently thrilFd on Memory's slumbering chord ; Recalling seasons, when the cloudless sky Inspired the notes of buoyant liberty, And Blondell sung, ^mid wine and beauty gay, The playful '' tenson,'' and the sportive lay. Fear not that fancy prompts th' illusive strain ; Thy own lov'd minstrel comes to loose thy chain. Yet not his lyre alone the dungeon broke : To aid the late repentant island woke ; And, pour'd by thee, the eloquent appeal Compell'd the proudest and the worst to feel. Till rugged vet'rans, at the tale grown weak, Dew'd with unwonted tears their pallid cheek.* Hark to the jubilant and joyous cry That heralds Albion's glad festivity ! He comes, her champion of the cross belov'd, Like the pure ore, by fiery trials prov'd, Purg'd from the failings of his youthful prime, The dross of passion, and the stain of crime. 4 See Matthew Paris, p. 121. RICHARD C(EUR DE LION. 191 He parted, thristing for his foeman's blood, Haughty and ruthless in his angry mood ; He comes, affliction's soften'd child, to bear Pardon to those that tremble and desp^Xr j Lock'd in his breast, forgotten vengeance -slep^,* And love rekindled, when the traitor w^tipt. '- , ' Yes, while low crouching on his suppliant knee, He fears an injur'd brother's stern decree;, ,, ' He little knows where gen'rous passion^ ;Ji;ve;TT4 The mean are cruel, but the brave forgiye. '; V Great in the battle's strife, the dunge*(^>'.s gl06hi, What arm of terror forc'd thee to the tomb.? While, aw'd to silence by the wond'rous tale, E'en at thy name Arabia's son grew pale,^ Or, if his fiery steed, with startled tread, Shrunk from the thicket's pathless side in dread. He fear'd, lest, seen amid the twilight shade. Thy form had cross'd him in the tangled glade,^ What giant warrior dar'd to stem thy course, Unscar'd by treach'ry, and untam'd by force? One humble arm, one silent shaft could bring Fate's awful summons on its noiseless wing^ ^ See Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. xi. p. 146. ^ " La valeur de Richard fut si renommee, que long-temps apres la mort de ce prince, quand un cheval tressailloit sans cause, les Sarrasins disoient, qu'il avoit vu Tombre de Richard." Chateau- briand, Itiner. tome ii. p. 271. ^92 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. Yet, though the clarion spoke not, though the sound Of festal triumph scarce was heard around, Though, from her brow the withering chaplet torn, Sad Vict'ry * fe)?oop'd her haughty head to mourn, In thst'darlt'hour a purer bliss was given. And peaeefttt seraphs hymn'd their joy in heaven. When on thy lips their own compassion hung,'' And mercy trembled on thy fault'ring tongue, When; quell'd* each earthly foe, thy virtue broke Vindiqii^e feeling's sway, and passion's yoke, In thy last br/^ath forgiveness' voice was heard, And life's best conquest crown'd thy latest word. JOSEPH ANSTICE, 1828. Christ Church. ' "Tunc prsecepit eum (Bertramnum de Gurdun) rex solvi, et dixit, Remitto tibi mortem meam." R. de Hoveden, p. 449. m f VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY TO THE POLAR REGIONS. Xci/xepta ra irpdyfiara ! Aristoph. Acharn. On Northern shores the year's untimely close Has mantled Nature in her garb of snows ; The glorious Sun is sinking into gloom, As youth before its time into the tomb ; And in the keen clear air, as fade away The streamy splendours of departing day, Fantastic shapes of crystal i fretwork gleam, And drink a borrowed lustre from his beam. O'erarch'd with colours bright as those which dye The sign of Promise in the summer sky. Shines his last setting : rays of brilliant hue Spangle the cloudless heaven's unsullied blue, ^ Nothing in the shape of a cloud was formed, but whatever little moisture might be in the air, was seen floating about in very minute spiculae, assuming various forms of crystallization. Quarterly Review, xxv. 198. o 194 VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY Like smiles at parting, often loveliest, when The hearts they sever ne'er shall meet again. 'Tis past : Night deepens o'er yon vessel's prow, Embank'd in ice and bedded round with snow : Above sad greeting to a seaman's eye The furl'd and idle sails flap mournfully : Around o'er scenes of dead and dull repose The midnight Moon her ghastly radiance throws, Or shines the Northern Light with meteor fire. And dims the lustre of the starry quire : Ting'd with pale rays gigantic icebergs rise, And lift their spectral summits to the skies ; Like the grey shadows of departed years. Dimly distinct, each towering form appears. Desolate Land ! how wild, uncultur'd, rude. Thy drear expanse of boundless solitude The desert whiteness of the snow-clad hill The lifeless stream but thou art lovely still ! For verdant meads, when summer months have smil'd, Like green Oases in the Libyan wild. Bloom on the plain ; fountains and bright cascades Gem the dark w^oods, and glitter in the glades ; And o'er the tangled brake and steep ravine In sombre clusters grows the lichen'd pine : While flowers, that sprang unseen in mossy dells. Their scentless buds enclos'd in crystal cells. TO THE POLAR REGIONS. 195 Smile on the curious eye with varied hue, And rise in living loveliness to view. Oh ! for the light of Nature's beauty now To smooth with hope the seaman's anxious brow ! For here, though frozen damps ^ around him hung, And pains intense the sinewy limb unstrung, Day after day, in darkness and despair. He plied the unvaried task with ready care, And brush'd the tear-drop from his manly eye, As wayward Fancy glanc'd to days gone by. And when he nightly knelt in praise to bless The Guide the Guardian of his loneliness, 'Twas sweet to think that in the land he lov'd. From that one heart, by long affection prov'd, To the same God who watch'd his drear repose The same fond pray'r and suppliant sigh arose. Oh ! if we cherish holy thoughts in joy. When flows life's cup of sweets without alloy If amid smiles the hope of Heaven appears Glorious and bright how passing bright in tears ! His faint and wayworn few when Franklin led O'er pathless wilds the regions of the dead ^ The breath and other vapour accumulated during the night in the bed-places and upon the beams, and then immediately froze. Parry's Voyages. o2 196 VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY One miscreant saw with keen and envious eye Their scanty food his comrade's wants supply Rais'd high the hand, and dealt the deadly blow, With murder stamp'd in fire upon his brow ; Then on the bleeding form of him he slew Fix'd his stern gaze nor madden'd at the view ! But he was one^ whose dark and clouded sight Heaven with its countless worlds of glory bright Earth waving with fair flowers and herbage green Ocean with tribes untold and depths unseen Enlighten'd not, nor on the untutor'd breast The holier image of his God imprest. The savage native when his consort dies Slow paces round her tomb with downcast eyes. Chants for her future peace the wizard spell, And in low murmurs bids the dead farewell ; As though he deem'd the Spirit linger'd not On the cold earth, but sought some sunny spot, , Where timorous seals on shore at noontide play, Or the huge walrus yields an easy prey. Where bounding reindeer track the waste of snow, And streams in spring through green savannahs flow 3 Michel, the murderer of Mr. Hood, was one of the Iroquois ; and though his countrymen are generally Christians, was totally uninstructed and ignorant of the duties of religion. Franklin's Voyages. TO THE POLAR REGIONS. 19 He like the hills that bore him rude and lone Dreams not of climes more glorious than his own, Of bliss beyond the grave in blessed isles Where spring and summer blend their loveliest smiles Or of those valleys, gemm'd with fragrant flowers, Where rest the faithful in unfading bowers, Quaff* the vine's luscious tears, or half expire Beneath the dark-ey'd maiden's glance of fire ! Amid tempestuous seas, and fields of ice. His creed has plac'd a lowlier Paradise : ** There swarthy hunters mount their cars again. Lash their lean dogs, and scour along the plain, Again adroitly steer the swift canoe. Poise the sure dart, or twang the unerring bow. Nor knew the peaceful tenant of the clime The mystic legends of the Runic rhyme : How after death in Odin's halls of gold The steel-clad ghosts their midnight orgies hold, In shadowy state around the board carouse. And drink with ashy lips from sculls of foes : Some taunting jest begets the war of words In clamorous fray they grasp their gleamy swords, And, as in days of old, with fierce delight By turns renew the banquet and the fight ! 4 " Khilla" Heaven. 198 VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY But sleep they still beneath their icy pall The snow-clad plain the voiceless waterfall ? Again that orb whose never- failing smiles Beam on thy valleys, daughter of the Isles, Descends in splendour on the darkling sea, Where strive thy sons in ceaseless toil for thee ! Curtain'd with amber clouds his orient ray Sheds soften'd lustre on returning day. The light awoke the monsters of the deep Ocean heav'd wildly in his troubled sleep, And hollow murmurs rose : then loud and clear A booming sound broke on the startled ear; Through yawning chasms the rushing waters flow'd. And crystal rocks on billowy currents rode: Those phantom shapes, like sleeping storms that stood Majestic in the moon-lit solitude, Start from their trance, and clash in dread career, Like warriors in the conflict of the spear; Round their tall crests the lambent sunbeams play. Leaps the white foam, and curls the glistening spray. The sunny skies above the strife below Where wild winds howl, and eddying whirlpools flow, Contrasted well earth's danger and distress With Heaven's deep calm and holy loveliness ! Yet onward still, though every groaning mast Bends low and quivers to the frozen blast, TO THE POLAR REGIONS. 199 That lonely vessel steers; now plunging deep Beneath the dark abyss with sudden sweep, Now upward on the crested billows hurl'd, A weary wanderer in a stormy world. The undaunted crew with careful search explore Each bay and inlet of the mazy shore, Unravel link by link the chain of seas That wind amid those Polar Cyclades; Mark how the current's ceaseless, changeless flow Sets from the strait, and bears upon their prow : ^ Oh ! could they curb its tide, or stem its force, And trace that ebbless torrent to its source. Where echoes loud the wave's tumultuous roar From Bhering's rocks to dark Alvaska's shore ! E'en now they hear the sharp Siberian gales Sing in the shrouds and fill their heaving sails; And far beyond Kamschatka's loneliest steep Traverse in dreamy thought the boundless deepl The Sun, whose baffled fires assail'd in vain Those icy bulwarks, here is Lord again; Bright islands laugh beneath his rosy beam, And blushing fruits and golden flow'rets gleam, * Alluding to the current through the strait of the Fury and Hecla in the same direction as that which is observed to flow through Bhering's Straits round the Icy Cape. 200 VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. Through palmy groves voluptuous breezes blow, And gardens smile, and shining rivers flow. Still roves the Seaman's eye nor lingers long On that fair clime of sunshine and of song, But wanders to the land, whose hills had been His childhood's cradle, and the fairy scene With which were twin'd those dreams of early joy Long years of after anguish ne'er destroy. Which oft return, like the remember'd tone Of music in our native valleys known. Sweet to the lonely ear, when some rude hand Has wak'd its echoes in a foreign land. And him whose patriot Spirit dar'd to brave Heaven's angry storms, and Ocean's treacherous wave Hail'd the rude natives of an hundred isles With glad coyennas^ and with grateful smiles : But fairer England greets the Wanderer now Unfading laurels shade her Parry's brow; And on the proud memorials of her fame Lives, link'd with deathless glory, Franklin's name ! T. LEGH CLAUGHTON, 1829. Trinity College. 6 " Coyenna," an expression of joy and gratitude amongst the Esquimaux. THE AFRICAN DESERT. A dry land and a wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth, neither doth any son of man pass thereby. Jeremiah, ch. li. 43. On Libya's wilds the sun is sinking slow, 'Mid sandy mountains gilt with evening's glow ; Light gathering clouds, assembled in the west. Transparent curtains, veil his place of rest ; And the red fervour of the burnish'd sky Is softly fading to a mellower dye. Unheeded breezes sweep the thirsty vale, No tree is there to court their lingering gale ; No breathing thing, no sign of life is seen. Earth's varied hues, or Nature'.s livery green ; No verdant spot, which poets love to sing. Where dove-like Hope may rest her weary wing ; But ever-lengthening wilds, a vast expanse, Chill the faint soul, and mock the sick'ning glance : No cheering busy sounds of men are there. One awful stillness seems to breathe despair ; i ^ Upon a sandy surface the stillness of the Desert is parti- cularly impressive. Passing over such a soil the camel's tread 202 THE AFRICAN DESERT. And the lone pilgrim shudders to profane, With step unhallow'd, Death's forbidden reign. The sun hath set ^yet mark'd you from afar, High o'er that hill which thrones the western star, In dim relief against yon streak of red. The stately camel rears his dusky head? No bright illusion this of hope untrue, Their shadowy forms are nearing on the view, They come : e'en now the far-stretch'd eye may scan The pictur'd outlines of the Caravan ; Like marshall'd band appears their long array, As down yon steep they wind their toilsome way. First in the troop, elate with conscious pride. The leader camel asks no human guide ; To him the herd th' unenvied post assign. Each knows his rank, and fills the destin'd line ; " produces scarcely any sound. Captain Lyon says, " I have some- times walked at night from the caravan, and have experienced a sensation I am unable to describe, as I felt the wind blow past me, and heard the sound which my figure caused me to make by arresting its progress." 2 The mode of procession of the caravans is highly interesting. They alw^ays march in single file, and with the most perfect order. Mr. M'Farlane says, " I may remark as curious, that the devidjis always preserve the same order of distribution in their ourneys. Thus one camel always goes first, another second, another third, and so on j and if this order is interfered with, the THE AFRICAN DESERT. 203 Next steeds and chiefs, a mingled train, appear, And slaves reluctant following swell the rear. O ! who can view without admiring awe The nice design of Nature's kindly law ! Whose equal hand on Lapland's race bestows Th' all-useful partner of a world of snows ; Gives to the tenant of an Indian sky, " The faithful dog to bear him company ;" And bids thy aid, half-reasoning camel, bless The lonely pilgrim of the wilderness : For thou his only wealth, his dearest pride, His nurse,^ his slave, his guardian, and his guide. To thee his cares, his thoughts, his hopes are given. And thou the sharer of his future heaven, That green Oasis, in whose verdant vale Are herbs unparch'd, and streams that never fail. Ship of the Desert !^ man, bereft of thee Would perish hopeless on this sandy sea ; beasts become disorderly, and will not march. Each gets attached to a particular camel of the caravan, whom he prefers seing before him to any other, and will not go if you displace his friend." 3 In the long journeys over these plains, so destitute of all the necessaries of life, the Arab is frequently supported entirely on the milk of his camel, which food is to him of all others the most nourishing and agreeable. '* An Arabic appellation of the camel. They also call the desert "a sea without water." 204 THE AFRICAN DESERT. Vain were his arts, and reason's self betrayed, If humbler instinct did not lend its aid ; But for thy toils were half these climes unknown, Yet man presumptuous calls the work his own ! But see ! the long-expected train draws nearf And gladdening sounds fall welcome on the ear ; The tinkling bell, ^ the Arab's cheering lay. Recall a fairer scene, a happier day : Now murmuring tongues are heard, a mingled sounds And neighing steeds that shake the trampled ground ; Noiseless and slow the camel stalks along, In measured cadence to his master's song. To great Bambarva's mart from Akka's shore, ^ ^ The wandering merchant brings his varied store ; * Each camel is furnished with a large rude bell. Mr, M*Farlane mentions that he tried the experiment of removing the bell, on which they came to a dead stop, and could not be urged forward again without it. In the same manner, if the leading camel be not excited by hearing the human voice, he slackens his pace, and at last stands still, upon which all the rest do the same. The same writer, speaking of the measured step of the camel, says, " I have used the word measured, not as a matter of poetry, but of fact. Their step is so measured and like clockwork, that on a plain you may know almost to a yard the distance they will go in a given time." 6 Bambarva is that immense empire of which the far-famed Timbuctoo is the capital city. Akka is on the borders of the Desert, in the route from Morocco to Timbuctoo. Hence the caravan is called an Akkaba. THE AFRICAN DESERT. 205 Inur'd to pain, by labour undismayed, From year to year he plies his venturous trade : In strife and peril half his days are spent. Though poor, yet cheerful, toilsome, yet content ; Earth's simplest fruits his temperate wishes bound. The spring his beverage, and his couch the ground ; Unconscious sleep bedews the close of day, And morn awakening finds him on his way. And now the time : with heat and toil opprest The band impatient hail the hour of rest ; Where shall they bend their steps? the tempest's sway Hath swept each land-mark from their path away But lo ! the Camel, careless of his load. By viewless tracks pursues his wonted road ; Joy speeds his steps and fires his languid eye. His sense unerring snuffs the fountain nigh. And soon they view the star's reflected gleam Sleep with calm radiance on Tarassa's stream."^ When o'er the scene of days long past the mind Casts a sad contemplative look behind, And thousand shades of darkly- varying hue. Too deep imprinted, rise in sad review. 7 Tarassa, sixteen days' journey from Akka, is one of the three watering places at which the caravans rest for fifteen days in their journeys. 206 THE AFRICAN DESERT. Perchance one rarely-bright'ning spot is found, Wliich happier Memory marks as holy ground ; One sunny hour which Love or Youth hath blest, Whose ray atones for, and illumes the rest : E'en so, when nought arrests the traveller's eye, But one dull boundless waste of sand and sky. The unwonted brightness of some verdant isle Redeems the past, and makes the Desert smile. Oh who can tell, save he whose toil-worn breast Hath felt the sweetness labour brings to rest. The pilgrims' raptures, when at length they hail The cool clear fountain, and the grassy vale ! Stretch'd round the bank, they quaff without alloy, Forget their cares, and yield each sense to joy ; A thousand flowers their od'rous dews exhale, ^ And green acacias murmur in the gale ; 8 Major Deriham has described a scene of this nature : " The day had been oppressively hot, my companions were sick and fa- tigued, and we dreaded the want of water ; a fine dust arising from a light clayey and sandy soil had also increased our sufferings : the exclamations of the Arab who had just discovered the well were indeed music to our ears ; and after satisfying my own thirst with that of my weary animals, I laid me down by one of the distant wells far from my companions ; and these moments of tranquillity, the freshness of the air, with the melody of the hundred songsters that were perched among the creeping plants, were a relief not to be described." THE AFRICAN DESERT. 20^ A thousand gay-plum'd birds their notes combine, And creeping plants their blossom'd tendrils twine : Such were the scenes by ancient minstrels sung, When Freedom smil'd on Greece, and Rome was young; Climes dimly known engag'd the poet's skill, And took their colouring but at Fancy's will : From scenes like this th' enchanting fablers drew Ideal regions, scarce more fair than true, Elysian fields, in borrowed splendours drest, Hesperian gardens. Islands of the Blest 9 Hence to Mohammed's promis'd land drew birth. Whose sensual fancy rais'd a heaven from earth, From every clime that met his conquering eyes Cull'd every charm, and form'd a Paradise. And now the tents are pitch'd their pittance small Of evening meal is duly dealt to all ; Yet none, though spent with toil, tha^ pittance share, Till every voice hath join'd the evening pray'r. Then seated round, their camels browsing nigh. They hold discourse till slumber seals each eye ; ^ While, not less wondrous held, though often told, Some patriarch chief repeats his tales of old. * The fortunate Insulae, ( Canary Islands, ) off the coast of Africa in the Atlantic ocean, were supposed by the Greeks, like the Elysian fields, to be the abodes of departed heroes. * This description of the repose of the caravans in the evening is taken from modern travellers. 208 THE AFRICAN DESERT. Ah ! well may him the youthful band admire, For many a marvel knows that ancient sire : Strange tales hath he of toils and dangers past In days of yore, for light he held the last. And now for half a century wont to roam O'er the wild waste, he loves it as his home ; Now, sole Historian of his native plain. Recounts each scene of triumph, and of pain : How, oft when far from stream or haunt of man, Fainting with thirst, he led his drooping clan, A vision*d lake o'erspread the billowy plain. And phantom waters mock'd the sufferer's pain, Or spires of aery structure seem'd to rise. Shoot through the air, and towering cleave the skies. ^ Oft hath he heard the rushing whirlwind's sound. When, shifting mountains stalk'd along the ground. Seen column'd piles of flame the plains o'errun. And pillars reddening with the fiery sun ; ^ 2 These delusive appearances, called by the French " Mirage,'* by the Arabs " Serab," are described by Lyon, Burckhardt, Hum- boldt, and others, and are caused by the extraordinary refraction of the rays of the sun. 3 Bruce describes this singular phenomenon, which he repre- sents as one of the most magnificent spectacles imaginable. The moving columns of sand, when the sun shone through them, ap- peared like pillars of fire : his people became desperate, some saying it w^as the day of judgment, others that the world was on fire. TifE AFRICAN DESERT. 209 Felt the swift Simoom's pestilential breath, And bow'd to earth before the blast of death ; Known every last extreme that man can bear, Hath baffled famine, and survived despair j And to his rugged life endear'd at last, Looks back with pride, and triumphs in the past ! Yet few, like him, so oft return to say How light they held the dangers of the way. Sad is the tale yon whitening bones declare,"* Which show some hapless wretch hath perish'd there ; Whose failing limbs, alas ! too faint to drink. Just serv'd to bear him to the fountain's brink : Life in his view he lay expiring near, And died with waters murmuring in his ear. Say, all-devouring sands, for well ye knew,^ Whence came the fate which Persia's hosts o'erthrew, What time to Ammon's solitary fane The frantic Monarch sent his spoiler train ? Forth went the myriads, proud in martial state, Yet none return'd, the herald of their fate : * Immense piles of human and camels' bones are found in the Desert, and often serve as land-marks to the caravans. * In what manner ,the army of Cambyses, sent to destroy the temple of Jupiter Ammon, perished, has never been known : it is most probable that, according to the rumour mentioned by Hero- dotus, it was buried alive by the sand storm. Herod, book iii^ chap. 26. P 210 THE AFRICAN DESERT. They died hnt man hath never known their doom, The unrecording Desert was their tomb ! Did fell Disease arrest their mad career, Or Famine hovering on their wasted rear ? Died they, thrice happier fate ! by hostile sword, Or slain in ambush by some treacherous horde ? Or did the Blast, like that overwhelming tide Which erst engulph'd the Egyptian's godless pride, Hurling a sandy avalanche as it went. Bear down their armies in its swift descent. And rear above the unresisting band A mountain tomb, a Monument of sand ? Far different cause the insatiate Conqueror led^ To heap the Libyan^plains with Grecian dead. No foes were there to swell a victor's train, And Persia's hoards had left no room for gain. He view'd with scorn the world confess his sway, And deemed himself of nobler mould than they ; Immortal deeds belied his human birth, Earth's Lord and Conqueror was not child of Earth ! Such were his thoughts ere Libya's sands he trod. Ere Ammon's oracle had hail'd him god : ^ The expedition of Alexander the Great to the temple of Jupiter Ammon, in order to get himself acknowledged to be the son of that deity, was not accomplished without great loss and suffering. See the account given by Quintus Curtius, liber iv. THE AFRICAN DESERT. 211 Not such, when human wants and cravings stole Frail signs of human anguish from his soul ; Pain and Despair his claims to heaven disprove, Nor Death reveres the progeny of Jove. Ages have fled yet hath not pass'd away The adventurous spirit of a former day: Still high emprize and valorous deed retain O'er youthful breasts their undiminish'd reign; And Science lends her aid, for wonders new And worlds unknown are opening on her view. To Lapland's snows, and Afric's skies of flame. She bids her champions bear Britannia's name ; O'er her lost sons she rears no tablet high. Nor weeps their fate her Martyjs cannot die ! Bright was the doom which snatch'd her favourite son;7 Nor came too soon to him whose task was done. Long bnrn'd his restless spirit to explore That stream which eye had never track'd before. Whose course, 'tis said, in western springs begun, Flows on eternal to the rising sun !^ 7 Park. 3 The traders that arrive at Timbuctoo and Houssa from the East are ignorant of the termination of the Niger : they only de- clare in general terms, that it runs towards the rising sun to the end of the world. Park's First Journey. p2 212 THE AFRICAN DESERT. Though thousand perils seemed to bar his way, And all, save him, shrunk backward in dismay Still Hope prophetic pour'd the ardent prayer To reach that stream, though doom'd to perish there.9 That prayer was heard : by Niger's mystic flood One rapturous day the speechless dreamer stood, Fix'd on that stream his glistening eyes he kept The sun went down the wayworn Wanderer slept. G. K. RICKARDS, 1890. Tbinity College. 5 " I shall set sail to the East, with the fixed resolution to dis- cover the termination of the Niger, or perish in the attempt though all the Europeans who are with me should die, and though I were myself half dead, I would still persevere; and if I could not succeed in the object of my expedition, I would at least die in the Niger." Park's Letter to Lord Camden. The manner in which this undaunted traveller met with his death, though various reports, aU pretending to truth, have been made, has not been, and probably never will be correctly ascertained. THE SUTTEES. The widow'd Indian, when her lord expires, Mounts the dread pile, and braves the fun'ral fires ; So falls the heart at thraldom's bitter sigh ! So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty ! Pleasures of Hope. Why proudly tow'rs yon pile aloft in air? Why press yon anxious crowd together there, Fix'd in intensest gaze, as though one soul, One passion, animate and move the whole? Hark I^ hear ye not the floating strain afar. Whose mellow'd sweetness, sofl and regular, Now swells upon the gale distinct and clear, Now dies in trembling cadence on the ear ; Whilst all around in silence seems to dwell, Tranc'd by that dreamy and bewitching spell? And lo ! with measured and unfalt'ring pace, Amid yon circling band of virgin grace. ^ " The other, rejoicing in the victory, made forthwith to the funeral pile, crowned by the women of her house, and by her kindred brought forth most richly adorned, as to some nuptial festival, setting forth her praises all along as^ they went, in songs fitted for that occasion." Diod. Sic. lib. xix. See also Cic. Tusc. Quaest. lib. v. c. 27. 214 THE SUTTEES. She comes ! to dare the searching pangs of fire, A self-doom'd victim to yon funeral pyre ! No tear is gath'ring in her large dark eye, IVo weakness there, no sign of agony ! And if her sunburnt cheek is slightly pale, It is not terror bids the red blood fail ; And if her lips are not all motionless, That quiv'ring speaks no womanish distress. One last long look on scenes she lov'd so well, And vainly now she strives to check the swell Of feeling o'er her heart's responding strings, Touch'd by the breath of nature's whisperings. Morn, dewy morn, is smiling; the blue sky Is softly flush'd with ev'ry melting dye; Bright golden rays the gorgeous East suffuse, Vermilion streaks, and rich empurpled hues : A growing flood of splendour spreads around. And robes in heav'nly light the conscious ground ! Now gently soft, now want'ning sportively. The young and balmy Zephyrs flutter by, Wafting the fragance of each op'ning flow'r O'er the calm luxury of this blissful hour; And gurgling rivulet, and rippling lake, Seem joyous now that Nature is awake. Oh, what a morn to herald such a scene. So fresh, so bright, so beauteously serene ! THE SUTTEES. 215 That the fair sky should call its loveliest glow, Undimm'd to gaze on such a sight of woe ! Glad in the light of morning's welcome beam, Before her, Gunga rolls his mighty stream ; And, as instinct with being, proud and gay. In merry mood the light barks hold their way, And spread their full and whitely-gleaming sails To woo the kisses of the wanton gales. Those verdant banks arrest her mournful view. With haunted Peepul^ deck'd, and dark Bamboo, And Betel 3 with its bark of silv'ry sheen. And lone pagodas rising far between : Whilst still beyond, down hills of azure shade. Rush the swift waters of the bright cascade. Such are to her not voiceless ; for they tell Of days long past, and joys remember'd well : What time that shady bank she wont to rove. Lit by the fire-fiies' thousand lamps of love ; With him, stretch'd on that pile, to wander there. And twine the Champac's^ blossom in her hair, 2 The " Peepul" tree is supposed to be haunted by the spirits of the departed ; and the relatives hang upon its branches gourds fiUedwith some sweetliquor, for them to sip. See Heber's Journal, 3 Bishop Heber mentions the beautiful white silvery appearance of the bark of the " Betel," as also the picturesque appearance of pagodas on the banks of the Ganges. " The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured 2m THE SUTTEES, As lonely reign'd the peerless vesper-star And the deep gong ebb'd faintly from afar : To list unto the thrush ^ at ev'ning's hour, And the bee's humming in its own blue flow'r ; ^ To gaze in silence, ere the sun hath set, On gilded dome and glittering minaret ; Or on the snow-capp'd hills, whose glaring white Slept mellow'd in a rosier flush of light : That hour, as though by some kind spirit sent. So mutely, richly, deeply eloquent ! Or driv'n perchance by some ill-boding dream, When lone she hasten' d to the sacred stream, And with a trembling hand, and beating heart. Beheld her boat of many prayers depart ! ^ Champac on the black hair of the Indian women has supplied the Sanscrit poets with many elegant allusions." Asiat. Researches, vol. iv. * " The pagoda thrush is esteemed among the first choristers of India. It sits perched upon the sacred pagodas, and thence de- livers its melodious song." Pennant's Hindostan. 6 The Nilica, called also Nyctauthes. " My Pundits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica; thus named, because the bees are supposed to sleep in its blossoms." Sir W. Jones. ' The Indian girls, when anxious about the absence of friends, or affections of lovers, light small lamps, filled with the oil of cocoa; and placing them on earthen dishes, surrounded by a wreath of flowers, commit them to the stream. If they go out, the omen THE SUTTEES. 217 All, all come swiftly crowding on her mind, As mem'ry casts a wistful gaze behind. Now where are they ? and what is she ? No more To view those scenes so doubly blest before : No more to bend with all a mother's joy, ' And press the soft lips of her sleeping boy : To leave him to the world's cold charity. With none to staunch the tear-drop in his eye : That ere yon shining sun hath sped, to lave And veil his splendours in the western wave, Each sweetest, dearest, loveliest, holiest scene Must be to her as it had never been ! This half unnerves her; but 'tis quickly past; She checks a tear that stole, the first and last! What ! shall she still live on in widow'd state. Her partner gone, her hearth all desolate ? Still shall she tread the scene, to play her part In blank, unsolac'd brokenness of heart ; And like the ivy, when its stay is gone, Slowly to droop, and drooping die alone ? Shut out from Swerga's bow'rs, her spirit doom'd To wander long in other forms entomb'd ; is bad ; but if they sail down, still burning brightly, they augur the gratification of their wishes. 218 THE SUTTEES. Her consort too denied the joys of heav'n ;^ Her friends debarred the bliss her death had giv'n ; No, she is fix'd : her sun it hath not set ! The blood that fills her veins is gen'rous jet ! A last adieu to all : the parting word, The kiss that clings, the blessing scarcely heard ! Th' embrace that seems as nought its links could sever ; The madd'ning thought that they must part for ever. For ever ? Nay, hope whispers, o'er the sea. Some spot of happiness shall smile for thee ; Some blessed isle, where suns as bright shall shine As those that warm this golden land of thine ! Yes ! beauteous as those islets, imag'd clear In that too lovely lake of fair Cachmere !9 8 " The wife, who commits herself to the flames with her husband's corpse, shall equal Arundhati, and reside in Swerga. " "Bearing her husband from hell, with him she shall enjoy heavenly- bliss. " From the Angiras. Sir W. Jones. The Brahmins persuade them that great benefits, and favour from their deities, accrue to the friends of the widow, if she burns : and that other- wise she must continually migrate into the forms of female animals. See the Parliamentary Papers on Suttee. 9 " Numerous small islands emerge from the lake of Cachmere." The vale Cachmire, styled the "unequalled" by the Persians. Kachmire de Nazeer. Forster. It is often called the Indian Paradise. THE SUTTEES. 219 Where the blue lotus ^ trembles in the gale, That fans with spicy breath each em' raid vale ; And o'er the flow'ry mound's sun-loving slope Light bounds the silver-footed antelope ! There all shall glitter, verdant, fresh, and bright, As that fam'd fairy City of Delight, ^ Where hues enwreath'd of flow'rs and gems combine. As though to weave celestial beauty's shrine ! The sweet Sy rinda ^ shall beguile thine hours In sandal-groves, and blushing orange-bow'rs ; Whilst maidens, long remember'd here, shall wake The wild, sweet chorus by the moon-lit lake ; Or brush with tinkling feet the glades afar,^ Like Peri forms in meads of Candahar.^ Some young Apsara ^ too shall touch the lute, Whilst every sound in earth and air is mute ; 1 A particularly beautiful lotus, which grows in Persia, and in Cachmire, especially in the lake. 2 The " City of Delight," also the City of Jewels/' capital of Shadukiam, in the kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy-land. 3 " The Indian Syrinda, or Guitar." Symez. '*".... little golden bells, fastened to their feet ; the soft harmonious tinkling of which vibrates in unison with the exqui- site melody of their voices." Maurice's Indian Antiq. * " There is a part of Candahar, called Peria, or Fairy-land.'* Thevenot. s The Ghandharvas or the Apsaras the Nymphs of the Indian Heaven. 220 THE SUTTEES. And Chrishna,7 idol of the heart! shall come, A beam of glory to that favoured home ! There sleepless gales shall breathe of fragrancy, , And rills shall laugh as bright as pleasure's eye : 'Mid scenes as fair as visions of delight Untainted fancy calls to childhood's sight ! Pure as the dreams that float on filmy wing Around the couch of infants slumbering ! Soft as the dewy tear that gently flows From woman's soul-fraught eye for others' woes ! There all shall meet when life's short act is o'er, Partake of endless joy, and part no more. 'Tis past : as though impatient of delay, From each embrace she tears herself away ; On the lov'd friends and priests assembled there Bestows the pledges of her love and care : ^ 7 The Indian Apollo " He, and the three Ramas are described as youths of perfect beauty ; and the princesses of Hindostan were all passionately in love with Chrishna, who continues to this hour the dariing god of the Indian women." Sir W. Jones. 8 They generally bestow whatever ornaments, &c. they may possess upon their friends and the Brahmins. So Diod. Sic. " As soon as she came to the pile, she threw oiF her attire, &c. and distributed them amongst her servants and friends, leaving these behind her, as tokens of remembrances for them that loved her." Lib. xix. c. 2. transl. THE SUTTEES. 221 And fondly deems, that, when in after-days They chaunt at ev'ning's hour their happy lays, These tokens may recall her form again, Her name may mingle with their artless strain ! And now her limbs she duly bends, to lave In holy Gunga's sanctifying wave; 9 Then fit for Swerga*s happy realms, and free From each terrestrial impurity. Clad in her snowy vestments, Death's young bride ! She sips the waters of the sacred tide ; And, careful lest aught earthly should defile. With step compos'd advances to the pile. Thrice 1 moves she round with gesture sad and slow, Her look half sorrowful, half wild, as though The fear of death, and hate of life, entwin'd In deadly struggle, rack'd her tortur'd mind. But nerv'd to strength, and goaded by despair, Her spirit warms, and bids her boldly dare ; She mounts the pile, and, e'en in death allied, Calmly reclines her partner's form beside ! A deep and death-like stillness ; not a sound Escapes th' expectant multitude around, ^ " Having first bathed, the widow, dressed in two clean garments, sips water from the palm of her hand. "(From the Rigveda.) Sir W. Jones. * " Having repeated the Sancalpa, (a form of invocation,) she walks thrice round the pile." Ibid. 222 THE SUTTEES. Whilst with firm hand, and unaverted gaze, The hoary Brahmin plies the torch's blaze : Soon spreads above the swiftly-rushing fire, And voluna'd flame enwraps the lofty pyre. Then bursts at once the madd'ning yell around, The drum's swift beat, the cymbal's clashing sound ; And the thick flame fierce-shooting to the skies Angrily mounts 'mid din of frantic cries.^ With eager zeal the ready priests engage, And fling fresh food to glut its angry rage : A moment slowly roll upon the air Vast pitchy clouds of smoke, and now with glare Of tenfold brightness, bursting through the veil. In their full might th' unprison'd flames prevail ! 'Till their wild ire, and wilder shouts subside, And to the waters of the sacred tide. With decent care, and cautious to profane, They fling the few poor relics that remain. The stream rolls on, the rite is o'er at last. All that was life like some faint dream has pass'd. 2 " Then an old Brahmin applied his torch to the pile, with unaverted face. The pile suddenly blazed* for it was covered with combustibles ; and this human sacrifice was com- pleted amidst the din of drums and cymbals, and the shouts of Brahmins." Buchanan's Christ. Researches in Asia. THE SUTTEES. 223 And such is woman's love ! whose magic pow'r Can charm the gloomiest to the brightest hour ; Can smooth the deep lines care has learn'd to plow, And chase the clond of anguish from the brow. It droops not, parts not with the parting breath, But smiles a proud defiance unto death ! Yes ! if in woman's soul, despite of all. Degrading creeds, and custom's blinding thrall, Though bound by superstition's galling chains, Feeling so noble, so divine remains ! Exalted by a purer faith, refin'd By better thoughts, with fairer hopes entwin'd ; Oh ! where the brighter star to cheer our gloom. Make heav'n of earth, and triumph o'er the tomb ! Clime of the Sun ! kind Nature's lavish hand Hath shower'd her choicest blessings o'er thy land ; Hath cloth'd thee in her loveliest garb, and flung Her richest gifts thy fertile meads among ! And oh ! thy sons and daughters, must they bow, And wear the brand of scorn upon their brow, Form'd for each finer feeling, and endow'd With souls that should not grovel with earth's crowd? No ! still they tell of what they once have been. Ere war and rapine blasted the fair scene. ^ 3 The. Hindoos appear to have been very early civilized, and at present to be so to a much greater degree than many are willing 224 THE SUTTEES. Though scorn'd and trampled, long-insulted race ! Though pride would crush, and tyranny debase ; Though priestcraft blight, and prejudice beset, The living soul of passion lingers yet ! Thine are the hearts whose gen'rous zeal disdains The blood that stagnates in our northern veins ! And if that zeal were wrested to sustain Deceit, 'tis ours to pity not arraign ! But brighter days shall come ; a purer creed With far sublimer hopes the soul shall feed ! That faith, which Heber came to teach, shall spread, And pour the " oil of gladness" o'er thine head. But he was snatch'd from his career away, 'Mid the fair promise of a better day. And thine, warm-hearted race ! the sadd'ning doom To shed the tears of sorrow o'er his tomb. Yet when in future days the joyful sound Of Gospel-peace hath spread thy land around ; When the last pile shall lift its head on high, Rear'd by the hands of Truth and Liberty ; to suppose. Long years of misrule and oppression, the constant changing of masters, the desolation of their fair country by friends as well as foes, circumstances lighter than these, would with many other people have worked a more radical change in the disposition, have effected a more thorough demoralization in the character of the inhabitants. THE SUTTEES. 225 And Heavenly Knowledge shall her torch prepare To burn the form of superstition there : Then shalt thou be remembered, Heber ! then Shall India turn unto thy name again ; Which, blended with their grateful sacrifice, Wing'd on a people's blessing, unto God shall rise ! PERCY ASHWORTH, 1831. Wadham College. ^ H ^ ^ STAFFA. Be mute who will, who can, Yet will I praise Thee with impassioned voice: My heart, which may forget Thee in the crowd, Cannot forget Thee here where thou hast built For thy own glory, in the wilderness ! Wordsworth. The shades are gathering on the mountain's breast, Where lone Ben Nevis rears his giant crest, The stars are faintly glimmering into light Round the pale chariot of the queen of night. No curling foam, no rippling gales betray The smooth swift currents on their noiseless way, But Calm is brooding on the tranquil deep As though some spirit watched o'er Nature's sleep, And tower, and cape, and crested island seem To bask reclining in the mellow^ beam. Charmed by the loveliness of that sweet hour, Pride melts to reverence, Gloom forgets to low'r ; And there is peace to sorrow and to care. Peace in the sapphire wave and star-lit air. Peace in those orbs which whisper as they move, Comfort and Hope and Holiness and Love. q2 228 STAFFA. And now 'tis sweet to soar on Rapture's wings Beyond the narrow sphere of mortal things To read the mystic characters of flame, Which God's eternal majesty proclaim, Stamped on his glorious works ; 'tis sweet to glide O'er the calm bosom of the Western tide, Musing in silent thought on that fair scene. Those clustering isles, and glassy waves between. Bright is each jewel of the circling main. Bleak Ulva's cliffs, and green lona's plain. But not bleak Ulva's promontoried steep. Nor that green isle where Lochlin's heroes sleep, ^ Not the blue hills in Eastern distance lost. Not the white range of Mull's retiring coast. Can breathe a charm, or move the soul like thee, Fair Staffa, peerless daughter of the sea. Fair Staffa ! Proudly on her crystal throne She sits with marble crown and pillar'd zone. And for the homage of obsequious slaves Lists' the rough music of the foamy waves, Stern flatterers they ! Full oft her shatter'd side Has felt the shock of many a warring tide, Though lifting their broad summits to the skies Buttress on buttress, arch on arch arise, 1 lovia where the ancient kings of Scotland and Scandinavia are buried. STAFFA. 229. Column on column piled ! Projecting here, ^ Like some grey castle the tall rocks appear, \ In stern commanding majesty severe : ^ There, swelling on the sight with gentler change, Slope the long vista and descending range, Till the dark surges and the curling spray Close on the secrets of their onward way. Yet oft the fisher, when the waters lie All calm beneath some bright and summer sky, Bending in curious gaze his eye profane Through the clear azure of th' unruffled plain. Follows their course, and many a fathom deep Sees their light pillar'd forms around him sweep, Bound the dark caves of Ocean to explore, And join their brethren on lerne's shore.^ Oh ! well in days of old might Fancy's child With shadowy beings and creations wild People that land of beauty well might hear Sounds of w eird music bursting on his ear, And deem that Morven's tutelary God Held joyaunce proud in Staffa's lone abode ! For gorgeous as the dreams of heav'nly light Which cheer some lovelorn poet's tranced sight, 2 Alluding to the submarine connexion which is supposed by (Geologists to exist (and of which there is every appearance) between Staffa and the Giants' Causeway. 230 STAFFS. Strange as the tales by Runic minstrels told Of sea-girt domes and palaces of gold, She smiles in rugged grace, and charms from rest The last warm beam which gilds the crimson west. Sweet are the voices of her cavern'd cells, Where the grey bittern and the seabird dwells, Fair is each islet rock around her side Darkening the gleamy surface of the tide, Like the pale star which veils its humble rays Beneath some neighbouring planet's prouder blaze. But whither wanders the transported glance, Breathless, and fixed in mute amazement's trance ? Oh ! 'tis some wondrous pile of fairy birth. Born but to fade, too beautiful for earth ! So tenderly the glittering moonbeams fall Through the deep shadows of the vaulted hall. Tracing each niche, each column silvering o'er, And streaming full upon the wave-beat floor ! Haply pavilioned on his pearly throne. Beneath that arching canopy of stone. Old Ocean sits ; or at some sorcerer's will Rose yon bright fabric of mysterious skill, From the dark bosom of the rock profound, To pensive lute, or timbrel's gentle sound. For never did the work of mortal hand Vie with that natural temple, or command STAFFA. 2Sl Such reverence and deep awe. The brooding air Breathes holiness around, and whispers prayer ; The ]3illar'd rocks their silent voices raise, The deep sea murmurs her Creator's praise. Nor wants there blazon'd roof or sculptured dome, O'er which the worshipper's rapt eye may roam What though no vain device, no tinsel glare. No monument of human pride be there, The moulded rock is nobler far than they, The spangled crystal shames their flaunting ray ; And that unchiselled fretwork might not yield To gilded tracery, or to storied shield. Yet thence, in transport gazing, till his heart Thriird with the rapturous hopes of dawning art, The unlettered architect of Morven drew Science more noble than the Grecian knew. And bade yon shadowy Minster's vaulted pile Frown on the waves which guard lona's isle.^ Alas, lona ! sternly o'er thy brow Long years have past, and laid thine honours low ! For hands may raise the column and the shrine, And bid the trophied arch and cornice shine, 3 The cathedral of lona is visible from Staffa. May not the idea of such a building be supposed to have been derived from such a source ? 232 STAFFA. But that high privilege to vanquish fate Hands cannot give, nor will of man create. They cannot give the wonder and the fear Inspired by giant rock and mountain drear, The solitude, the stern magnificence. The willing thraldom of the awe-struck sense, And that mysterious sanctity sublime, And those dread memories of primeval time. 'Twere sweet at dead of night to muse alone On yon grey beach with matted seaweed strown, Nor heed the passing hours' swift flight, nor give One thought to this vain world in which we live. Alone, but not companionless : the shore, The battlemented cliffs and columns hoar, And yon pale orb with melancholy smile Gilding each headland of the desert isle, These have their language to the feeling mind Deep, still, and eloquent, in these we find A charm, a sympathy, a sacred tie, A link of fellowship to worlds on high ! Nor here does Silence reign : the seamew's yell Complaining from her airy citadel, The hoarse loud murmur of the chafing waves. The sleepless echoes of a thousand caves, Swell in wild chorus ; though the busy strife, The stirring energy of human life, STAFFA. 233 Intrudes not there though no proud cities shine, Though no tall vessel stems the boisterous brine, Nor glade nor forest of luxuriant green Disturbs the barren grandeur of the scene. From those rude clefts no mountain flow'ret springs. No clustering shrub to those lone pillars clings, The glossy saxifrage of purple hue, The golden samphire, or the tufted yew. All, all is desolate. The eagle there Has fixed her place of refuge high in air. Queen of the feathered tribes which love to dwell In the scarr'd bosom of the rifted fell. There, when contending winds are loud and high, When waves on waves are mounting to the sky, Poised on sure wing above the rolling flood,* In mazy circles round her callow brood She wheels exulting, and with clamorous voice Bids the dark spirits of the storm rejoice, Or, gorged with carnage, from her grim repast Rides on her homeward flight the wintry blast. Above around in wild confusion hurl'd The shatter'd remnants of a former world, The broken shaft, the shelving colonnade. The deep rock rifted from its marble bed. ^ viraroi Xex^cov crpocpodivovuraif "KT^piywy ip^Tfxo1(Tiv ipi(rcr6fX(voi. JiSc\\, Agam. 51. 234 STAFF A. All tell of God's great vengeance when the sky Yawned on the land, when Heav'n's whole armoury Whelm'd the wide earth. The fountains of the sea Broke from their central caverns fierce and free, Wave upon mountain wave ! While worlds survive, That day's wild memory still unchanged shall live, Graved on the summits of the cloudcapt hills, Traced in the channels of a thousand rills, Stamped on the relics of a mightier birth, Recorded in the marble womb of earth ! Yet in that hour of bitterness and dread Sweet Mercy did her dovelike wings outspread. And Order smiled again : her sovereign will Bade the fierce ministers of wrath be still. Chased the rude Ocean from her realm profound, And marshalled all her elements around, Each in his several station, kind on kind Harmonious ranged, and hue with hue combined. She clothed the mountain in his craggy vest, And stored with secret wealth his teeming breast ; She paved with marble Moray's shelving bed. She crowned with adamant Ben Nevis' head. And bade yon clustering range of pillars sweep From Staffa's cave to Antrim's haunted steep. And what though vainly man's presumptuous sight Would pierce the gloom of unrecording night, STAFFA. 235 Trace the deep steps of Earthquake and of Flame, And ask the voiceless stone from whence it came ? It was not Chance, it was not Fortune blind Which reared the pile, and yon proud arch design'd, Nor that vain phantom Fate : but One was there Whom the Flame worships and the Earthquakes fear. For there the Warrior of the Northern sea Curbed the strong arm and bowed the stubborn knee, There the rude fisher of the isles adored The wand'ring shade of Morven's fabled lord, There in high joy the Child of Wisdom ^ trod, And poured the rapture of his soul to God. And still, while StafFa gems the Western wave, While the winds murmur in the pillar'd cave. Still on that holy ground the stranger's prayer Shall seek the Maker of a scene so fair, And rise in fervent thankfulness to bless The Great, the Merciful, whom these confess. ROUNDELL PALMER, 1832. Trinity College. Sir Joseph Banks. GRANADA. It is a story, Monsieur le Notaire, said the gentleman, which will rouse up every affection in nature : it will kill the humane, and touch the heart of Cruelty herself with pity. The notary was inflamed with a desire to begin, and put his pen a third time into his inkhorn; and the old gentleman, turning a little more towards the notary, began to dictate his story in these words Sterne. Thron'd in thy beauty on the mountain's breast, Fair as the fabled mansions of the blest, Bright as that fount, ^ the Arab's desert star, Whose gem-like waters sparkle from afar, Art thou, Granada ! Man may ruin still, Himself, the weak creations of his will ; Pour forth the vessels of his puny wrath, And heap the wreck of empires on his path ; But Nature's beauty knows not of decay, Fears not the spoiler, recks not of the fray : And such is thine. Unhush'd, the mountain gale Drinks in the dewy freshness of the vale ; ' The diamond of the desert, described by Sir Walter Scott in the I'alisman, 238 GRANADA. And still the streamlet, on its homeward flight, Bears its unshrinking bosom to the light ; Rob'd in the icy mantle of the sky, The far Sierra lifts its front on high ; And gaily springing from the bloodless sod, The wild flow'r blossoms where the warrior trod. Yet not alone to vale or mountain stream Hath Beauty lent her consecrating beam : Lo ! where the city lifts, as if in scorn, Her airy turrets to the op'ning morn. What though the victor's wrath, the bigot's zeal, Have marr'd the grandeur they could never feel ; While cold neglect, that waiteth upon man, Urg'd on the wreck that Tyranny began ? They could not tear the wreath that time has cast, Or still the voice that speaketh of the past ; Though lost the crescent. Beauty lingers yet On swelling dome and sparkling minaret : She haunts the mosque, though no Muezzin there Calls the grave Moslem to his wonted pray'r ; And hangs the symbol of her deathless pow'r From the grey summit of the moss-grown tow'r. Yet hence, perchance, the warder's startled eye Dwelt on the Goth's advancing chivalry : He saw each banner'd squadron proudly sweep Through the deep glen and round th' untrodden steep ; GRANADA. 239 And curs'd the hated Giaour, whose Christian hand Had loos'd War's hell-hounds o'er his father-land. Yes ! War hath left its dismal record here, Traced in the victim's blood, the mourner's tear ; Stamp'd in fierce meaning on the batter'd wall. Writ in the silence of the ruin'd hall. Here from the lip of myriads on high The Christian shout, the Moslem battle-cry : Each deep-embosom'd vale, and giant rock. Gave forth its voice in answer to the shock. Charge for the crescent, Islam ! boldly here Spur the wild steed, and grasp the gory spear ! Lift high the blade, and shake the loosen'd rein. And nerve each arm, that ne'er may strike again ! On for the cross ! their fainting squadrons reel : Forward for Spain, ye warriors of Castile ! Saints smile approving o'er each knightly deed Glory for all but heav'n for those who bleed ! Such was the echoing shout that madly rose Through Andalusia's valleys of repose. Swift as the rous'd simoom's unearthly blast The war-tide rush'd, and wasted as it pass'd. And well thy gallant sons, Morisma ! gave Their breasts to stem its desolating wave : Theirs was the frantic hate, the undying will. That thirsted less to conquer than to kill ; 240 GRANADA. The fell revenge, that ask'd no second strife, The scorn that fled not with the fleeting life. Yet all were vain ! What boots it now to tell How the Goth triumphed, and the Moslem fell ? Mourn in thy widowhood, Morisma ! mourn Thy sceptre wrested, and thy banner torn ; Queen of the west ! the unbeliever now Hath rent the crown of Beauty from thy brow : The stranger lords it o'er thy prostrate line. The Christian worships at thy conquer'd shrine : Thy warrior sons are slain in nameless strife, Or live to curse the bitterness of life. Scorn'd, like the Jew of old, they cross the wave, To seek the stranger's heritage a grave ; And oft, perchance, on Afric*s desert wide, Whose pillar'd sands upon the whirlwind ride ; Where no glad fountain greets the frensied eye, And nought is left the wand'rer but to die ; Shall Mem'ry, strong in death, awake to tell Of that far region which he lov'd so well. Again, oh once again, his cheek is fann'd By the soft breezes of his native land : Again he seems with joyful step to rove Through flow'ry mead and fountain-water'd grove ; And marks from barren rock or swelling hill The silver windings of the smooth Xenil : GRANADA. 241 Rais'd like the eagle's mountain-nest on high, Each lordly turret flashing to the sky, Hallow'd by minstrel's lyre and warrior's lance, Th' Alhambra rears its palace of romance. On through the spell-bound portal, ere thy tread Wake from their dreamless sleep the kingly dead : Ere yet thy view some fierce enchanter blast. Gaze on the beauteous chambers of the past : For here, 'tis said, at midnight's spectral hour, Boabdil leads again his vanquish'd pow'r ; With meteor pennon streaming to the gale. His warriors march beneath the moonbeam pale : From haunted rock and fairy cavern freed, Flashes the sword, and starts the foaming steed ; Bright waves the plume o'er many a crest of gold. On high the banner spreads its silken fold ; But yet no sound is there no footsteps fall. To wake the echoes of that peopled hall : From each unstirring lip no gather'd breath Breaks forth to mar the mockery of death. Oh yes, if mem'ry lives beyond the tomb, Unquench'd, unconscious of the body's doom ; If from the darkling vault and narrow urn To each lov'd haunt the spirit may return ; Here would thy soul, Boabdil, linger yet. Still forc'd to love, still pow'rless to forget ; 242 GRANADA. For ne'er did painter's skill, or poet's dream, Fancy's wrapt gaze, or Hope's prophetic gleam Not that bold seer^ who view'd with mortal eye His saints' eternal mansions in the sky Shape out more beauty for heav'n's distant sphere, Than man hath rais'd in earthly triumph here. Its courts are silent now the wise, the brave, The sceptred despot, and the kneeling slave ; The beauteous forms, that like a vision stray'd, Haunting the lone Zenanah's blissful shade ; All all are gone for ever : cold and mute Sleeps the glad music of Zorayda's lute Hush'd is each fount that warbled as it fell. Like prison'd syren ^^hispering o'er her spell. And bright no more, the shaken blossoms fling Their wonted fragrance o'er the zephyr's wing. Lo ! Heav'n's avenger ! on his destin'd way Rushes the Goth to scatter and to slay And none may wait his d^njing all are fled, Save the weak dying, and the ghastly dead. The sun had set, but still his ling' ring beam Dwelt in the cloud, and danced upon the stream : Slept in calm beauty on the mountain's brow. And touch'd with checquer'd light the forest bough. 3 Mahomet GRANADA. 243 The sun had set no breeze was heard to sigh Through the deep azure of the tranquil sky: No wayward ripple crisp'd the silent rill, ' But Nature smil'd in gladness and was still. Earth hath its calm the tempests have their sleep, But man must wake, that fellow men may weep. Chartered through life to torture or to bear, He only knows no respite from despair. Hark to that cry, whose feebly-echoed wail Swells on the death-like stillness of the vale : Reft of his friends, unnotic'd by the foe, Boabdil w^ends his pilgrimage of woe. With no unmanly tear, without a groan. The warrior prince had left his fallen throne : He could not wait the victor's courteous wile, Or bend to woo compassion's tardy smile : He could not see the proud invader roam Through the lov'd chambers of his palace home. No stranger's eye should view, no tongue should tell The piercing anguish of that wild farewell Which nature crav'd, as now he stood to cast One burning look, the longest, and the last. Fair was the scene ! eve's thousand hues of light Bath'd the wide Vega's garden of delight : Its green bank curtain'd by the blushing rose, The winding streamlet wander'd to repose : r2 244 GRANADA. Through groves of balm the waken'd zephyr play'd, And aye some fountain sparkled from their shade ; While far beyond, the lov'd Alhambra lay, Shrin'd in the dying lustre of the day. Is it the damp of eve, whose misty veil Hangs like a wreath upon the viewless gale ? Is it some meteor beam, or heav'n-lit star. Whose fiery radiance flashes from afar ? Hence 'tis the volleying peal that roars to tell The scornful triumph of the infidel. He heard till now, despair had never wrung Tear from his eye, or murmur from his tongue ; But now it might not be the powr'less mind Bent like a reed beneath the rushing wind : In vain the quiv'ring lip would falter still One Stoic word, that mocks the speaker's will. ** Allah Akbar I"^ away ! that gushing tear Speaks from the heart What doth the exile here ? 3 While he yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst forth from the citadel ; and presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that the city was taken possession of, and that the throne of the Moslem kings was lost for ever. The heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortunes, and overcharged with grief, could no longer con- tain itself: "Allah Akbar!'' God is great! said he; but the words of resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. Irving's Conquest of Granada. GRANADA. 245 Loud is the wail through yon despairing town, And chang'd the scene beneath a tyrant's frown : Sunk is the daring glance, whose vengeful glow Once lower'd in fierceness on the coming foe ; Crush'd the proud soul, and chain'd the patriot hand. Which pois'd the spear, or sway'd the battle -brand ; And o'er the conquer'd mosque's converted dome The worshipp'd cross hath found its changeless home ; While far beneath, the waning crescent lies, A ray less outcast from its native skies. In the deserted dwelling of the strong The peaceful hermit chaunts his matin song ; And where the Haram frown'd, the Convent rears Its house of mourning, and its home of tears. Oh woman ! not for thee the living tomb. The Haram's splendour, or the Convent's gloom : Not thine to bend at fear's unhallowed nod, And scorn the world, to please creation's God : To see, to feel, that earth, that life is fair, Yet weep to think thou hast no portion there ! No, child of joy ! a holier task is thine, A brighter prospect, and a purer shrine. 'Tis thine to curb the passions' madd'ning sway, And wipe the mourner's bitter tear away : 'Tis thine to soothe, when hope itself has fled, And cheer with angel smile the suff 'rer's bed : 246 GRANADA. To give to earth its charm, to life its zest. One only task to bless, and to be blest. Weep, Islam ! weep, thy Koran's sainted page Hath felt the bigot Goth's fanatic rage. And came he then with pitying hand to bring A holier worship from a purer spring ? Came he with lowly step, and soothing voice, To aid the humble, bid the weak rejoice ? To bid the haughty spirit's strength be bow'd, Raise up the feeble, and abash the proud ? Oh no ! in earthly guise the teacher came. With robe of crimson, and with scouro^e of flame ! His the tremendous creed which sought to tear Faith from defiance, worship from despair. And his th' infuriate pride, which lov'd to strain Belief from writhing lip and throbbing brain. Stern Persecution stood, with iron smile. To ply the rack, or light the ready pile ; And as she watch'd her tortur'd victim bleed, Held mercy's cross to consecrate the deed ! And is it thus, dread Father ? can it be. That man should frame an oiF'ring meet for thee ? Is thine ear gladden'd by thy creature's cry ? Is murder foul no more to Mercy's eye ? And was it thus the Shepherd brought of old His wand'rinoj flock to their deserted fold ? GRANADA. 247 Not such thy coming when the promised light Shall scare with seraph wing the fleeting night : When through the waken'd earth thy cross shall win Its bloodless triumph o'er defeated sin, Then at the fulness of appointed time Earth's every race shall flock from every clime. E'en now they come through each resounding shore A voice hath told that sin shall be no more. From the far regions of the frozen north The fur-clad chieftain leads his myriads forth : And by the dark Savannah's lonely side The warrior Indian veils his Stoic pride. Lo ! Hagar's offspring, doom'd no more to roam, List the glad sound, and leave their desert home ; And rous'd from Ganges' God-deserted stream, The Brahmin turns to hail a holier beam. Forc'd by no torture, aw'd not by the sword, The Moslem leaves for aye his prophet lord ; And see, repentant Israel bows her down To Him, who wore of old her martyr crown. Till, from one mighty tongue, the mingled pray'r Swells in glad homage through the silent air ; And nations join in one adoring cry. The earth their altar, and their shrine the sky. JOHN GRAHAM, 1833. Wadham College. < s HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. iEscHYLi Agam. 874, Fast fades the day ; the winds have sunk to sleep, Monastic Bernard ! on thy lonely steep ; Like halcyons hov'ring o'er their ocean nest, The golden clouds are gath'ring into rest O'er the far peaks, where still the sunset flings A gleam of splendour from his parting wings, And stars, like faery visions, dimly bright, Now melt in air, now tremble into light. Night deepens round the Spirit of Repose Breathes o'er the darkling crags, and boundless snows : No voice disturbs their gloom ; no living form Cheers the still scene, or haunts the realms of storm ; No more the eagle, wheeling to the sky. Pours through the sullen waste her echoing cry : The wolfs long howl, that rose upon the gale. The cataract's roar, the pine-wood's fitful wail, As the faint chime of some aerial lay Melts from the dreamer's ear, have died away. 250 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. Yes stern the scene ! magnificently drear ! No sound to ravish, and no sight to cheer ; Yet to the soul more speaking, than the page Of loftiest poet, or divinest sage, Proclaims in characters of heavenly birth, Graved on the star-lit sky the slumbering earth. That He, who framed them both, the Power Divine, Still in the desert rears his chosen shrine ; Still loves to commune with his erring child On the lone mountain, and the pathless wild ; And, far from human cares, from fev'rish strife, The storm of passion, and the stir of life ; When earth breathes peace below, and heav'n above Is bright with hope, and redolent of love, He bids each sense awake, each feeling soar, The spirit kindle, and the heart adore ; Till to the awe-struck wand'rer's musing breast E'en Silence speaks, and Solitude is blest. The stars are forth the moon serenely bright Walks in calm beauty through the waste of night ; Beneath her beams, like silv'ry clouds on high. The pale snows glimmer in the dark blue sky ; And as the shadows wander, vale and steep Now gleam in light, now wrapt in darkness sleep. Oft at this twilight hour, her qui v' ring rays Stream through the cliffs, to greet the wanderer s gaze; HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. 251 As, faint and worn from many a peril past, The rushing av'lanche, and the roaring blast, He slowly climbs, where closing mountains lean In shadowy grandeur, o'er the hush'd ravine ; Where beneath beetling crags, and drifted snows, In charnel cell, the unwasting ^ dead repose ; And moon-lit crosses rising through the gloom. In spectral silence point the pilgrim's tomb. Alike they sleep in that sepulchral grot. Their death unhonour'd, and their name forgot ; In life's last hour unsooth'd by pitying tear. Their last deep sigh unheard by mortal ear ; No coffin guards their clay, no sheltering stone. Their only dirge the wild wind's hollow moan. When through the grated loopholes, harsh and loud, Sweeps the chill blast, and waves each eddying shroud Well might the wanderer linger there, to scan The might of Nature and the wreck of Man ; But lo ! th' ascent is won the mountain hoar. The lake's black calm,^ the hush'd and frozen shore, ^ The charnel of the passengers is a small chapel, built under a cliff to the east of the Hospice, and just within view of it : owing to the cold, the bodies are long preserved from putre- faction. 2 The lake always appears black, from the dazzling whiteness of surrounding snows. 252 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. And 'mid the snows, yon structure rude and vast, Rear'd like some rock-built palace of the blast, Rush on his gaze and faint, as smiles that play O'er the wan lips that fade in young decay ; So cold ! so cheerless ! desolately falls The misty moonlight on the bleak, gray walls, Seamed by the scars of Time ; and deeper rents Stamp'd by the wrath of Men and Elements. No Sculpture there her gothic tracery weaves, Piles the tall shaft, or twines the clust'ring leaves ; But the rude carving of the storm has thrown A time-worn aspect o'er each mould'ring stone. Hark ! o'er the lake the choral notes combine, In mingling cadence, from the lonely shrine ; The dark-rob'd brethren of the Hospice there. Close with a deep-ton'd hymn their ev'ning prayer ; While one who long has listen'd to the beat And far-off echoes of ascending feet, Still keeps his moonlighj watch, and seems to wait The way-worn wanderer at the welcome gate. The threshold past around their frugal board His toils forgotten, and his strength restor'd ; As the red pine-fire throws a flickering blaze O'er the rude hall, delighted shall he gaze On many a lofty brow, and speaking eye, In that unknown, yet friendly company 5 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. 253 While the blithe laugh, and pleasure- stirring sound Of cheerful converse, gaily echoes round, As from the stranger of the world below, They learn the changeful tale of weal and woe. Oh ! other lyres of graver tone may praise The Convent's wakeful nights, and languid days ; Religion bids me weep and Reason sigh O'er the lorn heart's uncheer'd captivity. That chills each tenderer impulse, and reproves What Heav'n has sanctioned, and what Nature loves : By priestly craft, or jealous power design'd To curb the aspirings of the manly mind ; While Genius pines, and Feeling's early flowers, Droop in the sickly shade of joyless hours. Not mine to laud the penance, and the chain. Ascetic toils, or self-inflicted pain ; Or trace to heavenly source the zeal that piled Fond Simeon's pillar in the Syrian wild ; ^ Or that false faith whose meteor-smile illumes La Trappe's cold cells, or Nubia's peopled tombs ; * Where dark-brow'd zealots vex the weary nights With ghastly orgies, and mysterious rites, 2 Simeon Stylites lived forty-five years in the Syrian desert, on a pillar gradually raised till it reached the height of sixty feet. ^ The ruined tombs of Upper Egypt are (or were) filled by monks of the sternest cast. Gibbon, vol. vi. 254 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. Breathe 'mid remorseful sighs the frequent prayer, Live without love, scarce die without despair. Such are Devotion's feverish dreams, that ply The fool with taunts, and wake the wise man's sigh ; Far loftier hopes St. Bernard's sons allure. Their faith erroneous, but their practice pure ; And nobler ardour nerves their hearts to mock The frost's keen power, and brave the tempest's shock. The ling' ring memories of departed hours. Youth's worshipp'd dreams, and beauty's roseate bowers, Th' unbidden thoughts that kindle fond regret For joys e'en virtue cannot all forget, Come soften'd through the calm : Earth's sorrows wind A sweet sad influence o'er the musing mind. Felt, but to vanish, like the hues that glow In Summer's twilight on the mountain snow. Theirs is the sunshine of the heart, that springs From high-soul'd deeds, and heav'n-taught sufferings ; Theirs the pure love no laws of sect can bind. Their creed to soothe the sorrows of mankind ; And theirs the precept more can angels teach? To live for God, and act the truths they preach ; And freely fly, unconscious of dismay. Where Pity prompts, and Courage points the way. Yes ! oft at night's dread noon, when gales are loud. And sfiapes of terror ride the murky cloud j HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. 255 When the white snow-waves,^ drifting silently, Wreathe o'er the rocks, and roll along the sky ; 'Tis theirs, at Mercy's call, to brave the wrath That guides the av'lanche on his thundering path, Wak'd by the mastifTs bay : A faint, low shriek Is echoing far below, from cave and peak. By some lone wanderer pour'd, whose latest breath Is all concentred in that cry of death ; Thrilling, and fearful, as the rushing snows Sweep on, and shroud him in their dire repose. " On, fearless on ! and trace him through the storm ! Still in his veins the pulse of life beats warm ; The dog's deep wailing howl our steps shall guide, Near and more near it climbs the mountain side." Swift on their iron poles from steep to steep. From crag to crag, impetuous down they sweep ; Like spectres thread the dark ravine and lo ! The strong dog crouching o'er the tomb of snow Plies with untiring limb his generous toil, Scoops the cold drift, and bares the frozen soil; Licks from the pale chill brow the tangled hair, And wakes to Hope the features of Despair ; Till from the cerements of his living tomb They raise the wanderer, while the paly bloom 5 Rogers' Italy. 256 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. Of coming life plays warmly on his cheek, And those half-op'ning lips do all but speak. Deeds such as these, while quickly wears the night, In that rude hall St. Bernard's sons recite And oft they speak of crags, where peasants shew Mysterious crosses on the untrodden snow^ Planted by hands unseen, or traces left Of wizard dances in the sunless cleft ; Or whisp'ring tell, when clouds snow-laden sail At solemn midnight on the moaning gale. How on each cavern'd steep, in shadowy forms, The demon-brood of Darkness and of Storms Shout in wild chorus, while on every blast Weird voices sweep, and laughter hurries past : Oft too in gentler shape, they seem to ride In mimic pomp, the mists of eventide ; Or move unmark'd within their vapoury shroud. The winds their coursers, aud their car the cloud ; While from their stringless lyres wild music flows. Charms the mute air, and dies along the snows.*^ Such the fond faith in every age confest, Nurs'd by each clime, and rear'd in every breast, ^ Vide Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches. '^ For these and other superstitions of the Alpine peasantry, see Coxe's Tour, and Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches. HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. 257 The secret yearning, the mysterious sense Of some unseen, overshadowing influence. That taught the Greek to people earth and sky With forms of light and dreams of poesy ; Which teaches still the savage and the child, Their heart untutored, and their fancy wild, To vision spirits of the viewless breeze. Phantoms in clouds, and voices on the seas ; And on th' expanse of Heav'n's eternal dome Fix their fond gaze, and weep that long lost home. But when the lamp burns faintly, and the guest Seeks his low cell, and homely couch of rest, Dim with the mists of time before his eyes Majestic forms of other days arise. And to his ear the night-winds waft along Names that have liv'd in story or in song. Once more the foe of Rome from height to height^ Cheers his dark host, impatient for the fight, And where yon plains expand in boundless gloom. He bids them seek an Empire or a Tomb. With nodding plumes, bright helms, and glittering spears, Lo GauFs great Emperor leads his knightly peers ;^ 8 Both Hannibal and Charlemagne in all probability took quite a different route. But a tradition still remains of their having passed by the great St. Bernard. 258 HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. Hush'd is their iron tramp, and moonbeams dim Show'r on each ghastly brow and mail-clad limb. He too is there, who, slain on victory's day, Beside their altar sleeps, the young Dessaix ; 9 And there his Chief, whose name of terror spread Wide o'er the world, and shook mankind with dread, Curbs his proud steed, and waves his warriors on To Piedmont's vales yet " bright with Lodi's sun ;"i Unlike the despot lord of after days. Youth on his cheek, and ardour in his' gaze ; E'en now his spirit from the fields of fight The shout of triumph hears, the rush of flight. As from Marengo's plain, '' th' invading horde"^ Flies the keen vengeance of his conqu'ring sword ; Chang'd is his brow, what loftier visions roll. What dreams of empire crowd upon his soul ! Lo ! prostrate nations tremble at his sway. Kings quail before him, thrones in dust decay; 9 Dessaix, slain in his thirtieth year at the battle of Marengo, to tlie success of which he had chiefly contributed, is buried near the altar of the Hospice Church. 1 A phrase of Buonaparte, in addressing Bourienne before pass- ing the Alps to Marengo Bourienne, vol. ii. 2 Napoleon's invariable term for the Austrians in Italy. Bou- rienne passim. HOSPICE OF ST. BERNARD. 259 Dominion crowns what Conquest has begun, And Fortune, smiling on her favourite son, Wreathes round his tyrant brow the glitt'ring toy, Her fatal dower, that shines but to destroy. If in that hour of pride, and fervid youth. Such were his dreams, mankind has mourn'd their truth; O'er seas of blood his Sun of Glory rose, And sunk at length 'mid tempest to repose. When on that field, where last the eagle soar'd ; War's mightier master wielded Britain's sword, And the dark soul, a world could scarce subdue. Bent to thy genius CHIEF of WATERLOO ! The visions fade in darkness, calm and deep Sinks o'er the pilgrim's soul the hush of sleep. Farewell! farewell! ere morning's. sun shall smile, Desolate mansion ! on thy wind-worn pile, Far to the South his parting steps shall bend, Where lovelier lands, and softer skies extend; Yet in those climes full oft his heart shall seek Those sable waters, and that frozen peak ; 'Mid fairer scenes shall rise on Fancy's view Th' eternal snows, the heaven of cloudless blue ; And as in thought once more he seems to climb O'er many a trackless Alp, and cliff sublime, s2 260 HOSPIGE OF ST. BERNARD. Kind priests of Charity ! ye oft shall share The heartfelt breathings of his grateful prayer ; While Memory turns to bless, where'er he roam, Love's sainted shrine, and Mercy's lonely home ! JOSEPH ARNOULD, 1834. Wadham College. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES AT THE INSTALLATION OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF. WELLINGTON, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY. If, when across the autumnal heaven, The rude winds draw their restless shroud. One glorious star to sight be given, Now dim, now clear, an isle in deeps of cloud ; Watchmen on their lonely tower. Shepherds by their mountain hold. Wistful gazing hour by hour. Trace it through the tempest's fold : Even such, in records dark of care and crime, Each in high Heaven's appointed time. Bright names of Heroes glow, that gem the days of old. 262 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. II. When ours are days of old, Whom will our children's children name The Star of our dark time, the man high-soul'd, At whose undying orb the true and bold May light their lamps with pure heroic flame ? Go ask of every gale that blows, Of every wave that curls the main; Where at burning noon repose Tigers by some Indian fane ; Where hoary cliffs of Lusitane, Like aged men stand waiting on the shore, And watch the setting sun, and hear th' Atlantic roar. III. Then onward, where th' Iberian mountain gale O'er many a deep monastic vale, O'er many a golden river loves to fling His gatherings from the thymy lap of spring. Ask wide waters proudly spann'd, Towers upheav'd by War's strong hand, Oaks upon their mountains rent. Where th' avenging whirlwind went ; Torrents of Navarre that boil Choking with abandon'd spoil. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 263 Ask of the shades endear'd of yore By tread of holy feet, Monarch, or maiden vow'd, or calm-eyed priest, Ask them by whom releas'd They breathe their hermit hymns, awful and sweet, In saintly stillness, as before. But chiefly pause where Heroes' bones are laid By Learning's haunted home in Salamanca's glade. IV. There on the cloister'd youth of Spain The Trumpet call'd, nor call'd in vain : Not Aaron's clarion, tun'd and blest on high. The dread Ark moving nigh, Thrill'd in a nobler cause, or pour'd a keener strain. Mid other cloisters, now, and dearer shrines. The memory rings of that victorious blast, And years and glories past, Charm'd to new life, advance in brightening lines. Restorer of the rightful Thrones ! Thee, cottage hearth, Thee, palace tower, Thee, busy mart and studious bower, Thee, Isis, thine at last, her great Deliverer owns. Who knows not how the Vulture woke. Whose " deadly wound was heal'd ?" One breathless aim 'tis o'er one stroke That felon wing for ever broke. Oh laurell'd, bloody field ! 264 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Day of stern joy for Heaven and Earth ! Wrong'd Earth, avenging Heaven ! How well might War's ungentle lore With thee depart for evermore, And to the weary world th' expected birth Of calm, bright years be given ! V. It may not be : lo wild and free Swarms out anew the Dragon kind; Spreads fast and far the kindling war Against th' Anointed and Enshrin'd. But thou, my Mother ! green as erst and pure Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide : TJntarnish'd on thy matron breast endure The treasured gems, thy youth's delight and pride : Firm Loyalty, serene and fond. Wearing untir*d her lofty bond ; Awful Reverence, bending low Where'er the Heavens their radiance throw ; And Wisdom's mate. Simplicity, That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on high . These, of old thy guardians tried. Daily kneeling at thy side. And wont by night to fan thy vigil fires We feel them hovering now around th' aerial spires. Our votive lays unalter'd swell. Our Angels breathe their willing spell, CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 265 Breathe on our incense-cloud, and bear Our welcome high in lucid air, Telling dark Evil's banded Powers That he who freed the world is ours. VI. Stand still in Heaven, fair cloud, a space. Nor urge too fast thy liquid race Through fields of day ! for while thou lingerest here, Soft hazy gleams from thee descending, Present, and Past, and Future blending. Renew the vision lov'd, our glorious trial-year. The sainted Monarch lights again our aisles With his own calm foreboding smiles, (Not courtly smiles, nor earthly bred) Sobering Pleasure's airy wiles. And taming War's too haughty tread. Around him wait, a grave white-robed throng, The chosen Angels of the Church he loves ; Guided by them, in Her meek power he moves On to that brightest crown, prepar'd for him ere long. VII. And mailed Forms are there, Such as heroic Spirits wear, Seal'd for high deeds in yon etherial halls. Oh if th' Elysian dream Were true, and with emerging gleam Dread Warrior Shades at fated intervals '266 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Were seen like stars returning, And ever brighter burning, Well might our shrines and bowers their Orraond hail, Friend of his King, revdv'd in Thee, Ere, quite expiring, on the base Earth fail The trodden spark of Loyalty. Ormond, who pac'd the tottering deck. Upright amid a nation's wreck, Who spurn'd the boon the traitor gave,i And slumber'd fearless on the wave. Warrior ! be such our course and thine ! The Eye that never sleeps With undecaying fires benign Will guide us o'er the deeps. J. KEBLE, Fellow of Oriel College. 1 See Clarendon, vi. 1184. edit. Oxf. J 819. "The Lord Lieute- nant, about the middle of December, 1650, embarked himself in a small vessel for France, after he had refused to receive a pass from Ireton, who offered it ; choosing rather to trust the seas and winds, in that rough and boisterous season of the year, than to receive an obligation from the rebels." CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 267 Warrior of warriors ! are thine arms laid down ? Lord of the battle ! are thy conflicts o'er ? Is there no haughty foe, no fallen crown, To strike to dust, or raise on high once more ? No ! Peace is brooding on thy native shore Peace by thine efforts for thy country won ; And nought recalls the woes that erst she bore, Her hard-won fights, and deeds in battle done. But thine own glorious fame, immortal Wellington ! Amid these ancient walls the peaceful muse Sings by her limpid fountain who shall cast . Over thy laurel wreaths a flood of dews Gleaned from the choicest blossoms of the past. With which embued they shall for ever last ; Like some cropt bough within a fairy spring, Tliat, sheltered there, and reckless of the blast, Becomes an heavenly, and eternal thing, A galaxy of gems, in endless blossoming ! 268 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. No battle standards here the breeze has fanned | No arms have gleamed beneath the sunbeam's light, Since Charles's bugles called his gallant band To peril all in battle for the right. O ! hadst thou marshalled forth one equal fight, Could they have had one day one hour of thee. Then Marston Moor had seen another sight. And heard such shouts, as far beyond the sea, On Salamanca's plain gave note of victory. Such things may be no more but who can know What in the storehouse of the future lies ? For happiness has smoothed the way to woe. And storms have slumbered deep in cloudless skies. Yet, whatsoe'er it be, whene'er it rise. Who but shall rush to meet it undismayed, While there is One, on whom his country's eyes May turn with stedfast hope of present aid ; One who will never rest till that fell storm be stayed. But why should aught but joyful thoughts intrude On this bright day, when Oxford hastes to greet Him whom of old with love and hope she viewed. To take amid her bowers his chosen seat. In such an hour as this it is not meet CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 269 To name one single thought akin to fear : Nay, let us glory in our still retreat, And say, " Well may thy name to us be dear ; Hadst thou not warred for us, that peace had not been here." The bond can ne'er be loosed : while Oxford stands, The name of Oxford shall be joined with thine : Amid the glorious gifts of other lands Greatest and last her noble name shall shine ; She with thine ancient laurel-wreaths shall twine. Leaves of a calmer but a lovelier hue : And they who hear thy titles' endless line, In after-times and how thy glory grew. Shall mark the honoured name, and know the tale is true. But wherefore dare to praise thee ? thou hast quaffed Thy fill of nobler, and of worthier praise : And mighty men have mixed the honied draught. And bards have cast therein their sweetest lays Men who shall live with thee in future days Gifted with endless fame yet not as thou But rather as the sunbeam's light that plays Far o'er the hills, on some blue mountain's brow. That is but seen, because the hill receives its glow. JOJIN WICKENS, Balliol. 270 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Robed in the grandeur of thy waving woods, Girt with a silver zone of winding floods, That kiss their flowery banks in sportive play, Fleet as earth's smiling joys that pass away, Fair art thou, Oxford ! Through thy shady groves, Thy cloistered gloom which Contemplation loves, The chaste Aonian virgins joy to stray. Hid from the garish face of ardent day ; While amorous Phoebus, through the leafy screen, Steals sidelong glances o'er thine alleys green. Or, to the music of the purling streams. Gay o'er their bosom dance his scattered beams. Nor less when Cynthia, empress of the night, Majestic rising, pours her milder light ; Bright beam thy spires, pure as th' untrodden snow. And sleep in massy shade thy woods below. While from those piles, in glistening beauty fair. Rich pealing music fills the evening air. 'Mid scenes like these, in Fancy's youthful hour. The classic muse exerts her mightiest power. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 271 Bids the young Bard his tender pinions try With those who dared of old the trackless sky ; And heavenly Pallas lifts her votary's soul, Where countless worlds in silent circles roll ; Here, in his works, his Parent he descries, And, raptured, claims alliance with the skies. Hence, 'mid the triflers of this sordid earth, He towers in lofty deeds and stainless worth, Through future years to shine, by her inspired With patriot zeal, or rapt devotion fired. Hence the immortal names that grace thy page, Succeeding boasts of each revolving age ; Thus Chaucer's lays, and Sackville's numbers rung, And classic AdcTison, and Warton sung : Here Butler sternly trained his giant mind. And Johnson's moral muse enriched mankind : Here too, in later days, our Heber strayed To dream of eastern suns, and palmtree shade ; Nor haply weened his sainted dust should rest. Wept by her swarthy sons, on India's breast : Stowell and Eldon here in youth began That bright fraternal course they nobly ran ; And one, in hoary age sublimely great. Still stands, th' unshaken Nestor of the state. Deem it not strange that scenes like these impart A charm resistless to the generous heart ; 272 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Deem it not strange that souls of high command, Statesmen that rule, or chiefs that guard the land. Should hither turn in musing mood to dwell, On pleasures past, and haunts they loved so well ; And hallowed piles, and towering fabrics raise, To the loved guardian of their earlier days. Thus sprung her glory thus the good, the great, Through years successive swelled her princely state ; Thus Radcliffe's dome its arching beauty shews, And, Clarendon, thy Doric structure rose : Hence the rich fruit of pious Sheldon's care, This matchless roof in pictured splendor fair ; Where Oxford saw, in Academic robe. The gathered sovereigns of a rescued globe, In concert hail to her maternal breast, Th' adopted Son whose prowess gave them rest. And deem not, Oxford ! though in deepening gloom Tearful thou stoods't o'er Grenville's honoured tomb, Thyself forgotten, or thy glories past, Nor quail 'neath boastful Faction's rising blast, For lo ! he comes, thy drooping head to raise. That Son whom sceptred monarchs joined to praise. From Belgium's plain to Ganges' orient wave Earth hails thee, Chieftain, peerless 'mongst the brave ^ Hispania's valleys sound thy praise along. And Pyrenaean heights repeat the song, CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 278 While Britain triumphs in her Hero's might, Great in the senate, matchless in the fight. Conqueror of him who swayed the affrighted earth, In soul superior, as renowned in birth. This day propitious crowns thy glories won. Fair Learning's Champion, Oxford's darling Son ! ISAAC NICHOLSON ALLEN, Magdalen Hall. 1 274 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Et spesy et ratio studiorum in Caesare tantum. Juvenal vii. 1. Say, whom of Britain's gifted sons, renowned For loftiest genius, or for worth revered. By valour's ever-blooming chaplets crowned, Or by their patriot deeds and toils endeared,- Say, whom o'er Learning's ancient honoured seat, Shall Oxford hail exalted to preside ; With conscious pride and firm affection greet The Champion of her rights, her Guardian and her Guide? Has she not those who felt her fostering hand To wear her titles and uphold her name ? Yes they are hers the firm and generous band, Dear to their grateful country and to Fame, And worthiest all of honour's brightest meed ; Yet proud in honour's rank to yield to One, Whom, reared afar from Isis' peaceful shade. Still Oxford fondly loved, and owned her genuine Son. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 275 Though not in these inglorious tranquil bowers, With Science dwelt his youth's untroubled days ; Nor Learning spread within her classic towers The hoards of ages to his wondering gaze ; To other tasks the heroic soul was trained, 'Mid other scenes from War's stern lessons drew The undaunted strength which Europe's cause maintained, The Energy unquelled, which marks Heaven's favoured few. Yet still where'er by Freedom's breezes fanned, O'er Britain's prostrate foes his standard flew. From the first trophies of his conquering hand, From India's plains to peerless Waterloo ; Still Oxford tracked his triumphs from afar, Still o'er the eventful page of glory dwelt. Traversed in anxious thought the fields of war, Shared all her Hero's toils, his every labour felt. Pure is the fame War's righteous conquests yield. But loftier praise their deathless glories claim, Who sway the Senate as they led the Field, And crown the Warrior's with the Statesman's name : Who, 'mid rebellious Discord's wild alarms, The undaunted front that quelled their country's foes, The enduring breast that braved a world in arms, To Anarchy's blind rage and Faction's storms oppose. t2 276 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES; Champion of Freedom ! Order's firmest friend ! Whose heart is fearless as thy cause is just; To crowd's or tyrant's rage unknown to bend, Oxford to thee commends her sacred trust ; Be thine the task, with pious zeal to guard Learning's pure home, Religion's ancient shrine : No loud vain praise, but thine own heart's reward, No arms of conquering hosts, but Heaven's sure aid be thinei GEORGE K. RICKARDS, B. A. Trinity. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 277 'Tis well 1 from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought, That by our own right hands it must be wrought,^ That we must stand unpropp'd, or be laid low. O Dastard, whom such foretaste doth cheer ! Wordsworth. A FEW eventful years have passed away Since that auspicious day, Which saw the flag of conquest furled, And hailed the princes of the rescued world Met in the land of Liberty, to raise A holy hymn of gratitude and praise. Hither to Learning's seat they came Where never rung War's brazen tongue, Where the Muse watches at the gate of Fame, And ever glories to enrol Heroic deed and virtuous name On her immortal scroll. Thou wert the boast of that illustrious day. Far as thou wert away, t>78 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. In battle field or council board Europe's best guardian with thy heart and sword ! Then first delighted Oxford hailed thee Son, And twined thy wreath with laurels of her own : Proud of the Chief, her country's pride, In peril proved, In conquest loved. Peerless defender of the righteous side ! Perchance even then she saw in thee In darker hour her chosen guide Over a stormier sea. That hour has come : and thou art still the same In mind, in heart, in fame, The same that Gaul's proud legions found thee, And lord of all the gallant hearts around thee ! Oh ! we will never fear ! ^let foes be loud, Let envious tongues delude the gaping crowd, Let all I dare not speak come on. We will not fear While thou art near ! Sooner shall mountain torrents backward run. And Nubia's swarthy son grow pale, Than against Truth and Wellington The cause of wrong prevail ! ^ CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 279 Then welcome, welcome to the sacred halls And venerable walls Of ancient Learning, to the ground Where Cranmer died, and Charles a refuge found : To sit in Sheldon's dome on Sheldon's seat. And tread the blessed steps of Grenville's feet. Welcome to faithful hearts and eyes. Trust without fear, And love sincere, And to those prayers we proffer to the skies That bounteous Heaven may spare thee still Thy high and holy destinies Triumphant to fulfil ! ROUNDELL PALMER, B.A. Trinity. 280 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Ye greenwood bowers ! thou plane-tree^s shade ! The calm retreat where Plato ^ taught ; Where to cool fount, and grassy glade, He breathed the poetry of treasured thought ! Who trained that arch of living green ? Who led the sinuous rills between ? Thou sculptured porch ! with sterner frown, Where cinctured Virtue deigns look down ! Who wreathed the stone in chaplet trim ? Who shaped the marble into life and limb ? 'Twas a warrior's fostering care Raised the shrines of Science there. Athens ! 'twas the Warrior son, Of him who fought at Marathon ; Leader of thy spotless shields Victor of thy hundred fields. He and each hero chief, when Greece was youngs With youths in war, their nurslings bold, Would seek those peaceful shades, and hold High converse with the sage, and hang on Wisdom's tongue. 1 The groves of Academia owned Cimon as their founder. He also introduced the oriental plane-tree: and his was the first idea of those porches of which the (ttocl ttolkIXtj was at once the school of Zeno and Lysippus. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 281 Ye holier shades than Academe ! Calm Meditation's solemn bowers, Ye grey walls glassed in Isis' stream, What hands first wove your glorious wreath of towers ? Athelney 2 shall tell his tale, And green Sel wood's forest ^ vale Echo, Alfred, noblest name Hand of iron Soul of flame Guide and Guard of Hengist's race, Thine the task our shrines to trace ; Shrines whose antique cells among. Even now I hear the deep sounds swell. From Ohio's isle, from Dirce's well, The glowing hymn, the martial song. The echo of their mingled voices borne A thousand years from land to land. With us, ye bards of freedom, stand, Come, hold meet chorus here on this high festal morn. Ye owe it to the host that died. The martyr host on (Eta's side ; To later fields, where Despots fell At Freedom's glancfe, by you beloved so well ; 2 An island in Somersetshire, where Alfred secretly collected his followers until they were numerous enough to attack the invaders. 3 Brixton was near this forest ; the place where the king's sud- den appearance with a large army first struck dismay into the Danes. 282 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES; To future ages is the chorus due, When Glor/s watchword shall be WATERLOO ! Mighty the Chief that asks your strain, Twice let the laurel bind his brow ; 'Twas wreathed of yore for rescued Spain, The Muse's Champion claims it now. But not rapt Muse, nor bright-eyed Science here, Nor Wisdom's hoary brow alone revere ; These cloistered walks in reverence tread. So may you hear a holier sound Oh ! should the living fail, the dead Will breathe it from the hallowed ground ; Will call on heart and hand to fight For the true creed, the Church's rite. No warrior deed of prowess high May match that bloodless victory. All hail thou truest hand, thou firmest breast ! Thus may thy latest fight be made, And on thy country's altar laid ; Thus may thy sword be sheathed, thy * sword in myrtles drest." G. K. MORRELL, St. John's. CONGRi^TULATORY ADDRESSES. 283 Idem Pacis eras, mediusque belli. HoR. ii. 19. When Conquest's tide and Triumph's breezes bore Our war-worn legions to their native shore ; When baffled Strife her blood-stained banner furl'd, And Peace smil'd gladly on the wearied world ; Thine was the palm : and, for her freedom won, Triumphant Europe thank'd thee Wellington ! Yet though such martial trophies deck thy brow, Put not aside a humbler chaplet now : And if, as speeds yon sun his course of flame, Thy eastern dawn, thy brilliant noon the same ; The dazzled world hath watch'd thee, soaring high Through the wide range of glory's trackless sky : Yet, as that sun, when past his mid-day glare. And evening's dews have cool'd the burning air, O'er the still landscape throws a lovelier light, Soften'd, not quench'd, more gentle, not less bright. Oh ! thus, since hush'd the strife, and quell'd the foe. Be thy calm triumphs like that sunset glow. 284 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Then come, oh ! come for thee the Muses smile, Forget thy warrior sternness for a while ; Be thine the fame these classic haunts afford, With bloodless laurel twine thy victor sword ; Be thine the hand, to guard, with hallow'd care, The wreath that patient Science toils to wear ; To check youth's ardent fires, whene'er they stray From Virtue's path, and Truth's celestial ray. Light be the labour that awaits thee here. May no dark storm, no threat'ning cloud appear ; May no rash hands assail our hallow'd shrine, Nor seek to mend our fabric's pure design. Marring, all blindly, each proportion fair. That Time hath seem'd, as though in awe, to spare ; Still may young Genius, as in days of yore. Muse o'er the page of Academic lore : Yet ne'er forget while pond'ring on each thought Greece nurst of old, or Roman sages taught That holier faith, to man in mercy giv'n. The Christian's law on earth, his hope in Heav'n ; Still be that faith our solace and our guide, Be thou our Guardian, and thy name our pride. But ! should thy country call thee yet again To lead her warriors to the battle plain ; Call thee, from Oxford's peaceful shades afar, To wield the brand, and wake the din of war ; CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 285 Then she, whose robes of science deck thee now, Shall clasp the laurell'd helmet on thy brow ; With that proud joy, which heroes' mothers feel, Her hand shall gird thee with the trusty steel ^ Her hopes be with thee in the distant soil. Her prayers invoke a blessing on thy toil; And if just Heaven thy glad return decree. Her voice shall welcome Victory and Thee. JOHN W. WING, University. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Mediaque in valle theatri Circus erat, quo se multis cum millibus heros Consessu medium tulit, exstructoque resedit ; Invitat pretiis animos, et praemia ponit. ViRG. ^n. V. 288. If e'er, to greet some laurell'd Hero's name, Breath'd soft the note, or swell'd the loud acclaim ; Or Science, proud the Warrior Chief to own, Stoop'd in glad homage from her cloistered throne ; Be ours the task, while hush'd the pageant throng, To lead bright Fancy's gallant train along ; Bid Memory, rich with storied spoils of age. Unfold the treasures of her blazon'd page ; And tell how each fair blossom of thy youth In bright succession ripen'd into truth ; How Hope prophetic mark'd thy eagle flight. Soaring, with upturned gaze, above the empyreal height. Ye frowning towers, where erst in dense array, Dawn'd on Seringa's sons their fated day ! Say with what heart he won th' embattled height. The Chieftain still, yet foremost in the fight ; Say, did pale Fear his untried courage dim. Quench his fierce glance, or chill the palsied limb ? CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 287 No ! to that iron frame, and stately brow, Might Freedom's self, and free-born Valour bow. The turban'd Moslem bent the subject neck, And awe-struck Rajahs trembled at his beck. Fair Argaum's plains, brave Chief, thy prowess own, Gawilghar falls, and leaves her place unknown. Thee, Zealand, next thy glittering flag unfurl' d Survey 'd avenger of the northern world ; When Denmark, tow'ring in her pride of place, Droop'd her dark wing, and sued the Captor's grace. But greater praise was thine, when heard afar. Fierce o'er Iberia rose the cry of war ; When lawless Triumph pealed the loud alarm, And freedom quail'd beneath a tyrant's arm; While fell Ambition, o'er the captive land. Waved her red scourge, and hurl'd the deadly brand ; Then flash'd thy sword, as fitful streams on high The meteor light, that fires the northern sky. Where Ebro roU'd her chafing tide along. And Tagus glitter'd with the martial throng ; Where Douro, proud thy Warrior feet to lave, Smoothed her dark streams, and hush'd the plashing wave. As gliding singly 'neath the convent steep, With noiseless oar, the crowded galleys sweep. 288 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Lord of a thousand fields ! thy conquering hand, Chased the proud Foe, and awed his recreant band, Though erst in veteran state, uprear'd on high, Thron'd on his crest, sat sullen Victory ; ^ Though ruthless legions, at his stern behest. The treasures gathered of the sacred nest ; While crouching Europe fear'd the spoiler king, Hush'd her mute cry, and droop'd the cowering wing. * Yet still untana'd from Ilva's shores afar, The captive Tyrant sounds the note of war ; His serried legions, o'er the Belgian height. Wend their dark way, and hail the coming fight ; Then Vengeance woke, nor wearied with the fray. Till, gorged her reeking blade, she slumber'd o'er the prey. Then, hymn'd in joy, enraptur'd harpings spoke, Europe once more her death-like stillness broke. Thy native isle her festive myriads pour'd, To greet with paean strains her trophied lord : 1 till plumed Victory Had made her constant stand upon their helmets. Massinger, Unnatural Combat. 2 See Isaiah x. 13, 14, and a Sermon by the Rev. Robert Hall, entitled " On the Sentiments appropriate to the present Crisis,'* wherein the passage is applied to the conquests of Napoleon Buonaparte. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. ^9 Then mirth triumphant through Britannia rung, And laureird wreaths on every portal hung ; Through all her coasts, with prayer and solemn lay, She hail'd the tidings of that glorious day; Proud o'er the wreck of Empires to proclaim, A nation's glory, and her Hero's fame. Nor only thus, on Memory's silent shore, ^ The tide of Hist'ry strews her treasur'd lore ; Not only thus, to greet thy high estate. Each bosom burns, with martial fire elate ; The storied name, thy peaceful reign confest. Shall lead in bloodless pomp each captive breast. Shall bid Ambition dread to lust for pow'r. Bid scowling Faction thirst for blood no more, Bid cruel Discord's madd'ning tumults cease. And yield the sceptre to the seraph Peace. WILLIAM HERBERT WOODHOUSE, Ch. Ch. 3 And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of Memory, images, and precious thoughts, Which shall not die, and cannot be destroyed. Wordsworth, Excursion, book vii. 7}(r{fxv <\>p^vS)v ^daeu ^schyl. (Jhoeph. 445. 290 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Marshal, demand of yonder Champion The cause of his arrival here in arms. Shakespear, Dear to the warrior is the proud array Of banner'd hosts impatient for the fray. Deep rapture dwelleth in the battle strife To him to all, that reck not of their life ; As on that reeking flank, and nostril wide, Wildly the war-steed dashes in his pride ; Sharp rings the steel on many a mailed breast, Yet proudly still the warrior's streaming crest, White as the foam wind-sever'd from the wave, Floats o'er the surge-like conflux of the brave. Yes, it is sweet though Freedom's blood may flow, Fame follows still to sanctify the blow ; And Glory's star, more bright amid the gloom, Hallows alike the trophy and the tomb. But holier, sweeter far, the tranquil bliss Breath'd o'er his spirit in an hour like this ; When from his brow the helm is laid aside, And peace hath robb'd his bosom of its pride ; CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 291 When in the courts of Honour's crowded hall, For him glad thousands hold their festival ; When Science welcomes back her warrior son, And Wisdom twines the wreath by Valour won ; When myriad lips, responsive to the swell Of the full heart, his praise in thunder tell; And Beauty's eye, more eloquently grave, Sends down its silent greeting to the brave : When they the good, whose love is more than fame, Spread that best, brightest halo round his name : And, like a stream, the glad song rushes free, Flinging its scanty tribute to the sea ; Moves not that peaceful throng his spirit more Than War's death- waking trump or Battle's onward roar ? Welcome ! thrice welcome ! to our festive hall The breast that aye was bar'd at Honour's call Should shine in Honour's garb the arm that drew Stern Freedom's brand, should share her beauty too ! Welcome ! what other gift can Learning bring ? What wreath unworn is left her yet to fling ? Thine own strong hand hath grasp'd the laurel bough, Shall others twine the olive for thee now ? No Roman pageant claims thee as its part, Thine is the bloodless triumph of the heart. u2 292 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Thou need'st no venal eye thy spoils to scan, No hireling lip to whisper, " Thou art Man.*'i Thine is a praise not heard but felt afar. Like the still song of some earth-worshipp'd star : Thine is the deathless hymn of onward time ; Thine is a mingled wreath from many a clime. There, like a sister, Gallia's lily glows In holy union with the Island rose ; And, cloth'd in beauty, India's lotos blue, Flings o'er each drooping flower its treasur'd dew : There, trampled oft, but strong to bloom again. Lives the torn branch of liberated Spain ; And Lusitania's laurel, snatch'd before Its wonted green was dyed in kindred gore. Such was thj chaplet but a brighter now Leaves the cold helm to live upon thy brow ; With greener leaf, and brighter flowers than they, Though sought in danger, found amid the fray : A wreath unstain'd by blood, undimm'd by tears, Snatch'd not from death, unwithering with years. A civic crown for him, who, doubly brave, Rush'd on to slay then turn'd again to save 5 ^ Alluding to the slave who sate behind the Roman conqueror in his triumphal car, to remind him that, amid his glory, he was but man. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 293 Who, in the senate, firm as in the field, Alike in both un practised how to yield, First quell'd the foe and, when the fight was done, Upheld that freedom which his sword had won. Well hast thou woo'd, like Pericles of old, Love from the wise, and honour from the bold. Deep hast thou stamp'd in memory's viewless page The warrior's strength, the wisdom of the sage : And now once more in Learning's sacred fane Isis beholds another Warrior reign. Where iron Cromwell, erst with zealot sway, Snatch'd her torn wreath, her sceptre rent away, A nobler guest, a spirit mightier yet. Sunlike repairs the splendour that has set ; And flings far o'er thy stream its orient ray. Bright with the cloudless promise of the day. Long be that day ! and still may Isis see Her Guide, her Champion, Warrior ! in thee. Long may her sons, from Learning's classic grove. Around thee throng to honour and to love. The helm may rust, the laurel bough may fade. Oblivion's grasp may blunt the Victor's blade. But that bright, holy wreath which Learning gives, Untorn by hate, unharm'd by envy, lives Lives through the march of Tempest and of Time, Dwells on each shore, and blooms in every clime : 294 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Wide as the space that fills yon airless blue, Pure as the breeze, and as eternal too, Fair as the night-star's eve-awaken'd ray, But with no morn to chase its fires away. 'Tis thine ! 'tis thine ! behold, far-flashing now, Its guardian flame burns brightly o'er thy brow That Vestal flame which Learning loves to shed O'er th' undying memory of the dead. Anticipates the tomb, and poureth free Its living lustre, Wellington, for thee ! JOH,N GRAHAM, Wadham. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 295 Age sinks to dust our venerable chief- Flow, freely flow, the tribute of our grief! Watch the pale twilight to its last dim ray, Then turn, and think, how brilliant was the day ! Tost in the varied shock of public life, Where leaders struggle forward in the strife. How prov'd, in every stage, his proud career, Not vain the fruits, his youth had gather'd here ! Learning had mark'd him for her own his mind By the pure streams of ancient lore refined, In daily commerce with the mighty dead. There struck his root, and on that substance fedj There framed his voice, and when he ceas'd from care, There found his solace, for his heart was there. And who shall fill his seat ? The heir of fame Has link'd with Oxford his immortal name. Can we forget what Time, that smothers all, Shall bury latest with Oblivion's pall Can we forget, when under one fell sway, Cow'ring and crouch'd, the shade of Europe lay, 296 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Who fled before the victor's reckless pride. To the last rock, that stems the western tide, Triumphant flight ! there firmly seated high, Roird back the broken wave of victory : Who, when the prison'd eagle burst his chain, And soar'd, exulting, to his skies again, Brought him to earth, and tam'd his tyrant wing, And clos'd our twenty years of sufi*ering ! So Rome, by steps, from fear to conquest grew, So, first sustained, then bafiled, last o'erthrew. With either arm, of prudence and of force. The mighty Carthaginian's sweepy course : Worn out, stern Fabius, by thy cool delay, And crush'd at once on Zama's fatal day. But it was hard for even Rome to find Skill, spirit, patience, in one chief combin'd, Heroes succeeded heroes, year by year ; We had one only and that One is here ! Shall Science in her pride a soldier spurn ? Say, can she nothing from a soldier learn ? The light, elastic loftiness of soul, The patient, hard, enduring self-controul, Th' ascendancy of mind, the skill to sway, Taught to command, by learning to obey To covet fame alone, and thirst for praise, " To scorn delights, and live laborious days/' CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 297 To set at nought self-interest and ease, These are their arts, and let us copy these ! And did the Hero sink in idle peace. When his own triumphs bade the conflict cease ? When the last echoes of the glorious fray- Died in low thunder sullenly away. Rested he then, as useless and unknown, Clos'd his career, his " occupation gone ?" He ruFd the state, when dark and troublous round, Gloomy and wild, the dubious tempest frown'd, He held the balance when he dropp'd the sword, ToiFd to preserve the peace he had restor'd. By grateful Europe sounded from afar. Her trust in council, as her shield in war. Recited by LORD MAIDSTONE, Ch. Ch. 298 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Quis novus hie nostris successit sedibus liospes ? Where shall we find a guardian meet For Alfred's sacred seat ? Lo ! Science in lier willowy vale, With earnest gaze, and pale, Seeks who may tend her hallowed flame, In hours of dread and shame : Nor vain her wistful search : but why Rests on that warrior form her calm, approving eye ? 'Tis not for wreaths by Tagus won, When Britain's Lion first came on ; For brightening Douro, freed from thrall, When frequent plung'd the flying Gaul ; Nor for Vittoria's trophied plain, Nor Salamanca's broken chain ; Nor for the heavy sword so true. Thrown in the scale at Waterloo, Where empires on the balance hung, And with the sound all Europe rung : 'Tis not for these the tower-crown'd vale Would hero-guest and guardian hail, But, in his country's peril bold and free. She sees her mark on him, true-hearted Loyalty. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 299 Where shall the warrior find his praise In sordid earth-dim m'd days? My country's spirit sat and mourn'd Her great Deliverer scorn'd : And searched the realms and oceans round Where he might best be crown'd. Nor sought in vain : now hear the spell, How fit our peaceful wreaths yon helmed brow so well . 'Tis not that o'er each time-worn hall Fair lights from holier ages fall, For cloister'd shade and hallow'd spring, Where Piety may fold her wing. And think of pure Heaven's Citadel, Reflected in Castalia's well ; Nor for old Greece renew'd in thee. Like Arethuse from 'neath the sea ; Nor that I know thee wise to wield And temper Truth's own sword and shield : 'Tis not for these I choose thy seat. My Hero's prize and guerdon meet. But for thy Lamps, that cheer the darkening sky With light from other days, true-hearted Loyalty. While Science here her garland weaves, While England's spirit lives, A viewless power, an airy chain Shall sweetly blend the twain ; 300 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. And far as breathes their wafted charm, Their favourites none shall harm. When wily tongue, and factious aim, Die unrecorded down, or live in deathless shame. Valour and Truth ! your galaxy Shall stream o'er England's evening sky. From whence in high-soul'd solitude She by her Royal Martyr stood, To where her latest warrior brought Calm eye, strong arm, and loyal thought To his wrong'd Sovereign's side, alone. And Isis wish'd such worth her own. Now firm 'gainst evil lore of France, As erst against the embattled lance. True Patriots ye : when tempests beat And darkness thickens round your feet, Serener heights your eyes shall greet. And breaking clouds, beyond the storm on high. Disclose th' ascending path of Heav'n-born loyalty. Recited by THE HON. W. L. T. HARRIS, O^IEL. CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 301 What thoughts of triumph crowd the musing soul At the bright dawn of this auspicious day, While 'neath this dome in mingled throng we hail All that of great or good our Country boasts ; We hail, in peaceful Learning's temple met, Whate'er in Arts or Arms, Senate or Field, Graces the noblest annals of the land ! Swiftly the glance of Memory ranges back O'er the long roll of Oxford's honour'd years To that old time when Alfred's patriot voice First woo'd the Muses to these hallow'd seats, First taught his rude barbarians the soft strength Of faith-attemper'd knowledge. Patriot Prince ! How beauteous 'mid thy savage times shines forth Thy gentle, brave, enduring, pious spirit. Bent to discharge a Heaven-determin'd trust. As one who own'd no other hope than Heaven ! Warrior and Sage ! best model of a king ! These are thy tokens ! fragrant here thy name Lives in each old time-honour'd monument, Lives in each loyal heart, by thee first taught To lift fair Wisdom's upward eyes to God ! 302 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. Oh ! if the spirits of the good may haunt This nether world, or from the empyrean seats Behold whatever of blessedness betides Their not degenerate progeny nought else Surely his heart was stirr'd with holiest joy While in their suffering master's cause, his sons Stood forth the champions of discrowned right, And with the words of Wisdom dash'd the pride Of rebel conquerors 1 Nor less when clad In the coarse vest of martyrs (strange ! the garb Most precious in the sight of holy heaven Should be but vile and base to dim-eyed men !) Cranmer or Ridley yielded his pure breath, And grasp'd the palm, by angels (scarce unseen) E'en 'mid the sevenfold flame, to faith bestow'd ! Nor all unfit e'en for the festal morn, For beaming eyes of mirth, and bounding veins. This strain of deeper joy ! Thee, Wellington ! With no light-hearted pageant, idly drest, No transient burst of welcome, vain as loud. Doth Oxford hail to Hyde's and Grenville's seat ! True, while thy grateful country with thy praise Re-echo'd loud, and for a hundred fields Well fought, from India's suns, e'en to the gates Of the Imperial City bless'd thy name, With loyal heart old Oxford joy'd to watch CONGRATULATORY ADDRESSES. 303 The course of Freedom, led by Thee ! for ne'er Thy sword was drawn but to defend the right, Nor ever sheath'd before the right was won ! Yet not alone for warlike feat, nor e'en The modern Giant crush'd, and the fell brood Of frantic Lust and wilful Anarchy, Blend we the olive with the bay, and bind The wreaths of Peace upon our soldier's brow. To thee, tried friend of noble Loyalty, (The parent she of Liberty high-soul'd. Of generous Virtue, Peace, and Public Love,) Doth loyal Science at thy feet lay down Her choicest offering ; pleas'd with her faint notes To swell, as best she may, the world's applause. And deck her Hero's, Patriot's, Statesman's name ! Recited by E. CARDWELL, Balliol. THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. Questo che dice ? e che risponde Quell' altro fuoco ? e chi son que' che '1 fenno? Dante, dell' Inferno. Canto viii. September's sun yet lends his parting ray, To gild the " Sacred City's" latest day^ The light, in thousand hues reflected, cast A varied splendour, as it smil'd its last ; The silent waters of fair Moskwa's stream, With trembling met the many-colour d beam ; Still round the mystic cross ^ its glances play, To greet the pilgrim on his weary way ; Oft as beneath his view that cross arose. He hail'd the sign of Mercy and Repose ; 1 Napoleon entered Moscow on the evening of the 14th of September. 2 The cross of Ivan the Great, on the steeple of the Kremlin, to the possession of which the Russians attached the salvation of their empire. 306 THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. First with a hurried look the scene explor'd, Exulted, doubted, trembled, and ador'd. No pilgrims these, who fast and faster still In bristling masses crown " Salvation's Hill;"^ There gaily float, to northern winds unfurl'd, The war-worn standards of a distant world. Austria, though dimm'd the brightness of her star, Sends her pale legions to th' unwilling war, And Prussia's fetter'd eagle drags along Her drooping wings, and cowers amid the throng. On that bold front where shines the snow-white plume, Naples ! ^ thy crown of roses lov'd to bloom ; And see how proudly in the van advance Thy veteran legions, still imperial France ; From where proud Rhine each moss-grown castle laves, To where Garonne rolls soft her silver waves, Thy warrior force one master spirit wields, The mighty relic of a hundred fields. Why that deep pause ? that silence of the grave Which chills the foremost and repels the brave ? 3 " It is called the Hill of Salvation because on its summit the inhabitants, at sight of their holy city, cross and prostrate them- selves." Segur's Expedition to Russia, lib. viii. 4. ^ Murat, king of Naples, commanded the cavalry of the French army. THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. 307 Is it Devotion's sacred power imparts A late repentance to the victors' hearts ? Or joy, that bursting from the throbbing breast, Springs to the lips, but may not be expressed ? Or is it His sole presence, which controls The eddying tumult of their troubled souls ; And like the tempest soaring from above. Spreads its dark wings o*er all who breathe and move ? That moment's pause, and then, ah ! who can scan Thy swift emotions, wayward heart of man ! The gorgeous splendours which before them rise, The turrets, brilliant with a thousand dyes ; The painted cupolas, the glitt'ring fanes. Where Asia's wealth in pomp barbaric reigns ! As brightly o'er each eye the vision came, Rush'd back the thought of empire and of fame ; Fair hopes like bright'ning mists, in joy exhale. And " Moscow," " Moscow," swells the rising gale. No sounds responsive echo to that cry. Or hurl defiance through the polar sky. Frowning aloft, yet sunk in silence deep. The Kremlin's giant strength appears to sleep Like some huge form, as Eastern legends tell. Of sense bereft by the magician's spell. Though colour, figure, feature, still survive, Nor breath nor motion, in the image live. x2 308 THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. Or as those Tombs, which regal pride, in vain, In triple grandeur raised on Egypt's plain. Without they speak in wonder, fear, and dread ; Within a chamber for the silent dead ! City of Princes ! dost thou weep alone. And, like the Phrygian matron, mourn in stone ? But yester morn, pale with her doubtful light. Broke on thy sorrowing children's tardy flight. As each with noiseless step his home forsook, Fond Mem'ry linger'd in his parting look. Slow as they pass each lovely spot appears Still lovelier from the dream of former years ; Here blushing youth, his timid partner led To seek a blessing on their bridal bed ; And there the firstborn's lisping accents strove T' impart fresh rapture to a mother's love ; Yonder to Heaven resign'd its gentle breath. And clos'd its eyelids in the sleep of death : But not the spot to early sorrow dear, So often hallow'd by a father's tear ; Nor those soft-smiling scenes of early love. The Patriot purpose of their souls could move ; From all that charms or gladdens, parted now. No more their lives in one smooth stream shall flow. Of Home, of all but vengeful Hope bereft, Honour, undying Honour, yet is left ; THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. 309 Nor shall th' insulting victor e'er oppress The Fearless Wanderers of the Wilderness. Night's pitying shadows veil thy destin'd shame, Fair City, " cradle of thy country's fame !" Within thy walls the Conqueror courts repose. With no accustom'd joy his bosom glows ; None sought his presence, none there were to greet His banner'd march along each desert street ; Silent he rode, and glared from side to side, While doubts unwonted shook that heart of pride ; Each marble palace, and each gilded tow'r. In silent splendour seem'd to mock his pow'r ; None finds he to condemn, and none to spare, For man's free spirit dwells no longer there ! Conqu'ror of Europe ! still dost thou repine ? Not Timour's glories ever equall'd thine ! Thine is the Kremlin, thine the storied site. Of Tartar sway, the throne of Scythian might : And did'st thou deem in vain the Scythian fled ? And that in vain the Tartar pow'r seem'd dead? Already the avenging Angel, bright With wings of flame, has pierc'd the depths of night; Light from those wings he scatters as he flies, While lurid meteors flash along the skies. They glanc'd so far, that mid the desert wild, The houseless mother hush'd her startl'd child. 310 THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. And rous'd the toil-worn warrior from repose, To smile in vengeance o'er his baffled foes. Pillar of Glory ! not thy sacred fire Could Israel's sons with purer hope inspire, Or in more sure and sacred portents spoke, When God's own people burst th' Egyptian yoke ; And, guided by thy splendour, hov'ring near, In the blest vision lost all sense of fear. Brief hours have passed each moment Rumour brings Still heavier tidings on her thousand wings. Forth issuing from the earth, the flames embrace Their fated prey, and speed from place to place. Here volum'd clouds, with sulphurous breath impest The air, and drive th' invaders from their rest : There sinks in one pure light the hallow'd fane, Yet unpolluted by a foreign stain. Where guileless youth its earliest vows had pour'd, And sterner age had fault'ringly adored : The wide Bazaar, within whose stately walls, A kingdom's ransom fill'd the golden halls. Rich as the fabled Phoenix' funeral bed. In one full blaze of perfum'd flame has fled. Tow'r kindles tow'r, and fires on fires arise To aid the dreadful death the tempest flies, Speeds with the swiftness of the mountain storm, To where the Kremlin rears his iron form ; THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. 311 With wreathed flames his regal towers are crown'd, While hollow whirlwinds dance and moan around. The light, unearthly, gleaming far and wide, Discloses where with stealthy footsteps glide Wretches, whose breasts no hope of heav'n can cheer, Unmov'd by pity, and unaw'd by fear, E'en in their country's woes denied to share, Abhorr'd and outcast e'en from her despair ! ^ Reclin'd in lordly halls, the wounded sought To soothe each pain, and calm each anxious thought : In careless groups the wearied soldiers lie. Or worn with care, or sunk in revelry ; How many in sleep's fairy visions roam, Restor'd a moment to their long-lost home. Blest with the greetings of the lips they love, Through well-remember'd scenes of rapture rove ! While yet the new-found bliss fresh joy imparts, The assassin's steel invades their throbbing hearts, Answers one thrilling cry the stroke of fate, 1 Thro' domes, whose vastness grows more desolate. Fierce burn the flames, that waft to yonder skies The incense of the patriot sacrifice ; But fires more fierce the Victor's bosom fill, Rage in his heart, and thro' his life-blood thrill. 5 It was said that this banditti had been released from prison by the Russian generals for the purpose of burning Moscow. 312 THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. Ambition hopes of Empire Ruin roll In dark confusion o'er his prostrate soul : It is not fear, nor panic terror speak, In the pale marble coldness of that cheek ; The virtue, which he treated as a dream. Unreal, as the Moon's inconstant beam The air-drawn vision of the anchorite Imagination's offspring Fancy's sprite In deeds of deep resolve now stands confest. And pours conviction o'er his tortured breast, Full well he knew the courage of his foes To dare, to combat, while life's current flows To die, and dying still how often hung His country's honour on each quiv'ring tongue But that the electric spark at once should dart. Thro' a whole people, as one single heart ; In Love of country sink all human ties And melt in thinnest air life's sympathies ! That Love of country which unblemish'd dread, Inspires the living, sanctifies the dead Pure, as the waters of the crystal spring Unblemished, as the dove's all spotless wing Dread, as the voice of conscience still and grave, At midnight breathed, o'er souls that Heaven would save The damp, whose chilling coldness marks his brow. Proves that he feels and fears its magip now. THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. 313 By their own hands their much-lov'd homes were fir'd, By their own hands their thousand fanes expired ; ^ Thy boast is true, and Moscow owns thy sway Not Moscow glitt'ring in the light of day With palaces and towers th' unrivall'd mart Of Asia's wealth and Europe's costly art But smouldering ashes at thy feet are pour'd, The Scythian's tribute to his foreign lord ! Oh ! hadst thou sought in Moscow's brilliant flame The funeral pile of thy unconquer'd fame ! But 'twas denied thee ; shall the invader die, v And his great end be theme for minstrelsy ? His deeds the envy of the brave and young, By heroes honour'd, and by poets sung, No ! long enduring sorrows wait thy view, Hardships unknown, and treach'ry ever new, Fate has decreed that, e'en before thine eye, Thy comrades sink in utmost misery : Thy tried companions, those undaunted bands. Who fought unharm'd on Syria's burning sands, 6 Outre les incendiaries apostes, des particuliers allumaient euxmemes leurs propres maisons sans en avoir 16911 I'ordre, et uniquement par un mouvement de rage contre les ennemis. Histoire de la Campagne de Russie par Monsieur le Comte de Boutourlin. Ch. v. 314 THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. Impetuous rush'd o'er Lodi's bridge of death, And twin'd their temples with Marengo's wreath ; These thou shalt see, still men in outward form. Shiver beneath the unknown polar storm ; Or idiots,7^ dancing round the watchfire's blaze. Fix on their once lov'd friends their vacant gaze ; The deserts' sons shall hover ever near,^ Mock at their woes, and chide their gibb'ring fear. The Patriots* fire restrained thine onward way, And Famine's self forbade thy farther stay, And in thine abject flight, shall horrors reign Worse than the bard e'er sung, or poets feign. Till all, that Dante told of pangs intense, That wring the guilty soul's undying sense Where to the fiery torrents' endless glow Succeeds the drear abyss of ice and snow Weighed with thy torments, foil'd Ambition ! seem The phantom terrors of a fev'rish dream. ' " Many became idiots ; and unable any longer to recognize their dearest comrades." Vid. Compte de Segur. Russian Campaign, 8 " II a su que les grenadiers fran9ois, dont TEurope ne parle encore quavec respect, etoient devenus lejouet de quelques juifs, de quelques vieilles femmes de Wilna," etc. Consideration sur la Revolution Francoise de Madame de Stael. Art. Le retour de Russie. THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. 315 Thy star has set ; the faith that made thee great Yet prov'd thee mean thy fond belief in Fate, Is crush'd : and oh might Mercy's rays illume The mind, where Destiny reposed in gloom ! Who bade the whirlwind rage, the fiery blast. Whelm in one wreck the Present and the Past ? That mighty Being, who in one short hour Hurl'd the Assyrian from his Pomp and Pow'r, And made the haughty Persian trembling fly, Too weak to conquer and too mean to die : HE fails not now one pitying ray to fling Where Retribution folds her blood-stain'd wing One awful ray 'tis Heaven's approving smile. When Freedom lights her torch at Moscow's burning pile. WILLIAM ROBERT SEYMOUR FITZ-GERALD, Oriel College. J835. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. The Knight's bones are dust, And his good sword rust, His soul is with the Saints, I trust." The Knights' Tomr Oh Memory ! as Boyhood's years roll by How many a vision fades from Fancy's eye, How many a golden dream of days long past And airy hopes, too fair, too bright to last ! All, all are gone. The wild Arabian tale, Aladdin's lamp, and Sinbad's magic sail. These have no power to chain the listening ear, Or hush the soul in ecstasy of fear : Untenanted, unhaunted now, the hill, The lonely heath, the waving woods, are still ; Fairies no more beneath the moon's pale light Reveal their mystic dance to mortal sight ; Each shadowy form grows dim ; and we deplore A splendour that is seen on earth no more. Yes it is Manhood's haughty right to quell Young Fancy's fire, and break the darling spell ^ 318 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. To strip the mind of all she valued most, And grant her no return for what she lost. Land of Romance, Farewell ! Yet though we part With these fond superstitions of the heart. Oh let us not in scornful wisdom deem These old memorials but a baseless dream. Mere phantoms idly raised to while away The lingering hours of some long summer's day. Far otherwise they think, who best may scan The powers at work within the heart of man. They know how heavenly pure the soul should be Which Fancy's gentle thraldom hath made free, They know how pensive thoughts may best arise To kindle Nature's holiest sympathies, The deep affections of the breast to move, And call to life the strong, meek power of love. Visions like these float swiftly through the mind. Like the soft Sowings of the voiceless wind. Have ye not seen the shadow-stains that glide On gleamy days along the mountain side, How they unveil in every green recess Strange, mingling scenes of power and loveliness, And then in stately pomp ride on ? So too Imagination's gay, though transient, hue Discloses to the Reason's inward eyes Somewhat of Nature's depths and mysteries. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 319 And thus with You, fair Forms of days gone by Glories of Song, high Feats of Chivalry! Cold were the man whom tales of ladye-love And knightly prowess had no spell to move. Such were the strains that gushed like living fire From the wild chords of Ariosto's lyre ; Or from that harp, alas ! too soon unstrung, That to the Tweed's wild dashings sweetly rung. Whose mourning waves still softly bear along The dying echoes of her poet's song. Holiest of Knighthood's gallant sons were Ye, A sainted band, the Knights of Charity ! Twas not an earthly guerdon that could move Your gentle Brotherhood to acts of love. Fame's silver star, and Honour's dazzling meeds. And Glory reaped in Battlers daring deeds. These could not lure those hearts to mercy given. Who, poor on earth, were rich in hopes of Heaven. Yes ! it was well in those dark days of old Europe should wonder as her Pilgrims told How haughty warriors left the lordly hall For the rude cells of that poor Hospital, ^ 1 In the Hospital, the Knights wore a black vest, with a White Cross of eight points on the left breast. In the Camp, the White Cross on a red vest ( Vide infra. ) 320 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. And bade Ambition's restless throbbings cease At the still watchword of the Prince of Peace. How along Salem^s streets, in sable vest, The Silver Cross emblazoned on the breast, The lowly Brothers moved with hurried tread To tend the wayworn pilgrim's dying bed. And give, for Christ's dear name, to that dim hour Religion's awful, consecrating power. Peace to that ruined City ! peace to those Whose sainted ashes in her vaults repose ! There, when the Arabian Prophet's countless throng Rolled, like an Eastern locust-swarm, along, And blight came down upon the nations, there St. John's bright banner floated in the air, Curling its glossy folds against the sky, While clarions pealed, and pennons waved on high. One speechless look, one silent prayer to Heaven, And, hark ! the Christian's battle-cry is given : The dauntless knights thrust back the advancing flood, And Siloa's brook runs red with Moslem blood. Alas ! fair Salem ! Piety may weep O'er the dark caverns where thy champions sleep. There stern Disorder strews along the ground Fragments of elder, holier days around. And Ruin rears aloft her ghastly form, Dim-shadowed in the blackness of the storm. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN e*^2l Nor feathery nopal-tree, nor spreading palm ^ Shed o'er thy hills their wildly-graceful charm. Few flowers are there, but round each falling tomb In scattered tufts bright orange-lilies bloom, Bursting from out their silvery, gauzelike sheath To smile in beauty o'er the shrines of death. And cedars crown the hills, a silent band. The only warders of thy wasted land ; Thine only troubadour the Southern breeze Singing his quiet song among those ancient trees. Vainly for you, brave Knights, did Europe pour Her ardent bands upon that sacred shore. Vainly St. Louis' Oriflamme rode high In gleamy splendour on the Eastern sky, Far in the swarthy vales, where ancient Nile Rolls his rich flood round many a lotus-isle. Too fruitful harvest of the Paynim lance, There lay thy chosen sons, unhappy France ! Vainly did Edward lead the bannered host While England's war-cry ran along the coast ; The Saracens rolled on, and thousands fell Before the cohorts of the infidel, And bright above the eddying tide of war The conquering Crescent glittered from afar 2 See Chateaubriand's minute description of the scenery near Jerusalem. Travels, vol. i. chap. 2. 322 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. Yet still, where Carnage fiercest swept the field, The Crimson Vest, like lightning, shone revealed; Still, still they come, the Warrior-Brothers come Where on the ruined altars of their home Are hung bright crowns of holiest Martyrdom ! That glory hath gone by ! On Judah's shore The Christian soldier plants the Cross no more ; And Acre's ramparts, wasted Ascalon, Mourn for the gallant Brothers of St. John. And sadly now, brave Knights, upoi) the seas Your fading banner droops, as though the breeze That wooed its silken folds to play, had come From the green hills that were that banner's home. There on his deck the silent Warrior stood Scanning with sternest gaze the heaving flood, As if to find in those dark depths below Some magic talisman to soothe his woe. He dared not eye the sunny land that lay In the blue distance many a mile away ! Well might that glory pass !* Her icy hand Had Superstition laid on that dear land. - Without presumptuously attempting to throw light on the dark dealings of a Providence, which cannot err, is it too much to attribute the loss of Palestine to the growing corruptions of the pure Faith by Relic- Worship, for which the possession of the Holy Land furnished too abundant opportunities ? THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 323 And was it strange that as the Pilgrim trod In pensive silence up the Mournful Road,^ And marked with fond affection's eager eye Where the Redeemer was led forth to die Oh ! was it strange in such an hour to feel A dim, a shadowy dread around him steal, (Not the unholy, restless fear that springs From out the bitterness of earthly things,) A hallowed dread, that lulls the soul to rest And whispers peace and gladness to the breast, Shedding around our path, where'er we move, The deathless lustre of intensest love. Nor doubt that true Devotion still might be Bright through the mists of fond idolatry : Go, seek some chancel when the moonbeams throw Their cold, chaste radiance on the tombs below, Where the young Novice her lone vigil keeps. And o'er some sacred relic prays and weeps : Go, mark her heaving breast, her streaming eyes Upraised in speechless fervor to the skies. And read that love, which words may not express, In the pale depth of their blue silentness ! Far o'er the waves those gallant Warriors roam To win in other climes another home. 5 " La ^^ia Dolorosa." y2 324 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. Four years they fought, fair Rhodes, 'gainst leaguered powers, To plant their banner on thine ancient towers : They fought and conquered. On the Grecian seas In fearlesss triumph ride their argosies, Where erst the pirate-barques were wont to sweep In haughty lordship o'er the Lycian deep. No more the lone felucca seeks to glide Round the tall headlands on the summer tide. Or smoothly steals along from shore to shore, Charming the ear of night with muffled oar. But Moslem hatred sleeps not : and a day Which ne'er from Time's dark book shall fade away, Is fast advancing now. Ah ! who shall tell What met thy gaze, thou lonely Sentinel, When, standing watchful on St. Stephen's hill, The City lay below thee, fair and still ? In reddening streaks that peaceful April morn ^ Across the sea the first faint light was borne. The calm ^gean spread her breast of blue To skies of deeper yet, and lovelier hue, 6 " In the end of April 1480, the grand armament entered the Lycian waters : and the Rhodian sentinel stationed on the summit of Mount St. Stephen, a hill two miles from the city, notified by signal that the Crescent was in sight." Sutherland's Achievements of the Knights. of St. John, vol. ii. p. 9. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 325 To Grecian skies ! And there old Asia lay Touched with the golden hand of early day ; And wide beneath him stretched his native isle, Bright with an Eastern spring-tide's magic smile. Meadows of flowering myrrh perfume the breeze^ That freshens o'er the bosom of the seas : And there yon forest's leafy depths entwine Their budding foliage round the Parian shrine ; And delicate wild-roses too have thrown Their blushing chaplets round the chiselled stone In natural gracefulness : to morning's rays The laurel-rose her gaudy gem displays, Where the soft-rippling streamlet gently moves Winding with quiet lapse among the groves. Beautiful Island ! fair that morn wert Thou ; How passing fair in all thy ruin now ! Lo ! On the sea ten thousand Crescents gleam, Glancing and flashing in the rising beam : And thickly gathering sounds come sweeping by Of joyaunce loud and maddening minstrelsy ; And, wild and harsh, the cymbal-note is borne On the deep stillness of the breaking morn. '^ " Rhodes rises like a bouquet of verdure from the bosom of the sea. It still exhibits some splendid remains of its ancient fortifications, and the rich Asiatic vegetation which crowns and envelopes them imparts more grace and beauty than are to be seen at Malta." Lamartine's Tour, vol. i. p. 147, 148. 326 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. Mohammed's galleys come ! The Sentinel Rung from his lofty tower the larum bell, And, as its toll in startling accents spoke Of danger and of fear, the sleeping City woke ! Then came the battle's din : the cannon's roar Was echoed back from Caramania's shore ; And fearfully along that lovely sky Glared the red tempest of artillery. Dear was that triumph bought, Brave Chief, for thou,8 When Death came down upon thy laurelled brow, Didst in that hour with clear, prophetic eye The gathering storm of Eastern war descry : And, Rhodes, thy matrons might have spared the tear They shed so wildly o'er the old man's bier. They might have spared it for that bitter day When through thy shattered streets they took their way. And He,9 the generous Victor, wept to see The high-souled chieftain's peerless dignity, ^ Deeming a Christian had some magic power To bear him up in sorrow's darkest hour. 8 Peter d* Aubusson ; Thirty-eighth Grand-master ; called the JBuckler of Christendom." 9 Solyman the Magnificent. 1 Villiers de T Isle Adam ; Forty-second Grand-master. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 327 Where were thy tears, wide Europe, when the blast Of Paynim war o'er that fair island past ? And where thy gratitude, when Ocean bore That close-furled banner to the Latian shore ? Was it for you it oft had waved on high Decked in the crimson pride of victory ? Alas ! On far St. Elmo's castled steep It hangs its sullen splendours o'er the deep : Far from that hill around whose craggy base- A hundred villas shine with Eastern grace : No terraced vines, no lilied fields are here, Laughing in rich luxuriance all the year : No incense-breatliing gardens freight the breeze Making low music in the cypress trees : Ah no ! the hot sirocco's withering breath Flings o'er yon hills the arid hue of death, And the fierce sun looks glaring from on high As though a curse were in his broad, bright eye. There, like an Eagle in her rocky bower. The gallant Order braved the Moslem power ; While Europe echoed with their martial fame, And rung with La Valette's undying name. Alas ! 'twas as a gleam of glory shed From stormy skies upon the mountain's head* 2 The St. Elmo at Malta was so called from a hill of the same name at Rhodes. 328 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. That gleam is past : and England^s pennon now Floats gaily o'er St. Elmo's castled brow. Beneath that guardian pennon undismayed Wealth's busy votaries ply their peaceful trade ; And as Night's silent footfall steals along The Maltese boatman chants his even-song ; And lowly Wisdom loves to render yet The unavailing tribute of regret. Farewell, then, Gentle Warriors ! Once again 'Tis meet to raise the faintly-dying strain : 'Twas meet that when the pageantry of death Hung round the hero's tomb the laurel-wreath, 'Twas meet his Minstrel-Boy should linger near To weep alone upon his Master's bier. And often to the Warrior's silent cell From a far land soft dreams shall come to dwell j While busy Fancy marks with curious eye Tall helmet-plumes and bannered lines glance by. Or feeds her meditative soul from springs Of sunny thoughts and deep imaginings. Oh ! still in Memory's clear, pathetic light Shall live those dream-like Forms for ever bright ! Oh ! while undying spirits still must crave A better, nobler land beyond the grave. In lowliness the feeling heart shall come And watch by the Crusader's marble tomb. THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 329 Till the weird stillness of the cloistered air Steal o'er the soul, and charm it into prayer, And the strong-glancing, eagle eye of Faith See far into the tranquil things of Death ! FREDERIC FABER, 1836. University College. THE GIPSIES. SYNOPSIS. Quiet English scene Contrast of a Gipsy camp. The striking position of Gipsies, as exemplified in the influence which they exercise on society, and in their free and wandering life amongst the objects of external nature. Description of their first appearance in Europe ; the Legend then related by them their subsequent history, as under the influence of a Curse, exemplified in their remaining unchanged amongst all countries, while all else has changed in the peculiarity that they alone of all nations are without^ associations of home or country in the fact that their continual familiarity with natural beauty and solemnity has never awakened in them any feelings of religion Speculations as to their origin from Scythia from India from Egypt. Their position, as Egyptians, considered with reference to the Jews Hopes for the future from regarding the Gipsies as in some measure a type of the human race both in the analogy of their general character, and their restless life, as contrasted with the great want of our nature. Rest. *A<(>p^r(i)p^ aQ4iMi(rTos^ kviffrios. How sweet the scene a shrine of deep repose And solemn calm amid a world of woes ; The forest-skirts, along whose leafy maze And tall grey stems the green light gently plays ; 332 THE GIPSIES. The quiet lane, to whose wild hawthorn bowers The infant spring entrusts her earliest flowers ; The rose-clad cottagqs that cluster round, Each with gay porch and plot of flowery ground ; The patch of russet moor the joyous scene Of children sporting on the heathy green Is there a spot where Earth's dim daylight falls, That with such power all evil thought appals ; Where shade, air, waters all beneath the dome Of the blue sky, so speaks, so breathes of Home ? Fond dreamer, pause ! Why floats the silvery wreath Of light thin smoke from yonder bank of heath ? What forms are those, beneath the shaggy trees, In tattered tent, scarce sheltered from the breeze ? The hoary father and the ancient dame. The squalid children, cowering o'er the flame ? These were not born by English hearths to dwell. Or heed the carols of the village bell ; Those swarthy lineaments that wild attire Those stranger tones bespeak an eastern sire ; Bid us in Home's most favoured precincts trace The houseless children of a homeless race ; And, as in warning visions, seem to show That man's best joys are dimmed by shades of woe. Pilgrims of Earth ! who hath not owned the spell That ever seems around your tents to dwell, THE GIPSIES. 333 Solemn and thrilling as the nameless dread, That guards the chambers of the silent Dead ? The sportive child, if near your camp he stray. Stands tranced with fear, and heeds no more his play ; To gain your magic aid, the love-sick swain With hasty footstep threads the dusky lane ; The passing traveller lingers, half in sport And half in awe, beside your savage court. While the weird hags explore his palm to spell What varied fates those mystic lines foretel. Where be the Spirits that attend your will ? Where your dread ministers for good and ill ? The mighty storms your funeral dirges sing ; The gladsome flowers to greet your footsteps spring ; The murmuring streams your minstrel songs supply ; The moss your couch, the oak your canopy ; The sun awakes you as with trumpet-call Lightly ye spring from slumber's gentle thrall ; Eve draws her curtain o'er the burning west Like forest birds ye sink at once to rest : The busy world, with all its glittering show Of outward grandeur and of inward woe. Mars not with morning cloud or noonday glare The etherial freshness of your brighter air ; Free as the winds that through the forest rush Wild as the flowers that by the wayside blush 334 THE GIPSIES. Children of Nature, wandering to and fro, Man knows not whence ye come, nor where ye go Like foreign weeds cast up on western strands, Which stormy waves have borne from unknown lands ; Like murmuring shells to fancy's ear that tell^ The mystic secrets of their ocean cell. Drear was the scene a dark and troublous time ^ The Heaven all gloom, the wearied Earth all crime ; Men deemed they saw the unshackled Powers of ill Rage in that storm, and work their perfect will : Then, like a traveller, when the wild wind blows. And black night flickers with the driving snows, A stranger people mid that murky gloom Knocked at the gates of awe-struck Christendom ! No clang of arms, no din of battle roared. Round the still march of that mysterious horde ; ^ Applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences whereby, To his belief, the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea. Wordsworth's Excursion. 2 The Gipsies first appeared in Europe about the commence- ment of the fifteenth century, (Hoyland, p. 12.) a period of such universal misery in Christendom as to give rise to a popular opi- nion that it was the season in which Satan was loosed. THE GIPSIES. 335 Weary and sad, arrayed in pilgrim guise,^ They stood and prayed, nor raised their suppliant eyes; At once to Europe's hundred shores they came, In voice, in feature, and in garb the same ; Mother, and babe, and youth, and hoary age, The haughty chieftain,^ and the wizard sage : At once in every land went up the cry, " Oh ! fear us not receive us or we die !'' No lust of wealth, not scent of distant war. Nor wisdom's glory lures them from afar ; Tis not for these the Children of the night Have burst at once on realms of life and light ; Tis the dread Curse behind them and before That goads them on, till time shall be no more ; They claim no thrones they only ask to share The common liberty of earth and air Ask but for room to wander on alone Amid Earth's tribes unnoticed and unknown ! Few were their words, and broken was their tale,^ Mixed with wild tears and penitential wail ; 3 When they first made their appearance in Europe, they pre- tended to be pilgrims. Hoyland, p. 13. ^ Thus at Paris they were led by twelve dukes. ^ Their account of themselves amidst much variety seems to have agreed in this that they were performing penance for past sin. Thus, in Iraiicc, they gave out that they were condemned 336 THE GIPSIES. A tale of dark unexpiated crime, Of some dread Vision in the dim old time ; They spake of lovely spots in eastern lands, An isle of palms, amid a waste of sands Of white tents pitched beside a crystal well, Where in past days their fathers loved to dwell ; To that sweet islet came at day's decline A Virgin Mother with her Babe Divine ! ^ She asked for shelter from the chill night breeze, She prayed for rest beneath those stately trees ; She asked in vain what tho' was blended there A maiden's meekness with a mother's care ; What tho' the light of hidden Godhead smiled In the bright features of that blessed Child, She asked in vain they heard, and heeded not. And rudely drove her from the sheltering spot. Then fell the Voice of Judgment from above, " Who shut Love out, shall be shut out from Love ;7 to a seven years' wandering for apostacy from the Christian faith. Hoyland, p. 18. 6 " Aventinus delivereth, that they pretend for their vagabond course a judgment of God upon their forefathers, who refused to entertain the Virgin Mary and Jesus, when she fled into their country." Sir T. Browne, Vulgar Errors, book vi. c. 13. '^ " And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be * * Shut out from Love." THE GIPSIES. 337 " Who drive the houseless wanderer from their door, ** Themselves shall wander houseless evermore ; " Till He, whom now they spurn, again shall come, " Amid the cloudsof Heaven to speak their final doom.'* Scorn not the tale for well might fancy trace The hand of God upon that sinful race 3 Cities have fallen and empires passed away, Earth's giant forms waxed hoary with decay ; Since the lone people mid our moors and glades Looked heedless round, as on a world of shades ! By German streams, thro' England's good greenwoods, In Spain's deep vales, by India's ocean floods, By desert moor, huge cliff, or willow grey,^ Still the dark Wanderers meet us on our way ; Amid glad homes for ever doomed to roam In lonely woe, themselves without a home! The Negro slave returns in troubled dreams, To moonlight dances by his palmy streams; The Scythian hails, amid the solemn glooms Of dim ancestral groves, his fathers' tombs ; 9 The wandering Israelite from year to year Sees the Redeemer's conquering wheels draw near ; 8 " In Germany and Spain they shelter themselves under forests shaded by rocks ; and are partial to willows, under which they erect their sleeping places. " Hoyland. i^ See Herodotus, iv. 127. - 338 THE GIPSIES. Still dwells in thought, beneath the meteor light ^ Of Syrian skies by Zion's towery height ; Still loves on lonely Lebanon to gaze, Or track old Jordan through his thicket maze i^ On these alone no solitary star Of ancient joy beams kindly from afar ; No altar-hearth is theirs ! no common shrine, The central birthplace of a mighty line ; No blazoned ancestry of hero sires In lowly hearts to waken high desires ; No lay, no legend of a glorious past. Its living light mid present shades to cast; No blessed Isles, no rest beyond the grave ; No future King, omnipotent to save ; Even Nature's self, beneath whose constant eye ; They live and roam, in whose kind arms they die, In vain to them, with all a mother's love, Unfolds her charms around them and above ; The changeful smiles, the living face of light The steady gaze of the still solemn night 1 " The morning rays of the East are not, as in Europe, a vague and confused light but dart like arrows of fire of many colours from the common centre whence they all issue." Larpartine*s Pilgrimage, vol. ii. p. 2. 2 The Jordan is almost concealed by the thick covering of wood along its banks. Ibid. ii. p. 62, 64. THE GIPSIES. 339 Earth with her treasure-house of beauteous forms Air with her vast array of calms and storms Bright lakes, the glistening eyes of solitude, Girt with grey cliffs and folds of mighty wood All these are theirs but still from year to year To Nature's voice they turn a dull deaf ear ; Spring's joyous burst, and Summer's golden prime, Float o'er their senses like a drowsy chime ; Autumn's wan leaves and Winter's death-like snows To them alone no solemn truths disclose ; No hymn 3 of praise with Morn's bright incense blends, Thro' Eve's deep calm no wonted prayer ascends ; That sullen scowl, that wild and wanton leer Ne'er smiles in peace, nor softens into fear ; Yea, God and Man, the future and the past. Are but to them a chaos dark and vast One gloomy Present, one unchanged To-day, Stirred by no storm, and brightened by no ray. Speak, ye wild winds from Scythian ^ plains that blow, And tell this fearful mystery of woe ! Speak, glorious Ganges,^ from the snowy cell Of thy pure fountains speak, if thou canst tell ! 3 For the absence of religion among the Gipsies, see Hoyland, p. 44, 43. * Alluding to the theory which derives them from the Sigynnae ( Herodot. v. 9. ) or from Tartary. 5 Alluding to the theory deriving them from India. z2 340 THE GIPSIES. Fled tliey of yore, as some would fondly deem, From the dank groves that veil thy sea-like stream, What time stern Timur, with his savage band, Burst like a storm o'er Brahma's shrinking land ? Heard they the nations heave their long, last groans Amid the crash of Asia's thousand thrones? Speak, ye dead Forms, for countless ages hid By storied Sphinx or ancient Pyramid If early bards their tale aright have told Speak, for ye knew this wandering race of old, Speak the dread secret of your children's fall, And from the mist of years their golden times recall ! Say, can it be, that while this world was young. While yet Heaven's glory round her childhood hung In lonely splendour walked upon the earth The swarthy sires whence these derive their birth Of giant power of eagle's piercing ken Wisest and mightiest of the sons of men ? What if in yonder chief of tattered vest Glows the same blood that warmed a Pharaoh's breast? If in the fiery eye, the haughty mien. The tawny hue of yonder gipsy Queen, Still dwells the light of Cleopatra's charms. The winning grace that roused the world to arms, That called Rome's legions to a watery grave. And bound Earth's lord to be a woman's slave ? THE GIPSIES. 341 Lo, Mizraim's king-craft, of its glory reft, Is shrunk to petty deeds of midnight theft ! Lo, Egypf s wisdom only lives to pry Thro' the dark arts of paltry palmistry ! The salt that lacked all savour from above, The daring pride that knew no humble love. The priestly lore that worshipped all save God, Beneath the foot of man must evermore be trod ! Remnant of Ages from thy glory cast Dread link between the present and the past Where are the tribes that bowed beneath thy might, That drank from thee as from a fount of light ? One only race of all thy great compeers Still moves with thee along this vale of tears; Long since ye parted by the Red Sea strand ; Now face to face ye meet in every land ; Alone, amid a new-born world, ye dwell Egypt's lorn people, outcast Israel ! Like the Two Forms ^ in sackcloth garb arrayed. By the rapt Seer from Patmos' shores surveyed Prophets of ill, that stand in speechless woe On Earth's highway to bid the nations know How fallen they, who shone so bright of yore. One skilled in human, one in holier lore c Rev. xi. 3. 342 THE GIPSIES. How dark their fate, who turn to uses base Earth's highest wisdom Heaven's divinest grace ! Wanderers, farewell ! 'Tis not for erring man The mystic rule of God's decree to scan : Dark is the past ; yet still in clear expanse The Future spreads to Hope's imploring glance ; It cannot be so drear, so dark a spot God's glorious Universe for aye should blot ; '* It cannot be" at once with aweful cry The thousand kindreds of His earth reply : ** We, too, are fallen we, too, in deserts stray, *^ With bliss in sight with home beside our way : '' We, too, are deaf to messages of love, " Angels unheeded round our footsteps move : " This is a solemn world 7 a * dreadful' spot ^* The gate of Heaven and yet we know it not !" Oh ! weary days of promise long delayed Of glorious gifts with thankless scorn repaid When will ye end? Oh, when shall man's lost "race Among God's angels take its ancient place ? When shall this vagrant tribe of unknown birth Regain her rank among the realms of Earth ? 7 Genesis xxviii. 16. " He said, Surely the Lord is in this place ; and I knew it not. And he was afraid, and said. How dreadful is this place ! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." THfe GIPSIES. 343 When shall lost Israel seek his Father's throne, And hail a holier Zion than his own ? When shall God's Church her final rest attain, Pure from all blemish, washed from every stain ? Peace faithless murmurers ! Like the tranquil sky, Behind Earth's clouds, unseen, yet ever nigh. Though to and fro Man's restless hopes be driven. Still round us broods the changeless calm of Heaven; Still He, who knew not where His head to lay,* Who wearied sate beside the noontide way. He still would bid the lowering tempests cease That mar the vision of that perfect peace With spell divine would lull the troubled breast, And call the wayworn Wanderers to His rest ! There the lost pilgrim shall no longer roam. There the lorn outcast find a lasting home ! ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, 1837. Balliol College. THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. " The Stars in their courses fought against Sisera." Rock of the ocean o'er whose misty head The fleecy clouds their silvery vesture spread ; Rock of the Ocean on whose craggy side The vex'd Atlantic pours his angry tide, And foaming with his broken billows, raves To find such barrier 'mid his world of waves ! Though falls unfruitful on thy bosom grey Through the long year one bleak yet equal ray,^ The homebound Wanderer of the Southern Sea Through the long passage fondly thinks on Thee ; Views with deep joy upon the horizon streak The growing speck where soars thy distant peak ; Feels not thy valleys drear, thy mountains rude, Marks not their gloom, nor heeds their solitude : He only deems thy dark and beetling shore The joyful sign that half his toils are o'er ; 1 St. Helena is within the tropics. 346 THE EXILE OP SAINT HELENA. And finds in every face that throngs thy strand A pledge of welcome to a dearer land. Lone in thy strength; high-rear'd as though to give Rest from the storm, and bid the weary live, Meet shelter Thou, for one whose haughty mind Had proudly, vainly, battled with mankind ! There might he shun the storms of Earth, and spend The days of calm that Heaven may deign to send ; Unknowing hopes or fears, alike removed From all that hated, from the few who loved, Unvex'd by toils of war, or faction's strife, In meditative wisdom end his life ! There gaze on nature's mysteries, and find Music in waves, a voice in every wind ; Hold converse with the mountains ; in the storm Track the dark shadow of some angel-form : Then turn unto himself, and learn to scan With shame and awe the nothingness of man. Were these his thoughts, the Chief, whose noonday fame Knew nought it's equal, save his evening-shame ? Who, like the Bird that 'mid the stern array Of his own hosts, soar'd o'er the battle-day, In his first flights, fresh-plumed for victory, Made kings his quarry, and the world his sky ! THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. 347 Then stricken by the shaft he shunn'd before, Torn his bright crest, and clogg'd his wing with gore, Fast-fetter'd to thy rock, was doomed to bear The restless vengeance of his own despair ! Great while he soar'd, how low when once he fell ! Unlearnt the nobler task of yielding well. Not his, that heart to tame, that eye to close In the dull sleep of impotent repose : No martyr's patience his, no hero's pride ; He gnawed his chain and struggled till he died. Weep for the days, the days of shame and dread, When Europe shook beneath his iron tread ! Cower'd ; and awhile her gath'ring wrath restrained : Her thrones dishonor'd, and her shrines profan'd ! Wept o'er her wasted fields, her cold hearthstones, Her widows' anguish and her orphans' groans ; And happiest victims of that Moloch-charm Her warriors freed by Death's ennobling arm. Long, long delay'd, the hour of vengeance came ! Cure of her wrongs, and solace to her shame. When stung to frenzy banded nations broke From their gall'd necks the spurn'd and shiver'd yoke ; Arm'd for the deathful strife their thousand aids ; Forged their burst fetters into battle-blades ; And with stern hand replenished for the foe The bitter draught of retributive woe. 348 THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. Minion of Fortune, Child of Destiny, In thy last conflict was it hard to die ? Dire was the cast and brief! Now, now the time To grasp with strength the sceptre won by crime ! Love they, or fear before thee, or around Firm by thy side, or gasping on the ground Thou see'st thy Chosen ! every step a grave. They rush they break a fearless ceaseless wave ! And burns no spirit in thy breast to prove High deeds not all-unworthy so much love ? Mount lead the van and 'mid the foremost slain Die like a monarch, if thou canst not reign ? When from that field of carnage, waste, and dread, Tomb of his hopes, the throneless Chieftain fled, What might avail to shield him who control The flood of anguish bursting on his soul ? Shall Earth receive him ? Earth ! Where'er he trod Fresh slaughter steams up from the reeking sod ; Her plains are whitened with his victims ! Where, Where is the clime which bids him not despair ? Shall the rude Russ resign the desert-lance ? Shall Prussia's vengeance spare the fields of France ? Those late Oh ! triumph sprung from grief and shame Gazed from afar on Moscow's funeral-flame THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. 349 And Almaine's knightly hosts too well they view'd Rust on their steel, which nought might cleanse save blood : Her wrongs, whose soul, whose form, of yore had claimed The knightly succour of the fear'd and fam'd ; The young, the bold, the beautiful, whose eye Had struck to life a race of Chivalry ! Should air breathe darkness round him? Every wind Spake in deep accents to his conscious mind ! Fell, as the gale from Almotana^s seas,^ A kingdom's curse hung heavy on the breeze. One race, one element alone may give The aid unhop'd, and shield the fugitive : And well ^mid men and nature only they ! That race, those floods, alone had spurn'd his sway. Call not for blood nor dare again to yield The hard-won sword that arm so well can wield ! But from his tott'ring throne reluctant hurl'd, The scorn and wonder of a trampled world Leave him to prove upon that guarded coast, If airy dreams of pow'r and conquests lost, And vanished splendours of Imperial state Can gild the gloom now darkening o'er his fate, i The Dead Sea. 350 THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. And chase the maddening thoughts, too surely sent By conscious Guilt Guilt's deadliest punishment. Yet oft as memory brings to fancy's eye The scenes, the thronging forms of days gone by, Recalls the friendless boy, by fortune's smile Unblest, and far from his unhonour'd isle ; Marks step by step the wondrous path he trod. For vengeance fashion'd in the hands of God To scourge the nations, and abase the pride Of thrones, deem'd moveless 'ere so sternly tried Perchance e'en now the thought could call the streak Of redd'ning triumph to his ashen cheek ; And to his eye the sun beam once again Bright as he rose when monarchs strove in vain.^ Dream'd he of nought but triumph? Could that mind In the dread Past no gloomier image find ? No form who rising o'er the mist of years With brows whose laurels might not hide her tears, 3 " Austerlitz" fought Dec. 2nd, 1805. " Such," says Sir W. Scott " were the preparations for this decisive battle ; when three Emperors^ each at the head of his army, strove to decide the destinies of Europe. The sun rose with unclouded bril- liancy ; it was that * Sun of Austerlitz' which Napoleon upon so many subsequent occasions apostrophized, and recalled to the mind of hia^oldiers." THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. 351 And shivered steel, and breast where many a sear Mark'd the fierce onset of barbaric war Told him, his France, nor hostile realms alone. Wept the sad glories of his bloodstained throne ; And claimed with broken voice and streaming eyes Those whom he deck'd but deck'd to sacrifice ? Ask'd for her sons, the beautiful the brave From Russia's snows, from Egypt's holy wave. And bade their spirits leave the unknown spot Where each had falFn, unhonour'd and forgot. Fleet o'er his glance in deathly form and hue, And scare him with the shadowy drear review ? At that dread call, from countless fields of strife Leap the dark hosts to visionary life : Again as when on martial festive day His eye glanced o'er a nation's arm'd array He view'd the myriad forms whose native shore Proudly sent forth, but liaiFd them back no more. On shadowy steeds, with bright blades brandished high, Swept in unending stream the Imperial squadrons by. Glanced in broad mass the bayonet's steely grove ; Gleam'd the pale Eagle's silver form above : And the dark guns in long-succeeding train RoU'd as if filing to some battle plain Yet all was still ! Unheard the clash of steel Silentlv moved the cannon's cumbrous wheel. 352 THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. The drum was mute no trumpet-signal spoke From bloodless lips no wonted welcome broke. Yet none arraign'd ! it seem'd as though the dead Held that stern glance, that kingly mien in dread. Though as they pass'd, 'neath many a mailed brow Once flush'd with hope, but chill and lifeless now, Each ghastly eye, than deadliest accents worse, Glared the cold terrors of it's silent curse. She too was there the slighted one the first Who shared his sorrows, and his glories nurst. Who cheer'd, supported, guided him to all The dizzy height which viewed so great a fall ; And gave her love, when love itself could ne'er Have dream'd the splendour of his full career. Then, when the prize herself had plann'd was gain'd, The faithless steep herself had smooth' d attain'd ', Of all but heartless sickening pomp bereft To her cold home and widow'd thoughts was left. Well might her form, dim-seen o'er Ocean's wave, Bare her chill'd breast, and beckon to the grave ! Well might he deem in bitterness of mind His fate with her's unchangeably entwin'd ; And feel, too late, himself had loos'd the tie Which link'd his name with her's, and victory; Quench'd the bright star, which shone for him above And clasp'd his ruin when he spurn'd her love. THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. 353 Him did his fancy view the hero-boy ? Fruit of that love which brighten'd to destroy ? Child of his hopes too cruelly denied By the sirens coldness or the daughter's pride, To one who found affection's failing throne In others' bosoms shaken with his own ! It came ! One shock of ruin and dismay Swept crown and consort, throne and child away ; And curst him with that deadly blight of mind Himself so long had lavished on mankind. Yet one soft memory thrill'd that bosom wild, Still beat his heart to meet his long-lost child ; Still yearn'd to clasp him in a sire's embrace. Still in fond musings scann'd that princely face ; And gave in fancy features that became A soldier's boy and deemed him owed to fame. Such were his thoughts while faithful memory threw It's one dark shade o'er all that claimed his view. When winds were hush'd, and ocean sunk to rest Lay still, or heaving like an infant's breast. He loath'd the slumb'ring wave the stormless sky It would not bear him from captivity. When sweird the deep, the rising gale could find As fierce a tempest raging in his mind. 2 a 354 THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. When heaven was bright, the cloudless sun but shone To mock the pride which call'd the beam it's own :^ When Eve o'er earth her shadowy mantle drew, Each joy seem'd sinking from his weary view. Each change of sea and sky some signal gave Of faded glory or a joyless grave. And who may dare with steadfast gaze survey The last sad scene of lingering slow decay, When nature sunk o'er-master'd ? Who intrude On that death-chamber's awful solitude ? Without as if some stirring spell were cast To wake the nations while that spirit past The whirlwinds swept the mountains ; and the glare And thunder of the tempest rent the air ! Within, was Expectation, and the gloom And fearful silence of the curtain'd room ; Where lay, e'en thus by some fond few deplored, The vanquish'd Victor, and th' unsceptred Lord. ^ Most of the great victories of the Emperor were won on days of unwonted brilliancy ; " Napoleon's suns " were proverbial among the French troops and he himself, notwithstanding the truth of Richard's consolatory observation, " The selfsame heaven '< Which frowns on me, looks sadly upon him," probably felt much of the superstition which he strove to impress upon his army. THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. 355 Yet Oh ! not there that holiest calmness given To the pure soul which views half-opening Heaven. Youth's fiery thoughts yet live and o'er the brain The burning visions rise, and fade again : The air grows thick with phantom-forms his eye Can mark the rush of hosts through vacancy ; And the soul deems it leads them as in life ; And the last murmurs of his lips are strife : ^ Then, mid the war of winds and water free Convulsed by nature's sternest sympathy, And hush of gathering friends who breathless gaz'd While the dull film the half-closed eyeball glaz'd, And mark'd expression's fast-receding ray, The haughty spirit struggled from it's clay, Unfelt (so seem'd) the mighty change, to wait. Where thought shrinks back, before th' Eternal gate. Calm sleeps the Exile in the lonely glade : His own pale Willow lends its drooping shade. 5 A dreadful tempest arose on the 4tli of May. The 5th of May came amid wind and rain Napoleon's passing spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than that of the elements without The words *tete d'armee,' the last which escaped his lips, intimated that his thoughts were watching the currents of a heady fight About 11 minutes before 6 p. m. Napoleon, after a struggle which indicated the original strength of his constitution, breathed his last." Sir W. Scott's Life of Napoleon. 356 THE EXILE OF SAINT HELENA. Calm seems his sleep, but earthly thoughts unblest Are hovering near to mar that dream of rest : No holy hands have seal'd the spot a gloom Hangs o*er that dark green vale, that lowly tomb : Around, the peaks a giant barrier frame ; Dark as his deeds, eternal as his fame ! JOSEPH HENRY DART, 1838. Exeter College. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. Religio pedibus subjecta vicissim Obteritur. Nos exaequat victoria coelo. Lucretius. 'Tis eve and o'er the face of parting day Quick smiles of summer lightning flit and play, In pulses of broad light, less seen than felt, They mix in heaven, and on the mountains melt. Their silent transport fills th' exulting air Tis eve, and where is evening half so fair ? Oh, deeply, softly, sobs the Indian sea O'er thy dark sands, majestic Dharavee,i When from each purple hill and polished lake The answering voices of the night awake, The fitful note of many a brilliant bird. The lizard's plunge, o'er distant waters heard, The thrill of forest leaves how soft, how swift ! That floats and follows where the night-winds drift, 1 The southern promontory of the island of Salsette. 2 b 358 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. Or, piercing through the calmness of the sky, The jungle tiger's sharp and sudden cry. Yet all is peace, for these weak voices tell How deep the calm they break, but not dispel ; The twilight heaven rolls on, like some deep stream When breezes break not on its moving dream. Its trembling stars continual watches keep, And pause above ^ Canarah's haunted steep. Each in its path of first ascension hid Behind the height of that pale pyramid, 3 (The strength of nations hewed the basalt spire. And barbed its rocks like sacrificial fire.) Know they the hour's approach, whose fateful flight Was watched of yore from yonder cloudless height ? Lone on its utmost peak, the Prophet Priest Beheld the night unfolded from the East, In prescient awe perused its blazing scroll, And read the records stretched from Pole to Pole. And though their eyes are dark, their lips are still, Who watched and worshipped on Canarah's hill. Wild superstition's visionary power Still rules and fills the spirit of the hour. 2 The central peak of SaJsette. 3 M. Anguetil du Perron, in his accounts of Canarah, says, that its peak appears to have been hewn to a point by human art, as an emblem of the solar ray. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 359 The Indian maiden, through the scented grove Seeks the dim shore, and lights the lamp of love, The pious peasant, awe-struck and alone. With radiant garland crowns the purple stone,^ And shrinks, returning through the starlit glade, When breezes stir the peepul's sacred shade, ^ For well his spirit knows the deep appeal That love must mourn to miss, yet fear to feel. Low sounds, faint rays, upon the senses shed The voices of the lost, the dark eyes of the dead. How awful now, when night and silence brood O'er Earth's repose, and Ocean's solitude, To trace the dim and devious paths, that guide Along Canarah's steep and craggy side. Where girt with gloom inhabited by fear. The mountain homes of India's gods appear. Range above range they rise, each hollow cave Darkling as death, and voiceless as the grave, Save that the waving weeds in each recess With rustling music mock its loneliness. "^^ " A stone painted with red, and placed at the foot of their favourite tree, is sufficient to call forth the devotion of the poor, vi^ho bring to it flov^^ers and simple offerings." T. S. Buckingham. ' The superstitious feeling of the Indian, with respect to the peepul tree, is well known. Its shade is supposed to be loved and haunted by the dead. 360 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. And beasts of blood disturb with stealthy tread The chambers of the breathless and the dead. All else of life, of worship, past away, The ghastly idols fall not, nor decay. Retain the lip of scorn, the rugged frown, And grasp the blunted sword and useless crown, Their altars desecrate, their names untold. The hands that formed, the hearts that feared how cold! Thou too dark Isle, whose shadow on the sea Lies like the gloom that mocks our memory When one bright instant of our former lot Were grief, remembered, but were guilt, forgot. Rock of the lonely crest, how ojft renewed Have beamed the summers of thy solitude, Since first the myriad steps that shook thy shore Grew frail and few then paused for evermore. Answer ye long-lulled echoes ! Where are they Who clove your mountains with the shafts of day. Bade the swift life along their marble fly, And struck their darkness into Deity, Nor claimed from thee pale temple of the wave Record or rest, a glory or a grave ? Now all are cold the Votary as his God, And by the shrine he feared, the courts he trod. The livid snake extends his glancing trail And lifeless murmurs mingle on the gale. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 361 Yet glorious still, though void, though desolate, Proud Dharapori,^ gleams thy mountain gate, What time, emergent from the eastern wave, The keen moon's crescent lights thy sacred cave, And moving beams confuse with shadowy change. Thy column's massive might and endless range. Far, far beneath, where sable waters sleep, Those radiant pillars pierce the crystal deep. And mocking waves reflect with quivering smile Their long recession of refulgent aisle ;7 As, where Atlantis hath her lonely home. Her grave of guilt, beneath the ocean's foam. Above the lifeless hearth and guardless gate, The wildly- walking surges penetrate, And sapphire tints of phosphor lightning fall O'er the broad pillar, and the sculptured wall. So, Dharapori, through thy cold repose. The flooding lustre of the moonlight flows. New forms of fear,^ by every touch displayed. Gleam, pale and passioned, through the dreadful shade, 6 The Indian name for Elephanta. '' The interior of Elephanta is usually damp, and its floor covered with water two or three feet deep. By moonlight, its shallowness would be unperceived. 8 The sculptures of Elephanta have such " horrible and fearful formes that they make a man's hay re stande upright." Lins- choten. 362 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. In wreathed groups of dim, distorted life, In ghastly calmness, or tremendous strife, While glaring eye and grasping hand attest The mocked emotion of the marble breast. Thus, in the fevered dream of restless pain Incumbent horror broods upon the brain, Through mists of blood colossal shapes arise. Stretch their stiff limbs, and roll their ray less eyes. Yet knew not here the chisel's touch to trace The finer lineaments of form and face. No studious art of delicate design Conceived the shape, or lingered on the line. The sculptor learned, on Indus' plains afar. The various pomp of worship and of war. Impetuous ardour in his bosom woke. And smote the animation from the rock. In close battalions kingly forms advance, 9 Wave the broad shield, and shake the soundless lance, With dreadful crest adorned, and orient gem. Lightens the helm, and gleams the diadem ; 9 '* Some of these figures have helmets of a pyramidal form, others wear crowns richly decorated with jewels, others display large bushy ringlets of curled or flowing hair. In their hands they grasp sceptres and shields, the symbols of justice and the ensigns of religion, the weapons of war and the trophies of peace,'* Maurice, Antiq. of India, vol. ii. pae:e 145, SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 363 Loose o'er their shoulders falls their flowing hair, With wanton wave, and mocks th' unmoving air, Broad o'er their breasts extend the guardian zones Broidered with flowers, and bright with mystic stones. Poised in aetherial march they seem to swim, Majestic motion marked in every limb ; In changeful guise they pass a lordly train, Mighty in passion, unsubdued in pain,^ Revered as monarchs, or as gods adored, Alternately they rear the sceptre and the sword. Such were their forms, and such their martial mien. Who met, by Indus' shore, th' Assyrian queen, ^ When, with reverted force, the Indian dyed His javelin in the pulses of her pride, And cast, in death-heaps, by the purple flood, Her strength of Babylonian multitude. And mightier ones are there apart divine, Presiding genii of the mountain shrine, Behold, the giant group, the united three, Faint symbol of an unknown Deity ! 1 Many of them have countenances expressive of mental suffering. 2 Semiramis. M. D' Ancarville supposes the cave to have been excavated by her army; and insists on the similarity between the costume of the sculptured figures and that of her Indian adversa- ries. See D' Ancarville, vol. i. p. 121. 364 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. Here, frozen into everlasting trance, Stern Siva's quivering lip and hooded glance ; There, in eternal majesty serene Proud Brahma's painless brow, and constant mien ; There glows the light of Veeshnu's guardian smile, But on the crags that shade yon inmost aisle Shine not, ye stars. Annihilation's Lord ^ There waves, with many an arm, th' unsated sword, Relentless holds the cup of mortal pain. And shakes the spectral links that wreathe his ghastly chain. Oh, could these lifeless lips be taught to tell (Touched by Chaldean art, or Arab spell) What votaries here have knelt, what victims died. In pangs, their gladness, or in crimes, their pride. How should we shun the awful solitude And deem th' intruding footstep dashed in blood. How might the altar-hearths grow warm and red And the air shadowy with avenging dead ! Behold ! he stirs that cold, colossal king ! 'Tis but the uncertain shade the moonbeams fling ; 3 Alhiding to a sculpture representing the evil principle of India: he seems engaged in human sacrifice, and wears a necklace of skulls. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 365 Hark ! a stern voice awakes with sudden thrill ! 'Twas but the wandering wind's precarious will, The distant echo dies, and all the cave is still. Yet fancy, floating on the uncertain light. Fills with her crowded dreams the course of night. At her wild will aetherial forms appear, And sounds, long silent, strike the startled ear : Behold the dread Mithratic rite reclaim^ Its pride of ministers, its pomp of flame. Along the winding walls, in ordered row, Flash myriad fires the fretted columns glow Beaming above, the imitative sky Extends the azure of its canopy. Fairest where imaged star and airy sprite Move in swift beauty and entrancing light, A golden sun reflected lustre flings. And wandering Dewtahs^ wave their crimson wings ; * Throughout the description of the rites of Mithra, I have followed Maurice, whose indefatigable research seems almost to have demonstrated the extreme antiquity, at least, of the Ele- phanta cavern, as well as its application to the worship of the solar orb, and of fire. For a detailed account of this worship, see Maurice, Indian Antiq. vol. ii. sect. 7. 5 Inferior spirits of various power and disposition, holding in the Hindoo mythology the place of angels. They appear in multitudes on the roof of the Elephanta cavern. 366 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. Beneath, fed richly from the Arabian urn, Undying lamps before the altar burn. And sleepless eyes the sacred sign behold, The spiral orb of radiated gold; On this the crowds of deep- voiced priests attend. To this they loudly cry, they lowly bend. O'er their wan brows the keen emotions rise. And pious phrenzy flashes from their eyes ; Phrenzy in mercy sent, in torture tried, Through paths of death their only guard and guide. When, in dread answer to their youth's appeal, Rose the red fire and waved the restless steel,^ And rushed the wintry billow's wildest wreck, Their God hath called them, and shall danger check ? On on for ever on, though roused in wrath Glare the grim lion on their lonely path, Though, starting from his coiled, malignant rest. The deadly dragon lift his crimson crest. Though corpse-like shadows round their footsteps flock. And shafts of lightning cleave the incumbent rock, 6 Alluding to the dreadful ceremonies of initiation which the priests of Mithra were compelled to undergo, and which seem to have had a close correspondence with the Eleusinian mysteries. See Maurice, Antiq. of India, vol. v. p. 620. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 367 On, for behold, enduring honours wait To grace their passage through the golden gate,7 Glorious estate, and more than mortal power. Succeed the dreadful expiating hour ; Impurpled robes their weary limbs enfold With stars en woven, and stiff with heavenly gold, The mitra^ veils their foreheads, rainbow-dyed, Their measured steps imperial sceptres guide. Glorious they move, and pour upon the air The cloud of incense and the voice of prayer. While through the hollow vault, around them rise Deep echoes from the conch of sacrifice. In passioned gusts of sound, now loud, now low. With billowy pause, the mystic murmurs flow Far dwindling on the breeze. Ere yet they die Canarah hears, and all his peaks reply, '7 The sidereal metempsychosis was represented in the Mi- thratic rites by the ascent of a ladder, on which there were seven gates : the first of lead, representing Saturn ; the second of tin, Venus ; the third brass, Jupiter ; the fourth iron, Mercury ; the fifth mixed, Mars ; the sixth silver, the Moon ; the seventh of gold, the sun. 8 The attire of Mithra's priests was splendid: the robes of purple, with the heavenly constellations embroidered on them in gold. They wore girdles representative of the zodiacal circle, and carried a golden sceptre in the form of a serpent. Ezekiel speaks of them as " exceeding in dyed attire upon their heads." Chap, xxiii. ver. 15. 368 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. His crested chasms the vocal winds explore, Waste on the deep, and wander on the shore. Above, the starry gloom is thrilled with fear, The forests shake, the circling hamlets hear, And wake to worship. Many an isle around. Assembling votaries swell the sacred sound. And, troop by troop, along the woodland ways. In equal measures pour responsive praise : To Mithra first their kindling songs addressed Lull his long slumbers in the watery west, Next to the strength of each celestial sign They raise the choral chaunt, the breathing line ; Keen through the arch of heaven their hymns arise, Auspicious splendours deck the answering skies. The sacred cohorts, maddening as they sing, Far through the air their flashing torches fling, From rock to rock the rushing glories leap. Climb the wide hills, and clothe the central steep, Till, through the endless night, a living line Of lustre opens on the bounding brine, Ocean rejoices, and his isles prolong With answering zeal, those bursts of flame and song. Till the strong vulture on Colombo's peak Awakes with ruffled plume and startled shriek, And the roused panther of Almorah's wood, Howls through his violated solitude. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 369 ^Tis past, the mingled dream, though slow and grey On mead and mountain break the dawning day. Though stormy wreaths of lingering cloud oppress, Long time the winds that breathe the rays that bless, They come, they come. Night's fitful visions fly Like autumn leaves, and fade from fancy's eye ; So shall the God of might and mercy dart His daybeams through the caverns of the heart, Strike the weak idol from its ancient throne And vindicate the temple for his own. Nor will he long delay. A purer light Than Mithra cast, shall claim a holier rite, A mightier voice than Mithra's priests could pour Resistless soon shall sound along the shore. Its strength of thunder vanquished fiends shall own And idols tremble through their limbs of stone. Vain now the lofty light the marble gleam Of the keen shaft that rose by Gunga's stream. When round its base the hostile lightnings glowed And mortal insult mocked a God's abode. What power. Destroyer,^ seized with taming trance Thy serpent sceptre, and thy withering glance ? 9 Siva. This column was dedicated to him at Benares ; and a tradition prevailed among his worshippers, that as soon as it should fall, one universal religion would extend over India, and 370 SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. Low in the dust, its rocky sculptures rent, Thine own memorial proves thee impotent. Thy votaries mourn thy cold unheeding sleep, Chide where they praised, and where they worshipped, weep. Yes he shall fall, though once his throne was set Where the high heaven and crested mountains met. Though distant shone with many an azure gem The glacier glory of his diadem. Though sheets of sulphurous cloud and wreathed storm Cast veil of terror round his shadowy form. All, all are vain ! It comes, the hallowed day Whose dawn shall rend that robe of fear away ; Then shall the torturing spells that midnight knew Far in the cloven dells of Mount Meru, Then shall the moan of phrenzied hymns, that sighed Down the dark vale where Gunga's waters glide. Then shall the idol chariot's thunder cease Before the steps of them that publish peace. Bramah be no more worshipped. It was lately thrown down in a quarrel between the Hindoos and Mussulmans. See Heber's Journal. Siva is spoken of in the following lines as representative of Hindoo deities irj general. His worship seems to have arisen in ' the fastnesses of the Himalaya, accompanied with all the gloomy features characteristic of the superstitions of hill countries. SALSETTE AND ELEPHANTA. 371 Already are they heard, how fair, how fleet, Along the mountains flash their bounding feet ! Disease and death before their presence fly, Truth calls, and gladdened India hears the cry. Deserts the darkened path her Fathers trod. And seeks redemption from the incarnate God. JOHN RUSKIN, 1839. Ch. Ch. y/i f/j^ THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. 1946 4946 APR 8 1962 ^;^^/.'? 921319 y^ 'i^y'^ THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY >or^