Class. Book INEZ DE CASTRO: HISTORICAL TRAGEDY THE BROKEN VOW; OF THE MIDDLE AGES. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. HAMBURG MDCCCXL. l<£HO / *$? Should the Critic's hand accidently light upon this little volume, let him lay it do,wn again. It is strictly intended for the perusal of friends. To prevent the possibility of its becoming more public, but fifty copies have been printed. 387270 iftontent* pagt- To 3 The broken Vow; a tale of the middle ages 5 Miscellaneous Poems. On seeing an eagle &c 25 To some Bavarian friends 27 A comparison 28 Written in the mountains of Bavaria ib. The mendicant of Munich 30 To a much valued family of Munich 31 Lines sent with a miniature &c 33 From the author to a beloved one ib. To at parting 34 To 36 Written under the picture of a beloved one 37 To ib. Written at Constantinople 39 Contemplated travels in Egypt 40 The dream 41 To 43 A precept for many 44 The fall of Warsaw and Poland's independence 45 The emigrant's farewell to his native land 46 Address to the Greeks, and written among their islands 47 On seeing a boy at play 48 The sound of bells 49 Self-admonition 50 Written on the first of May 51 Retribution ib. The shipwrecked man 52 Painful retrospection 53 page Stanzas, on the melancholy death of lord Graves... 54 The homicide 65 A twofold vision 5? A liar's epitaph 59 Passion ib. The bird's song i b. On the approach of Winter 60 Passion «j On second marriage ib, To a weeping girl 62 First love ib. Against despair 64 An evening in Arabia ib. Fragment of an Eastern tale 65 The oak 66 Flowers 67 Drinking friendships ib. The silence of death , 68 The old man's lament ib. True love 70 Counsel for lovers 71 Another 72 Lines, written under a painting of some strawberries ib. Written under a drawing of some shells 73 To the spirit of a departed friend 74 We know not the worth of a friend until we have lost him 75 Inez de Castro ; an historical tragedy 7? To Time 148 The Broken Vow; A TALE OF THE MIDDLE AGES ~ "» o< To Oh, listen to my song! Thou who, in by-gone days, The Winter's evening Jong Hast lent a patient ear, and deign'd to praise! Ah me! those times are past; The dear delusion's o'er; Too sweet it was to last: The charm that bound the listener is no more ! Condemn'd am I to roam, From every friend aloof; Thou, in thy native home, Securely dwell'st beneath a father's roof! My passion still I feed, Though but repaid with scorn; O misery indeed ! In exile — doubly bitter to be borne ! I know what thou would'st say — I know my adverse fate; Yet, cannot cast away My love for thee — such counsel is too late ! No! — thou dost form a part Of me and of my mind : A mirror is my heart, Where thine all beauteous image is enshrined ! The vows, which thou did'st swear, Are fresh in memory ; They rise for ever there: Thy last they were — thy farewell words to me! My doom is seal'd, I know — ' Tis useless to regret : I bend before the blow — But cannot, one I so have loved, forget ! November, 1838. 5 The Broken Vow. The lord of many a Scottish rood Was Mora, and his castle stood Imbosom'd in the Southern plain, With full view of the Highland chain. From long and weary pilgrimage, Alone, without or steed or page, At nightfall came a stranger there: The growth of years, his raven hair, O'er his athletic shoulders fell: The sandal and the scollop-shell, Show'd one returned from Palestine, A pilgrim from the Holy Shrine ! He scarcely seem'd past manhood's prime, Though darkenM by an Eastern clime : Tall in his stature and erect — The eye and brow of intellect — And though robust, his manly face Bespoke him come of gentle race, — 6 And which still more his manners told ; One courteous, but unused to hold Fraternity with aught below Him : and 'tis this doth greatness show ! Choice in its friends is lineage high ; Though some would read it in the eye, And see the highborn spirit glow Through every outward sign of woe. Howe'er this be, the stranger's mien Though strongly mark'd, was yet serene ; His bearing, free from taint of pride; Calm, graceful, mild and dignified ! Upon his foreign dress, amazed At first, the thronging menials gazed; The modest stranger, nothing awed, Claim'd instant conduct to their lord : „Tell Mora's earl, a pilgrim, late „From farthest Ind, bears news of weight, ,, Which much concerns his private ear, — „ Which he, and he alone may hear!" in gothic chamber, (whence the eye Might travel to infinity, And feast itself on mountains, vales. And waters studded o'er with sails Which, ever in their motions there, The likeness of the cygnet wear;) Were seated three; the aged earl, A comely youth and one fair girl — And she did watch with eagerness The issue of a game at chess : So wholly wrapt up all the three Were in that game, they could not see The pensive pilgrim standing nigh, Regarding them with curious eye. The youth first started up and cried : ,The game is lost! 4 „But not my bride!" The vaulted roof responsive rung — And, at that voice, they all upsprung ! ,A stranger! pilgrim! what art thou? ,Thy mission and thy name avow? 4 Courteous yet firm the stranger spoke : „My deeds are just — I wear no cloak! „If Mora's earl would more inquire ,,Of one he knows not, to retire ,,Methinks were wise, since none may hear „The tale I whisper in his ear!" 8 The hour of midnight long had past ; Alone, the earl appear'd at last: When morning's star wax'd weak and wan, The man of mystery was gone ; Nor had he tasted food nor rest, The usual cravings of the guest. Whate'er the tidings which he bore, More lone and thoughtful than before Earl Mora's aspect daily seems ; Resembling rather one who dreams ; Whole days and weeks he would confer On tomes of Eastern character: The breaking day, the rising sun, He welcomed not, but seem'd to shun: Of all, the only living thing For whom his presence did not bring One joyful, animating spark — To him it was for ever dark ! As if, between, some shadow lay, Him and the brightness of the day ! Alas ! what sun can warmth impart, To thaw the ice about the heart? Dispel the phantoms of the mind, Or cheer the soul to pleasure blind ? 9 To evil conscience rapture yield, — Faults baring, it would have conceal'd ? To all around reserved and grave, With none he held communion, save With her, his daughter, and that youth ; And seem'd at periods pleased, in sooth, With their unfeign'd solicitude To wean him from his darksome mood Along the turrets old and grey, Still varying, light and shadow play; And now the moon is overcast, And now the envious cloud has past, And once again she bursts to light, Her charms unveiling to the night! With gazing on her loveliness, Methinks, the very stars grow less! Why do the lovelorn, still, o moon! Prefer thee to the clearest noon, And hopeless wander through the night In thy soft, melancholy light? 10 Art thou, indeed, bright rolling sphere! A haven for the shipwrecked here? Are thy immortal gardens fraught With all that bliss the dreamer sought ? Will houri, of diviner make, To theirs the bleeding bosom take — The sufferer's earthly loss supply — With kindness cancel cruelty And wipe up tears — allay the strife, 'Twixt pride and love, which shortened life Bright Spirit of the midnight air ! Mine eyes do fill with tears, whene'er In lone, secluded scenes my glance Encounters thy pale countenance ! For other days my vision greet, And other forms before me fleet; My earlier life's associates pass In dark review — the dead alas ! Even those with whom each hidden store Of knowledge first we did explore; Our boyhood's friends, a merry band! That moved together hand in hand, 11 The sharers of our sports — and now. The tree hath scarce a living' bough! And oh! more rare and less sincere Are friendships of a later year. Man's wariness of joy divests The spring of Friendship, such as breasts More youthful and less subtle know — But this must be — the world is so ! And so, perchance, earl Mora thought ; Long' converse with the world had taught Him to despise its flattering crew ; The friends of youth had dwindled too, Or changed, as interest changes all The dwellers of this changeful ball ! No matter what the sacrifice, To climb the ladder, what the price: Affections, friendships, every tie Before Ambition shiver'd lie! When Man his brethren would outrun, He stops not till the goal be won! This Mora felt, and they were few Who shared his lonelier hours, which drew 12 Upon him the dislike of those His sterner habits seem'd to oppose. Tn youth, all fire and energy, Thirst for adventure, land and sea Far had he travell'd and a name Acquired upon the roll of Fame ! By Edward's side in Cressy's fight, Had borne him as a stalbert knight! Had hardships braved in Palestine, When battling for the Holy Shrine! Nor less, 'twas whisper'd, where he strove, Successful in the lists of love ! Of gentle speech and comely mien, Had favour gain'd with England's queen ; And many a beauty of the land In secret pined for Mora's hand. Or true or false, his well-turn'd frame And keen black eye might justly claim Attention, which though mute, will prove The harbinger of woman's love; Whose natural, inborn diffidence Pleads stronger than the eloquence Of words, and always must prevail, — Unless time and occasion fail. 13 Even so, beloved, our passion grew, With looks at first, and sweet ones too ! The volume of our souls we sought To know, interpreting each thought ; Each read apart, each tried to find Similitude of heart and mind: At length we spoke, and strange to tell, Each guess'd the other's meaning well! If love, the purest, sojourn here — 'Twas love, most fervent and sincere ! Oh ! such, dear maiden, can alone Be blest, whose thoughts like ours are *) one ! And Mora's choice was fix'd, but pride At length was destined to decide. Alas ! the hour in which he wed, His happiness for ever fled! Ill-sorted pair! yours, is it not The more than common marriage lot I To pass through life, in union sweet From youth to age, they were not meet ; *) These lines were written in July, 1838; I now may well add „Vain earth! false world! foundations must be laid in heaven, Tis he who pass'd as pilgrim late Through yonder hospitable gate ! What doth he here, as leader now, The helm of war upon his brow — Death dealing with unsparing hand ' Is it some bold and lawless band Which, under cover of the night, Work deeds too evil for the light? The gates give way — the bastion falls — They mount the breach — they scale the walls, And every hand a firebrand hurls! Already smoke in volumes curls Above the w r atch-towers, and the cry Ascends of souls in agony! The conflagration fiercer grows — The loftiest turret redly glows, Distinct against the midnight sky, — A burning comet to the eye! And human forms — oh! can it be? With outstretched arms, methinks, I see An old man kneeling, and beside Him stand a bridegroom and a bride, 20 Array 'd in white and crown'd with flowers! Ah! surely, from immortal bowers An angel she — too pure, too rife With beauty to belong to life! Before the walls that chieftain stood, And gazed upon the scene of blood ! A withering joy, a ghastly smile Along his features play'd the while! Such savage pleasure as belongs To victors when avenging wrongs! ,,Tis well! the haughty Mora now „Pays dearly for his broken vow" — He muttered, „and deserves no less!'* The accents died — and o'er his face A deadly paleness came — as one Turn'd in a moment into stone! For then his eye had caught that light — The tower — each object met his sight — Her too, the maid who many a year In dreams before him would appear When, toiling with ambitious mind, For Fame he roved through farthest Ind — 21 His promised guerdon, a reward For countless hardships then endured ! He paused an instant — and his heel Struck in his charger's side its steel — The court is won — aloud he cries: „Leave meaner booty, for a prize ,,Of higher worth ! yon maiden save ! ,,Her rescuer half my lands shall have! „Follow!" and hundreds that rush o'er The glowing pile return'd no more! The tumult thickens, and the fire Like Evil Spirit mounteth higher! Such piteous sounds rose every where — Such imprecations clove the air — The combatants resembled well Contending demons — earth, a hell! But lo! — black darkness spreads around And silence, sudden and profound — An awful pause — a long shrill cry — And wall and tower in ruins lie! Few lived to tell the doleful tale: At daybreak, one, yclad in mail, 22 With burden, rash was seen to ride, — A burden 'twas he strove. to hide, And ever and anon look'd back, As something follow 'd in his track ! He rode from forth the burning mass, Directly towards the dark morass — His long locks waving in the breeze — But ere he reach'd its stunted trees, He check'd his steed — his arm he raised Back on the smoking ruins gazed, And loudly laugh'd — away — on, on He madly rides — the trees are won — He disappears with that he bore — Or dead or living — seen no more? Miscellaneous Poems. -*~SKi-*B- 25 On seeing an eagle in a retired and inaccessible part of the Bavarian Alps. Lone wanderer of the realms of light! Lord of the unfrequented steep ! Could we participate thy flight And boundless liberty, to reap Knowledge conceal'd from mortal ken. And other zones and other men Discover, solving many a mystery deep! Thou dost behold the sun's first beam, While yet the earth in darkness lies, And her innumerous children dream ; His latest ray too greets thine eyes: And when the clouds, with lightning warm, Roll on, thou overlook'st the storm From thy proud eyry in the calmer skies! Even so, the wiser soar above All petty worldly aims, which thwart Good deeds and dry up natural love; 26 To them the purest truths are taught By Nature, truths, whereby the mind More wealthy grows and more refined — From flowers or trampled weeds oft gleaning thought ! Around — above — for ever near Us — in the glen and on the hill! Yes, holy Nature! many a year Hast thou upheld and cheer'd me still; When foes and treacherous friends opprest, 'Twas thou this sorrow-burden'd breast With buoyant hope and balmy peace did'st fill i — And though a dweller among men Again, yet erst my spirit found Such solace in thy haunts, that when I hear a bird's soft note, the sound Will seem of happier days to be — The language of tranquillity — And, sighing for the past, I look around! I look around — that bird of prey Is seated on his rock-built nest; He soars and sojourns far away — 27 No neighbouring rivals him molest: Ah then, we surely should not deem The hermit's choice an idle dream — To be alone — and oh! to be at rest! To some Bavarian friends, en the prospect of our shortly visiting the lakes together. A few short weeks, — and we shall share The feast of soul, my friends! inhale Again the healthful mountain air, Perfumed with wild flowers of the vale f Our little boat again will steal Along the surface of the lake, — And I, as once I felt, should feel — Could only one more this partake! 28 A comparison. Glad infancy! the surface of a lake Serene, where wanton fish their circles make: Short-lived enjoyment — lo! even as we gaze, Circle on circle forms and disappears: So too, the happiness of early days, Soon vanishes, — belonging not to riper years! Written in the mountains of Bavaria. On Alpine snow, forest, and waterfall, The rising son, from some high mount, as I Have watch'd it, is a scene with which not all The world's most fascinating scenes can vie ! To see the day contending with the night, The village steeples peering through the haze; To hear the matin bell to prayer invite, And catch at times the distant hymn of praise : 29 To see the shepherd leaning on his crook, His eye intent on heaven, to con its lines Of foul or fair, as though he read a hook ; And well he knows the weather's varying signs ' Sweet was the pastoral life in olden times — Far purer than the anchorite's in his cell! That golden era's gone: Vice holdly climbs The loftiest peak, and riots in the dell ! The mountains were the shepherd's airy home — Beneath them the dark woods and shelving rocks Where, screen'd from noontide heats, he still might roam In careless freedom with his careless flocks ! His thoughts were gentle — wants and wishes few! Heaven, as a dowry, gave him ruddy Health — And Innocence, which to the soul is dew! And last, Contentment — 'tis a mine of wealth! 30 The Mendicant of Munich. I saw an old man in my walks to-day — I see him still — an old man, bent and blind ; His garb is tatter'd, and his locks are grey, — Yet 'tis not therefore that he haunts my mind. His artless tale the coldest heart would move — No wounds ere rankle like Ingratitude! The hand, that should have planted flowers of love, The tares of sorrow in his pathway strew'd. The scanty, hard-won gleanings of the poor, — The bread which he had earn'd through many a year; All had he drain'd from out his little store, — For one, the sole thing left him that was dear. V son, the comfort of his age to be; The parent stem might wither, from the root Albeit he hoped to view another tree, — A goodlier rise, and bear a better fruit. 31 Fond dream! — the son but shares his father's lot*. Oft have I seen the old man sit in cold November's rain for hours, — and tremble not: Much misery hardens, and despair is bold! The wayward stripling proves a thankless man! Precept, — like seed sown on a windy day, On bad ground falling, weeds spring up: the plan And hope of years, a moment sweeps away ! To a much valued family of Munich ; on parting. Look her**, upon this picture; and on (his. Hamlet, Those sunny locks awhile survey — That smiling, happy face: Reverse the miniature, and say, — Of all that was, is there a trace ? 32 The cheek's bright roses, pallid thought Hath stolen — the eye of fire bereft: Upon this brow hath Passion wrought Wild havock — many a furrow left! Already Time my hair begins To sprinkle with his silver hue ; Ah, me! sad records of past sins — And warnings for the future too! And yet, at moments, still I dare To cherish hopes, albeit in vain : Some opening rose aspire to wear — And dream the dream of love again! Delusion welcome! which the days Of youth to memory can prolong, And when the outward man decays, Live on, — the heart preserving young. Farewell, my friends! forgive — forget My failings and my wayward mind ! It may be, bad we earlier met — 'Tis madness now to look behind ! 33 Lines sent with a miniature of the Author. To you, who hoid perchance his memory dear, - To you his semblance doth the minstrel send — An all unworthy offering, though sincere — The past and present serving still to blend ! For Memory is a traitor, and the Grave Obliterates forms and features we would save: The Painter and the Sculptor but defeat Despotic death, — and time and distance cheat! From the author to a beloved one, requesting her to destroy his letters. Yes, burn the letters! burn them, love! Too precious for the vulgar gaze, Or scoffer's idle jest to prove — And what care we for others' praise! 34 Though fire consume, they are not dead, They are not lost — in heart and brain They live, by careful Memory fed, Who reads them o'er and o'er again! Then, grieve not, dearest, o'er their fate! The thoughts of absent souls should be As mysteries inviolate — To them but known — to thee and me I To — — at parting* Ye golden days of love! 1 grieve To think you for a season gone — Would fain the parting hour believe A dream, whose waking found us one I Oft those, whose fortunes kindest prove, A cold indifference doth chill: The victims of an ill-starr ? d love, Are known to be most constant still f 35 As shells, the tempest's fury brave — Adhering closer to their rock, The more assail'd by wind and wave — Still more tenacious every shock! Our hearts the world cannot estrange ; Its injuries but link them more: It threatens, — and we do not change! It counsels hate, — and we adore! Events have pass'd since we two^ met, — * Of sweet and painful memory! So sweet, the heart cannot forget — And sad memorials never die! My soul, within the vortex sunk So deep, I had imagined long; — That Hope into a phantom shrunk, And Vice obtained dominion strong — * 'Till thou, my guardian angel ! burst The spell which held my spirit pent! Thou taught'st me Virtue's lesson first, With ail a woman's blandishment! 36 Oh! leave me not — a second time The paths of Evil to retrace ! Be thou a barrier against crime — My guide unto a better place! To I saw thy father's angry brow, Yet checked my bosom's kindling ire; Howe'er unjust — I felt that thou Wert still his child, and he thy sire! An evil world hath made him thus; It poisons many a noble mind ! Yet vainly doth it war on usl Its malice leaves no trace behind! tt leaves no trace behind: no more Than passing clouds disturb the day, Or travellers* feet the sandy shore, — Whose marks each tide doth wipe away! 37 Written under the picture of a beloved one. When death for ever seals the minstrel's eyes, And he no more may guard this hallow 'd prize ; O stranger! reverence it still as such! And let no sensuist's eye, or vulgar touch, Profane the image of a thing so fair And virtuous, — but, do thou, with pious care, Commit it to the fiery element, — Nor let the one outlive the other — blent In dust, perchance, her form on Lethe's stream May charm his spirit, as elysian dream! To When earth renews its garb of green, And vernal flowers expand — A mighty sea will roll between Me and ray fatherland! 38 And yet, not that — in truth 1 speak — Not that would bring a tear Into mine eye or pale my cheek, — If thou wert only near! To me the ties of Country are But stern necessity; While those of love — oh, sweeter fart Have bound my heart to thee! To thee — inseparable still! Oh! break not thou the spell — For it hath power each human ill To soften and to quell f And though my life's horizon seem O'ercast — without a ray — One solitary star will beam Upon my darkened way ! A phantom Hope still warm my breast, And wean it from despair: A dream of joy — though much too blest, For one like me to share I 39 Written at Constantinople. The night is still and dark! No Moslem's call to prayer, Or watch-dog's honest bark. Disturbs the breathless air! The city's walls beneath In ruin'd pomp extend — And pestilence and death O'er every roof impend ! The sun which soon must rise. For me, the last may prove — And, oh! perchance these eyes Ne'er gaze on her I love! To her my every thought I consecrate this hour — Can Slumber boast of aught Like wakeful Memory's power? 40 Contemplated travels in Egypt. 1h e crime may well be pardon'd one whose days To sharp adversity a prey have been, Should home at length grow irksome to his gaze — His wounded bosom pant for change of scene ! To be a wanderer in the East once more — Beside the Ganges or majestic Nile, — And many an earlier scene again live o'er, — And all that then I felt, to feel awhile — For long my heart had sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain ! And now that both occasion and the hour Are present — do resolve and purpose wane: Such is the heart, — and such Affection's power! 41 The Dream. A dream — delicious dream of late — Returning peace of mind hath scared ; f mourn anew my wretched fate: The heart's deep wounds again are bared! That dream hath robb'd me of all rest — Again her beauty comes — again The fire that slumber'd in my breast Burns fiercer, and consumes my brain! Too fatal fondness — love of home I Would I had still 'mid strangers been Content from land to land to roam — Indifferent still, — and still serene! For there it was we met, and swore Eternal faith — nor could I less Than love a being all adore ! A being full of tenderness ! 42 7 Twas madness so to love — yet who Is wise in passion's rapturous hour? Cold hearts may shun — the warmer woo The thraldom of so sweet a power ! Though wretchedness our portion prove — It is the same ! — both will and choice kre forfeited the hour we love — We list no longer Reason's voice! And shall I quarrel with my lot? A glimpse of Paradise was mine — A glimpse alone — I had forgot — It was a dream, — and how divine! O Sleep! I will no more complain! Let me dream on — for ever dream ! Call up, O Sleep ! her form again — That earthy a Paradise may seem! 43 To Yes — deeply have I thought and long, — And prudence, duty, virtue weigh'd; But what are these, where love is strong — The heart — the heart must be obey'd ! True — thou art silent — distant — yet Methinks, at times, our spirits meet: Thou can'st not wholly one forget, For whom thy heart hath fondly beat! The pride of station it was not — Nor gold that could allure thy breast; For, hadst thou coveted such lot, — Long since thou hadst been truly blest ! Alas ! 'tis therefore that I feei And curse the destiny that bars From me all sublunary weal, — And peace of mind for ever mars! 44 With idle hope* I've wander'd on From land to land, and pole to pole ; In vain, thine equal sought — alone Art thou in beauty as in soul! Ah ! deadly is this love of ours — Deceiving with its fair disguise! Even as the stranded wretch devours The tempting fruit on which he dies! A precept for many. Solved is the dark enigma now — The cause of many years of sorrow! Tis written on my furrow'd brow: Read it, — and thence a lesson borrow! In evil hour, my luckless bride! In evil hour our vows we plighted ! It was the day my sire had died — Thus, Death the bridal garland blighted! 45 To causeless wrath we soon were moved — And soon in discontent did sever! Too rashly we had met and loved : Such union could not last for ever ! The fall of Warsaw and Poland's independence. With power to save, though Europe's kings amazed, But on this second Nero's combat gazed, — While shouts of liberty arose in vain ! Though unopposed, the tyrant stalks the plain — Shall unrevenged remain the honoured dead? No! — 'tis in Heaven the wrongs of Poland plead! Not theirs alone, a short and bloody strife — The phrensied, fearless sacrifice of life — But ordeals against unequal strength, Gaunt famine, sickness, treachery, and length Of toil and watching which unnerve the frame, — The wildest valour of the warriour tame! 46 Their portion has been such — yet they will find A recompense, — and Warsaw be adjoin'd To Marathon! Thermopylae! — proud words! Which Fame, with both a tear and smile, records! The Emigrants farewell to his native land. I go from the land of my fathers, he said — I go from the land where the tombs of the dead Are famed in the furthermost corners of earth — Where valour and learning and art had their birth ! Their monuments stand, — but their spirits are flown! We see of the Roman his bondmen alone! Ye mountains so lovely — thou ever blue sky — Ye surely were meant as the home of the free! With such as now shame you, 'tis torture to dwell ! Italia ! my country ! — for ever farewell ! 47 Address to the Greeks* and written among their islands. These barren rocks, of old, When Greece was great and free, Sent forth their wise and bold — Earth's precedents to be! Bear witness to those days, Fair Athens! Marathon! Ye isles, on which I gaze — How is your glory gone ! Ye isles, that teemM with men, Renown'd in war and peace — Empires awaited then The will of conquering Greece ! And Greece now yields a race, — Unmatch'd in cunning wiles — The basest of the base — The robber's chosen isles ! 48 Greeks! have ye bondage broke, To be but more despised — To wear Dishonour's yoke? 'Twas Worth your fathers prized, And fought and bled for long: Before you are their graves ! Be virtuous, wise and strong — And be no longer slaves! On seeing a boy at play. Of sorrow half — and half of joy — Conflicting feelings stir my mind, As oft, the gambols of a boy, I watch — to all save pleasure blind ! It is, that I, o happy boy! Have read the future's darken'd page, ■ And know the fulness of thy joy — Its scarcity in riper age! 49 'Tis therefore that my tears will flow, Even when rejoicing o'er thy glee; By sad experience taught, that now It ebbs, — for ever ebbs from theeS The sound of bells. Why should the tolling of that bell Seem to rebuke our vacant mirth ? We know it is a funeral knell — We know a brother's laid in earth 1 The warning voice of Time we hear! A soul's eternity begins! That sound falls heavy on the ear Of Man, — o'erburden'd with his sins? Why should those bells which rend the air With clamorous mirth, delight the breast ? We know their merry peals declare A brother's joy — his marriage-feast* 50 And Hope doth paint the picture there In brightest hues of wedded bliss: A being meant with Man to share A better life — and sweeten this I Self-admonition. My passions run too wild — beyond control; As flies the fiery race-horse past the goal ! J must restrain them, ere old age arrive, Or they will die but when I cease to live! The laws of Nature wisely such oppose; The tree in Winter cannot bear the rose ! An ignis-fatuus, glimmering through the night, Is palsied age with youthful appetite! More serious thought and nobler aim demand The pilgrim journeying to a better land? Then pause — before it be too late, my soul! Thy passions learn to chasten and control! 51 Written on the first of May. At length the heavy dream has past away, — And earth beholds the smiling face of May' I live, to hail once more the glorious Spring — Us fresh green leaves and birds upon the wing'. Ah me! again Hope whispers in my breast — Again awaken feelings laid at rest: The tide of other days awhile reflows — A moment's sunshine through my bosom glows, And I could kneel and weep for very joy — Forget the man and be the reckless boy — The reckless boy, thy rival, beauteous May ! For what is youth but one long Summer's day ! Retribution , a fragment. I saw blood flowing in my fathers' halls, — The blood of my own race; yet in that hour I did not weep or shudder to behold That death-game play'd before my infant gaze. 52 Which rather seem'd a pastime and a joy Than aught to be abhorr'd, or shunnM, or fear'd ? Alas! my lonely lot, in after years, Hath well chastised such untimed merriment; For on the spacious earth, 1 cannot name Or friend or kinsman bound to me in love: Then, do not marvel if at times my brow Be overcast, and wanting in that mirth Most common to my age. If not too proud, I could shed tears — but none have seen them flow ! — Yes, Leonora! on thy breast, methinks, To weep awhile, would solace my poor heart! The shipwrecked man. He stood on the rocks of a beautiful isle, — Above him the heavens ever cloudless did smile; The air and the forests with harmony rung, The sea slept serene as the bosom when young ! And yet, midst the beauties of Nature he sigh'd — And mournful the look he sent over the tide: 53 For there all alone, on that wave-girded strand. The stranger now thought on his far native land — The friends of his youth, and the years that had pasi Since he like a weed on those shores had been cast: And oh ! how he yearn'd for the tempest that there Some bark, though a wreck, on his island should bear ; Again to commune and discourse with his race, Again to behold but some brotherly face — For what is a garden of Eden alone? Oh! who that the voice of affection hath known, And friendship and every endearment which links Humanity here, but from solitude shrinks? That simple word „home" hath a magical spell: How dear to the heart, the poor exile can tell ! Painful retrospection. JbARTH's low pursuits aside we cast When age has tamed down youthful fire ; We then first contemplate the past, And wish our objects had been higher! Sin works so subdolously, — few Ere shun the crimes their fathers rue! 54 When sinless pleasure's charm is o'er, When peace of mind is gone for aye - Youth's talisman possest no more, — And thorny doubts obstruct our way ; We sigh, and tremble as we gaze Back on the wrecks of happier days! Stanzas, on the melancholy death of Lord Graves- Alas! how baleful ofttimes prove The gifts of rank and wealth — each hour Are woman's truth and woman's love The victims of their all-enslaving power! Ill-fated one! thou could'st not live, On every ribald's lip to hear Her name a jest — too sensitive. The weight of undeserved shame to bear ! 55 The homicide. For aye the arm of vengeance sleepeth not! I saw one seated on his hearth secure — Prosperity and health were then his lot — His toils' reward — and why? his deeds were pure ! And still he wax'd in wealth — endearing love, A father's love was his — and none might trace Or gloom or aught of sorrow to reprove The calm content that glow'd upon his face. Anon — I paused again before his home — It now was changed; crops wither'd on his lands— And he, a vagabond, was forced to roam, — And why? — the stain of blood defiled his hands! A care-worn, alter'd man, whose days and nights Were haunted by fierce spectres of the brain; All pleasant hopes, affections and delights, Imbitter'd by the heavy curse of Cain! 56 Once more I saw him, as their hymn of praise The birds sang sweetly over hill and bower: He listen'd — 'twas the voice of other days, — And conscience smote him at his final hour! The chains he wore seem'd to transfix his mind! For Life no longer held its flattering glass: Years faded, — leaving one sad thought behind — What now he might have been — the wretch he was ! Time wreaks all ills! unbinds the treacherous spell, Which mock'd with seeming peace the sinful breast; Wrong'd Conscience must awake her inward hell ; Though tardy — injured Justice be redrest! The very winds will murder'd bones unbare — The sea, enraged, disgorge them on the land; Nay, self-accusing guilt its deed declare, — Or midnight dreams point out the bloody hand! 57 A twofold vision. I wander'd in a spacious garden, where The trees and shrubs were of the richest green. The emerald hue of Spring or early Summer, — Save that it altered not from day to day; Where fruits matured and fell, and flowers did bloom And shed their sweets upon the lap of earth — None withering, — for perpetual was their life! Beneath a clustering woodbine I beheld The first created pair — so beautiful ! They might have been mistaken for the angels, But for their lack of wings: such Innocence And Love, Content and boundless Gratitude, Conspicuous shone on either countenance, Imprinting charms that made them seem of heaven! Methought, that for the first time they had met — When glad astonishment had scarce subsided — As eager, mute inquiry waken'd love — A feeling undefiled^ and new, and holy ! Just then I woke — but slept, and dream'd again: And lo! the picture now was changed — instead Of that fair garden and its emerald green, 58 A city wound its walls about me, — and I heard the din of multitudes, and saw Their diverse garbs, and ranks, and ages mingle; All bent on low delight, or sordid gain. Within a dome which tower'd above the rest. And seem'd to mark the palace of a king — T saw that pair, whom I so late had seen — For they were like, save that the bloom of youth Had fled their cheeks, where wrinkles gather'd fast; Save that, Pride, Jealousy and Discontent, And uncheck'd passions had defiled their souls! Alone, within an alcove they did sit, — To watch the setting sun, — and as he sank And darkness grew, their eyes were fiU'd with tears — As though they would have follow'd in his path, — Forsaking gladly splendour such as theirs, — Once more to gaze upon their Paradise! 59 A liars epitaph. Within this grave, Here lies a youth ! Confound the knave — He speaks the truth ! Passion. The mind, once warpt to Passion's sibyl form, Must ride before the interminable storm: Balms may be found to heal where grief has wrung— But what shall cure the heart that love hath stung? The bird's song. I've listen'd to a maiden's lay — A deep-toned lyre — a whispering grove — The murmur of a fountain's play, — And felt the while, or dream'd of love! But never voice or melody yet heard, — To match with wild notes of the forest bird! 60 On the approach of Winter. Winter so soon return'd! the last Methinks still numbs me with its blast! Blithe Summer, like a dream of love, Flies quickly — slow doth Winter move! Beings, predestined more to taste Than to enjoy, we here seem placed; Or wherefore must such beauty die As Spring creates? deformity Of tempest and congealing air Supplant a scene so wondrous fair? It was decreed, when life began, To bound the happiness of Man ; In the same breast were heaven and helL And good and evil made to dwell : In cloud and sunshine, day and night, We walk — in shadow and in light! Unworthy, weak, imperfect things! Demons — or angels robb'd of wings ! 61 Passion. The noblest passions will disease the mind. And make our life a dream of fierce emotion; Like helmless vessel that before the wind Drives to and fro upon a stormy ocean. Events, of common nature, grow mysterious, And words, most simple, seem enigmas deep, - Until the o'erwrought brain becomes delirious; For Passion, like a vampyre, steals on sleep, And gently lulls the wretch she doth destroy : The human heart is still her favourite toy — She sports with it, as babes with baubles play: At length, the broken idol's cast away! On second marriage. 1 o take a second or a third wife here, May be accounted very Christian work : With more than one wife in another sphere, The Christian surely will be deem'd a Turk ! == __ 6 62 To a weeping girl. Thou mourn'st thy father's ruthless deeds; Thy young heart o'er thy mother bleeds: Weep on! in Virtue's diadem, Each tear, o maiden, is a gem! For suffering Man and Man misled, Tears, we are told, even angels shed. Weep on! thy tears, a balm impart To her y — and may yet melt his heart. First love. The hue or odour of some flower Our parents cull'd in Eden's bower; A something left of Paradise, W r hereon no serpent's venom lies, — Art thou, in thy young morn, o Love! Type of yon firmament above, When azure, boundless and serene — When not a single cloud is seen! 63 The first libation that we pour Unto the being* we adore, Is pure, and cometh from the soul ! Unlike the juice of Passion's bowl, "Which fails to quench the thirst of him Whose lips have hourly prest itsbrim. From childhood's happy ignorance We waken up, as from a trance; Or, as the blind restored to sight; At once beholding Beauty's light! As caves, or wildernesses dark. Are lighted by the electric spark: So sudden oftentimes, — and oh ! How oftentimes as transient too! Alas! on thee, portentous hour! How much depends — since thou hast power To change our natures, as the tide Of ocean changes, — and decide Our lot and all our wanderings here — Perchance too in a higher sphere! 64 •Against despair. What if thy kin a home deny — Despairing, must thou therefore die? The wild beast finds its place of rest, The bird can build its downy nest; And shall not Man a refuge find, Far from the envy of his kind ; Some wilderness, some rocky cave By Nature form'd — his home and grave? An evening in Arabia. 'Tis eve — the light-wing'd zephyr moves O'er flowers and aromatic groves; The placid hour and balmy air, Seem to divest all things of care; Soft music floats upon the breeze ; Birds seek their nest, their hive the bees, — And Man his pillow — slumbers light — His opium and his sherbet bright! 65 Fragment of an Eastern tale. In dewy sleep the evening hour Doth fold up many a beauteous flower; The morn beholds them fresh and fair. Exhaling sweetness through the air. Last eve beheld as fair a maid In Slumber's arms as gently laid: „This Rose of Persia — Persia's pride] ,, To-morrow's sun will be my bride!" The young and thoughtless Hassan cries. The morrow came — the sun did rise — Each flower beneath his genial ray Unclosed, as fresh as yesterday i ■— That Rose alone a sudden blight Had nipp'd — it wither'd in the night! The sound of gathering, voices shrill, And strife were hear — then all was still! So still, you might have heard the flow Of waters in the plains below! The desert-robber's spear is red With slaughter, — hearts that sleeping bled ! Whoe'er the tiger's mercy won ? Whom none will pity, — pities none! 6* 66 The oak. At morn I pass'd an aged oak. The only one the woodman's stroke Seem'd to have spared for many a rood, As monarch of the neighbouring wood. So dense its foliage spread, the eye Could scarcely through it see the sky. At eve I pass'd the spot again — And blacken'd- ashes strew'd the plain ! I mused, — and thought on kingdoms gone To swift destruction — Babylon And Tyre ! no vestige left to tell Their site: enough — they were and fell! That tree had braved the Winter's blast, To be the lightning's prey at last! That tree had fallen — the mightiest fall ! - Our earth is perishable all ! 67 Flowers. With us, joint children of the earth, Sweet flowers, are ye ! with us in mirth And mourning — through all changes here; Adorning oft our funeral bier! Yon chaplet, form'd of paler roses, The chastity of one discloses ; And happier, may be, had her hours Of life flow'd onward, than if flowers More various should compose the wreath That decks her monument in death! Oh! beautiful it is, to pay Such tribute to departed clay! In life, they graced its brighter hours; In death, be its companions, flowers I Drinking friendships. Such friendships as wine-cups unite, Work, like the wine, a single night. 68 The silence of death. What cunning hand did ever wake Upon the lyre sweet music's strain, — The lyre whose every chord was broken? Fond mourner! thy attempts to break The silence of the dead, as vain : The lips are seaPd, that should have spoken! The old maris lament. As moans the wind o'er A ruin of ages — Is heard on the shore, Before the storm rages; Are sighs o'er the past. The joys that have left us, Since Time's chilling blast Of youth has bereft us: 69 Of youth and of joy — A joy without measure! One grain of alloy, To thousands of pleasure ! Oh, strike the harp loud, 'Till memory vanish! For things on it crowd, I gladly would banish! Where feasts were of yore, Dim shadows brood only; The feast is no more — My dwelling is lonely ! My dog was the last To love and caress me! His bark as I past, Was something to bless me! But he, like the rest, Has also departed; Expecting each guest — He died, broken-hearted! 70 And Winter is near — The harvest advancing: Why tarry I here? The reapers are dancing! I now am alone! The lark and the plover - The reapers are gone — The harvest is over. A gleaner am I, Amongst the dry stuhble! Why bursts it not — why? If life be a bubble? True love. Before our infant lips could love express, We loved each other, from the earliest age ; Scholastic studies made us love no less, For we did share the sports that then engage, And loving still, have wed — I and that gentle maid ! 71 We wed; and whether in the banquet hall, Or deep seclusion of the woodland shade, — We always love each other, more than all Around us — I and that angelic maid! And if you ask us why ? Let childhood's days reply! Though years are fled, we still behold our love Reflected and enlarged; its every ray In rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes that move Like meteors round us and illume our way,— And growing, as we grew — Will love, as we loved, too! Counsel for lovers. The more profound your secrecy, The more sincere and deep your love! Believe me, where the tongue is free, The heart is very apt to rove ! 72 Another. Play not the braggart with thy passion, Nor praise thy girl in others' hearing ; Such is not wise, though much the fashion: Love — but to love avoid appearing! Lines written under a painting of some strawberries. This painting is an emblem true Of Life's first stages and its best; The germe, and bud, and ripeness too, — Are here all faithfully exprest! The fruit resembles those on earth, The friends with whom we sometimes meet, Of unpretending, lowly birth — But of a nature passing sweet ! 73 Written under a drawing of some shells. Thy waves, o sea! are oft our brethrens* graves; Thou, like the earth, hast dwellings and hast caves ; And flowers and weeds abound in thy green field, — Treasures and secrets which thou dost not yield! Thy shells, in colour and proportion fair, Their great Creator's master-mind declare : From depths they float up, where no eye can reach — To tame the haughtiness of Man, and teach And strengthen Faith: to learn us, like those shells ConceaPd, — that Truth in darkness often dwells. 74 To the spirit of a departed friend. And art thou gone — friend of my early years? Shall hundreds that esteemed thee mourn thy loss,— And I, who have most cause, withhold my tears, Because my stubborn will was doom'd to cross Thy wise, paternal counsels throughout life, And wage against thee most unnatural strife S No! deeper be my grief and penitence! — Blest shade! let this for many wrongs atone, — That I, to her thou lov'dst, will be from hence All that thou could'st desire — a tender son! O God ! make strong my purpose — oh! be near Her! comfort her — for thou art every where ! August, 1838. 75 We know not the worth of a friend until tve have lost him. How seldom do we prize The virtues of a friend, Until he mouldering lies — When friendship's at an end. Ourselves perversely cheat, And wholesome truths contemn; We wear its counterfeit, — And fling away the gem! Poor, frail mortality! Ah why for ever war 'Gainst those that love thee? why Thus life's enjoyments mar? Could Earth but render back The treasures she has ta'en! Not gold it is we lack: — Restore the dead again ! 76 Give back! give back, o Grave! What I have lost — a friend! Vain wish ! of Earth to crave — What Heaven could only send ! December, 1838. Inez de Castro: AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN 3 ACTS. 79 lite* tie tiTamo. Donna Inez was the daughter of Don Pedro Fer- nandez de Castro, a Castilian nobleman who, about the year 1337, commanded the frontier army of Alonzo XI., Ring of Castile; but on account of favours received from Alphonso IV. , King of Portugal, he refused to fight against that country, and took refuge at the court of the latter. In Inez were united every charm of beauty, exalted mind, and the most graceful and accomplished manners. Don Pedro, son of Alphonso IV., and heir appa- rent to the Portuguese throne, was a youth of noble and brave disposition, whose exploits in arms had rendered him illustrious. He became enamoured of Inez, and wa- ving all considerations as to birth and fortune , was priva- tely married to her at Braganza by the bishop of Guarda. Their union was concealed, and his intercourse with Inez, passed off at court as an intrigue of gallantry. But the nobility having got information of the marriage, and 80 jealous of the preference thus shown to Inez , took every opportunity of representing her as a woman of unboun- ded ambition, and pretended that fatal consequences might be dreaded from such an alliance; that her brothers, who were very powerful in Castile, would destroy the Prince's son Fernando by the lady Con- stance, in order that one of her own children might inherit the crown. They denied Inez's right to be queen. She was nevertheless of blood royal, as her sister sat on the throne of Castile. They even insinuated that Constance had been murdered to gratify the Prince's love for Inez. Alphonso, who had himself been an undutiful son and a cruel father, lent a too willing ear to these calum- nies against Inez, and was at length persuaded to murder her. Donna Inez at that time resided at Coimbra with her children, in the palace of Santa Clara. When Alphonso arrived there, unfortunately the Prince was absent on a hunting excursion. Inez, apprized of the King's approach, met him with her children, threw her- self at his feet and implored mercy. The feelings of nature at first triumphed, but his advisers, Pedro Coelho, Diego Lopez and Alvaro Gonsalves, urged the necessity of her death for the welfare of the country which was at that moment in a very precarious and unsettled state. She was dragged into his presence, and with the utmost aggravations of inhumanity, kill'd before his eyes. The bloody act was scarcely committed, when 81 the Prince arrived. He gave way to the bitterest grief and invoked the vengeance of Heaven on her murderers. He put himself at the head of an army and carried fire and sword through their lands. Alphonso died racked with remorse at his crime. No sooner did Don Pedro ascend the throne, than he set about completing the work of vengeance. By exchanging prisoners with the King of Castile, the aggres- sors were put into his power. He had them tortured to discover their accomplices ; but without effect. They were laid on a pyre , contiguous to a banquet , and while they lingered under the most excruciating torments, their hearts were cut out. The pyre was then lighted, in presence of which the King feasted, as they evapo- rated in flames He afterwards caused the remains of Inez to be disenterred, and placed upon a throne in the church of Santa Clara with the greatest solemnity, and honours were paid to the corpse. After the cere, mony it was removed to Alcobaca, and buried by torch-light. The country about Coimbra is mountainous and richly cultivated, abounding in cypresses, olive and orange trees, small pine-wood and German oak. The valleys are watered by numerous streams and covered with gardens, quintas, summer-houses and monasteries, The river Mondego winds before the City ; in the distance rises the lofty range of Lousao, and mount Bussaco is seen , its solitary summit adorned with a monastery of the Carmelites. There is a spot in the neighbour- 82 hood of Coimbra called „the garden of tears 1 ', with a fountain of the same name. From hence is a superb view of the palace of Santa Clara, the chosen residence of Don Pedro and the ill-fated Inez. Such is the Historian's account of this tragic event in Portuguese history; and however various and con- flicting the relations of other writers may be as to dates and circumstances, there can but be one sentiment upon the cruelty of Alphonso — that of horror! — but one feeling towards the unfortunate Inez — that of pity! The reader will observe that the author of the present tragedy has often very materially departed from the above account of facts, taking advantage of the wri- tings of others on the same subject, where they better suited his purpose. Dramatis personse. MEN. Alphonso, reigning king of Portugal. Don Pedro, his son, and heir to the throne, Lord High Constable. Gonsalves, } > counsellors of the king. Coelho, $ Lopez, attendant to the Lord High Constable. Julian, attendant to Don Pedro. Archbishop of Oporto. Grandees of Portugal, Priests, Gaoler, Huntsmen, Soldiers, Sfcc. WOMEN. Donna Inez de Castro, privately married to Don Pedro. Donna Bianca, princess of Naverre. Joanna, waiting woman to Donna Inez. Ladies of the court, and female attendants* 85 Inez de Castro. Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. Breaking open the door of Juliet* s monument. Shakspeare ACT I. SCENE I Within the gates of Lisbon. A march ; troops pass over the stage Enter King Alphonso, Lord High Constable, COELHO, GoNSALVES, &CC, K, Alp Peace to the dead — the brave who died for Christ! And well too for the living who can say: ,,Once more we stand within Lisboa's gates'? Then doff, my friends, the helmet and the sword . And let the war-steed rest him in his stall! We thank you for your zeal evinced for us, — Befitting sons of Portugal, renown'd In farthest Ind as valiant in the field,. 86 And no less loyal in the times of peace. The sacred cause all Christendom espouses; Armed cap-a-pie, the stripling with shrill voice Doth importune his sire that he may bear The standard of the cross to distant climes. As David 'gainst the huge Goliah match'd, The Moorish army when compared with ours — Ours but a handful of intrepid hearts! Heaven lent us vigour, and again the cross Hath triumph'd! and again the crescent fail'd! The Moorish widow will remember long Taryfa's field, the Moorish soldier curse The band that sent him with his swarthy myriad* Back to the burning sands of Africa — Yet leaving dead enough to fertilize Our brother Castile's lands — our new ally! — We now intend a solemn thanksgiving x\nd feast, to celebrate our victory; Already is the princess of Naverre Invited, and each hour expected here: Her would we to our loved Pedro wed, — It will much strengthen our increasing power! I marvel that he is not here to greet Our glad return — know you, Lord Constable, 87 What bodes his absence at such joyful hour? I fear lest grievous sickness be the cause. Const. Nay, Heaven forefend! 'tis hardiy three days since The happiest tidings from the prince arrived \ He little dreams so soon to welcome home Your majesty! Permit that I despatch A messenger with news of your return? K. Alp. 'Tis well ! — yetstay — upon maturerthought, We judge it moie advised, Lord Constable, Yourself should seek the prince — your lips convey Our ardent wish to fold him in these arms, — And further say. we would present to him A spouse, accornplish'd, young, and wondrous fair! In virtue of your office he will lend A patient and attentive ear — besides. Should he seem aught averse or slow to wed. Persuasive words you lack not to enforce Obedience meet. Const. I humbly take my leave — Nor doubt I, ere the moon is at her full, To be the herald of his glad consent. [Exit Lord High Constable. Cod Yet have I strange misgivings, and distrust His highness's acceptance of the boon 88 Your royal hand thus bountifully tenders; For I most carefully have lately watch'd The prince, and frequent fits of melancholy And deep abstraction have observed usurping His wonted mirth and sportive cheerfulness. K.Alp. An absent father's danger in the war Will blanch the cheek, and cloud the filial brow, Thy thoughts, Gonsalves, speak! Gon. We are agreed! Coelho's sentiments and fears are mine! His love for Inez waxes every day. I like not her, my liege! arts numberless A woman can at will exert, if once She gain dominion o'er the heart of man. Through her persuasive tongue, how frequently Doth treason spring up — loose rebellious schemes Awake; allegiance, duty, honour sleep! Of late, his highness rarely condescends To join the court, scarce mingles in its pleasures— Sits cold spectator of the tournament, Unnoticing the many beauteous forms Which crowd about him and in vain essay To kindle on his countenance a smile. Unwelcome and most unbeseeming change! 89 The heir unto the throne of Portugal To lead a pastoral life — an anchorite's! K.Alp. Know you no more? Coel. Nothing — yet — might I dare To offer, sire, my poor advise — [Patismg K.Alp. Proceed! Coel. 'Twere good your majesty require more ott The prince's presence at Lisboa's court; 'Twill wean him from his gloomy mood, — and what Were of still greater moment to my mind — The subtle net which Donna Inez weaves K. Alp. True — true: well thought, Coelho! follow straight — Command the Lord High Constable he fail Not to deliver all, — and bring my son! Bid him heed well to urge the marriage part — For my expectances on that are built I [Exit Coelho. Gonsalves, come with me; I would confer On lighter matters which concern the time And plan of our approaching festival. [Exeunt 90 SCENE IL Mountain scenery near Coimbra. EfiterhoRT) High Constable and Lopez, his confi- dential attendant. Const. The ascent is rugged, long and wearisome ; Yet amply t'will repay the clamberer's toil, To gaze upon such scenery beneath him ! Rich banquet for the soul susceptible To Nature's beauties — whether, wild and stern, Display'd in rude and beetling precipice Or cataract; impenetrable woods And caves, the haunts of savage nature — or Beheld in smooth and cultured, broad campaign — The habitation of exalted Man ! The sunlight and the shadow, flitting o'er The meadow and the vineyard, are but types Of passing generations ; glittering here A little hour, then darken'd in the tomb! In dread uncertainty — yet revelling And framing plans, as though exempt from death ! As yonder river travels to the ocean, Do temporal things approach Eternity : Here, with unruffled surface, glides the wave — 91 There, hurried in its course 'twixt narrow shores, And tumbled angrily o'er shallow sands; — Resembling Life ! its moments calm and blest, And those of black despondency and care — In all still checkered ! Lop. Tis a lovely scene! Alas I these limbs, once strong and nimble as The antelope's, begin to fail me now. I have grown aged in your house, my lord, — And in your father's house. Const. My faithful Lopez! Dost see yon trunk of giant pine, the winds Or dreadful lightnings in their swift career Have levelPd, and no sign of verdure left! Rest thine old limbs thereon awhile ; myself, Less weary, will essay to gain yon peak Where ruin'd battlements conspicuous stand, — And seem to frown upon the smiling landscape. Perchance I may from thence descry the bowers Of sweet Mondego! though 'tis many a year Since I beheld them last, — and question much If treacherous memory will still select Them from the rest. But, hark! a hunter's horn! [The sound of a distant horn is heard. 92 I will ascend, the better to command A full view of the chase! a glorious pastime: Replete with ruddy health! a sport I prized In early life, — and which from morn till eve No mountaineer more ardently pursued! [He ascends the mountain. Imbosoni'd in the richest woodland stands The quinta of the prince. Well chosen site For twin-born Love, divine Philosophy, Or Royalty grown irksome of the cares Of state — or fitter haunt for Poetry! Yes — I can single it from all around! The wand of Time, or more capricious Man, Have not so changed the features of yon spot — But that I know it well! for there are scenes Which, iike the witching form of some fair girl — Once seen — are never more to be forgotten! Ay, though it were a passing glance alone — And that but for an instant — still impress'd Indelible upon the mind and heart They freshly live, when thousand meaner things Are buried in oblivion — unregretted ! — But who is she that in the garden walks, With two cherubic children by her side* 93 Her gait — her every air betokens rank! Even she, perhaps, 'gainst whom I come to plead] See! now she stoops to cull some fruit or flower, To please them with. Do I not also come To pluck her, as she doth that flower from where It grows and blooms in peace and loveliness? To make her wither as that simple flower? Am I not like the enemy of God And Man, when hovering o'er the residence Of our then sinless parents with intent To steal away their bliss and their obedience ? But we are subjects — kings must be obey'd — Their service done — each whimsical behest, At risk of making million bosoms bleed! Oh! I have thought at times my own high rank And station far less enviable than his — The shepherd's, tending on the plain his sheep; From wolves to guard the flock, his lightsome care. Suspecting and suspected — watch'd and watching — We have few friends, — and many thousand foes! And yet, my heart was ever prone to be The friend of Man, my fellow Man — abhorring Oppression and oppressors, I have work'd For such an end, and for my country's weal ? 94 If I have err'd — 'twas still on mercy's side! God knows! unwillingly I undertook My present task, and loathe its cruelty — To separate two hearts, and loving ones! Another had been fitter for such service — Albeit i must not shrink — retreat were fatal ! [Horn sounds nearer. The horn sounds fuller, and the tramp of steeds Cannot be distant from the place I left. Belike it is the prince himself? He will Not thank me much for breaking on his sports! 1 will return, and speedily ! [He descends the mountain. Lop. My lord! The prince approaches. Shall I on before, To apprize Ids highness of your purposed visit? Const. Stir not! the mountain paths are numerous And intricate — he comes! Enter Don Pedro, Huntsmen, &cc My gracious prince! Z>. Ped. Well met — my good Lord Constable, right welcome! Coimbra has not seen thee many a day ! Thou hast forgotten doubtless scenes like these 95 Too simple for the statesman's loftier mind! Say I not sooth, my lord ? Const. Not so, my prince! Too many blissful moments here have past — To be to memory lost! A hallow'd spot, Coimbra is to me; its orange-groves — The thick green boughs of yonder hazel wood — Those vineyards, where the silver river glides, Have oft conceal'd me from the vulgar eye ; And there by starlight I was wont to rove, And watch pale Dian rising on the wave — Nor was I there alone. A maid, whose bright Similitude I have not since beheld, — Was then the dear companion of my steps Our mutual vows were plighted there — believe Me, tis a spot remembrance dearly loves To dwell upon — although our passion proved A luckless one,— and mostly so to me! But, pardon me, my liege! I turn a pratler— • Unmindful of the duty that hath brought Me here. D. Ped. What ! is my father then returned ? His recent conquest reached my joyful ear 96 Const. From Lisbon hath the king despatch'd me here On matters of great urgency and weight! With leave — we will discourse in privacy. D.Ped. Say on, Lord Constable! whatever they be- Even here I will receive them. Const. Here, my prince? D. Ped. The day is sultry, — and I would repose Awhile; the quarry gave us merry sport. I thank you, gentlemen! in one short hour We will rejoin you at the quinta — till Which time, farewell ! Go you [to Lopez.] too, and assure The lady Inez of my quick return. [Exeunt Huntsmen, attendants f fycc. Deliver now! Const Your royal father bade Me say, impatiently he waits to fold You in his arms, and next — D Ped, You hesitate' Const. 'Tis that I fear the sequel will not prove As grateful as the preface. In few words — The king would have your highness shortly wed — Moreover, has selected you a bride. 97 D. Ped. Most true ! the sequel is less grateful than The preface. But, how call you this same bride? Const. It is the lovely princess of Naverre. D. Ped. What! She? the haughty sister of Castile! Our new ally! I'll with you to the court. — Howbeit, this marriage savours ill indeed! The King's thoughts quickly change from war to love! Const. The nobles and the nation — all approve Your father's choice! D. Ped. Yes — they approve his choice, Not first requiring mine, — it most concerns! Am I a cipher then? Must princely blood Still wed for policy and it alone? Hold no prerogative in that which most Conduces to or 'gainst life's happiness? Ay — thus 'tis with the miserably great! The nation hath our heads — our careful rule! Must it too have our hearts? I thought at least The last were free to take or to reject A woman's hand — a wife's ! Const. Some deference Is due to public wishes — public voice! Besides, report speaks largely in her praise: A graceful person with accomplish'd mind. 98 D. Ped. All eyes see not alike, Lord Constable ! Our opticks vary, — and an old man views With clouded vision! Thus, my father looks Unto the interests solely of the crown, — And were his choice unfavour'd , — yea, even so To loathsomeness, she would be qualified And wondrous fair to him! I'll speak no more; It makes me fretful, and I would not greet Uncourteously my honour'd visitor! Repair we to the quinta? Const. Willingly ! [Exeunt SCENE III. Terrace before the quinta at Coimbra. Enter Donna Inez and Joanna, her attendant, J( an. Nay — sigh not thus,my lady ! he will soon Return; bis ardour in the chase, has made His highness overstep the custom'd hour. [After listening attentively for awhile D In. No vain alarm disquieted, so long As I could hear his horn at intervals; But all is silent, — and the shades of eve 99 Are gathering fast. The hours appear to creep — Dull — motionless! Tis an eternity To those who watch and listen for the step Of one beloved! — Oh! how this anxious heart Doth tremble lest mischance should have befallen him. The mountains' deep ravines have swallow'd many — Moreover, fierce banditti do infest Those heights — the terror of our peasantry! As wild beasts' shun the day, but are abroad By night O insupportable suspense! I pray thee, send another messenger Joan. I hear the tramp of horses, — tis the prince ! Enter a Huntsman. Hunt. His highness sent us forward to assure The lady Inez of his quick return. D. In. But friends! alone why tarries he behind? I dread those solitary hills at dusk. Hunt We left him, lady, in good company! My Lord High Constable attends the prince — Nor are they distant, and are free from peril. D. In. [aside.'} He journeys from the king! — Alphonso back! I know not why — but when I breathe that name, Or hear it utter'd by another's lips, 100 A chill — a deathlike chill comes o'er my heart. - And most unquiet thoughts invade my mind. Albeit, in nothing have I wrong'd Alphonso, Unless it be a crime to love bis son, — To love, as He that made us hath ordain'd! Strange! the Lord Constable should leave the court, And when most needed — at the king's return! Unfathomable mystery! I fear To hearken thy interpretation — yet, I must prepare myself to meet the worst ! SCENE IV. A chamber in the quinta. Enter Don Pedro and Donna Inez. 2). Ped. Unwelcome invitation! though my sire's — And more, my sovereign's! — would it were not so! D. In. And I as much regret it must be so Would not to-morrow do for thy departure? It is too sudden and too unprepared. D. Ped. To-morrow if thou wilt — another day — Another month! nay, love, I will not go; But send immediate word I am not well. D. In. If there be truth or honesty in dreams. Vd stay thee still! yet should'st thou disobey, 101 The sure displeasure of the king* ensues, And points out me the cause of your offence Go, therefore, — and in Heaven reliance place! In Him, whose arm the unprotected shields, Confide the safety of thy wife and babes! D. Ped. This dream, my Inez, is of recent date/ D.In. Last night it was — yet day and busy life in nothing have obliterated things — Unreal, real images I saw — For palpable they seem'd, although in sleep — Mysteriously rehearsing near events, So pregnant with misfortune to us both, My very tongue is petrified — my lips Refuse disclosure — [She pauses. D. Ped. Do not make my ear A stranger to thy thoughts; recount this dream D. In. Alone, methought, I rambled through our garden, And as I pass'd before a laurel-tree, On either side of which two younger plants Contiguous grew — by mighty winds impel I'd, A sudden flame of fire fell on the tree — The parent tree, and kindled it — the flames Soon spread— with crackling sound it was consumed. 9* 102 And naught but blacken'd ashes strew'd the earth Where it had flourish'd green and full of life ! Unharm'd the young plants still remain'd: I woke, And thought upon our children and myself. D. Ped. To mere illusions of a sleeping brain. Attach not, Inez, such terrific meaning! D. In. Oh ! but I slept again, and dream'd again. More terrible and deadly omens rose! A milkwhite doe and her two fawns were chased By bloodhounds whom the voice and whip of one Did urge on, as they slacken'd in their speed ; At last, the bloodhounds gainM upon the doe, Arrested by her helpless young — for they Sank down o'erwearied: then, methought, I saw Them tear her vitals forth and feed on them! In agonies she died, — and all the while The hunter stood and gloated o'er their meal! I look'd into his phantom-face — the smile — The ghastly smile which lit it was infernal ! I gazed and gazed upon it — till it grew So like your father's, — that I shriekM aloud! — Even now, awake, the picture haunts me stil! — Connecting so the fate of that poor doe With mine — I shudder, and in vain attempt 103 To shake it off! — Tis strange — thou must away, — And we remain! D. Ped. Enough! I will not stir. Wealth — power — all shrinks to insignificance Compared with thy affection ! I will write My father, sickness hath forestalled his will, — And yet my letter shall abound with strain Congratulative and all filial duty. D. In. Nay, thou must go ! believe me, thy excuse Will but the more enrage the king 'gainst one Already hateful in his sight; for she He'll say, controls each movement of the prince; And tongues, thou know'st, lack not at court, to echo And sanction what he may imagine — hands To execute whate'er he would have done! D. Ped. Most true — the king has counsellors, not friends ; Chamelions, courtiers, panders of his lusts, — The agents of all evil and the bane Of good. He that hath led in many battles, Is govern'd by the meanest of the mean: Men fit for nothing save to crawl like reptiles, And cast their venom upon nobler things! D In. And knowing this — cannot the son instil 104 Such wholesome truths into his father's mind, And liberate him from these minions' thrall? D.Ped. It may be — though, 'tis hard for sons to school Their fathers — when in dotage, harder still! The prejudices of old men do stick To them as cleaves the sea-shell to its rock, Which you may break before you separate. Yet I despair not, and will once again Make trial ! It were greatly to be wish'd ! And thou shalt with me — yes, my Inez, thou\ D. In. I with thee? gladly, yes — yes, anywhere — To deserts or the haunts of savages — Oh ! anywhere but where your father is. 'Twould be to trust the sheep unto the wolf: How would he brook the tidings of our marriage? D. Ped. But ill? — Thou reasonest right! abide thou here; Nor dread that aught shall wean thee from my heart ! All sublunary objects — Heaven itself Methinks, without thee, would be misery ! My wishes — hopes — all centre in thy love! Both present and hereafter are intwined 105 With thee! the closing of existence will Not end our love, can death prolong it still ! [Embracing her. D. In I ne'er an instant doubted of thy love ! But 'tis a cruel world in which we live! Where enmity seeks ever to ingraft Itself upon the tree of wedded love. Oh ! what a fund of bliss the first-created Must have enjoy'd in primal innocence ! All they beheld, but tended to augment, Not lessen their affection, — and where'er They trod, the earth but yielded thornless flowers ! Alas! the thorns and briers since have sprung up: Curst Jealousy and discontented thought ! D. Ped. And Interest — that downfal of affection! Yet trust me, dearest ! I am arm'd and proof 'Gainst subtle argument; nor words, nor threats. Nor punishment shall e'er estrange my love! D. In To One whose power exceeds an earthly king's, — To Him I lift my prayers — Be can protect! [ Exeunt, 106 ACT II. SCENE I. Audience chamber in the king's palace at Lisbon. Enter Kimg Alphonso and Donna Bianca. D. Bian. I plainly see, his highness loves me not. K.Alp. I do entreat your patience, gentle lady! Once more I will essay — as yet we have Not spoke in person, using but the tongues Of other men ; the prince mistrusts their speech, Or holds it rather as some state intrigue, Than our especial will, — and therefore 'tis, We have required his presence now at court. We hourly may expect him: gentle measures, Fair promises we purpose to expend — But should these fail, coercive means must bow The stubborn neck of youth and teach submission! He knows his father swerves not from his aim,— And therefore, wisely will obey! D .Bian. And yet — I question much your majesty's success! Though mild, he still is firm of character! In all such matters, gentlest hearts take fire: Howbeit, Heaven prosper your intention! 107 K. Alp. (a blast of trumpets is heard.) Hark! I hear the trumpets — 'tis the prince arrived. Enter Don Pedro; he embraces his fat her D. Ped. My royal father! welcome from the wars! {Observing Donna Bianca I crave your pardon, lady! in my joy To see my father, I had overlooked Such honour'd presence! D.Bian. It is granted, prince! Politeness ever must give way to duty. [With evident embarrassment. Your highnesses will pardon me awhile. [Exit Bi a nca K.Alp, You travel quickly! D. Ped. Urgent was the call, — And readily have I obey'd it. K.Alp. Yes — Most rigidly exact, I grant. It was Thy habit always to be first at Council, When aught of moment was to be discuss'd : In weightier matters punctual to the letter — In pleasure oft a truant — still thy chamber Preferring to the joyful festive board. Such is thy humour, and must be indulged ! 108 D. Ped. My bent lies not that way. Oh ! I could dwell In woods and listen to the babbling brook And sweetest minstrelsey of birds, or mark The various flowers each several season brings! Trust me — the longest life has ne'er exhausted The book of Nature: food it doth contain For contemplation, wonder, without end ! K. Alp. All this is well — the world has interest too ! Its stirring scenes of industry and war Demand attention — chiefly so a prince's! And to this end we have required thy presence. My son, thou art arrived at man's estate; Thy country looks to thee, whom God alone Has granted, to succeed me on the throne. Our arms have carried conquest every where; Whereto this new alliance with Castile Hath much contributed: to pay which debt, We have already pledged our kingly word, That thou shalt wed the daughter of Castile ! D. Ped. (with deeply wounded feelings.) My father pledged his word for my consent? K. Alp. 'Twas in the battle-field — thus doubly sacred ! I gave a soldiers and a monarch's word! 109 Had it been otherwise, perhaps we might Consider— as it is, no choice remains* D. Ped. Yet surely my consent was requisite To seal the compact — still without it void. K. Alp. Castile is now our friend — our firm ally — How long so must depend, — and certain, if We violate our promise, not an hour I Thy father's honour is at stake — comply! D. Ped. Accursed policy ! that plays its game And tampers with the heart's affections — makes Its victims drag out life from day to day, And feel the weight of chains — be link'd to one We do not love, yet must dissemble love: I cannot, father! come what will, consent. K. Alp. Rash boy! then dread the worst! Bethink thee yet! On thy resolve, remember, hangs thy fate — And tier's too — therefore pause, and ponder well! Thy written answer we expect to-morrow. D. Ped. Nay — take it then to-day; I cannot wed ! Oh I hadst thou, monarch, earlier hinted this, Before thy fatal promise, thou hadst spared Thyself and me — much misery to both! 110 But wherefore longer hesitate? the blow Must fall — the lady Inez is my wife! K. Alp. (with astonishment.) Recall thy words ! His false ! thou daredst not — no ! For once, T cannot credit thy own speech, Inez!— she mingle with Alphonso's blood? D. Ped. [kneeling before the King, who stands with averted countenance and about to go. Oh, hear me, father! prostrate, on my knees Implore I pardon for myself and her! Did'st thou but know the virtues of her soul— Maternal tenderness — oh, half her worth! Thou would'st relent — I feel thou wouldst, — and seek To set aside this hasty resolution. K. Alp. We thought this Inez was thy paramour; As such, she was indifferent in our sight If it be so — more serious measures must Be ta'en — tis time to march with hastier strides > Farewell, Don Pedro! your neglect of duty, Reminds me but of mine I — You have your orders! • (to Coelho and the guard who appear; as the King retires \ the Prince is led off in an opposite direction as state pinsoner.) [Exeunt. Ill SCENE II. Interior of a prison. Don Pedro, sitting beforeatable in a pensive attitude. D.Ped. A king's son — nay, the treatmentistoo vile! 'Twould banish inclination in the best Of men, and gender hatred in the heart! O God ! let me, in anger, not forget He is my sire; old age is weak and peevish. 'Tis not the loss of freedom which doth gall And madden me, but that my Inez is Far distant and defenceless — bound the hands Which should protect — that would have braved a world For her! Yes, tyrant! thou hast work'd thy will! Enter Gaoler. Gao. A monk doth crave admittance. D. Ped. Let him come — Belike, he is the harbinger of good. [The Gaoler goes, and i*eturns with the Monk. Hail, holy father! for a monarch's son, A scanty audience chamber is provided, And meager in its furniture. Monk. (Looking about Azm.) But scant Indeed, my son ! The palace or the prison— We offer consolation everywhere! And such is now the purport of my visit. 112 D. Ped. (to the Gaoler.) Leave us, good gaoler! since this holy man Would have it so. Goa. I pray your highness make Brief conference; my orders are explicit — None enters here unsanction^ by the Council. Monk. Free access is our calling's privilege! Nor bolts nor bars exclude Religion's step! Gao. Well, well! I would not willingly refuse. Do but be brief — for should the Council send, My office and my life will pay the fault. [Exit Gaoler. Monk. [Advancing towards the Prince. Beneath this cowl is Julian hid. D. Ped. How! Julian! — Oh, speak! how fares it with my wife and children? What message doth she send? what says my love? Jul. But little — sorrow hath usurp'd all speech; She hung still o'er her children, wrung her hands. Imploring aid of Heaven! and bade me straight To Lisbon— bade me seek you out — Alas \ I fear the shock has proved too strong for reason — For once she laugh'd out, yet it was not mirth, But mockery of joy, — and then she fell To weeping and reproach; your father's name 113 Oft murmuring — and as oft her fit returned, And she would restless roam from room to room, As seeking some one — but your presence can Call back her scatter'd senses — whisper peace Unto her heavy heart! The time is precious — Become the monk, and let me play the captive! Fly quickly, my good lord ! a horse awaits Without the city's walls — before the guard Discover fraud, you will be far from hence! D. Ped. [After a little reflection. Oh ! could I — but it must not— cannot be! My father will relent; should I escape, His wrath would follow us, and every gate To mercy would be closed for ever! No — Men shall not say, the heir unto the throne Of Portugal could fly to screen his head! Perhaps, even while we speak, the Council plan My liberation — go — say what thou wilt, Good Julian! comfort— not depress my Inez! Make light of my condition, and affirm That I am full of confidence and hope, And soon await a favourable change. Jul. I go reluctantly, but must obey 10* 114 D. Ped. Fail not to urge her flight beyond the frontier ; The safety of my wife and children once Effected — come what may, I am prepared! Jul Farewell, most gracious prince! all shall be done That my poor services may well perform. [Exit Julian D.Ped. I'll lay me down — o'erwearied nature asks Her tribute — rest! Since first I enter'd here, I have not closed mine eyes, and fever's heat Doth parch my lips — what, ho! good gaoler, give Me drink — I thirst! Re-enter Gaoler. Wine have I brought, my liege! D. Ped. Pure water — water is my choice. There is Too much of fire already in my veins! [The Gaoler goes and returns with water, which he presents to the Prince, who drinks. The draught is worth a world to thirsty lips! Thanks, gaoler! drowsiness creeps over me; An hour's repose will strengthen and refresh. [He lies down Gao. He sleeps, and smiles — his thoughts are far away! 115 Alas! that he must waken to disturb The sweet illusions that now rock his brain! [The Gaoler goes, but shortly returns; Don Pedro wakes and confusedly looks about him. D. Ped. Where am I ? oh, tis you ! (seeing the Gaoler.) these massy walls ! Gao. Your highness has long slept! you seem refresh'd ! D.Ped. I am most so. I had celestial dreams! Old times came back; I was the reckless youth Again, a roving hunter of the woods: Then came my Inez, beautiful as once — The sunshine of my life past o'er again — I saw the hills, (their poppies and blue-bells I saw — the breeze was stirring them as then — ) I scrambled up their sides to gather flowers, Or leapt the brooklet for some water-lily — The cypresses rose darkly as before: Ah ! those were joyous days! — tis strange enough — In sorrow, brightest moments oft return, As starsinnight, they shine through memory's waste—* (A dreary track between the past and present,) But leave it dark — the distance is so vast! 116 Gao. [A knocking is heard. Who knocks? the hour is late for visitors. [Exit Gaolkk. Enter Lord High Constable. Const. My prince! D. Ped. My sovereign's friend and mine — the friend Of all mankind! Oh, never did I need Thy friendship and thy counsel more than now\ So sad a change is wrought, that T must envy The poorest vassal in my father's realm. Yes, had I been aught else save what I am, This sore reverse, these insults had been spared me ! Again — again 1 curse my high estate! Const. The tears which trickle down my aged cheeks, Bear witness to the grief I feel for thee: Would I had never lived to see the day! D. Ped. Had it been death or banishment, I think I could have borne it — but, captivity! The glorious day shut out — all intercourse With man denied — a father's sentence too! Say, how can I atone? oh, teach me how! Const. Alas! what answer shall I make? I come To tender terms of pardon and release — 117 Yet feel my heart at variance with my duty ; The first is yours — the last, it is the State's! Hear! what the Council and the king decree: Your marriage with the lady Inez null] They further ask your signature to this. [Giving him a 'paper to read. D. Ped. When I received her virgin hand and troth Before the altar of my God — I swore, Through all vicissitudes of life — its sweet And bitter hours — fidelity eternal! While in prosperity I never swerved In my affection — in misfortune's day, He is a coward that abjures his vow I Methinks, I love her more, since men do hate her! Forsake her, — and bequeath unto my offspring The name of bastard — this is ask'd of me? Sign this — no, never! [Returning the paper. Const. 'Tis even as I thought. All that my office and my years allow, Have I already urged to qualify Your union with the lady Inez — but As fruitlessly; inflexible and stern The answers of the king; ,, necessity, 4 ' 118 He said, „bent ail things! that it was his will — „Approved of by the Council and the nation — „You wed the princess of Naverre; his honour, „Yours and the general interest were concern'd." D.Ped. Lives not the prince Fernando ? let him reign ! A golden sceptre, purchased at the price The king demands, would be too dearly bought— At least for me ! and were it fifty kingdoms, In place of one — it would not shake my faith! Const. Farewell, my gracious prince! Doubt not my zeal In your behalf! Albeit, against the storm The ablest seaman's skill miscarries oft — His vessel perishes upon the rocks! — A Higher Power disposes of events! D. Ped. To His tribunal do I make appeal! SCENE III. A chamber in the quinta of Don Pedro at Coimbra. Time, twilight. Enter Donna Inez, Julian and Joanna. D. In. Nay — tarry not, good Julian! but begone! The prince, in durance, needs all friends about him. 119 I pray thee, go! and as thou lov'st thy lord, Use all dispatch! Tell him his latest wish Shall be fulfill'd; in three days I will quit Coimbra. Once upon Castilian ground, We are secure — beyond the tyrant's power! Jul. I humbly take my leave. Ill-starr'd the steed That bears me! Julian will not spare or whip Or spur 'till Lisbon's walls are fairly won! [Exit Julian D. In. It sorely grieves me, that I cannot share His prison's solitude Unhappy Inez! Irresolute I stand 'twixt love and duty ; Love for my lord doth whisper me to stay, While duty towards my offspring urges flight! Poor Julian's bosom bleeds for our misfortunes ! Oh I it is sweet and softens sorrow's sting, To view around us sympathizing souls! Joanna, leave me not — I feel a strong Presentiment of some approaching evil ! f dream'd last night I was no longer here — But in another and a better world ! Joan. Brood not, dear lady, over past events, But look with hope still towards the future! all 120 May yet be well! the king will sure relent, As soon as he shall hear of your departure. D. In. [Mournfully. Thou dost not know these lofty men! they look For homage and submission from mankind, And should or check or hindrance rise, to question Or limit their authority and will — However just — however sacred be The cause — let their antagonist beware! Not more destructive is the Simoom's breath To the green pasture, or the hurricane Unto the mariner far out at sea, Than royal indignation, if aroused! By secret dagger — poison — any means, They work out vengeance and but seldom fail! Alphonso plans my death — no less his aim! Thus every hope cut off— the prince a captive— What arm can shield my children from his wrath? Joan. The arm of angels guards the innocent! D. In. It will — but look! did not the arras move In yonder dusky corner of the chamber? And hark! what heavy noise is that I hear? Tumultuous din of voices from without! 121 Tis most unusual in these quiet walls! Go quick, and learn the cause. [Exit Joanna ; while Donna Inez is listeniny with attention, Joanna and other servants rush in distractedly. Joan. Fly — fly — my lady ! All is within in uproar and confusion — The courtyard and the hall are fill'd with strangers — For you they ask! D. In. Alas! which way shall I escape? Joan. This way — The window leads — Enter\L\T*G,CoKL\io,GoKSkL\Esandarmedattendant$. K. Alp. No further than you are! [To the armed attendants. Let them be strongly guarded with the rest! [All the attendants of Donna Inez are forcibly removed. D.In. Beseems it majesty thus unprepared To rush upon a lady's privacy? Thus like rnask'd revellers to enter here, Regardless of all decency and shame? I took your highness for a knight, — and knights 122 Excuse not lack of courtesy in others — Far less do they commit such breach themselves. K.Alp, Nay, Inez! moderate thy speech ; I come Not to be chidden: knighthood's badge, a king May wave at pleasure. Thou hast doubtless heard Of late events at court — my son's detention? D. In. Thy son ! — with fetters fathers burden not Their children ; 'tis a malefactor's doom ! K.Alp. Audacious spirits must be curb'd betimes, Rebellion is a hydra which, unless We strangle at its birth, doth grow apace And wax too mighty oftentimes for us. 'Tis most unpardonable— least of all in a king's son : to govern others well The prince himself must learn obedience first! D. In. Rebellion his offence? against his king? K.Alp. Thou art the cause! D.In. How I the cause! What crime Against the state or thee have I committed? Wherein have I offended? prove and punish! K.Alp. Thy union with the prince. D. In. Is that a crime ? K.Alp. A heinous violation of the laws! Death to a parent's and a nation's hopes! 123 D. In. Has Nature fortified the heart gainst Love? K. Alp. Kings' issue, Inez, wed but with their equals \ D.In. The blood that flows within these veins is royal ; I am descended from Castilia's throne. True — secret was our marriage; why — thouknow'st! Thine all insatiable ambition left No choice — what hope had we of thy consent? Thou couldstbequeath power, wealth — not happiness ! For that thy son already did possess. Yes, we were happy, till this present hour! Our holy church has ratified the marriage; Wilt thou unlink whom God himself hath join'd? K.Alp. Such separation can but save thy life. D.In, Will royalty turn common murderer? Will knighthood soil its whiteness with the blood Of Innocence? You dare not use the sword Which you have bravely wielded 'gainst the Moor, For such dishonourable purposes! A worthy enterprize for thee — a warriour! To bathe his hands in female gore! — You dare not! Should you but shed one drop of woman's blood, 'Twill tarnish all the laurels you have earn'd And stamp opprobrium on your name for ever ! K. Alp. No eloquence nor argument can stay My purpose — nothing — save you sign this deed 124 Which renders null your union with my son. Do this — then seek another home, and live! D. In. Oh ! life is precious — precious in our youth ; But weigh'd 'gainst honour and affection — nothing! And yet, a mother's fondness for her children So strong within her bosom is implanted, That for them all privations she will bear! But no — it cannot be— the hand of scorn Will point to us — to her that could consent To call down bastardy upon her offspring ! K. Alp. Yes — think upon thine offspring, and renounce Such foolish claim — he never shall be thinel lu calm retirement with thy children thou May'st live yet many years. Coel. A single pen-stroke Will purchase life and liberty at once! And you can hesitate? 'Tis very mercy ! D.In. Inhuman monster! proudly I repeat — Don Pedro, king Alphonso's son, is mine — By every claim is mine! Coel Such claim is past. D. In. I marvel much a monarch deigns to parley With any thing so base! a noble thou? 125 Forsooth nobility is sadly fallen, When bad men thus may venture in its robes To walk abroad — and that so near the throne! Coel. Her tongue doth beat quick time — abusive words! K. Alp. Chide not, Coelho — 'tis her sex's right! Chidenot! (aside .) her hour-glass hasfewgrainstorun! D.In. Must I hear insult upon insult heap'd? K.Alp. I came not here to censure, but to punish ! We trifle ! Make thy peace with Heaven, and briefly I D.In, May I not once behold my children? they Their parent for the last time? K.Alp. It would be To throw another drop into the cup, With bitterness already overflowing ; 'Twould but prolong thy sufferings. Expedition At such a time is wise and merciful! Address thyself to Heaven! D. In. Prate you of mercy ? Oh! can you utter such a word, or place ft in alliance with such deed — nor tremble? Mercy! it is the attribute of kings! Is not Alphonso Portugal's? and where Is mercy then? 126 K Alp. Had I a hundred sons, All would I offer for their country's weal! Thy death alone can satisfy the nation. Gon. (toDow n a Inez, upon the King's giving a sign.) ,r fis meet you go with us! K.Alp. (aside.) How beautiful She is! I must not gaze upon her, else My resolution will dissolve in pity! Already do I feel compunction's smart! \To Coelho and Gonsalves. Away with her! — be expeditious, — and Be sure! Coel Fear not, my sovereign 1 D. In. O my children! My husband ! — Monarch ! man ! if thou hast known A parent's fondness, oh, be merciful! [Falling upon her knees. K.Alp. Then sign the deed I D.In. (rising.) Never! K.Alp.(to Coelho andGomAL\Es) Away withher' Coel This obstinacy but inflames the king! You must with us! Gonsalves, take her hand. K.Alp. Away with her! you hear me? then obey! 127 [Donna Inez is forcibly removed by Coelho and Gonsalves; her cries are still heard, imploring the King's mercy. K. Alp. They are about is now - she struggles hard — Her shrieks are scourges in my ears! O God! That was a fearful cry! — all now is still — All save a voice within which louder calls! I do repent me — what — she is not dead — I'll call them — ho! Gonsalves — spare! Coelho! [Hastening towards the door, as Gonsalves and Coelho re-appear. Gon. 'Tis done! K. Alp. Would it were yet to do! Coel. Why so? My liege was ever resolute and firm; In all unshaken which his mighty mind Conceived! The soldier careless and unmoved Views blood in warfare, and must shed it too. K. Alp. Yes, in the battle-plain, the hot affray — Not thus, in cold, premeditated act ! He draws the sword against his Country's foes — Not innocence and unoffending life! I would she were before me now— once more 128 Imploring mercy — not the voice of millions Again should tempt me to th'accursed deed! Coel. You ponder far too deeply — K. Alp. Miscreant — peace ! To horse! this moment let us quit the spot, For it is holy ground! a martyr's blood Upon the threshold lies — so black a stain — Not all the glory of my conquests can Atone for it — can wash away the blot! I wilfully have thrown away a gem Invaluable — the lustre of my crown! What sorcerer entrapp'd my better will? What fiend incarnate did possess my mind? — My brain grows dizzy with the horrid past! My very blood runs ice within my veins! O fool! O fool! — make haste— to horse J to horse! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Interiour of a prison. Don Pedro and the Gaoler. Gao. My prince ! this moment have the Council sent An order for your liberation — here It is I [Presenting the order. 129 D. Ped. The king* relents ; and I am free. What has transpired to work out sueh a change? I should rejoice at it, and yet am sad — Sad even to tears! — And now I do reflect, It is the hour when Julian should return. [A knocking is heard without, Gao. A summons at the outer gate! Belike 'Tis he. {Exit Gaoler, D. Ped. This man has more humanity Than such an occupation promises; His bearing's blunt, but he is kind of heart. {Enter Julian dejected and pale ; he stands at the entrance , as doubtful whether or not to approach his master. Well, Julian! speak! how is your mistress? What Her message? Weeps she much? Is she prepared To leave Coimbra? why — you answer not! Speak, man! — art dumb? Ha! he is deadly pale I see — the tears roll down his cheeks — perhaps She is not well — my absence 'tis- — I fear'd As much — keep me no longer in suspense! O heavens! a horrible, most horrible Surmise, like lightning flashes through my brain! 130 Oh, speak! good Julian! say it is not so! — A single word — a breath — he still is silent — O God! 'tis worse than sickness — she is [Julian gives a slight inclination of the head; the Prince staggers and sinks into a chair. Dead! dead! — what voice did echo forth my words? And murder'd — by the injunction of my Accurst the eyes that look'd upon the deed! Accurst the heart that could imagine it! And tenfold curst the hand could execute it! O God! sustain my senses for a space; — Conduct me to the guilty — me alone Appoint the minister of thy just anger! — Oh! she was innocent and unoffending! Most cruel, cruel father! — such an angel! — My children too Jul. They live, my prince! D. Ped. To curse Their grandfather in after years! they live, It may be, to become the instruments Of vengeance — to redress their mother's wrongs! [Ruing. They said that I was free! If so, provide Me horses, Julian! and without delay. 131 Jul. My lord! the horses are in readiness. D. Ped. (to the Gaoln\ giving him a purse.} Take this — and now conduct me to the postern — Dead! — it is false — I'll not believe it 'till These eyes have first heheld her — 'tis a trick To render liberty less welcome — no — I'll not believe it! — Julian, let us hence! Jul This way, my prince ! D. Ped. (in going, turns to the Gaoler.) The captive seldom quits His prison walls with such a heavy heart ! [Exeunt . ACT III. SCENE I. Audience-chamber in the royal palace at Lisbon, Enter King Alphonso and Donna Bianca. K. Alp. Dear lady ! why so sad? The prince will soon Be won. D. Bia. Your majesty mistakes the prince ; His love for Donna Inez renders thoughts Of other women strangers to his breast. K. Alp. But, princess Jif this hindrance were removed ? 132 D. Bia. The step would not conciliate — 'tis too harsh! K. Alp. Strong maladies demand strong remedies; But we are spared in that — thy rival's dead! D. Bia (with astonishment, and mournfully.} By what ill-fortune died she? Oh! it may be The knowledge of the king's displeasure, or The durance peradventure of her lord, Had prey'd too much upon her mind? K. Alp. Come, come! We will not trifle with you or the truth: By our injunction 'twas she died! D. Bia. (horrour-stricken.) O heavens! By yours — by your injunction? From your lips I hear it, or I boldly would declare Before the world 'twere false! — By your command, O king! — then are my evil divinations But faithfully fulfilFd! Alas! poor Inez! K. Alp. You pity, princess! where you should rejoice. Though harsh, her death was indispensable: Don Pedro's hand would never have been yours Without it. D. Bia. Horrible necessity! — The prince's hand is forfeited for ever! 133 The princess of Naverre will never stand Before the altar of her God, with blood Upon her hands — with blood upon her hands — Yea, I repeat it! for, however I Be guiltless of her death — the primal cause I am — did'st thou not say, 'twas done for me? Oh! had I ne'er set foot in Portugal! Most rank is your offence — a mother too! K. Alp. (with strong emotion.) Yes, yes! I feel it— 'tis a burning coal For ever scorching up my soul— for ever! Whene'er I lay me down to rest, red hands Do seem to draw the curtains 'round my bed, And unsubstantial visitants affright Me from my slumbers! I would fling away The dull tiara and exchange my lot With beggars — ay— -do any thing for peace! D. Bia, Unhappy monarch! give thy prayers to Heaven ! Thy crime, men cannot punish — God alone Forgive! — Farewell! for me, this is no place! [Exit Bianca, King (solus). So have I reap'd the harvest of my hopes? 12 134 Such is their recompence, and such their fate Who follow not the dictates of their hearts, — But make the feelings and the thoughts of others Their standard, guide and principle of action. Alas! I lent a too indulgent ear; Bad counsel hath imbitter'd all my days! What have I profited at last? I stand But where I stood? — O hollow, mad ambition! Degraded in my own, and in the minds Of honest men ! The load of misery Has fa I l'n upon myself — on those I love! Into what errour do we sink who once Have set our feet on false Ambition's ladder! Our ardour to attain our wishes blinds us; We overlook the means by which we mount! [Mournfully, A gloomy, deep abyss doth yawn between Me and my former life — th'abyss of crime! I am no boaster of my feats, yet might With pride look back to some my arms a«hiev'd; They now will be forgotten — and instead Of trophies and green laurels on my grave — The curses of posterity be heap'd! [Exit. 135 SCENE II. Interiour of the Chapel of Don Pedro's quinta at Coimbra. A Catafalk is seen, on which the body of Inez de Castro rests. It is decorated with flotvers, and a silver lamp burns over the centre.. Time, midnight. Enter Don Pedro. To me this hour of midnight best it suited — The darkness most congenial! — Gorgeous day But shows me those I cannot love! I loathe Too all life's stale and motley scenes, which yield Us merely transitory pleasure — given And snatchM away in quick succession — gone Before 'tis felt — bewildering but the brain! — How beautiful is night! The mournful song Of Autumn's winds I hear! The harvest-moon And stars are shining through the lofty windows — Diffusing o'er the chancel and the altar A soft and melancholy light! More distant — Like solemn spectres of some ancient tale, The columns dim and indistinct appear! — In gloom, scarce broken by the feeble rays Of yonder lamp — she sleeps the sleep of Death! The malice of an envious world no more 136 Disturbs her deep repose! she dreams of Heaven,— - And wanders amid angels — one of them! [He approaches the catafalk. Let me again behold the face I love! Her brow is marble, but her lips do wear The same sweet smile they did at parting! A smile — not all their daggers could efface! She still is lovely in decay ! how like A rose beheaded in the early bud, To put into the hair or play withal! — *) [Gazing around him. My sorrow brooks no fellowship — I must Be lonely in it! mine alone she is — For me alone she lived — for me she died ! [After a considerable pause. Oh! had the queen my sainted mother lived To witness this inhuman work of thine My sire — she had not long survived the deed! My mother was the soul of honour! had My mother lived — it may be, she had screened This flower and saved it from untimely blight! *) This thought, or one very similar, occurs in Camoens. 137 My Inez! my beloved' thy days were pure And innocent! In peace and quiet here We dwelt, in these secluded, rural scenes — Indifferent to the busy world — we lived But for each other — for our offspring lived! Had I been born a peasant, I had still Possess'd thee, undisturbM by mortal envy ! Ah ! happy privilege in humbler life ! But born a prince, such blessing is denied me ! men or demons! — for ye are the last — As still more ready to do ill than good — Beware, since you have roused me! From this hour 1 fling away all gentleness of nature — You shall be ruled but with an iron sceptre! For that which you shall find me, thank yourselves! [Kneeling; after a pause. Some men there are believe, that after death, The spirit for a certain space unseen Still hovers round its tenement of clay : — If such indeed be true, — and not the child Of human ingenuity or dread — Blest manes, hear! oh, hear me swear to wreak A full revenge upon thy murderers! is* 138 Nor to assume the imperial robe, nor mount The throne, until this vow be first fulfilPd! [Exit. SCENE III. The sepulchre of Inez de Castro. Don Pedko is discovered kneeliny before it. D. Ped. Five heavy months it is, since first the earth Received my Inez in its cold embrace! Five tedious months — for every day appears As though it never would be ended — dull And monotonous existence ! a mere chaos I When will the day of retribution dawn? Not so the stranded wretch doth yearn to view Again his distant native land, as I Impatiently await the hour of vengeance! Tis my sole thought, and aim, and occupation! [Footsteps are heard in the Chapel. I hear strange footsteps! — Who will dare disturb Me thus employ 'd? Enter Julian. Jul. With breathless speed I come ! My Lord High Constable is just arrived, — And begs to be admitted to your highness! 139 D.Ped. Conduct him here! (exit Julian.) What may this haste import? Enter Lord High Constable. What tidings of my father — is he sick? Const. To say 'twere sickness would be joyful news — Your royal father's dead! D. Ped. Oh ! when and how ? Const. An hour before I left the capital, The king had closed his eyes upon the world; Far less old age, than grief, brought on his death ! D.Ped. But— died he penitent? Const. Most so ! you were His latest thought — of you alone he spake — The wrongs which he had done to you and yours! And once he took my hand, and weeping said : „A single act, of seventy years of life, „Hath sullied all the rest, — and that, alas!" The tears fast pouring down his aged cheeks, „ Against my child!" — And then he wrung his hands, And heap'd most keen reproaches on himself! D.Ped. [The Prince is greatly affected. May God have mercy on thy soul, my father— 140 As I do freely pardon thee ! The tongues Of false advisers wrought on thee— corrupting The current of thy blood by foul reports — Thy confidence betray'd — abused thy favour! [Mournfully. I would have seen my father ere he died! Const. His end was sudden! Strictly he forbade Us to inform your highness of his sickness. D. Ped. [After meditating awhile, turns suddenly. We will to Lisbon! memorable shall The first act of our reign be — handed down To future generations — long remember'd! I heard, Coelho and Gonsalves fled The court soon after their atrocious deed; — We must discover where they lie conceal'd! Const. 'Tis known already — in the Moorish states They found asylum! D.Ped. Use I pray dispatch! Send emissaries to demand them — all Their prisoners shall be tender'd in exchange ; We must regain them — cost us what it will! 141 Const. The project cannot tail, my liege! the terms Are good, — and gladly will the Moor consent! [Exeunt . SCENE IV. Interiour of the Cathedral at Lisbon. A throne elevated on an estrade and ascended by steps; it is entirely covered with crimson cloth , with a curtain of the same colour before it. Halberdiers encircle the throne, but open out on either side on the king's entry. The nobles of the land are seated on both sides of the stage. Enter Archbishop and Lord High Constable. Archb. Good reason have we all, my noble peers! Jointly to mourn our sovereign's changed de- meanour ! — Yes — he is greatly changed of late! the loss Of her he valued, as in duty bound, Next to his God, above all earthly things — Has sorely prey'd upon his royal mind, And ta'en the edge off this else jocund season ! 142 Const, it was a most irreparable loss. To him— to us no less, my noble lords! She was so full of charity — endowM With every noble virtue of her sex — The land might covet such a queen! A Noble. 'Tis said, By such as have approach'd the king to-day, The royal countenance is clothed in smiles. Archb. All conquering Time! in pity has at length Set limits to the grief of our loved sovereign. Const. The favourable change has been remarked But since the tidings first arrived at court, That Donna Inez' murderers had been found. A Noble. Even now they are within the city's walls — And may expect the punishment they merit! Const. Their doom is fix'd ! their hours are number'd — death Awaits them on this very day at noon! The rack, and every engine that destroys By slow degrees, — and last, consuming fire, Their sentence ! — thus to perish piecemeal, while Before their tortured eyes the monarch feasts, And dulcet sounds of music fill the air: A melancholy contrast to their fate! 143 Archb. A fearful end indeed — though merited ! A warning to bad men! Even we who see Them die must shudder, though we eannot pity; Their crime is colour'd with so black a die — So heinous in the sight of God and man! — [Shouts are heard without. But hark! the rabble shout — the King arrives! Enter Don Pedro as King; he advances with a slow and measured step to the centre. King. We have in wisdom set apart this day, In due conformity with ancient custom, In this most holy edifice, your oaths Of fealty and allegiance to receive! \ Pausing. Her cruel fate, in whom our brightest hopes And every earthly expectation center'd — Is known to you, as to our meanest subject! 80 rich in all she was — so rarely gifted — That Nature seem'd in moulding one so perfect, To have predestined her to fill a throne; — To be at once the guardian and the pattern Of excellence — for she was Virtue's self! As through an alabaster vase the flame Glows with a purer, more unearthly light; 144 So through the fair exterior i beheld The heavenborn splendour of the soul within! Though precious be the casket, yet the gem It holds, doth Bx its worth: her mind it was That won my admiration and my love ! The Church united us beyond the power Of Man to sever - Death could only so ! — As he that rich apparel'd walks abroad — His garb brings danger to the wearer — thus, 'Gainst excellence, alas, my noble friends ! (So evil is the world in which we live!) The dart of malice is most frequent aim'd ! — Too widely rumour hath already gone— Too widely spread for us to hide tbe part Our father took in that most tragic act\ [The King is deeply affected. Oh! pity that so many glorious years Of a long reign — at last — in life's decline — By one pernicious, fatal act are darkened! But he is summoned hence, and must appear Before a Higher Judge than Man's opinion, — And may his God be merciful to him! Not so the base advisers and the tools Who instigated and perform'd the deed — 145 Compared with whom the tiger's soft and tame! [Exultinyly The hour of retribution now is come! The brand will soon be lighted that consumes them : Revenge be mine — theirs, ignominious death! The slaves! — Oh! had they been ignobly born, I would have swept them off, as one destroys A snake — knowing its nature is to sting! But when Nobility doth stoop so low, The crime demands more signal punishment! [A pause ensues: the KING approaches the throne. Lord Constable! administer the oath. [The oath having been taken with due cere- mony , the King ascends the steps of the throne and undraws the curtain. The crowned skeleton of Inez de Castro is seated on the throne, but so covered with white drapery, as only just to indicate that such is beneath it. Be this your first act of allegiance! though Remorseless Death has wasted every charm, And made her what we shudder to behold — Oh! bear in mind, she should have been your queen, 13 146 If not unjustly robbM of life and crown! Therefore, to injured Virtue bend the knee — The sceptred corse be honour'd as though living! [The King and Nobles bend on one knee, and the Halberdiers reverse their halberds ; solemn music is heard and a requiem is chanted for the soul of the dead. At its close the curtain is again drawn before the skeleton, and the King and JSobles rise. It but remains to re-inter the body, And henceforth let it sleep in undisturb'd Repose — of flesh the longest and the last! [As the King descends from the throne, and after he has spoken the following , festive music strikes up. Now to the palace, friends! One duty still Is unperformM — for me the sweetest — Vengeance!*^ [Exeunt *) The author feels that he is bound to add a few words at parting, in self-defence. He acknowledges himself highly culpable, in having reduced Tragedy to three instead of Jive Acts; the latter, he believes, being its prescribed number by Literary Law. Having pleaded quilty, in justification he urges: that portions of ,Jnez de Castro" had so long been tossed about both in his portmanteau and brains, that he was heartily rejoiced of an opportunity of getting rid of them, — and, if it he taken into 147 consideration, that these scattered fragments were connected, printed, and the last Act written in the short space of one calendar month, he trusts his readers will show some little lenity towards the manifold defects of his Tragedy. Had he extended it to five Acts, a counterplot must have been framed, and the author being really a straight-forward fellow, and not at all addicted to intrigue, at once decided against this. Another point requires explanation; namely, the immense liberty which has been taken with a king's son, in throwing him into prison, — and that the work of his own father. Should the reader object to this, he is requested to refer to History and he will find in those dark ages not a few similar instances of equally unceremonious proceedings in reigning potentates. The honest truth is, facts, with a little imagination and exaggeration annexed, have been woven into verse. The Manuscript would long since have shared the fate of witches and other monstrosities, had it not been rescued from the flames by a worthy friend, who it seems, entertained a better opinion of it than its writer. It will probably be many years (if ever!) before either publisher or reader will be troubled with a like production; the author having wisely resolved to be satisfied in future with drinking of the Heliconic waters, instead of presumptuously attempting to increase them. 148 To Time*\ Time! — when in pleasure's path thou dost proceed, The flow'ry way gives swiftness to thy pace, And happy beings pray thee to retrace A track so blest; or to relax thy speed. But when thy steps through paths of mis'ry lead, The rugged thorns thy crippled feet restrain, And the sad victims of despair and pain, To urge thee on but vainly intercede. I fain, old Time, would travel by thy side, With equal step; nor overcharged with care, Nor cloy'd with pleasure; but I would divide Our social journey between foul and fair — Lest joy unmingled drown my soul in pride, Or woe untemper'd drive it to despair. *) In the whole range of Poetry, but few compositions will be found so perfect as this Sonnet „on Time"; so exquisite in feeling and rich in language, with an unaffected simplicity of style that is quite delightful. The Writer is now no more! His loss will be long and painfully felt by all those who knew him. 149 Mis friends have been deprived of a warm hearted friend — society ofa most useful member,— and the world of an excellent man! Truly may we say of him. „He did not live in vain!" It is greatly to be regretted that excessive modesty throughout life prevented many more equally beautiful effusions of the same masterly spirit from being known. The advanced state of this volume in the press, before the idea of printing the Sonnet occurred, must excuse its appearing so unworthily at the end. THE END, Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111