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 31 
 

THE 
 
 BRIDE OF THE ICOIOCLAST. 
 
 A P O E M. 
 
 
 /t^ 
 
 COS 
 
 c^ 1 
 
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 SUGGESTIONS 
 
 TOWAEX) THE 
 
 MECHANICAL ART OF VERSE. 
 
 BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE: 
 JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 
 
 V 
 
 MDCCCLIV. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, 
 
 By JAMES MUKROE AND COMPAISTY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Ofl&ce of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 
 
 G«o. C. Rand, Printer, 3 ComMD, Boston. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 To force man, by strength of cosmopolite wit, to forget 
 his local breeding, and to live on the round world, — to jog 
 so cogently his thought from its downcast habit of routine 
 which it comes to follow 'round like cord upon a pulley, 
 that he shall bethink him of all he really knows, and there- 
 after reverence the much he knows not, and in his rever- 
 ence e'en grow more honest, and in his honesty become 
 original, (for every brain of honesty is a breeder of witty 
 things), — and thro' this, to aim to bring a time when he 
 shall be not drunken with health, tho' none the less healthy, 
 feeling forever the miracle of nature, and staring with awe 
 upon the mystery of all things, — is somewhat of the 
 bard's office. Not, to thrust man from the right occupation 
 of his brains, into the accumulation and confusion of un- 
 accountable circumstances, and to blind him the more with 
 multiplied proofs of his blindness, — but, to combine the 
 attributes best fitted to this mortal and mysterious human- 
 ity — the attributes of love, courage, pride, generosity and 
 imagination — into an ideal hero who shall face death as the 
 necessity of nature, is his work. And whoever shall 
 honestly attempt it, tho' he fail, shall be forgiven by the 
 utility of effort, in the want of the probability of success. 
 
 Not amid the roaring of railway cars, nor amid the meat- 
 scented atmosphere of metropolitan hotels, nor between the 
 
dull acts of an opera more curious from its difficulty than 
 its beauty, would I have this book perused. But where the 
 grim hills bristle in the sunshine from hungry solitude 
 in sky-covered wilderness, far from servility, hypocrisy and 
 strife, where truth dwells in nature's nakedness rough-hewn 
 and wild, would I hang these visions on the vacant walls 
 of imagination. 
 
 I shall rejoice, if this poem be ideal, rather than 
 sublime. Be it easily conceived and comprehended, 
 I shall care not how difficult may be its audible utter- 
 ance, nor how dull and prosy it may be to any but 
 him, who, studying each word, re-creates as he reads. 
 Give me a slow Pegasus, with a good leg, and I shall not 
 try his wing much, and shall care not an oat for the whisk 
 of his tail. Books possessed of the '' fatal facility," must 
 needs be longer ; and bulk of volume I do not much aflfect. 
 I have seen a goose, drawn by an artist of merit, which 
 outsailed the full-rigged ship of a clumsy daub. And far 
 better shall it please me, to see my covers kiss each other's 
 edges, rejoicing over one golden leaf, than to see them break 
 their back, and bulge their sides, in virtuous continence of 
 a bundle of straw. 
 
 For many points whereat doubtless this poem is faulty — 
 faulty in matters which perchance my own first sight would 
 condemn in the work of another, — faulty in unintentional 
 similarities which were inexcusable in mature and accom- 
 plished years, I shall plead the extenuation due to youth. 
 Be the work good or bad, it is from the hand of a minor, 
 and should not be abstractly condemned by its comparative 
 imperfections. 
 
THE BRIDE 
 
 ICONOCLAST. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 L 
 
 There was a city on whose sultry domes 
 Stood bright the dazzle of the tropic blaze, 
 'Bove streets deserted, courts, and haunted homes, 
 Luring the ocean from his reckless ways. 
 An autumn, sober stillness, and a haze 
 Sabbath and dreamy as life's buried years. 
 Was th' atmosphere. The gold sun's muffled gaze 
 Sent light, but little joy; and thoughtful tears 
 Stole up the cool, sad eyes that looked, not void of fears. 
 
 Dead-hearted time 1 Contagion's fainted breath 
 Filled up the courts that rumbled loud befoi^e. 
 Crouched misery ogled the long streets of duath, 
 And sorrow's eye bleared upward, running o'er. 
 All trades were hushed ; open stood many a door. 
 The gaoler died ; the captive quit his cell, 
 Nor stayed for plunder. Worship was no more. 
 Dead lay the sacristan — nor tumbled bell, [fell. 
 
 Tho' beggar, priest, and knight were smitten, and breathless 
 1 
 
Despair and silence fanned tlie sunny deep, 
 
 ^ Where one dark vessel, still as a sea rock, 
 Sat low and heavy, but too sad for sleep. 
 Bound bales bestrewed the wharves, dead merchants' stock, — 
 While spiked planks let go the rotted dock. 
 And, backward dropping struck the startled flood. 
 Yet, bright above, as 'twere all hope to mock, 
 The sun stood thoughtless, in forgetful mood, 
 
 And sleepy poured his light on ancient solitude. 
 
 The square-framed sailor, with his short bush beard ^ 
 Quaint in his ways, droll humored, bluff and brave, 
 Strolled down the quay, and, tho' he partly leered, 
 He shook his head, with dubious face and grave. 
 He looked up the dumb streets — then o'er the wave : 
 No tawny sail, dim sinking, he descried 
 On all the sea. A shrug his shoulders gave. 
 As, on a cask-head perching, knees spread wide, 
 He gazed at that tall ship, out on the mantling tide. 
 
 " Dusk ship," quoth he, " how idle hangs her boom ! 
 So glassy flat the wave, an imaged bark 
 Shows, rigging downward, 'neath the deep. What gloom 
 deceives the sunlight 'round her hull so dark. 
 And her tall tackle ! Porpoise now, and shark 
 Moping about her bottom-planks may be. 
 With cool and slippery nose, unheard : yet hark ! 
 Does th^ air far off* hold some strange devilrie ? — 
 
 Nay, 'tis a rest like death, — a Sabbath of the sea." 
 
 There was a fortress far aleffc, whose hill 
 Shone hot and flickering, with gray, dim relief 
 On skies of summery haze. There all was still. 
 In hushed, monotonous reverie — hardly grief 
 Soldiers were few — their words as few, and brief. 
 One loitering wight, with hairy visage dun. 
 Oil-lipped, moist-eyed, eating the enemy's beef 
 In other countries 'neath a copper sun. 
 Gazed far on city and sea, and thus his musing run : 
 
** Strange ! — Fishers once dried nets down yonder shore ; 
 Plumed, haughty ships came swaggering up to land, 
 Stomached with corn and wine ; with polished oar 
 Marched many a wherry to their high command, 
 Bowing and crossing, while gay airs and bland 
 Tuned all, and all manoeuvred as it ought, — 
 When sudden comes an order for dead stand ! 
 The movement ceased — the air with fear was fraught ; 
 
 Now soldiers growl awry at best prog can be brought." 
 
 II. 
 
 Fair dawned the orange morning, when a sail 
 Wafted a shallop from tliis mournful shore. 
 Fair fled the waters 'neath her gliding wale, 
 And fair the beauty was of twain she bore. 
 Ko sound came out the city ; the far roar 
 Of car and carriage slumbered, and the hum 
 Of trade was quiet ; the warm wind did pour 
 Its feathery breath along the waters dumb. 
 From yonder far back hills of purple shadow come. 
 
 A bauble shallop was it, bulging wide, 
 Of shell-shaped bow, with velvets lined of rose. 
 Eight golden stars ranged 'round her amber side 
 Till o'er the stern a canopy might impose — 
 Blue, spangled, tent-top'd curtain of repose : 
 When up, its peak a silver star did bear, 
 The which, when down, as now, the fabric goes, 
 Points level backward, dancing in the rear, — 
 Whence, curved 'round either bow, an angel's wings appear. 
 
8 
 
 Below, she looks a jaunty pleasure-coach, 
 For lolling Luxury and full Ease designed, 
 By Art depicted with his daintiest touch. 
 For seas all holiday, and festive wind. 
 Above, from boom long curving — low inclined 
 Across the mast — a trisulk belly heaves. 
 By silver ringlets to the spar confined, 
 Which, straining, deeper the bow-angel laves. 
 Good sooth ! a richer bark ne'er dashed the saucy waves. 
 
 Like dim and faded painting, ripe and old, 
 Tho' age hath spared the scarlet and the green 
 Of knights whose harness lures the morning gold 
 From dusky-toothed battlements serene. 
 Where gay, rich tints upon the flag are seen, — 
 Long-bearded Memory, the artist mime. 
 Doth paint this vessel of gay hue and sheen, 
 The purple waves gold-topt, and bright the clime 
 Round her, tho' all things else were faintly brushed with time. 
 
 The maiden, standing in that princely boat. 
 In mist-light robes all gauzily bedight. 
 Which from her shoulders on the breeze did float — 
 Her hair and vesture showered by golden light — 
 Did look a seraph wafted from the sight 
 Of that fair city by enchanter's wand ; 
 Sky-blue the sail stood over her, and bright 
 Swelled glassy ocean, as her fairy hand 
 Sent back a long adieu to the dim-featured land. 
 
 Now farther out upon the heaving plain. 
 In longer cradles rolled the glassy blue ; 
 And dim behind them, o'er the simmering main 
 •The city sleepy in the distance grew. 
 Beyond its haunted atmosphere they flew, 
 To skies of steel and waters nought did blear, — 
 E'en as the moon, when hazy-red to view, 
 Up, like a sickle, doth her pathway shear, [clear. 
 
 And o'er the glittering deep hangs brandished, bright and 
 
9 
 
 On flew the shallop. The bright vernal sun 
 On pleasant waters flashed metallic blaze, 
 Kindling the pennon, that, with eager run, 
 Leapt forward childHke, and came back always, 
 Coaxing impatiently the parent stays. 
 A livelier beauty glowed in all the scene, 
 With pure health calmed, and hope of happy days, — 
 With thoughts of continence with mellow een. 
 And locks which smoothest gales uplift from brows serene. 
 
 The joy of liberty was on the wind — 
 Etherial life ; and nothing worth a care 
 Of these young voyagers was left behind : 
 Where'er they wandered — little booted where — > 
 flight each be happy with the other there : 
 Free was the youth, and master of his days ; 
 Content the maiden was — and both were fair, 
 And by their loving did each other praise ; 
 No envious thought had they for fairer forms or ways. 
 
 A goodly sight is 't, when four brawny men 
 Spring o'er the wave a vessel light and long. 
 Their broad backs rising, as, with mighty strain, 
 The flashing oars re-balance quick and strong. 
 To sinews hardy as the sun-dried thong : 
 But fairer yet, when blows the steady wind. 
 The sail-boat leans her cheek to billows young, 
 And, kissing each, flits onward, swift tho' kind, 
 Leaving them bubble toys for playthings far behind. — 
 
 Oh, envy not these lovers, noble Ocean ! 
 Thou hast a kindred spirit, and the tale 
 Of her wide wanderings whispered, with emotion 
 Quick'neth thy pulse — the wind, the gentle Gale. 
 Ah ! sometime came she with a note of wail. 
 Of how her form a shameless Gorge would hug 
 When go she would to start a lazy sail. 
 Good sooth ! she panted, and did strive and tug, 
 Till Clouds, in wrath and tears, frowned o'er the sturdy rogue^ 
 1* 
 
10 
 
 Wild was her fright : she seized him by the hair, 
 And sobbing strove, and tore each bristling tree. 
 Till Lightning saw ! He, leaping from his lair, 
 At one stroke laid the varlet o'er the lea. 
 Then as she 'scaped, still sobbing, unto thee, 
 With childish arms apart, and grieving sore. 
 Gay Lightning laughed, and shook his plume for glee 
 High o'er the hills, — while thou didst vengeance roar, 
 And bore thy queen away from that lude, barbarous shore. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Marked ye that palace the dim shore adorn. 
 Far down, 'midst vineyard dark and trellis-framed ? 
 There dwelt the youth, of gentle lineage born. 
 Last of a family in annals famed. 
 Barron, the hero of my tale was named. 
 Proud, daring, generous, a god in face, 
 With brain of energy, and heart untamed, 
 He stood original in a time-bound race ; 
 Him custom could not mould, nor difference disgrace. 
 
 Of frame athletic, fit for flood and field — 
 Straight hips, wide shoulders, rigid legs and strong. 
 His arm full shrewdly could a weapon wield. 
 And had done battle on the people's wrong. 
 He had been captive; and midst plumed throng 
 His manly limbs gave dignity to chains : 
 Brave soldiers sued his fellowship, side-long. 
 Yet won but this communion by their pains, 
 '' The most of us the wrong, yet one the right maintains." 
 
11 
 
 Of bridled passions, lie did well confess 
 The dread to anger, or be angered. 
 Abrupt anon, in sullen recklessness 
 He strode where madness only could have led, 
 To leer at danger when the prudent iled. 
 The rabble loved him, yet had toyed him not : 
 And men of thought did watch him how he sped ; 
 While some, who slow for celebration wrought. 
 Had feared, to him was born that power their labors sought. 
 
 He knew the poor tricks of the world's old game — 
 The loves and hates of man, from thoughts devout, 
 To base unfavored envy ; th' arts of fame 
 Which rear the motley banners of the rout 
 He knew. And loiterers oft did point him out 
 At play and spectacle — his name would know, 
 And bullies, swaggering in dudgeon stout, 
 Said, '• boots it little " — tho' the sound I trow 
 Did scarcely reach his ear of whom it did avow. 
 
 Alone his steps had startled the still street 
 In that great city, when night's awful dome 
 Stooped o'er the drowsy thousands, there to meet 
 None but the watchman stalking slow in gloom. 
 Or some pale harlot girl, who, seeking home. 
 Looked o'er the wharf: — he chid her sad estrays, 
 Yet showered his monies tiU her tears did come. 
 With hopes of better nights and brighter days ; — 
 " The world hath yet a man," she said, and went her ways. 
 
 His thoughts were native to no special clime : 
 He stood on this whole orb. and stood aghast — 
 For, spite the common artistry of Time, 
 'T was strange to him, why was it — why did last. 
 And as his musing was his charity cast — 
 Broad mantle, o'er humanity, nor tuck'd 
 Close down at nations' bound'ry corners was't : 
 On all mankind as brotherhood he looked, 
 For God is power in all, the comely or the crook'd. 
 
12 
 
 His soul was dreamy . 'Neath prophetic feet 
 He trod the idols of the Pagan horde, 
 And childhood's earliest lessons. He did greet 
 One Power alone — one Deity adored. 
 Thus, wide around him, broken and abhorr'd 
 The creed, the wisdom of the past world lay, 
 With tattered prophecy, and worn record 
 Of huge divinities, of time-old sway : 
 What wonder earth looked dim and wavering alway ? 
 
 Now mourning drapery had festooned in gloom 
 Yon palace chambers. Calmly slumbering 
 Was laid his father in the dusky tomb, 
 Where Time stood over him with folded wing, 
 Or, for a moment, with one fitful fling 
 Kindled a dream of angels. E'er that tide 
 Of life went seaward, was the son bid, — " Bring 
 The virgin Hermia to this clay shore's side : 
 I wed these linked hands : be blessed ! " — and he died. 
 
 lY. 
 
 But whence is she — broad-eyed, slim-featured maid, 
 By sixteen summers sunn'd in Orient gales. 
 With gold-brown sheckels from her goddess head 
 Off pouring copious ? Marry, many tales 
 Branched out her story, tho' no mystery veils 
 Her birth but from the vulgar. Rumor told 
 How, once, a vessel its tall foreign sails 
 Furled off the harbor, and a seaman old 
 Bore her to Barron's halls, child of a chieftain bold. 
 
13 
 
 And day by day, as tinted, sultry morn 
 Rose thro' that sleepy, ripening atmosphere, 
 She had come forth to meet him, and had worn 
 Her image in his thought. Thus year on year 
 Riching her budding bosom, made more dear 
 The beauteous head morn pressed upon his heart, — 
 Till one observantly were prone to swear, 
 Withouten title to prophetic art, 
 " These morning loves shall eve one time neglect to part.' 
 
 Two large proud arches, set on ivory pier, 
 0''er mellow watei-s of gray, ashen gloom, 
 Upheld her marble temple, polished clear — 
 And curling clouds were rolling round the dome. 
 The calm wave slow 'neath either arch did come. 
 Its still deeps lighted by a rear sun-glance : 
 Did look some spirit made in them its home, 
 And gazed forever in its wondrous trance. 
 Or they had bounded out in wild and weltering dance. 
 
 Each curl went singing, now the strange wind came, 
 And sprung the wires around that golden brow. 
 Her nerves were harp-strings in a silver frame, 
 Frenzied when thought geolean did blow, 
 Thrilling her eyes to liquid overflow. 
 And love's fond, deep delirium shook her soul 
 With stronoj and strano-e emotions, till the slow 
 And shade alternate o'er her face that stole 
 Were as the light and cloud o'er summer lake that roll. 
 
 She wore th' enthusiast majesty of mein 
 Which awes to distance the unequal clown, 
 And consorts greatness only, — for unseen 
 Is her heart's tenderness 'neath that proud gown 
 Of calm, self-conscious presence, whence a frown 
 Seems foredoomed aught unseemly. By the bold, 
 Of generous energy (true manhood's crown) 
 Who proves him royal, she is fain controlled ; 
 To him the full, proud eye is tenderly uprolled. — 
 
14 
 
 Away the shallop wafted o'er the blue, 
 Her ribbon leaping on the wind aloft ; 
 Plump in the belly of the sail smooth flew 
 The rousing breeze, swift, feathery and soft ; 
 White foamed the ocean, that hath foamed so oft. 
 But ne'er at wetting of a fleeter keel. 
 With youthful crew more beautiful above 't ! 
 That ebon helm scarce Barron's hand did feel. 
 Where th' open stern did him and his bright love reveal. 
 
 " Look back, fair Hermia ! see the golden domes 
 Smothered in haze, by th' ocean sinking low." 
 Thus spake the noble. " Farewell, thousand homes ! 
 Hushed courts of death, e'en desert now of woe ! 
 Dream on in sleepy sunshine ! Yea, I know. 
 All things, by time accustomed, live in dream. 
 Pull down the monarch, and the slave upthrow : 
 Then faintly wakening will the king-child stream 
 
 For 'his bauble throne ; the churl would fain his wits redeem, 
 
 " The helm of Destiny is far astern. 
 And Custom is the pilot. To control 
 Her course 't were well the fore-mast men did learn. 
 For this I mutinied ! Behold, we roll 
 With such a compass as, forgot the pole. 
 Stands where 't is set ; around 'tis night alway, 
 Tho' night most beautiful : the welkin bowl 
 Tingles our spirits with its cold star-spray : 
 
 And yet the ancient Past hath known no hghter day. 
 
 " Yea, 'bides humanity's old heart the same. 
 Fools bullied e'er the Deluge — swore loud words 
 Of gods they knew not ; varlets got in shame 
 Made ins'lent patrons ; ever, coward swords 
 That quarreled, friendliest waxed afterwards ; 
 Gray-beard admonished the scarce-visible Down — 
 
 * Time was ' quoth he, and told his old records ; 
 Betattered garments met official frown ; 
 
 And genius aye was wild, and wondrous was the clown. 
 
15 
 
 " Old are the winds and waters — all the realm 
 Of fadeless Nature. Bright the noon did glow, 
 And Darkness buckled on her starry helm 
 For generations wiser none than now, 
 Tho' seers of destiny, with upward brow, 
 Did watch those stars from nighted streets of man, 
 While wand'ring homeward, thousand years ago. 
 Yea, yea, since curs at travelers outran. 
 
 Have men gone mad that tombs no rearward windows han» 
 
 " Nature said nothing. — Weary of their load, 
 Cold, solid columns have lain down, where th' owl, 
 Hooting the pilgrim on his painful road, 
 Hath mocked his twilight stories of the soul. 
 Time cycles like a vulture ; calm doth roll 
 Dove Earth beneath — to feast him ne'er, 't is hoped ; 
 Still am I asking of the final goal, 
 As no fair temples to dumb gods were op'ed, — 
 
 And Nature will not speak, — nor hath the vulture swoopedc 
 
 " My soul hath tottered in its throbbing halls. 
 The hook men taught me did the world uphold 
 Down at the feet of orrowinor reason falls, — 
 And yet the world turns over as of old. 
 To see the profile of my fate — once bold 
 On Future's canvass, and the little scheme 
 Of moral precepts which the brush controlled. 
 All rent, or hung with gauze, — I well might deem 
 
 'Tis I — not earth, that's mad, and murmer, 'tis a dream. 
 
 " Farewell, doomed city ! Brains o'er thee might pore, 
 And wax no wiser for thy memory. 
 Lo ! there thy docks are rotting from the shore ; 
 Thy plumb-cubed works crum-cornered wrecks may be, 
 While shadowy Ruin walks beside the sea; — 
 Certes, there is a moral to the tale, 
 Wer't known." — The maiden sitting by his knee, 
 Whereon were laid her jewelled fingers pale, 
 
 Upgazed — "My lord, the breeze sings jubilee — not wail." 
 
16 
 
 ii Why, love, hath sadness wit in it, — and pain 
 Doth many a slave of Custom disenthrall. 
 This earth did ne'er cheat Madness for a plain ! 
 At him she puffs her body, like true ball. 
 To-day may rhyme to yesterday, for all 
 Save him : his metal hath a novel sound. 
 E'en through his brain-crack heavenly light may fall. 
 Who knocks a stall-fed error to the ground, 
 Like he, lonor-bearded wi^ht, whom vao^rant doors come round ? 
 
 " His thought leaps times and distances : his tree 
 In the acorn dwelleth. And he hath a whim 
 Of showing all men crazier than he, — 
 Their health is drunken, it makes life-truth dim. 
 There is nought olden matter-of-course to him ; 
 At all he stareth, shouting ' Miracle ! ' — 
 Yet, firm, calm hands the cream of 's life do skim, 
 Taste it, and, tapping on the cranial shell. 
 Slow roll their dubious heads, and doubt that all is well." — 
 
 "And judge they true ! " quoth she. " While prayer nor pain 
 May e'en peep thro' the key-hole of Death's door, 
 He hath impertinent humor in his brain. 
 To pother aye Death's dwelling to explore, — 
 Some carking malady in the glands that store 
 Health, joy, forgetfulness, the wish to live. 
 Courage, and generous kindness, and what more 
 Can fitness to life's circumstance contrive. 
 I doubt wit sent man mad. tho' wits in madness thrive." — 
 
 " E'en so. — The coronets of mental kings 
 Have hooped sad brows all shattered by earth-shocks. 
 Keen shafts, sent hissing thro' the crust of things, 
 Have struck on Fate's impenetrable rocks, 
 To bound back broken. But tho' destiny mocks 
 Shrewdest acumen, a well-tempered spear 
 Recoils as safely as those dull-head stocks / 
 
 Which never pierce the surface. — Yet 't is rare, 
 Mankind best wisdom reach, and have not known despair." — 
 
17 
 
 " Hast thou known that V " — '' Twelve times the sun had 
 Th' equator line above my puzzled head, [crossed 
 
 When darkness wrapped me. Yext in wrath I tossed, 
 That Custom's stomach did digest the dead 
 So feath', and life's mysteries. On we sped, — 
 Past steered the Present ; Cant Truth's praises got ; 
 Eoutine killed Miracle, yet Change did dread : 
 How longed I, with a lash of honest thought 
 
 To whip men's eyes wide ope, to see, they built on nought. 
 
 " The wit of darkness burns that hazy charm 
 Makes man forget Earth's rolling, and the tone 
 Of all orbs' beauteous music. -— The mad arm 
 Doth power and tending disposition own, 
 T' exert itself to breaking. Health keeps down 
 Such useless effort to surpass the grave. 
 And whiles we know, so little may be known, 
 Praise well we must this health-mist our God gave — 
 Piece of the future's veil, kind frenzy, trustful-brave. 
 
 " Health knows religion — faith uncultivate — 
 Joy in th' Almighty — thrilling, happy trust. 
 That He, who holds these framed nerves in state, 
 And tunes the music doth our march adjust, 
 Will educate our spirits from the dust 
 To happiness, or bless them to repose : 
 A faith original it is and must, — 
 
 A faith that jubilant, exulting flows [knows." — 
 
 From conscience, self-applause, pure blood which no care 
 
 *' Thine ills are past, my Barron ; and life's wave 
 Shall roll thee home to happiness and rest. 
 There is no Diety to hate the brave, — 
 There is no Heaven can leave the brave unblest. 
 What hast thou braved, my brightest thou and best ! 
 And I for thee. I should of faintness die 
 At thought of this rank daring, should the test 
 Of thy death seek me. 'Tis to thee I fly. 
 Like shepherd to his hills unmoved, serene and high. 
 2 
 
18 
 
 " Yet my heart trembles, — thou art now my all I 
 See ! far from land I bring these lily charms, 
 And thus — a wanderer from the world I call 
 My god, and zone thee with my virgin arms ! 
 Oh, clasp me closer ! — thou hast no alarms 1 
 As thou dost trust thy formless God and mine, 
 So shall I trust thee, Barron, tho' fire storms 
 May thrash my head as it bends over thine 
 For one last kiss of love, on Hell's red shore supine. 
 
 " What boots all earth or heaven but thy love ? 
 All gods, all mysteries, the altar pile 
 Thy bidding prostrates round me, — and above 
 Fall'n gods and altars curls that prophet smile ! 
 Oh, how frail am I ! Canst my heart profile ? 
 Thou that the secrets of the world canst see — 
 Thou know'st that, fallen, and outcast as vile, 
 An thou hadst chosen it, I had been from thee : 
 Yet 'round thee are these arms — I have no god but thee ! ' 
 
 Her eyes upturned looked eloquence untold, 
 And stars fell from the heaven of her gaze. 
 His lips, slow creeping o'er her hair of gold. 
 Went muttering — " Ye dumb idols! an the praise 
 Be yours, me only may your vengeance graze." — 
 Soft fell the golden sunshine, Uke a dream 
 Of love all round them ; thro' the simmering maze, 
 The land, far back, dim visional did seem. 
 And, singing on their wake, slid back the ocean cream. 
 
 Soothing and feathery came the wild sea wind. 
 And strewed the hair about each pensive brow, 
 As looked they 'round them, in the stern reclined, 
 Absent in far reflection. Softly low 
 The maiden murmured on his bosom now, 
 In that deep tenderness wide water stirs 
 In lovers' hearts. Anon, with thoughtful glow 
 To his calm countenance uplifting hers. 
 Thus did she, suddenly, to him her thoughts rehearse : — 
 
19 
 
 ** A shepherd maiden, whom an inland town 
 Might e'en bemarvel as a metropolis, — 
 To whom the froth of greatness was unknown, 
 And courts and camps talked wonderful — I wis 
 Such damsel well might tremble at thy kiss. 
 Cosmopolite of soul ! e'en shake aghast. 
 But I have cracked such bubbles ! Thou my bliss, 
 I know thee wiser than the time-bound past, 
 Which holds street, camp, and court, in Custom's shackles fast. 
 
 " And yet I love thee for somewhat the boy ! 
 For thou art gentle, and thy brow is pale 
 And delicate as a maiden's, and a joy 
 Sits on thy beautiful lips, that cannot fail. 
 Thou art all elegance ! as young, as frail 
 Of heart as I, almost. I could forget, 
 But for these eye balls, which all danger hail, 
 And thy broad breast of iron, and locks of jet, 
 That sword more fierce than thine ne'er leapt to battle yet. 
 
 *' I clasp my arms, around thee, and I feel 
 
 I cannot come too near thee ; — nought can dull 
 
 The edge of my love's appetite, nor steal 
 
 One ray of beauty from my Beautiful ! 
 
 Ne'er can thy fondling playfulness annul 
 
 Thought of thy, power : to thy soul solitude 
 
 My gale of passion blows, and cannot lull. 
 
 Thou'rt 'bove communion, in thy solemn moods, — 
 And by thine eyes I read how lonesome are the gods. 
 
 " Kiss me, my deity ! — How large and clear 
 Thy mellow eyes look, big with tenderness ! 
 Oh, strain me thro' thy bosom — lock me there, — 
 My own hath got no heart in 't : thy caress 
 E'en leaves its courts to shake in emptiness 
 To a great gusty sigh, — yet 'tis not pain — 
 'Tis some void feeling I can ill express. 
 Like his who finds a gem on some far plain, 
 He can bring none to see, tho' it must there remain. 
 
20 
 
 " Anon my cup, tho' full above the brim, 
 Feels calm, untremulous, the plump joy impend. 
 I dawn the morrows in my fancies dim, 
 And lo ! each morrow the same joy doth send 
 To me and thee, dear Barron, sweetest friend ! — 
 How can I tell thee half my lore of love ? 
 My soul's whole being, one with thine, doth blend 
 All virtue, modesty, and hope above. 
 
 Into thy will entire, and but with that can move." — 
 
 " Sing on, thou stiller of the nightingale ! 
 Tho' liquid silver from her bill doth spout. 
 She beats not th' air so deftly ! Thou art pale, — 
 Look, how thou'rt trembling with thine own deep thought ! 
 Play on, my fount of melody ! — thy throat 
 Was made for music, and thy quivering lips 
 For songs and thrilling kisses ! Naiads brought 
 Thy teeth up through the white wakes of the ships. 
 Sounding each delicate pearl with snapping finger-tips. 
 
 " My love, too, is not voluble, nor knows ^ 
 What is its cause. The spirit doth invest 
 Thy graceful body love I, — yet there flows 
 Light from thy sensuous being. When doth rest 
 My listening head upon thy maiden breast. 
 And these cool slender fingers, jewel clad, 
 Cling round my forehead, while soft sighs attest, 
 My joy is sire to thine, then am I glad — 
 Glad with ineffable love, sweet longing, pleasure sad. 
 
 " Better I like thee being frank and bold. 
 Nor rate thee baser being full and wise. 
 In woman as man are wit and courage gold. 
 Cowards and clowns affect to patronize 
 Your drop-eyed maids. The realm of modesty lies 
 Inside the realm of wit. The world-man knows 
 Such green timidity from that bright prize. 
 Thought-chastity — next fairest flower that blows : 
 
 Oft wit glides gaily on, where modesty trips her toes. 
 
21 
 
 " A dear and close communion — far more dear, 
 That 't was restrained in the world's habitude, — 
 The frank confession that our beings wear 
 Mutual attraction — each the others food, 
 Undignified by freedom ill or good 
 From one wish of the other, (else were shame. 
 Bashful distrust, which saith not that it would,) 
 This is our love ! Fair Love ! the sacred flame 
 
 Which hath fused two in one, thro' every age the same." — 
 
 *' I gaze forever in these eyes of thine. 
 I have no secrets. — Hark ye ! I can tell 
 Why 't is, thy soul in sadness doth decline : — 
 Here in this globed palace doth she dwell ; 
 Her light is burning, but invisible 
 The mistress is, (gone gossiping from home ;) 
 Just in the palace's centre is a well, 
 Large, dark, and fathomless, — *tis thence they come — 
 
 Out of soul's bottomless deep — the clouds of all thy gloom. 
 
 They watched each other with unwavering look. 
 Know'st thou, earth's histories pour out of man's eyes ? 
 Philosophy hath blank leaves in her book. 
 To be writ o'er of eye-hypocrisies. 
 A fearful optic tells a thousand lies 
 It knows transparent, yet no less will cheat 
 Itself, not others, — for its villanies, 
 Tho' known, none mentions ; each man is discreet 
 To play the hypocrite with whomsoe'er he meet. 
 
 The eyes are weapons. At the point of th' eye 
 Are quarrels proven, as at point of sword. 
 Eyes speak a purpose. In thy face doth pry 
 Th' enthusiast pleader, daring with each word 
 Thy glance to test him ; thou'lt an ear afford. 
 But doth thy look pervert him from his place, 
 Thou'lt straight despise him. — pitch his zeal o'erboard ; 
 Bid him, avaunt, weak fellow ! in disgrace ; 
 A worthy prophet thou ! a scoundrel, dodging face ! 
 2* 
 
22 
 
 Blind men affect heart eloquence : their speech 
 Doth compass thought which sound eyes, front to front, 
 See rarely uttered. At some mote we reach, 
 Or give feigned itch a friction, and look on't. 
 When talk we of soul-secrets. Close account 
 Of such converse, by Gossip, in detail, 
 Feigns she impertinent : gives she the amount, 
 But th' items never, — lest heart-truth assail 
 Her foible, thro' some joint of custom's social mail. 
 
 *^ Candor is fearful ! Question of the parts 
 
 Whereon our judgment by the world is wrought, 
 Makes th' eyes go staggering. O ! the thousand arts, 
 To pass unthinking of the gazer's thought ! 
 The fair dread envy ; they whose beauty 's nought. 
 Within thine eye their ill effect peruse, — 
 Straightway most humble is their gaze, distraught, — 
 Or hateful anger kindleth to accuse 
 
 Thy all unwelcome look, and stoutly it refuse. 
 
 The rabble's worthy oft good front doth wear, 
 Bold tongue, tho' craven heart. And they that now 
 From corners do the paragon revere. 
 Had been as great, had feature taught them how ! 
 Wine doth such hero in his belly stow. 
 And vengeance on his cowardice doth wreak 
 By wine-eseused rant 'mongst cravens low, — 
 Or stern and sullen glareth, nor will speak. 
 Till some true roistering wight doth make him shameful sneak. 
 
 I ween such fellows have been in all time : 
 Some, mere eye-hypocrites, — some, heartily 
 Affecting sadness, mystery and crime. 
 And brooding silent, with a brigand eye 
 A well-wished darkness in their destiny. 
 Protrudes the chin, and sidelong crawls a sneer 
 At such as merrily go flaunting by, — 
 When lo ! a true man tweaks one by the ear, — 
 How smiles the dubious knave, 'twixt shame, deceit, and fear. 
 
23 
 
 Yet daring visage thro' the throng makes way ; 
 The mean eye is down-trodden. Every hour 
 Exalteth goodly presence, for men say, 
 (Tho' hath their hero but the facial power) 
 Thou see'st it in him ! how the brow doth lower ! 
 Thou knowest him not — he doth not all he may I — 
 Thus bought and titled by soul's outer dower 
 Are present reverence, and fair pass alway : 
 'T is this, all o'er the world, which present power doth sway. 
 
 y. 
 
 Now from the noontide glory of his march 
 The sun blazed fiercely thro' th' invisible sky, 
 A blistering, breathless calm ! it seemed to parch 
 The ocean's skin to splitting ; ne'er an eye 
 Might live and openly such light defy. 
 But Noon saw not our youths — 'mong the island trees 
 Reared in their path, whose foliage thick and high 
 Sucked plenteous moisture from th' enriching seas, 
 And, green with endless youth, did th' ocean desert please. 
 
 Prone in the shadow, where no hneal ray 
 Did shine down on them, lay the careless pair, 
 And saw their shallop where she flickering lay 
 Astrand. No breath her pennon might declare. 
 Here did they dine — shall lovers feed on air ? 
 And when the sun had his fierce anger spent, 
 And turned away with half repentant glare, 
 The wind arose. Lev'hng their star-peaked tent, 
 Over the blackening waves our reckless sailors went. 
 
24 
 
 YI. 
 
 Oft lie had wandered from the haunts of men 
 In wearj cities, and had seen the abode 
 Of savage Nature. Cave and dusky glen 
 Had he peered into, as he careless strode 
 A steed unguided, that at will bestowed 
 Long looks at each past traveller, — while his dog, 
 With nose straightforward, sitting in the road. 
 In prim contempt abrush at th' idle jog. 
 Would ne'er turn 'round, nor say, come on, be 't brake or bog I 
 
 He watched the faint blue peaks that, far away. 
 Dreamed in the ether of sublime repose ; 
 He lingered gazing all the smoky day, 
 Till dim, weird visions half his eye would close, 
 And fading Memory would almost bedoze. 
 At twilight, walking by the waterfall. 
 He watched the plunging thunder in its throes, — 
 Yea, gazed till night, claiming the torrent all, 
 Made it a flood of ink poured down by ebon wall. 
 
 Nor was he lonely. In his soul did live 
 That second-sight of Fancy, which can blend 
 The gazer with the landscape, and perceive 
 Himself a feature it doth comprehend. — 
 Thus dwells the poet with himself a friend, — 
 Smiles at his own dim figure on the hills, 
 From hill-tops watches him in vallies wend : 
 His mind is its own mirror, nor doth fill 
 The broad glass of its gaze : the ^v^orld shows 'round him still. 
 
25 
 
 How grand, how solemn is thy wilderness, 
 Of man untroubled, oh. Lake of the Woods ! 
 Oh, dreamy shores, wherein with velvet press 
 The panther wanders, and the eagle broods ! 
 And inland far, 'mid pristine solitudes — 
 Millions of acres — bluer lakes unroll 
 Their crisped sheets in silence : ne'er intrudes 
 From off their banks the dusky angler's pole. 
 Nor casts its crooked shade down in the waters cool. 
 
 Deep in these forests wandered, dim and lone, 
 Of heart intact, a solitary wight, 
 Amid the shadows flitting thoughtful on, 
 For heaven upgazing daily, and at night, 
 By low winds thrilled to tremulous delight. 
 By umber waters — dark, root-steeping tides — 
 He slept, and o'er him, silvery and bright 
 Clanged 'round the constellations. What besides ? 
 Could he rejoice, where nought for fellowship abides ? 
 
 Ho, poets ! shout it to this wrong-head earth, 
 All things are paper : 't is the soul doth store 
 The founding bullion which can give them worth ! — 
 Why need'st thou flaunt thee in a coach-and-four ? 
 Men's staring helps thee crow thy weakness o'er. 
 The world's eye is too big for thee ; its gaze 
 Thy pride doth cauterize on many a sore. 
 Oh ! turn face inward ; of thyself win praise. 
 And wild and solitude shall thee companions raise. 
 
 Martyrs have sung in fire their glorying hymns, 
 Their buoyant spirits jubilant, self-starred. 
 Frenzied with triumph in their blistering limbs, — 
 Themselves the audience, spectacle, and reward ! — 
 Oh, Man ! thy demon and thy god are barred 
 In thy ribbed bosom. Fear thyself alone ! 
 None else can hurt thee, an thou 'rt not self-scarred. 
 Set firm thy teeth, and bid the world, come on ! 
 Soul-suicide may be : soul-murder ne'er was done. 
 
26 
 
 VII. 
 
 The sun drives slowly down the purple rocks, 
 And 'mong their summits jagged, rude and bold, 
 Pausing, far back o'er Ocean's curly locks — 
 His milder brother's, his grand gaze is rolled. — 
 Our pair a gorgeous crater do behold ! 
 Huge lurid caverns, crusts, and bulging peaks 
 Whose bursting edges ooze the white-hot gold, 
 Which slides 'tween smoke-grimmed courses, and in streaks 
 Sets all the hill on fire ! With fire the ocean reeks ! — 
 
 The crater cools ; the white heat dies away ; 
 The rocks are fading to a mellow red. 
 Now dolphins leap up for the parting day ; 
 The porpoise' tail upflouts the watery bed 
 Toward softest skies, whose rosy glow doth shed 
 A tinted radiance on the emerald sea : 
 And all around, beneath and overhead. 
 Is lapped in velvet so voluptuously. 
 So fair, so warm — 't is strange ! how gray 't is, suddenly ! 
 
 Sweet hour of twilight ! — By the whispering leaves, 
 I poured my love in a famed lady's ear. 
 The sunset moss shone gold on cottage eaves 
 Which looked to darkened mountains. Far did rear 
 The broad, grouped elms, whose pictures dusk stood clear, 
 Down in the sunset's gold-vermillion lakes. — 
 Ah ! when shall memory fail her voice to hear, 
 That bade me go in silence ? Still it breaks — 
 That voice, my midnight rest : to it ambition wakes. — 
 
27 
 
 Drear hour of twillglit ! How the sea-breeze tore 
 November's vine-leaves from the ruin gray ! 
 I stood bare-headed on the desolate shore, — 
 The sky was dark, past sunset's latest ray, — 
 And she was merry in yon ship, away 
 With learned travelers to a foreign land ! 
 White was the far horizon line, and spray 
 Shook on my forehead gazing from the strand, 
 Till Night around that ship her dusky wings expand. 
 
 An oath burst on the darkness : " Thou shalt come — 
 Hear me, dark months when lunatics are born ! 
 And pale and thoughtful by my last low home 
 Shalt sit, and, folding o'er thy breast forlorn 
 Glossed silks, with hands which jewels bright adorn, 
 Sigh with the grass above me, — yea, and weep 
 Over the unforgotten ! — There shall mourn 
 A world of mourners, when in earth's wet keep. 
 Packed in the slimy clay these yielding limbs shall sleep." 
 
 Sad evening deepens, and the breeze serene 
 Makes both their hearts feel lonely ; on each brow 
 And open neck it freshens, — and they lean 
 By instinct nearer, and their words are low, 
 And tender as the mellow light doth glow 
 In their sad eyes. Inestimably dear 
 Are these two beings to each other now ; 
 They feel each other*s breathing, as they peer 
 Deep in each other's eyes — fond weltering liquid clear. 
 
 *' Dear love," quoth he — " the sea-breeze will go down, 
 Or e'er we hail yon Castle of the East : 
 Night finds us on the waters ! " — " Well, were 't known, 
 Frankly, it brings no sorrow ! Once at least 
 Thy head shall slumber on my heaving breast. 
 While love-sighs lift its billows. Many a night, 
 In dreams it hath upheld thee, while, too blest, 
 The heart within did thump with all her might 
 
 Thine unattending ear, with audible delight. 
 
28 
 
 *' Come ! lay thy head upon his pillow, loye ! 
 'T is early eyening yet, but the large stars 
 Come swift and clear I — Oh ! I have looked above, 
 When thou wert tossing in yon dangerous wars. 
 And prayed thou wouldst leave Glory and his scars, 
 And come to me ! '' — Quoth he, " I asked not fame : 
 Pale faces peering thro' grim prison bars, 
 Immured by tyrants, turned my blood to flame. 
 
 Think'st I could quit these arms, for slaughter, and a name ? 
 
 " There is a joy, to' have looked Death in the face, 
 And felt, we never shall be daunted more. 
 Roam where we will. And battle hath a grace 
 For fiery eyes : the tumult and the joar. 
 With rearing steeds, and banners tossing o'er, 
 Crack'd by the winds. But sad comes evening there, 
 When croakino^ vultures, scratchino; crusted s^ore, 
 Stand on the foreheads which the gods could dare. 
 And dent the leaden eyes which once in fight did glare. 
 
 " Yet, when Right struggles 'neath Oppression's heel, 
 Shut eyes, sweet Mercy ! let the battle bleed ! 
 See not the flash of th' heaven splitting steel ; 
 See not the warrior, as, rude bidding, heed ! 
 He spanks the stretch'd neck of his snorting steed 
 To bound into the thickest. Gay and grand 
 Cities of heads shall shout the soldier's meed ; 
 Glory shall wait for him, with cap in hand, — 
 
 And where the hero sleeps, that shall be holy land." — 
 
 Oh ! far at sea, when the hushed heavens are white. 
 And slow the ship is moving thro' the deep. 
 The thoughtful sailor, o'er the rail all night. 
 Watches the bubbles as they sternward sweep, — 
 While thro' his hair the lifting wind doth creep, 
 Come from his cottage*on the far away shore — 
 A pale faced cottage, that doth eager peep, 
 (Its eyes two windows, and its nose a door,) 
 Anxious with woman's love, the gray dark surges o'er. 
 
29 
 
 O Love ! thou first chief giver of delight — 
 
 Thee known, the boy is man, and in his face 
 Experience grave looks wiser than the night, 
 Thro' life's old mysteries owling on apace ! — 
 Slow thro' the lustrous gloom, in half embrace, 
 Over the flickering sea the lovers went. 
 While rose the constellations in dark space, — 
 Till, neared the centre of Xight's spangled tent, 
 The shallop's keel stuck fast in the thick element. 
 
 They dropped the sail, — the shallop made no way : 
 Across the bows the boom and sail did swing. — 
 They looked far 'round them : dim the ocean lay ; 
 The zephyrs slept : dusk Xight seemed listening ; — 
 Nor fish, nor bird, nor any living thing 
 Was seen to move, nor did one ripple creep, — 
 Not e'en -a nautilus did lift its wing ; — 
 No dew distilled — Night was too fair to weep : 
 And all was loneliness and soKtude most deep. 
 
 They looked above them at each mellow star 
 Clear beaming tenderly with tropic glow ; 
 They looked beneath, and mirrored faint and far 
 Saw planets wavering in the deep below. 
 They mused if stars did destiny foreshow, — 
 If o'er each soul, attuned by Deity, 
 The hymning orbs told jubilee and woe ; — 
 Thus deemed Chaldea, whose prophetic eye 
 Gazed up the starry hush, long centuries gone by. 
 
 Oh, loneliness ! — how utterly alone ! 
 So far from land, so helpless and so weak — 
 The ocean under them, of depth unknown — 
 The stars around them, — and they could not speak. 
 Low in the stern reclining, cheek to cheek, 
 They wrapped up closely in a warm embrace 
 Each other's breathing form : subdued and meek 
 Upon his bosom lay her calm, sweet face : 
 " Oh, Barron I " sighed she low from that broad resting-place. 
 3 
 
30 
 
 A soft intelligence was in their eyes, 
 As their full bosoms felt each other's stress, — 
 Mingling their breathing and half-conscious sighs — • 
 Sad, happy sighs ! what cared they to repress 
 The dear confession of their tenderness ? 
 Their lips met softly, and their eyes half dozed, — 
 Foro^ot the nio^ht and the wide loneliness 
 In that long kiss' affection, while reposed 
 Those fairest shapes were e'er by mortal arms inclosed^ 
 
 That strange low couch, the stars hushed wilderness^ 
 The sea's cool beauty, and Night's holy charm, 
 Left nought of sensual in the mute caress 
 Which zoned his white neck with her jewelled arm. 
 'T was no shame-facedness — no rude alarm 
 Stayed them from love's due rites, — for they were wed 
 In heart-full memory of endearments warm, — 
 But sea and stars drove passion from their bed. 
 And by strange, various thoughts, their minds were tenanted. 
 
 The maiden mused her fortunes o'er and o'er : 
 She thought of that lost city far behind, — 
 Of her past world, of childhood's world of yore ^- 
 Which ne'er had this her destiny divined — 
 A world-deserter to her bosom twined 
 In open shallop, far from mortal eye. — 
 We all are very dreamers, — and how blind 
 Is gay, flushed childhood, to what youth may see I 
 Ah ! happiest rosy urchin yet may madman be. 
 
 Success shall weary him of earthly games, 
 To question destiny its why and where. 
 Till this fear haunt him with strange, startling claims — 
 A law doth force him, which the rest doth spare ! 
 Then shakes his world ! No precedent can bear 
 Its light on him abnormous. Swift he goes 
 From grade to grade, thro' mental caverns rare. 
 From dark to darker, till e'en darkness grows 
 Perforce a kind of light — an ecstacy of woes : 
 
31 
 
 Still on and on, till childhood is forgot, 
 And earth's firm flesh-proprieties so fair, — 
 Till all is phantom that once wavered not : 
 E'en conscious life mav change : then void of care, 
 Splashing that ocean lies bevond despair, 
 His cries inaudible to none shall come. 
 But lo ! some Heaven-gate's sudden Hght doth glare — 
 Turns gloom v caverns to th' old walks of home, 
 Where healthy friends come 'round with question of his gloom. 
 
 E'en as a traveller, come from many lands. 
 Strange-sad at heart for learning earth is round, 
 Tells wondrous tales none other understands 
 Because none other hath conceived the ground, — 
 Till e'en himself forgets them to propound. 
 Or says, '• T 'is long past, but of rare esteem : 
 A strange world is 't ! " — so hath the madman wound 
 Back to life's native madness, but to deem 
 Those scenes, so real once, a crazed, mistaken dream. — 
 
 They slept. And ocean, like a lethean lake 
 Bedrowzed with slimibrous, opiate influences 
 Of stars dream-smothered — nodding hali awake 
 In downy mist ethereal, did confess 
 Himself was sleepy, and a damp'ning stress 
 Did bleai' his weltry eye. Fitful and low 
 The AVind, faint-breath'd in silent wakefulness, 
 Moved not the boom hung o'er the shallop's bow 
 With muffled sail — so soft on tip-toe crept she now. 
 
CANTO 11. 
 
 I. 
 
 Warm, red, and sultry in the leaden east. 
 Soft dawning light comes up the world anew. 
 Placid and dim, the ocean's liquid breast 
 Scarce feels the thin fog- wreath his slumbers drew. 
 The west is all a cold and grizly blue. 
 Where, dimly clear, one wet-eyed planet stays. 
 But lo ! the sun, sleep-flushed, without ado, 
 Shearing all mist off with diverging rays, 
 Kolls up the ancient deep, with hot, all-melting gaze. 
 
 That full, ripe atmosphere which thicks the skin 
 With continent health and beauty, filled the scene - 
 Refreshed by morning, that, with clang nor din, 
 Stole up, a silent pageant. Came, I ween, 
 A joy therewith — deep, mellow eyed, serene, — 
 Thought of the coming of far future days, — 
 Trust that the world shall be as it hath been. 
 Till death creep sweetly o'er us, and we raise 
 Up the cool, blinding swell, to heaven our latest gaze. 
 
 There in the stern of their magnificent boat, 
 The sunlight rosy on their brows adverse, 
 Our youthful lovers, who had slept afloat. 
 Stood up alone in that wide universe. 
 Large souled and calm, true nature-worshipers, 
 Thoughtful yet deeply peaceful ; and their prayer, 
 Unharmed by cant, set-phrasing, and what worse 
 Deforms the thoughtless' worship, fresh and fair 
 Thus rose thro' Barron's mouth to the wide ocean air : 
 
33 
 
 ^* O Morning ! welcome to tlie golden halls 
 Of Earth's new revelation, — driving Night 
 To pitch his black tent o'er the antipodes, 
 And shade the dark brows which bend over crime. 
 And thou proud orb, whose glorious calibre 
 Hath filled the ocean as the heavens with light, 
 And sent the stars out of their welkin hive 
 Like bees, to swarm off thro' the wilderness — 
 
 Hail ! from this rolling world. 
 
 O Thou! — the Power 
 Ubiquitous, original, omniscient. 
 Whose will unseen, making all visible, 
 Holds all in gtate, while moving all that moves, — 
 We pray Thee, (since due asking of Thy blessing 
 Doth get some answer in our faculties), 
 Outstretch the sphered confine of our souls 
 Past these diameters, till free therein 
 The huge-orbed universe may wheel at large, 
 And this, our little world, look not so great, — 
 Till branched trees, upon whose forked boughs 
 By curious building are the nests of birds. 
 May show for tree-like rivers, on whose forks 
 By curious building are the nests of men, — 
 Till any frightened, snaky little rill 
 That leaps down o'er the rocks with nimble haste 
 Into the steamy mother whence it came. 
 May show for Nilus — serpent old, who drags 
 His slimy length unto the Middle Deep. 
 And oh ! may Custom bandage not our eyes 
 From Nature's miracle ; but ever more 
 May we be thoughtful. Thou art all in all ; 
 That Ocean, weltering o'er his thousand wrecks, — 
 The wave- washed continents, whose waving woods — 
 Seen down the perfumed air by journeying birds, 
 Do roll and dash their billows of green leaves, — 
 Their wild inhabitants (unknown of us 
 As we of them) which thou mad'st to be happy, — • 
 The stars that jewel the night's Ethiop brow — 
 3* 
 
34 
 
 Yea, all those curdling numbers fitly higlit 
 Tlie Milky Way, — all that we see or know, — 
 And our own being, in whose consciousness 
 That all existeth, — doth in Thy will find 
 The secret of its presence — secret still, 
 Thou named Mystery ! thou continual Cause ! 
 
 " And in our souls, oh ! strengthen more and more 
 The hope — so pleasant tho' it may be vain — 
 That death shall end not all, — that we shall live 
 When pageant mornings are hung out no more, — 
 And living, love, and live never to die. 
 And never to grow old, tho' all things else 
 Of less ambition perish, — when yon sun, 
 Burnt out, and broken as spent comet's skull, 
 Wanders with dark-charred portals whence the winds 
 Strew back grim cinders down the solitudes 
 Of Night and Chaos, — yea, when all hath sunk : 
 When thro' a trackless and uncharted void, 
 Where now the stars cut cycles, and shy comets 
 Thro' frighted midnight whisk their crimson tails, 
 We two, made seraphs, winging far away 
 From Heaven's serene and ancient battlements, 
 May poise our snowy vans of purest light. 
 And say, ' the Earth — lost emerald — was here.' " — 
 
 The bauble bark is hitching up her sail, — 
 The nimble pennon lightly 'gins to heave, — 
 Again behind them shows a spreading trail, 
 For strange-born winds upon the water weave. 
 Now full in sight our gazing pair perceive 
 What erst they heeded not, in th' evening dim : 
 North of the sun, a land-line doth reheve 
 The eye of distance, and a oastle grim, 
 Upgrown from dreamy rocks, doth on th' horizon swim. 
 
35 
 
 Far back that island showed its rising form, 
 Big with twin mountains in the middle land, 
 Whence came a stream 'round winding like a worm, 
 O'ergrown with trees, to shores of tawnv sand. 
 Above these trees the Castle, gray and grand. 
 North-side the stream stood on the broken chain 
 Of bluff precipitious, like clenched hand 
 Of that long arm about the island lain. 
 Elbowed upon the north, shouldering the mountains twain. 
 
 Of one piece looked the Castle and the crag — 
 With toothed battlements 'gainst distant sky 
 Dusky relieved. O'er all, a taper flag 
 From slim and faint-seen flag-staff strained the eye. 
 Had combed the clouds full many a century 
 Those shadow}^ battlements, and would not down. 
 Dark, bow- winged sea-birds 'round were marked to fly, — 
 Yet thence the land no sign of life did own ; 
 Nay, all is dreamy here — romance of times bygone. 
 
 For Fancy shows, far off thro' cloudy years. 
 The olden courtly revelry by night. 
 Where jewels flashed at tinkling chandeliers. 
 And gold- wrought scabbards clanked, silks rustle bright 5 — = 
 While little recked th' upgazing rural wight, 
 Who marked the rose-lit windows with a sigh, 
 How much of care, how little of delight, 
 How many tears, how much debauchery 
 Within the shadow dwells of royal pageantry. 
 
 Happier his envy : it ne'er knew the gall 
 Of courtly bitterness, the dark deceit. 
 The watchful looks, which, in a capital 
 To keep high places, are made requisite. 
 How much of pride, of wretchedness and wit, 
 With wandering dreams of childhood, virtue, home, — 
 How many eyes, by bootless hatred lit 
 When fairer forms got favor in their room. 
 Have left yon gilded halls, for the inelegant tomb ! 
 
36 
 
 The wits that sparkled round the kingly board — 
 Courtier and courtezan, their feast is done. 
 The knight, the nobleman, the gaudy lord, 
 The trim embassador, and she that won 
 Monies from princes, virtue from the throne, — 
 Yea, all that glittered in the regal ray. 
 Sunk 'neath the stately table one by one, 
 Drunken with death, have mixed in common clay 
 Which every spike-shod churl bears on his heel away. 
 
 The vessel quickened when she knew the port, 
 As pricks the courser, doth his home appear. 
 Gay was the morning, and the hours were short : 
 Faster and faster the shell prow did rear ! 
 The island firmer steadied as 't drew near : 
 The trunks of trees — even the boughs were seen : 
 Full soon the shingles which the waters wear 
 She passed, to low, broad banks of yellow green, — 
 And up the streamlet's mouth, the thickening shores between. 
 
 Scarce bowed she, stately, to the anxious trees : 
 A traveled bark, not marvelous is she ! 
 Cordial the branches, whispering in the breeze, 
 Nudging their elbows, chuckled it, " dost see ? '* 
 On either side they pranced foolishly. 
 Birds sang their best from many an ancient bough 
 That switched the knuckles, in mischievous glee, 
 Of gnarled limbs pointing at the boat below. 
 The two low swells on either side the stern to show. 
 
 O'erdrooping lilies in the water glassed. 
 Fitting their bonnets by the mirror bright. 
 Feeling the swell, looked up to see who passed. 
 Then down again, — yet, wondering at the sight. 
 Upturned once more their bonnets to the light, 
 And languid drooped. A stitF-stem, blue 'as a lake, 
 Scann'd that fallen tent, in doubt she saw aright. 
 Or if she really were broad awake, — 
 Then shook her dainty head : not she one peep would take ! 
 
37 
 
 A cold, white flower, with red and pimply spots — 
 Like milk-faced maiden budding crimson sores, 
 Would not look up. Sword-flags in clumpish knots — 
 Fio-htinsf for smaller base, while o'er them soars 
 A clear blue-bell whose musical clapper lowers 
 Only to Fairy songs — stood in the wave. 
 Thick, stupid water-plants, with dew-wet pores. 
 Flat on the water their large flaps did lave, [g^^^* 
 
 Tender, and crisp, and cold : when crushed, loud squeaks they 
 
 Now dark overhead did foliate arches flow, 
 The lofty branches meeting which did lay 
 Their knitted umbrage on the glass below — 
 Dry, cav'rnous gloom, thick-muffled from the day. 
 Brown, shelly vines on the dusk marge did stray » 
 With tropic fruits of musty purple and gold, 
 Kich-ripe 'mongst delicate leaves of crimson gay. 
 Blood-flecked : while climbing parasites did fold 
 The stout and liberal arms which cared not for their hold. 
 
 On, up the gloom, appeared the steps of stone 
 Which sought the castle, left side of the stream. 
 Off their bright marble sheeted light was thrown 
 Full on the polished water ; many a gleam 
 Showed plain on th' arching, woody roof — its dream 
 Of twilight wakening : eke this light appeared 
 On latticed bridge beyond, whose knotted beam. 
 And sides thick intricate with shadows weird, 
 Across a dark back-ground a shapely arch upreared. 
 
 Thus was't a cool and sohtar}^ room. 
 Sombre, and dim, and quiet : the black tide 
 Was always level 'neath the air of gloom. 
 Yet 'twas no place where rural n^TQph might glide 
 All naked to the flood, nor turn aside 
 Her listening head when, cooling each white limb. 
 The rising flood came circling, — for espied 
 By some court satyr were she, whose quaint whim 
 Might shame her swift to flee to sohtudes more dim. 
 
38 
 
 Yet seldom was so solemn any bird, 
 To seek these shades, or in this silence sing. 
 Sometime an owFs low, sleepy hoot was heard, 
 As ogling perched he, with dim muffled wing ; 
 And sometimes Echo, in her wandering. 
 Crept 'neath the bridge, faint running, with a thrill — 
 Come from the far cascade a- wantoning 
 With sweetest Breeze, who saith, " Come ! love thy fill, 
 And die, in love's embrace, where all is dim and still." 
 
 These steps did grade the landing of two stairs. 
 One, up the thick-shrubbed ledges wound awry, 
 Tunnelled thro' trees and trellises, (soft airs 
 Breathing the tropic aroma), saw sky 
 Where grew the Castle from the rocks, so high 
 You scarce might its tall coronets survey ; 
 But down the shrubbed hill-side cast your eye, 
 And hit all beauty — staggering paths, and gray [spray. 
 Dim spots with crystals strewn, where fountains shed their 
 
 The other stair, right angled, few steps rose 
 Up to the garden level of the isle. 
 Whereon those fountains played. Thou shalt propose 
 More formal passage hewn to yonder pile : 
 On th' other side, a rugged horse-defile 
 Clomb o'er the wrist of th' island's guarding arm, 
 To gates that watched the ocean many a mile. 
 A sunset view it was the eye to charm, 
 When ofi* that clifi* two steeds looked seaward, with alarm. 
 
 Now slow advancing, with but halting speed, 
 The bark's bow-angel looked toward her pier. 
 Meseems her coming finds but little meed ! 
 There should be welcome, open-mouthed here. 
 We have looked ill : a reverend, courtly seer, 
 With old eyes grizly and of humid beam, 
 Hath a fair boy beside him, of twelve year, 
 In that soft misty light — a sunny dream ! 
 The Ancient's courtly dress doth much his years redeem. 
 
39 
 
 He spanned the centres of two centuries 
 With, memory's bridge, lit by court chandeliers; 
 His taper beard, gray as his reveries, 
 Might pass for 'an icicle of dripping tears, 
 Crispt by the winters of unsunned years : 
 And down his cheek, and by his manly nose, 
 Were seen the furrows which the tear-rain wears, 
 Wasting green youth's kiss-pasture where it goes : 
 But still his back was straight, and well-filled were his hose. 
 
 The boy beside him at the water's edge, 
 With blue bright eyes and golden curly hair, 
 In jest and waggery had his privilege 
 To flout at all men. And his wit was fair. 
 His years outgrowing, — subject to kind care, 
 Lest melancholy snatch precocious grace : 
 E'en now too frequent was his fixed stare — 
 Too eager oft that smile was, on his face. 
 Which those o'er prone to thought shall oftentimes give place. 
 
 These twain, save guard and numerous menials, 
 Were th' only dwellers in this island rest. 
 Young was the Ancient when these castle halls 
 Had taught him mirth, and revelry, and jest — 
 A pliant page, like this in tinseled vest. 
 He loved these haunts, for each remembered year 
 Advised him, here was life seen at its best. — 
 Now touched the boat ; and forth upon the pier 
 Our stately sailors stepped, ^th frank and open cheer. 
 
 *' Heaven bless thy sands unto the very last, 
 Thou long peninsula down the gulf of years ! " — 
 
 " Well said, my lord I peninsula — still fast 
 To Future's continent : yet swiftly wears 
 The dashing wave its isthmus, and impairs — 
 Thy thrall, fair lady ! "— " WeD-wished thou hast been ; " 
 Quoth she, " and Renzi, villain, ope thine ears, 
 And stop them with, I love thee. Bless thine een ! [chin." 
 Nay — let me feel thy beard, where thou shouldst have a 
 
40 
 
 ^^ I once saw wiseman, in a bowl of wine,'* 
 The boy said, grave — " and kissed him : and I say, 
 He had no beard. Keep company of mine, 
 Better than that hath kept thee for a day." — 
 
 " Now look ye, folly," quoth the maiden gay, 
 
 " An thou shalt face thee to the light emprise, 
 T' outwit my lord, and victor come away, 
 Thou art preferred." — " Nay — preference, I surmise,^^ 
 
 Grows not of that is chos'n, but of the choosing eyes. 
 
 " But to 't ! — Great wisdom should a joy import ; 
 And he, that's wisest, he should merriest be : 
 Now who so merry — " "• With less reason for 't ! " 
 Quoth Barron, leaping up the grades in glee, 
 While out of sight the maiden carried he. — 
 
 " In sooth, poor Folly," quoth the gray-beard wight, 
 
 " The crown is short-hand for the victory : 
 My lord hath got the lady ; thou, no sight : 
 
 And ' he is wisest man, that's merriest,' — judge I right ? ' 
 
 " Yea, I do burst with laughter, as I live ! 
 Thy twinn'd impertinence doth pride me high 
 O'er that within me which so well would thrive, 
 Unloved." — " Mine eye-lids shall be never dry 
 At thy misfortunes : a vile rheum is why.— 
 Arrange the boat ! — In courts hath passed my time : 
 I well might learn , dwells beauty in the eye : 
 But seldom childhood knows the lore sublime. 
 
 That joy is of the soul, nor will to place acclime. 
 
 " Oh ! could the envier to be envied shift, — 
 Could his desire straight compass its delight. 
 And leave delay no beauty in its gift, 
 Alas ! how quickly on his inner sight 
 Would dawn this truth : in every mortal plight. 
 Desire is spouse and equal to the joy 
 It wooeth. Ever, yearning appetite 
 Itself and food doth swallow, — doth destroy 
 
 Desire with that desired. Still must we long, or cloy." 
 
41 
 
 Meanwhile the nimble youngster squared the boat, 
 Bound tight the sail, and coiled the ropes away. 
 Xow pulling by the bushes, he did float 
 The little vessel to her darksome bay. — 
 Made fast, and left her. Soon together stray 
 The well-matched couple off upon the isle. 
 Where sometimes loiter they the live-long day ; — 
 And as they go, with leisured step, the while 
 Thus do their kindly words the journey fair beguile : — 
 
 *• Tell me, good Anjient. — what is learned in years ? 
 
 What, o'er the son. of wisdom hath the sire ? " — 
 " 'T would make thee old to know. With many fears, 
 
 With lack of passions, and nigh-quenched desire, 
 
 Age rails at fuel when he hath no fire." — 
 " Go on, sweet Ancient : I conceive, in sooth.*' — 
 " Well, darhng Henzi. this my year^ acquire : 
 
 Temperance is wisdom : 't is life's costliest truth :. • 
 Our pleasures ne'er o'erdow. but comes anon a dix)uth. 
 
 " There is a straight equator in men's lives, 
 And every soul goes zig-zag on the same, 
 'Tween equal tropics, and at each arrives, 
 Tho' born to princely or to peasant name. 
 Fair goes the summer's rising prosp'rous game ; 
 Dejected winter makes am.bition sore ; 
 Yet standing fortune is most dull and tame ; 
 While he, whom all-sort fortune hath gone o'er, 
 Will say • 't is a queer world I ' and bow his head and j 
 
 '' The sun of life is Virtue. Happy thou, 
 Wilt thou go toward her in thine early day,. 
 To feel her glory brighten on thy brow, 
 While fairer, lighter grows the happy way.— 
 But whoso' turns his back unto her ray, 
 Begrims his joiu'ney with his own dark shade ' 
 Gloomier the futui-e than the past alway, 
 Himself the demon of his life is made,- — 
 
 Till substance, shadow — all, wandering to c& 
 4 
 
42 
 
 n. 
 
 Amidst the garden's flowers and light there played 
 A beauteous fountain. Seven marble girls, 
 Beneath a rainbow which their own sport made, 
 Had climbed a laddered column — their light curls 
 Undone with haste wherewith each backward whirls 
 To spew, with bloated cheek and merry mood, 
 A jet which, shattered into gleaming pearls, 
 Broke o*er a maid who in the basin stood. 
 Her naked limbs dim seen waist-deep in the clear flood, 
 
 While her full cheeks upthrew from trumpet white 
 A hissing, nimble, ever-snapping jet. 
 Thus, 'round the column, seven shafts of light 
 On sev^n mouths of seven trumps were set, 
 Tall as that column, — on whose top, a pet. 
 Bracing a short, big bugle by the brim, 
 With chubby hands — head back, and belly great, 
 And short, stout legs strode wide, made th' air all dim 
 With a curved, sheaf-like shower, which drenched all 'round, 
 save him. 
 
 Did seem, those climbing sought this merry elf, 
 Each turned in triumph on a rival 'round. 
 Who feigned her calm and careless, and herself 
 A huge diversion in her trumpet found : 
 While he — he cared for no maid above ground ! 
 Did blow his horn with sturdy puff and strain. — 
 Yet sad and monstrous all — tho' sweet the sound 
 Of singing spray, and clattering fall of rain — 
 For ever thus, unmoved, did that sweet crew remain. 
 
43 
 
 Mated to these, there stood a crazy tree, — 
 A furious willow, from whose swaying boughs 
 Rushed down a shower of crystals fair to see, — 
 While in the midst the striped Iris shows. 
 Dim thro' the rain the graceful willow glows, 
 Her yellow branches wrought with curious care 
 In days of old — so old, no memory knows 
 What princely artist reared the gimcrack fair ; 
 Or if the dizzy thing grew up of nature there ! 
 
 Weird paths 'neath trees gigantic, where of yore 
 Walked ruffled nobleman and courtly dame ; 
 Green swards where knights and gallants hot and sore 
 Had clashed their weapons in blood-earnest game, 
 For some frail beauty, or a frailer name ; 
 Spots which, hard trodden by the frequent dance, 
 Grass ne'er shall cover, — while some rotted frame — 
 Seat where the weary turned to rest, perchance — 
 Lies near ; these are the sights the gardens did enhance. 
 
 Far up the island was a little marsh, 
 Where light, thin reeds stood in the wavy glass. 
 And sailing lilies, and green flags so harsh, 
 Each thought its injured image did surpass 
 That coiled-up monster from whose marble mass, 
 Set in the midst, a three-sheafed flood arose — 
 Broken to fall, and, falling, crush, alas ! 
 Their beauty's mirror ; while far off" the rose 
 Could hear that drowsy plunge, amid the shore's repose. 
 
 Thro' that stout arm of rocks upon the north, 
 A lofty passage-tunnel had been bored. 
 Gloomy and rude, which to the sea led forth, 
 And, did the waters murmer, hollow roared. 
 From ofi" that cave had many a ship been moored ; 
 Baggage and men and horses had been thro' ; 
 And ladies, tho' in better light adored. 
 Had een been kissed in passing — stories true, 
 As o'er two merry heads darkness her mantle threw. 
 
44 
 
 Reaching the sea, there was a sandy beach, 
 By many waves packed motionless and hard : 
 Far off to northward did the ot;ean stretch. 
 By Hghted glassy swellings many-barred. — 
 Here lay the shells which the great waves discard — 
 Dead, empty shells, bright-spotted, polished round, 
 Killed long ago in th' ocean, sunk, ill-starred, 
 To be cast up again on surface ground. 
 Quivering in every nerve with strange and dreamy sound. 
 
 Oh ! every shingle of the farthest strand 
 Hath shells forgotten, that from ocean rose : 
 And ripples, softly creeping up the sand. 
 Kiss them by starlight, where no trader goes — 
 On tawny islands which no chart-book knows. 
 Yea, God is walking in all loneliness ; 
 On every shore some elegance he shows, 
 Tho' man go ne'er to see it, nor confess 
 That aught to earth was given^ save his own sight to bless. 
 
 By midmost Africa's most lonesome springs 
 The flowers are blooming in unnoticed pride. 
 And birds above them frolic it, with winofs 
 As gay as e'er dashed gossamer aside 
 In tale of traveler. And 'neath the tide, 
 Where swarm the millions of the fertile sea, 
 Do not the skeletons of monsters hide. 
 Exempt, O man ! from history and thee ? 
 I question, God made them less for himself than me ? 
 
 The Earth's deep dungeons have their living things 
 Which bide for God's good pleasure, and their own : 
 Swart bats in caverns flap their leathern wings 
 O'er toads short-hopping, merry, and full-blown. 
 And lizards stepping daintily adown 
 To waters tinkling in the formless night, — 
 Tho' no quaint traveler with his lamp wind roun', 
 In wet-proof clothes — a wonder loving wight. 
 Who fain would turn the pit just bottom up, to light. — 
 
45 
 
 Leave we yon pair to wander where they will. 
 Nought else demands them — what is here to do ? 
 And whiles the day rolls calm and sunny-still, 
 Shall we belounge the turret-tops, and view 
 Whatever may greet us, — beauties not a few : 
 And I, who am thy ciceron at hand, 
 Shall smile, sad, world-wise, with small-great ado, 
 As doth true ciceron, and so demand 
 Thy wonder at the wight doth wonders understand. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Stop ! — Gaze thro' this hushed gallery ! The air 
 Is beat by wild-limbed statues : how they glow 
 With life and action ! from their blocks they rear. 
 As ye turn towards them, but they stop e'en so — 
 They will not if ye watch them ! Soft doth flow 
 A rosy light around the marble nude. 
 Giving vitality. The walls do show 
 Full many a landscape, old and dim-subdued, 
 Of battle, wood and -wild, and breathless solitude. 
 
 Ye wake the spirits of the startled walls. 
 Tread ne'er so softly, as on either hand 
 We mount to chambers thro' o'erarching halls, 
 Far more voluptuous — no whit less grand. 
 Where all that Art for Luxury hath plann'd. 
 On which unwearied the eye may feast — 
 Purple, and gold, and velvets weltering bland, 
 Sleeps in the heavy splendor of the East ; 
 And taste, which hath disposed, hath all things' worth increased. 
 
 Nought jars the harmony that fills the eye ! 
 Advantage nought of furniture could more ! 
 And lo ! yon curtains, of th' old Tyrian dye, 
 Melt day's plain sunlight to the rose of love, 
 Deep'ning in richness every ridge and groove 
 Of carved wainscot, mirrors, picture-frames 
 With tasselled cordage, carpets whereon rove 
 The feet unheard, caskets, and things whose names 
 I doubt the artist knew — strange mechanism of games. 
 4* 
 
46 
 
 Spend not thy gaze on th' ornamental bits 
 Of ivory carved, and ebony, and pearl, 
 Or wilt thou so bemarvel thy five wits 
 With cunning, quaintest whimsies in the worP, 
 Thou wilt e'en cry ' have done ! ' amid the whirl. — 
 But oh ! the pictures — curious, old, and rare — 
 TVhat wight could pass them, but a foolish churl ? 
 Hath each some precious meaning, wise and fair, 
 Or tells some truth of life, as old as Pain and Prayer. 
 
 Mark thou this portrait ! As about we rove. 
 Forever rolleth its deep gaze at thee ? 
 And thee in preference ? — I nought can prove — 
 Yet true is 't, ever doth it gaze on me : 
 And so say all men who this picture see. 
 Perchance this scripture doth th' intent exhale : 
 With every conscience dealeth Deity. 
 But one experience doth one soul avail. 
 Thou feel*st the Eye on thee. Thou canst prove 
 NO man's tale. 
 
 Here is a tropic mountain, standing lone. 
 His rounded summit hath a scalp of snow ; 
 But down his side go wander : every zone, 
 From torrid verdure up to th' icy glow, 
 Is belted on him, with his fruits also. 
 And plants and animals. — 'Tis little worth ; 
 Yet hath it truth in 't, tho' it hath no mo' : 
 A tropic mountain models half the earth : — 
 And from this odd conceit the picture got its birth. — 
 
 With haunted atmosphere — no winds astir 
 Round dreaming ruins hushed upon the sand — 
 Wrecked tombs and temples of the days that were, 
 ' Far, tent-like piles, and solid sphynxes bland — 
 Hangs monstrous Egypt, old, mysterious land — 
 A faded, slumbrous picture. Hath gone down 
 The smoky sun : all things seem at a stand. 
 Save where, ail-solemnly, to ocean boun', 
 Nilus turns sad away from yon poor gipsy town. — 
 
47 
 
 Here is a whirlpool. On its cycling throat 
 The wilted billows are with fear uncurled. 
 Pale ships lean hastening from it, but they float 
 Still closer : some on th' water tiers are whirled ; 
 Some down, 'neath skies of dizzy trouble hurled ; 
 \Yhile none may tell them, if that tunnelled stream 
 Cascades the hissing rocks of Netherworld, 
 Or lifts its victim — past that horrid dream — 
 Thro' brine of other zones, where fairer suns shall beam. 
 
 These be Life- vessels, on the Pool of Death. 
 Fast, faster ghde they, till the cycles drear 
 Grow swift monotony, and not the breath 
 Of worldly hurricane a wave can rear ; 
 And far around the sky is full of fear. 
 And solemn clouds of tribulation frown, 
 Tho' tinged with hope ! But penitence a tear 
 Drops o'er the dubious oblivion, — 
 And, with few flags half-mast, the fated barks go down. — 
 
 Gaze on this desert battle-field ! Dusk steel 
 Glows in the sand, by th' horse's skeleton ; 
 Yonder the rider, on a chariot wheel, 
 A tendon'd, parchment-skinned rack is thrown ; 
 Near by, a warrior 'side his foe lies down, 
 A sparse-haired mummy — brown, unboweled rack ; 
 Another sconce beyond grins white upon, 
 'Mong sand-sunk bones : white bones the battle track 
 On to the dreary sky. — This doth of glory smack. — 
 
 Here digs a Pirate, to inter a cask 
 Of treasures rare. Out on the glassy calm 
 His anchored vessel in sunlight doth bask, — 
 And far beyond it, o'er an isle of balm 
 Upholds her leaves one solitary palm 
 Into the thoughtless air, with patient mood ; 
 So still, so listless glittering all, a qualm 
 Doth on the heart and heavy breath intrude, 
 For all forgetful sleeps — forgot in solitude. — 
 
48 
 
 A great one's funeral ! — The dusty street 
 Is dim with arrowy light which o'er the throng 
 Shines like a yellow mist, as thousand feet 
 Uneasy throb the heated pave along, 
 Where nobles, tradesmen, idlers old and young, 
 With tattered brats who beg for pence in vain, 
 And vagrant play'rs, and bullies elbowing strong. 
 Stand gazing eager in the crowed strain, — 
 The short on tiptoe ris'n, a better sight to gain. 
 
 Four jet-black steeds whose buttocks in the sun 
 Are glossed — their bodies in grim sables stowed — 
 By Ethiop page beguided, every one. 
 Are coming forward thro' the opening crowd. 
 With checked and dainty stateliness, full proud 
 Of that tall car funereal. Left and right, 
 The throng their gaze have on the toy bestowed ; 
 They see the wheel-spokes flicker in the light ; 
 They see the martial helm of many a mounted wight. 
 
 All men, in view, have vanity I ween ; 
 Each comes a spectacle, as well 's to see ; 
 But spite all folly, is strange sadness seen 
 In this wise picture* Oh ! how wearily — 
 Be genius dead — doth show all pageantry ! 
 What thoughtful looks full many a face doth own, 
 Which say, " the rest are commoners to me : 
 Now none is left of enviable renown : 
 His fall not us exalts : soul-standard doth come down." — 
 
 Some curious fabric every step reveals. 
 As 'round we wander stair and stoned way. 
 Which erst have clacked to courtier's sleepy heels 
 Called from the revel by the cock o' day — 
 Most pertinent bird, who bed-time knows to say ! 
 Above, below, is nothing homely-plain : 
 From gates to turrets, all is rich or gay. 
 Grand, lofty chambers look across the main, 
 And in them wights no less than lord, or chief, hath lain. 
 
49 
 
 Two carved dragons, snarling head to head, 
 Whose high-curled tails hold canopy above. 
 Upon their backs sustain a nuptial bed, 
 Most fit for couple of ill, bickering love. 
 Upon the canopy doth perch a dove, 
 In vain endeavor with her silken reins 
 To make the team straight on their journey move : 
 Each ogles th' other, spite her peaceful pains. — 
 It was some knave's device, of termaganted brains. — 
 
 We mount the battlements ! — Lo ! far around 
 All things are old, but golden-fair and bright : 
 Ocean is stretching, level, vdthout bound ; 
 The island trees are rich in yellow light. 
 Look down the embrazure I 'T is a giddy height ; 
 We are a fearful distance from the mouth 
 Of that blue streamlet, creeping out of sight 
 Among the tree-tops. Far off on the south, 
 Long curves the thirsty shore, still frothy with its drouth. 
 
 Bright Isle of Summer ! summer long and blue. 
 With smoothest winds, that haunt the gnarl'd old vales, 
 And creep 'mong flowers which, with well-feigned ado, 
 Go turning, frowning from their sweet-sick tales ; 
 Teeming savannas, from whose lust exhales 
 A wealth of fragrance to the sun's hot breath ; 
 Green dells of dampened foliage, where pales 
 The mandrake — cold in solitude — to death : 
 Rocks too, and gorges dusk, of cavern gloom beneath. 
 
 Strong, gaudy flowers, that Autumn never sears, 
 Spring wild forever on the mountain-side. 
 Skies, hushed and dreamy as the sabbath years. 
 Enrich their channels with the painting tide. 
 Gold, scarlet, crimson, white with purple pied. 
 There fill the thickets of luxuriant growth — 
 The new stiU coming from the old that died ; 
 While over all, a thought of ancient youth 
 Breathes in the downy wind of the voluptuous south. — 
 
50 
 
 I know the beauties of the Northern year — 
 The oaks, the meadows, and the fields of corn. 
 Yea ! Fancy bears me to the homestead dear, 
 With ehns of solitude, where I was born. 
 I see hard paths, and bushes that have torn 
 Wool from the sheep, — the barns, with hovering doves, 
 And dainty weathercock — a shadow worn, 
 Loose-wabbling sidelong every breeze that moves, 
 The whiles his wind-filled eye the evening scene approves. 
 
 Fields wave in glory ! O'er the frowning grain 
 Swift flies the swallow, and the sky is clear ! 
 Wave, Sea of Ceres ! — rise and fall amain. 
 Till these rich billows brush the mountains drear — 
 Their lofty coast ! — and thro' the orchard near. 
 Vary the eddies round the short-stemmed trees 
 Which pass for islands ! — Far on high appear 
 Great heaps of piled-up fleeces, 'fore the breeze. 
 Towing their shadows ofi", over these golden seas. 
 
 Brown, placid waters, fringed with shady shores, 
 Loiter the plain, short stopt in yonder nook. 
 Where th' old witch- willow in her mirror pores. 
 Combing her gray, thin tresses toward the brook. 
 Beneath, an angler plies his late-sunn'd hook, 
 In silence wheedling on the closing day, — 
 Anon upturning to the sky a look 
 At those weird clouds of white and dusky gray. 
 Whose shadows haunt the hills, dim phantoms far away. 
 
 But days grow shorter, and the nights are chill, 
 And Autumn's sun hangs heavy on the south ; 
 Crisp frosts the vines of gold-ribbed melons kill, 
 And pears drop nightly, luscious to the mouth. 
 In th' apple orchard, 'neath the limbs uncouth. 
 The swine stand crushing the rich fallen fruit, 
 With hasty chaps upraised, and full of froth : 
 Streaked and spotted — all kinds, under foot, 
 IVIay well their careless taste, without a washing, suit. 
 
51 
 
 Gray morning rising, shows the grass dew-wet, 
 And fog is on the river, till the sun — 
 Grown warm and high, dries up the steamy sweat, 
 And, fair and mellow, puts his glory on. 
 How still it is, as we go out alone ! 
 Yet nuts drop down, while all seems listening. 
 In the calm, sabbath morning ; and a gun 
 Doth make the far off solitude to ring, 
 While barks the eager dog, with short, expectant spring. 
 
 The eve grows gloomy, and the windy rack 
 With shapeless muffling thwarts the sombre sky ; 
 Th' uneasy gate goes croaking forward and back ; 
 Chill runs the water in the trough set niorh : 
 *Tis such a day as makes the captive sigh, 
 Looking from out the portals of the wall. 
 When sad and silent every one goes by, 
 And smoke hangs o'er the city like a pall : 
 In truth, it is a day fit for a funeral. 
 
 Anon the sunlight lends the dreary day 
 No smoky-golden glory : leaves are gone, 
 The wind cries anxiously — a child astray. 
 Shaking the windows with sick, sobbing moan — 
 Then goes, heart-broken. Solemn, one by one. 
 Crows cross the woods. — In city streets, all pale 
 The thin-clad woman, outcast and undone. 
 Looks thro' the cold, dark air ; while shadowy frail 
 Stands Justice on a dome, far off, with lifted scale. — 
 
 But when December's melancholy plains 
 Stretch drear and desolate, oh, fly with me ! 
 Summer perpetual serenely reigns 
 O'er the bright islands of the tropic sea ! 
 There glorious fruits, on many an ancient tree, 
 Darken the land of their majestic bloom : 
 There gorgeous birds shall ever welcome thee, 
 Lifting the Rainbow promise on each plume. 
 That verdure never more shall leave that land in gloom. 
 
52 
 
 See lime, pomegranate, olive, tamarind, 
 Fig, grape — all luscious dainties of the earth — 
 Green, ripe, and rotten, which th' rich-feasted Wind' 
 Musts o'er, when, from the date-groves coming forth, 
 He wipes his mouth with blossoms which the North 
 Ne'er smells, — spice-reeking Wind ! hot from the isles- 
 Whose torrid strength tann'd, fragrant buds gives birth. 
 Close to the Line, where ruffles he the smiles 
 Of calm, quick-cringing Bays, whom his rank breath defiles. 
 
 Come ! wateh dark rivers steeping 'heath the frown 
 Of rich, o'er bearing branches, whose bri^^ht green, 
 Sprinkled with parrots, looks of flowers full-blown, — • 
 Some blossoms floating thro' the air, I ween ! — 
 While 'neath great varnished water plants, unseen 
 A crocodile waits patiently and long. 
 With one round eye upon the grinning spleen 
 Of monkeys, trooping thro' the branches strong 
 Of th' oldest knotted trees, while croaks the parrots' song. 
 
 Come ! tire the stout-lunged divers in the brine 
 Of Oman, rooting up the sable sand 
 By the salt rocks of Ormus ! So ? decline 1 
 Then hail, Grolconda ! the old diamond land, 
 The banks of Coromandel ! Zephyrs bland 
 Creep o'er Bengala from the spicy wild 
 Of far Sumatra, and from many a strand 
 Where turtles beach at midnight, when so mild 
 The large clear planets hang, on heavens all undefiled. 
 
 At night , alone we '11 watch those southern stars, 
 On th' Indian Ocean ! Oh ! 't is sweet to be 
 Where such orbs darkle ! Storied Fancy rears 
 The Mermaid's bosom from the sparkling sea, 
 And shakes her tresses in exultant glee. 
 While starlight revels on each silver shore 
 Of India's thousand isles. — Oh, fly with me I 
 Fly to the tropics, and come back no more ! 
 Fly to the land of love, and with mine eyes adore ! 
 
53 
 
 III. 
 
 The day of Heat was done, and southward slow 
 Our lovers sought the shore. The passioned light 
 Of sunset flushed the heavens, and breezes low 
 Roused distant trees to frenzy and delight ! 
 The Kttle ripple ran with all his might 
 To o'erleap the shingle, but alas I fell back : 
 While, homeward bound, the bubble-helmed knight, 
 TVith ii'is plume, and shield of polished black. 
 Rode his stout billow in. and — got thrown off, alack I 
 
 The heavenly crimson carpeted the sea 
 With hues voluptuous : and the water line 
 Xow bent like molten gold, now seemed to be 
 Infused with heaven : — anon the rosy brine 
 Came weltering up the light, with velvet shine. 
 The east was turning purple, but the hue 
 Of all things westward told the sun's decline. 
 Where sea and sky, love-rilied of their blue. 
 Received with glowing blush his lowly-bowed adieu. 
 
 Each in the other's ann. they strolled the shore 
 With lingeiing feet ; they picked up sandy shells, 
 And held them to their ears, and heard the roar 
 Of chambered solitudes and murmuring cells 
 In th' ocean caverned : low and breezy swells 
 They hear — wrapt-listening with averted eye ; — 
 Up in the groves there is a music tells. 
 Some bird is glad, whose liquid melody 
 Leaps, thro' a silver pipe, from fountains never dry. 
 5 
 
54 
 
 They stooped beside the ripple, each free hand 
 Raking the clear, cool swell, for pebbles round ; 
 They lifted hand-fulls of wet, heavy sand, 
 And tossed them out, to fall with slopping sound 
 Into the water. — Hermia's waist he wound 
 With dry, white sea- weed, while her foot did beat 
 The beach, slow swaying : sure, the arm that bound 
 Was fitter far ! Dear, playful words and sweet 
 Were their discourse, with nought cold, formal, or discreet. 
 
 They watched the wide, wide ocean, in the charm 
 Of tender loneliness and deep delight : 
 Closer they clasped each other, and each arm, 
 Thro' thin and flowing robes which them bedight, 
 Could feel soft breathing, — e'en,, with pressure slight, 
 Their jewelled hands each pliant frame might feel : — 
 And they were forms that Genius, in the night. 
 May dream in marble, — tho' th' unwilling steel 
 Did never make the block that beauteous dream reveal. 
 
 Oh! when young limbs in polished fulness move. 
 And clear and mellow glows the continent eye, — 
 When every pulse is rich of gushing love. 
 And the swol'n bosom cannot keep the sigh, — 
 When warm, sweet lips be feathery-soft and dry, 
 By absent musing often put apart, — 
 When, like the ivy,, clingeth dotingly 
 To that most near the maiden's longing heart, — 
 There is somewhat was ne'er set forth in marble mart. 
 
 They wandered on, and seemed it, ne'er before 
 Had each esteemed the other half so dear. 
 There was no solitude on that live shore, — 
 The laughing waves their tender words could hear. 
 Longing to be where nought could lend an ear 
 To their heart-beatings, with a musing pace 
 They left the beach. A broken coast was near, 
 Whose tree-roofed, turfy rocks a bower did gmce. 
 Slowly they climbed the ledge, and, thro' an open space. 
 
55 
 
 Looked out upon the ocean and the sky ; 
 But elsewhere 'round, the shrubs did press so close, 
 All vision was precluded, while on high 
 The trees arched dark and dim, and bent across 
 The frontal opening, where the breeze did toss 
 The twilight leaves. A rosy-tinted glow 
 Came through this portal to a couch of moss, 
 Of Nature's fitting: there reclining now. 
 They scarcely heard the waves that murmured far below. 
 
 They were alone : the world, with all its hum, 
 Was far away forgotten ; and all sound. 
 Save rising waves upon the coast, was dumb ; 
 And trees, and sky, and ocean stood around, 
 Mute witnesses — and solitude profound. 
 They were alone : but in their loneliness. 
 The land was near, — the solitude had bound ; 
 And cold stars infinite did not repress 
 The warm and earthly love did their young looks confess. 
 
 Into each other's eyes, by the dim light, 
 Darkling they gazed, with passion not alone : 
 Wise thought of fitness — dignity by right 
 Of common nature, their proud hearts did own : 
 And self-possession in their faces shone, 
 With nought of eye-hypocrisy to break 
 The frank confession, in low undertone. 
 Of feelings mutual, — till the fading streak 
 Of sunset light was soft on Yenus' rosy cheek. 
 
 O ! Venus — Lucifer — the morning star — 
 How clear, how colorless tliy saintly head ! 
 Unseen at noon, so busy, dim and far ; — 
 But when at eve thou seek'st the Ocean's bed, 
 Thy cheek divine with rosy light is red ! — 
 So from the clear soul dome of his abode 
 Love now came down, and, 'mid the crimson shed 
 On passion's waves, a rosy visage showed, — * 
 Yet, spite of mortal shape, was still th' immortal god. 
 
56 
 
 Up o'er the ledges the strong dashing roar 
 Of loosened waves comes fresh upon the breeze ! 
 Darkness is kneeling on the faded shore, 
 And far away upon the dim-lit seas, 
 The white-caps coy th' upleaping billows teaze. 
 Wildness and night are here ! The savage woods — 
 Swaying and pushing their thick-crowded trees, 
 Eush dark behind us ; and a voice intrudes 
 Into their hungry roar, from th' ocean's rousing floods ! 
 
 The stars are out. Upon the darkling beach 
 Wrap't arm-and-arm again, and hand in hand, 
 More near and dear than ever is their speech, — 
 Their beings changed, as by a wizard's wand: 
 They are more intimate, — they understand 
 Each other's inmost thinking ; and they smile 
 Unto themselves, slow gliding o'er the sand 
 Toward home, — and clasp each other close, the while, 
 And feel that every thought doth them alike beguile. 
 
 Their hearts are quickened by the thrilling hour 
 To wild affinity with that strange sea. 
 As 'bove before them the black woods do tower, 
 And 'side them shivered billows find a lea, 
 A joy within them leaps exultingly. 
 The night-hawk swoops the ocean ; and the spume 
 Of waves which come like foaming cavalry, 
 Shakes in their faces, 'neath the jeweled gloom 
 Of old and mystic Night, whose stars the coast illume. 
 
 They reach the CasUe ; and its ponderous gate 
 Clangs after them, and locks itself to rest. 
 They chmb the statued gallery, nor wait 
 For lights to guide them — wandering on abreast 
 Thro' darksome passages, each closer prest 
 As they their old-time parting-place come near : 
 They part not now, — they are an unit blest ; — 
 And dark, close panels, hushing in their rear, 
 AVhisper the jambs, -no more night parts the lovers here !" 
 
57 
 
 Dim-drawn and sombre are the castle walls, 
 And slumber deepens on each menial wight. 
 Soft sighs the wind, free coursing thro' the halls, 
 The child's first music, and the man's delight. 
 ' Tis late : yet, high up in that dusky height, 
 Beside a portal with a low, deep sill. 
 Reclines the Barron, gazing on the night ; 
 While cool the breeze, with faint and tremulous thrill, 
 Whispers of far-off seas, and islands dim and still. 
 
 A silken night-dress doth her form enclose — 
 
 The girlish wife within his arms at rest 
 
 Whom owns she lord forever : but repose, 
 
 Which covets not the bosoms of the blest, 
 
 At length is settling on her orbed breast, 
 " How soft thy balmy breathing, love ! how sweet, 
 
 'Tween parted lips, a zephyr of the west. 
 
 Made vital by thy body's weltry heat ! 
 O ! pure, tmblushing face ! heart, with untroubled beat!" 
 
 Now softly stealing 'round her swelling limbs 
 Wraps he the night-robe, and in his embrace 
 Uplifts the sleeper, who in visions swims, — 
 And on its couch slow sinks the load of grace. 
 Then would he rise up from that resting place : 
 But slumb'ring arms are 'round him, and a low 
 Unconscious murmur doth retain his face 
 On that same pillow. — Well-a-day ! I trow, 
 Love makes men children all. Why should they older grow ? 
 
 Say, thou : were't better, in my northern home. 
 In chamber cooling from dull embers' glow, — 
 While out the window, in night's wintry gloom 
 The cold clear starlight glitters on the snow, — 
 And thoughts come o'er of jingling bells that go 
 Home from the merriment, when soft necks fair 
 Are muffed in furs, and young hearts tender grow, 
 And nestle closer from the frosty air 
 In well excused love — a hale and cheery pair ; — 
 
58 
 
 Say, — were it better, had they packed them close 
 In chill-damp linen clean and snowy white. 
 Breathing quick breath, as, muffled to the nose, 
 They clasped each other closer, and locked tight 
 Their polished limbs, — while colder grew the night, 
 And round their home swept fierce the gusty wind 
 AYhich could not enter to their warmed delight ? 
 I' faith, I think it were ! — But thou shalt find, 
 Love is a various wight, and soon will change my mind. 
 
 Nay — let the night- wind whistle, and the sky 
 
 With sables canopy the ocean o'er, — 
 
 Let lightnings crack the battlements, and high 
 
 Let surges tumble on the broken shore ; 
 
 What boots it. Nature, wilt thou smile or roar ? — 
 
 Love hath a world and heavens of his own ! 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 I 
 
 Far from that isle, a jagged coast protrudes 
 Its low-browed rocks — down scowling on the sea 
 Like featured demons, whose stiff hair, the woods, 
 Bristles above, erected spitefully. — 
 'Twas darkness now, and on the sand, in glee 
 A half-score pirates sat about a fire 
 Which in the night cracked hot and merrily. 
 They joust the wood — the sparking flames leap higher, 
 And paint each man in front, half 'round, with crimson ire ! - 
 
 The rocks were faintly lighted, over head, 
 And scarcely visible the waves did glow ; 
 Else-'round the scene was horrible and dread — 
 That spot the only pleasure in the woe. 
 The cool night- wind crept tremulous and low 
 Along the water ; and adown the shore 
 The light showed faintly on a boat's round bow -^ 
 Hitched, by the painter, to a sand-stuck oar — 
 Black as the sable flag whicb these marauders bore. 
 
 Darkling a ship was anchored, half a league 
 Out in the night ; and these were of her crew — 
 These^ wights of plundering, villainous intrigue, 
 Whom frolick idleness for pastime threw 
 Out on th' unpeopled shore. And gay they grew, 
 Thrown round the fire upon the heated strand, 
 Loud talking reckless, as good-fellows do, — 
 Some on their elbows propt, rooting the sand, — 
 Some sitting bolt upright, — some sidelong, head-and-hand. 
 
60 
 
 Near seen, they showed a motley sorted set, 
 Of several dyes that mark the human throng, 
 Belted with weapons which good cause ne'er wet ; 
 Well knit of limb, broad breasted, quick and strong. 
 With souls by use grown hardy in the wrong. 
 They showed their scars in many a hairless line ; 
 And some there were, this jovial troop among, 
 Who, tost on land as well as on the brine. 
 Had learned to crack a jest, and o'er their fellows shine. 
 
 Old Khoin, a dark and sinew-featured man. 
 Whose lean, quick smile showed glittering teeth and cold, 
 Of dubious import, in command did stan'. 
 His neck was bearded, 'round thick veins and bold ; — 
 And straight and wiry form, and keen eye, told 
 Of cunning daring. Civil did he go, 
 Tho' his smile was thinner than his thin lips' fold. 
 In such, men willing sub-commander know, — 
 Por a flag over-fair hath oft wild lads below. 
 
 Renzi, a man of thirty years or mo, 
 With short, black beard, large eye, and comely head, 
 Talked less for reason that he much could do : 
 His words, tho' few, full mannerly were said. — 
 By him, sat white-eyed, thin-faced youth, who bred 
 Too much contention, were his legs not good : 
 His whimsick stomach mischief only fed, — 
 Mostly forgiv'n by his companions rude. 
 He was Hyena nicked, his nose did so protrude. — 
 
 A portly trencherman, (so Turtle hight) 
 Hot-skinned with drink, and dangerous to accost, 
 Thin-haired and choleric, sat opposite, — 
 And him Hyena at retorts would joust. 
 He could be merry, when it pleased him most. — 
 Beside him, Ponce — a brawny, honest knave ; 
 Not much tongue had he, and one eye had lost. 
 He loved all orderly, to rules a slave — 
 Good rules or bad, — yet not too honest to be brave. — 
 
61 
 
 'Mongst these were others seated, three or four 
 Rough, cut-throat boarders — the true pirate race. 
 Fitted to battle, and, when all is o'er. 
 To drink the legend doth old deeds retrace, — 
 Deeds that put blushes on the ocean's face : 
 But sullen silent, when more nimble wits 
 With apt conceits put revelry in pace. 
 To vent dull spleen, their dignity ill fits, — 
 Yet, to applaud one's lack, ill on proud stomach sits. 
 
 Some smoked short pipes. See hast'ning Ponce out-jet 
 The quick, sharp whiiFs, that punctuate his tale ! — 
 Why hath such horror on yon rogue's brow set ? 
 Relaxino^ 's waistband, the smoke rinolets frail 
 Hook in his nose, and merry nerves assail ; — 
 Now settled, silently the slow, white stream 
 He pours, contented, — till the air is pale 
 ^ And gray around him, and his eye doth seem 
 Lost in the drowzy maze of memory's farthest dream. 
 
 Such smoky atmosphere shall needs bode drouth ! 
 Fat bottles tossed their cork hats to the wind, 
 And turned their jolly summersets, to mouth 
 Of jolly guzzlers on the sand reclined, — 
 Each thirsty shadow wetting throat behind ! 
 
 *'I swear thee. Turtle," comes th' attenuate note 
 Of young Hyena, " an I show my mind, 
 Thou'lt see thy shadow hath a monstrous throat. 
 
 And midships far too broad for a well-running boat." 
 
 '* Be warned, sweeting, that mine ear is sore," 
 Quoth Turtle opposite : " In those straits of thine, 
 Tide never riseth. 'Tis th' old story o'er — 
 Rum in a rat-hole ! " and with scowl condign. 
 Reproachful, hopeless. Turtle tried his wine. — 
 
 ^* Go to ! thy belly is the bottomless pit," 
 Hyena triumphs — " where thou dost consign 
 Whole butts to fill't, yet cannot furnish it : 
 But mine — when was't too full to stomach thy poor wit ? " 
 
62 
 
 " Lean meat, ha ! tliink'st thou ? " sidelong Khoin began. 
 
 " But somewhat I have, that shall better please 
 All tastes. Hear first, and be the second man 
 Hath heard the lovely love-note on the breeze — 
 The daintiest bit of villainy the seas 
 E'er floated ! Th' elder Barron 's 'neath the earth : 
 His foster-daughter yerks our Chieftain's ease, 
 Which fain would shift a land-bed to a berth, 
 
 Whereon is time t' impose some yet unsettled mirth." 
 
 " Fair speed our chief ! " Ponce shouted loyally, 
 'Round turned for seconding. But, quick and bold, 
 Renzi leaped up : astonished, said he, 
 
 " This likes me not ! Why 't is — cause might be told, 
 Why 't is not politic to stretch rude hold 
 Toward that same damsel. Thus or not, I say, 
 For Chief, nor sport, nor pastime, nor for gold. 
 Will I make one to fetch the maid away." 
 And his stout hands were clenched, in prospect of a fray. 
 
 " How ? Mutiny ! Straight fetch him to the deck," 
 Cried Ponce, upleaping with an outstretched hand. 
 But Renzi's knuckle crashed into his neck. 
 And doubled Ponce lay kicking on the sand. 
 
 " Come all ! " cried Benzi, " and, by heaven ! this brand 
 Shall pile your bloody hulks upon the beach." 
 
 " Hold ! on your lives, — " growled Khoin to that hot band : 
 
 Quick thwarts he Renzi, — *' Ponce, keep out his reach ! 
 Renzi, I say, put up I " — But Ponce must speak his speech. 
 
 " Why, Khoin ! my friend, have I not piled the dead 
 
 Up to the bulwarks ? and shall this thing send 
 
 His fist — " " I tell thee, I will skin thy head ! 
 
 Who gave the orders ? are the rules at end ? 
 
 What, art thou moping ? — ha ! 't were better bend 
 
 Thy clumsy carcass to be set once more ! 
 
 He served thee well, tho' first he did offend : 
 
 Of that anon — there needs not be a roar ; 
 Sit down here both, or straight the Chief shall be ashore." — 
 
63 
 
 " My words I meant — none other, I opine," 
 Quoth Eenzi coldly : '^ I shall quit the main. 
 Doth that incense this regulated swine, 
 I care not. But I set me to explain 
 My words to th' others." Now all sat again. — 
 
 " Twas evening, comrades, on a mountain track, 
 When once I bade a traveller spare the pain 
 His purse had wrought him, — but a sudden smack 
 
 Of his sweet hand coaxed o'er this body on its back. 
 
 " And ere I could reward him, I was bound, — 
 My wrists engrappled, and together tied 
 With his stout sword-girth . I have never found 
 Such stubborn knuckles since I plowed the tide. — 
 So, bound, my name was questioned : I replied, 
 * Renzi, be curse to him ! that once had been 
 Flag of a legion.' — ' Renzi ? ' keen he cried, — 
 Then, staring on me, with reflective mein. 
 
 At length said ' Go — and when thou shalt true man be seen, 
 
 " Then can I serve thee ! ' — 'T was the noble son 
 
 Of this deceased, if Barron may be he. 
 
 And this maid 'bideth with him, and is one — 
 
 Say not how much one, cherished in his ee. 
 
 I have sought gold of all men ; but your she 
 
 Hath passed me fair. This likes me where she is. 
 
 This youth is friend, not enemy to me. 
 
 And of my child long lost, or guesses miss. 
 Somewhat this noble knows : his ' service ' looked to this." — 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! — thou wert some fellow in thy day," 
 Said young Hyena; — " but thou 'rt grown as blue 
 As Tum-Tag mountain,, which, tho't never pray, 
 Keeps up all night." — Then Turtle, with his two 
 Fat hands on either knee, with much ado 
 Musing, with eyes aside, spoke : " Thought breeds dumps ; 
 'Tis settled ; shrivels it the muscles, too — " 
 Then jeered Hyena, " Think away thy humps ! 
 
 Thou art, both front and rear,, an universal mumps." — 
 
64 
 
 " Thou'st said enough " scowls Turtle, for brief time 
 Gazing upon him. " Hast not ever shown 
 A chronic laziness to aught but crime ? 
 I would thy virtues stood as plump 's my own. 
 And for thy wit, — I warrant — an 'twere known, 
 Thou took'st the nipple in thy molar gums, 
 To fetch wise pry upon maternal groans ! — 
 I tell thee, spindle, whence tby leanness comes : 
 
 Thy doublet wins the grease should lubricate thy crums. 
 
 " There 'bideth other reason shall appear : 
 Thou hast a curiously outrunning nose, — 
 And as all men run after nose, 'tis clear 
 Some tallow thou hast trotted from thy hose, 
 In keeping up to't." — Now the laughter flows 
 Loud o'er Hyena, smothering the knave 
 In smoke of battle. Desperate he : " Who goes 
 Streeting o' nights, the lodger score to save ? 
 
 Who, cunning, sleeps all day, thus no bread score to have ? 
 
 " Yow wow ! go snarl, thou wicker-full of coals 
 Shook in a scuttle ! — But cry ' ship-ahoy,' 
 Double mess ration feeds thy greedy jowls ! — 
 Oh ! shrink thine appetite. Would 't give thee joy ? 
 Then, what affectest, eat it till it cloy ! — 
 In drink such process shall not thrive as fair, — 
 For when good spirits work thy taste annoy. 
 This globe shall jump her balance, and thro' air 
 
 Go down like coco' nut. — Pass me a bottle there. — 
 
 " Thou know'st a point or two, an thou couldst think 
 To turn it from thee ; but thy arrows mock 
 The hand that aims them. So — so ! thou shalt wink, 
 Tho' all my words to thee, like sheriffs, knock 
 After they enter, — or like darts that shock 
 Slightly the skin, yet, urging venomed points. 
 Hit every vein ! I tell thee, I've the lock 
 Can give thee lock-jaw ! I can make thy joints 
 
 Writhe 'round there on that sand, bevond ail wit of oints." 
 
65 
 
 " Thou bitter villain !" chuckled Khoin, " well said : 
 Thou'rt abler tV inside than the out to wound. — 
 Come, search the corners of thy crazy head, 
 And give 's a ditty that hath sense and sound." 
 
 " Is my head cornered ? there 's a star aground 
 Within 't : each corner 's project on a ray !" — 
 Sullen quoth Ponce, " Thy head 's a reel, loose-bound 
 With untanned calf-skin." — '• Ha ! reel didst thou say ? 
 Hast had that in thy brains since thou sky-kicking lay ? — 
 
 " Fiends seize your heads ! — I tell ye " — " Xow I beg, 
 
 Thou 'It tell in song," quoth Khoin, ''and give them breath.' 
 " I say, my cranium, like a soldier's leg, 
 Would grow, in portrait, after th' owner's death. — 
 A song is't ? Doubtless I shall yet bequeath 
 My notes to ye poor children of cold prose, 
 In my death-testament ; a line beneath 
 Shall beg thee. Turtle, thou wouldst wear my clo'es. — 
 Rouse up the fire, ye rogues ! Join chorus, every nose ! 
 
 " Live ! lads — live and be gay 
 To-morrow can be but the heir of To-day : 
 And pray why should To-day for his heir save a crum, 
 When the bantling may ne'er to th' inheritance come ? — 
 
 Xay — hve ! lads — live and be gay ! 
 And should Time with his heav}^ legs get in our way, 
 We'll knock Time on the head with a bottle of rum ! 
 Chorus all ! — " With a rum I rum ! riun-a-mum-mum ! 
 
 Knock Time on the head with a bottle of rum.' 
 
 " Live ! lads — live by the day ! 
 For then as you go you make sure of your pay ! 
 But the man who disposeth his life by the job. 
 Shall find flaw in his document some day, and sob, 
 
 Sapng, Oh ! lads, what have I done ? 
 I have frozen in shadow, and fiied in the sun, — 
 And the Devil goes jingling my pay in his fob ! — 
 Chorus all ! — " In his fob ! ob-a-bob-bob ! 
 
 The Devil goes jingling my pay in his fob ! 
 6 
 
66 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Turtle : " now lend ear, my lore, 
 While I shall chant ye — " " Never borrow that," 
 The youth intruded, " which thou 'st plenty of: 
 Thou hast ears for a donkey ! " — "Thou damn'd cat, 
 I'll giv 't thee sharply, an I rise ! " — " And flat, 
 And sharp both, sitting. Renzi, give 's a song ! " — 
 
 " I have a ditty will come in most pat," 
 Said Renzi, aptly to arouse e'er long 
 The Turtle's wrath : "hark ye, his end, ^who heeds thy tongue: 
 
 '' On a mournful rock in a weary sea. 
 Where grizzly waves dash dismally, 
 
 And sullen horror reigns, — 
 There the wind went by with a crazy moan. 
 And the gibbet creaked with an iron groan, 
 Where the Pirate hung in chains. 
 
 " And beneath, far down, did the sea-birds gray 
 Wing slow and cold thro' briny spray. 
 
 With hopeless, yelping strains ; 
 While the faint, sad ship, with its twilight sail, 
 Kept far away, Hke a phantom frail, 
 From the Pirate — hung in chains. 
 
 *' Lo ! the lightning struck in the iron work. 
 When thunder storms rolled grim and dark 
 
 O'er ocean's nighted plains : 
 Yet the morning looked, with a distant smile, — 
 And, blue with fire, on the rocky isle 
 The Pirate hung in chains." — 
 
 " Curse all such wedding of yard-arm and rogue," 
 Quoth Turtle, glaring 'neath fierce brows of ire,. 
 
 " And curse thee with them ! They be not the vogue : 
 I never sing such, — I can scarce respire. 
 And do 't, — it stops my vitals." — "I enquire/' 
 Hyena moaned with mock-anxious dread, 
 
 " Did it e'er stop thy victuals ? " — "I desire 
 To sing," quoth Turtle doggedly : " fair said : 
 
 Now break my note with thine, an 't please thy starry head r — 
 
67 
 
 " Oh ! holes at the elbows give grace to one's motion, 
 And holes at the knees are good proofs of devotion ! 
 Where thieves go unhung, dipping rum from the ocean, 
 Take me to that jolly old shore ! 
 
 *' Oh ! men with fat bellies should ne'er go to sea, 
 Nor ride a tall horse, nor get up in a tree — " 
 
 ^* Yow wow, did-de-dow ! " burst in th' Hyena cry. — 
 One instant stared the Turtle, as, wrath-blind, . 
 In passions hot his visage seemed to fry, — 
 Then furious haste and phrenzy seized his mind. 
 Straight thro' the fire he dashes ! to the wind 
 Kicking a flying fire-brand. Down the beach 
 The jester darted, shouting, " Have and find ! "— = 
 Jamming his beaver on, with oathed speech, [breech. 
 
 Gave Turtle chase, — while loud the crew cheered at his 
 
 With head thrown back, and elbows jerking stout, 
 And jaw loose-jolting o'er good legs and free, — 
 With fury filling as his breath gave out, — 
 When hath such hunter filled a painter's ee ? 
 Alas ! the picture : — squatting on his knee, 
 Down dropped Hyena, — and, in beauteous course, 
 Went Turtle o'er him, souzing in the sea ! — 
 Loud roared the crew, till echo's self was hoarse, — 
 While safely thro' the dark, the jester made bad worse : 
 
 " She hath not swamped ! No water in her hold. 
 
 High seas on deck, and foaming at the bow ! — 
 
 Ha ! she is righted." — Cursing young and old, 
 
 Bursts Turtle thro' them ; whither shall he now ? 
 
 The scent is lost. — '• Puff, bellows I — wake a glow 
 
 In thy fore lantern ! Ah ! what pity 't is, 
 
 Its fire hath perished in the deep below. 
 
 How did the brine-trough snort, and gurgling hiss, 
 When cooled the smith his iron — tempered now, I wis." 
 
# 
 
 68 
 
 The voice seemed seaward, but beside the coast 
 Th' acute ventriloquist escaped the gripe 
 Which now were deadly, and in night was lost. — 
 Soon turned the hunter, vowing — " Every stripe 
 Of stripedest hyena, up whose pipe 
 
 E'er strolled a grunt, I'll give him." — Then quoth Ponce, 
 Returning with him, " For all pranks 'tis ripe : 
 He hath a villain's eye." — " Thou drunken dunce ! 
 Had he a villain's eye who got one from thy sconce ? " 
 
 Thus screamed Hyena, close their heels upon, 
 But swift retreating : " Thou flat-barrelled toad ! 
 Thou shalt find sulphur, tho' one eye be gone : 
 There 's Turtle's paunch, too, is that sort of load 
 Can make best progress on the downward road." 
 The twain growled back : but, hiding in night's mask, 
 The youth could screen him from best search bestowed : — 
 They joined their peers back strolling. One did ask, 
 " To catch hyenas, now — when was 't fair turtle-task ? " 
 
 Soon to their fire the revellers drew near, — 
 When, sudden, every visage was elate : 
 A sooty Nubian, from the ship, was there — 
 With ijaany blessings on his frizzled pate ! 
 Strewing about him most refulgent plate. 
 A rich feast brought he — all fair bought with blood — 
 Won from the merchants : viands delicate. 
 Game from the shore, (full rare for mariner's food), {flood. 
 Conserves, bread, cheese — good store, and rum that all could 
 
 Clattered the cutlery ! the wine did sing ! 
 And Turtle's appetite put wrath at ease — 
 But he — the merry jewel of the ring — 
 Wary of safety, did the basket seize. 
 And sat well off, his arms about his knees : 
 But with it, wit's allowance did he gain — 
 Nought but a morsel of unneeded cheese ! 
 And he did that (as that did him) maintain, 
 A most pugnacious dish, which, bitten, bites amain. 
 
w 
 
 On th' unseen vessel which had lain, the while, 
 Out in the darkness, nothing might you hear: 
 But there, rechning on a coiled pile 
 Beside the mast, a being did appear, 
 Whose name did paint the merchantmen with fear. 
 High-born, asj)iring, his imagining 
 Outran the radius of his native sphere : 
 To th' empire's throne upsoared his fancy's wing, — 
 And darkest deeds were done : but fate struck with the king. 
 
 What eye, once lifted to the glowing dome 
 Of Empire's temple, ever sank again ? — 
 Still on, with lifted vision did he roam. 
 Nor heed the vulgar pathway of the plain. 
 He could not linger, though the race were vain, — 
 For, like the fixed limbs of the devotee, 
 His head uplifted did that poise retain ; 
 And never after could th' exalted ee 
 The worth of honest heart in life's low valley see. 
 
 His brow lower'd dark and sullen, and broad scorn 
 Had swoll'n his lip 'fore sovereign, as 'fore slave. 
 Time's wheel had early his thick forehead worn 
 With ruts of trouble, — but 't was stout, not grave. 
 'No schooled commander he : a savage, brave 
 By brutish force of purpose that would bind 
 Conception to fulfilment, tho' it crave 
 His life to link them, — unto any wind 
 That band made sail for him, and still success did find. 
 
 He claimed no reverence of that hot crew, — 
 No brigand mystery 'round his ways did throw : 
 Rudely familiar, at the whim, he grew. 
 Yet no less ready was his dauntless blow. 
 Which made each ruffian to a greater bow. 
 He knew not dignity whose silent guise 
 Wins vulgar preference : when bade he, go ! 
 Men turned by instinct from 's audacious eyes, — 
 For not, hke his, their wrath could straight to death-pitch rise. 
 6# 
 
70 
 
 Unknown to penitence, hence void of fear, 
 Reckless, lie triumphed not in after thought 
 Of his own boldness : no enthusiast tear 
 Could dim his eye, — no pity ever wrought. 
 He knew th' ideal which his motions taught 
 The world to call reality, — but his days 
 Were burned in passion — ne'er with glory fraught 
 To passion's self, which heeds not much the praise 
 Weak fear to valorous deeds, or good or bad, doth raise. 
 
 There sat he, musing on the maiden fair. 
 Whom oft (on shore, in multiplied, disguise. 
 Noting what booty might be harbored there,) 
 His lust did indicate a worthy prize. 
 For vengeance fitted, and his shameless eyes. — 
 Behold the fire burn dimly on the shore, 
 Whence sparks no longer to the night do rise. ! 
 Hist ! down the hold, left open — how they snore ! 
 The soft wind sweeps the deck ! let us the waters o'er. 
 
 By drink o'ercome, th^ pirates were asleep. 
 
 Save Renzi and the jester, who reclined 
 
 Beside each other. Cogitation d^ep 
 
 Darkened the elder's forehead : e'en the mind 
 
 Of that gay youth seemed dubious and resigned. — 
 " T is doubtless true," quoth Renzi, as his blade 
 
 He half drew, musing, — *' he hath e'en designed 
 
 To ask a favor of this dainty maid." — 
 " Then will he do 't " said low the youth, " nor thank thine aid." 
 
 " I shall seek out this Barron Come ! good time 
 
 Is in thy wallet, — spend it as thou wilt." — 
 
 " Time in my wallet ! yea — too much : his crime 
 Was, thrusting out the king — whose blood was spilt 
 Already." — " How ? "— " His head, (such was his plight,) 
 Was on — but not his body."'— " By this hilt, 
 I will not 'board again ! — Hark thou, — the night 
 
 Favors the venture well, the boat is firm and tight, — 
 
71 
 
 " And I say, toss the painter." — " Straight aboard ! — • 
 
 Yet stay, — one ditty I should love to hear : 
 
 ' T is easy, quitting of this snoring horde, 
 
 But, wei^hino:, art thou drunken fit to steer ? " 
 " Thy star shall guide me." — " Shall it so ? I fear 
 
 'Tis falling star then ; or thy virtue soars." — 
 " Good canvass is there. Straight a mast shall rear, — 
 
 And thou — do thou make levy of sea stores, 
 And bring all bottles off. — Gods ! how the Turtle snores." — 
 
 Then down the beach went Renzi swift along. — 
 
 " Oh ! for one crab, to fix on Turtle's nose ! " 
 Sighed forth Hyena o'er that sprawling throng. 
 
 " I sang for thee, — full many a hit jocose 
 Meant for thy good. So farewell, Bonarose ! — • 
 Now Benzi leaves thee bravest of the crew. — 
 Ha ! Ponce — thou art fair way upon a doze. 
 Iron, not steel, art thou, with flash nor glow ; 
 Hand-spike and sword are one, when thou hast fight to do. — 
 
 " How now ? the cook, as sober as the rest. 
 Broad on his back ! — I love thee, and, to boot, 
 I love thy trade, and therefore deem it best 
 To part thy blooming lips, my Nubian soot. 
 And leave them pouting 'neath this bit of root. — 
 Old Khoin, sleep on ! Thou art a devil meek. 
 Or might I jolt thy carcass with my foot. — 
 Ye other knaves might serve to stop a leak — [week ? " — 
 
 Wer't from a rum-cask." — " Come ! " cried Renzi, " stay a 
 
 With nimble hands the varlet gathered up 
 The bottles, necking in each hand a pair, — 
 Neglecting bread, yet seizing on a cup, 
 
 " To drink the voyage," he did low declare, — 
 And left the crew in heavy slumber there. — 
 Silence was 'round, and dimness, — yet the sea 
 Was duskly silvered, for the night grew fair. 
 And off the coast the wind went merrily, 
 
 Bloating a jury sail, and strange flag flowing free. 
 
72 
 
 *^ Call'st tliat provision for our length of brine ? ** 
 Asked Renzi, holding the stout boat ashore : 
 
 " Thou'dst sail from Earth to Heaven upon that wine ! — 
 Luck'ly, the Nubian fetched a breakfast o'er, 
 In yon light shallop, — and we want no more. 
 Hold ! break them not ! — What think ye of my flag ? 
 'T is white and blue — the neckerchief I wore." — 
 
 " Eo^ad ! it is an honest lookino^ ras:." — 
 
 "And honest it shall wave, till — " " Breezes let it drag." 
 
 *' Leap in ! leap in ! " — The sliding keel went back 
 From that broad shoulder, and they danced afloat. 
 Soon off the coast they left a shining track ; 
 The furrow widened, and the flying boat. 
 Trimmed fair by Renzi, with a hissing note 
 Sung thro' the waves. Did less and less appear 
 The sail and hull, as waning more remote ; 
 While faint a song, too distant for the ear, ♦ 
 
 Over the waters bright by fits came mellow 'and clear. 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 II. 
 
 Out on tlie hills ! 'T is glowing afternoon, 
 Still, breathless, pulseless in the world of light ; 
 The island trees, rich in their solar boon. 
 Stand hushed, unmoved as any craggy height 
 That shows amongst them — flickering bald and bright. 
 Upon an arid and uncovered spot — 
 A dwarf shrub near him, a dim gorge in sight, 
 The main-land far off in th' horizon caught, 
 Like hazy cloud — alone lay Barron, lost in thought. 
 
 Listen ! wide silence, so intense the spell. 
 Sings like a fairy cascade — or the scheme 
 Of tenor grasshopper, whose bass doth swell 
 One humble-bee, a mile off down a dream. 
 Yon beetle's polished, woody wings do seem 
 Like clattering chips that from the turner fly. 
 O frenzy-life ! — yon dainty-hearted team 
 Of spotted butterflies could mount the sky, 
 And carry all from Earth, that erks his loving eye. 
 
 Old are the gnarled trees so sunny leaved ; 
 Old is the pleasant sunlight ; and the sea, 
 Outstretched and level, glittering unheaved, 
 Did float this scene thro' many a century. 
 A dark, keen eagle, half inquiringly 
 Bent o'er yon crag in penciled solitlide, 
 Looks down the visionary gorge. Ah me ! — 
 Ancient as light and joy, the phantom brood 
 Did haunt the sombre rocks, and the weird twilight wood. 
 
74 
 
 Yon long, low mountains, past the simmering deep, 
 Recline like giants dreaming in huge ease ! 
 No cloud-curls darken their bald heads of sleep ; 
 Their feet outstretched are laving in the seas ; 
 Vines fill their laps, and groves perch on their knees. 
 These are the gods of rest. — Far back appear 
 The snow-white tents of the war-gods, — and these 
 Stand round one volcan council-tent, doth blear 
 With slow, faint smoke the heavens : a grumbling camp, I fear. 
 
 Behold the Cycles, how they curl away. 
 In yon dusk ringlets of volcano smoke ! 
 The wondrous egg is burning, and Decay 
 
 The Phenix from its ashes doth evoke 
 
 All things grow weary of the pendulum stroke, — 
 They lay them down in silence, muffling close 
 Under the drooping boughs, where none hath spoke : 
 While, feathery faint, time's dreamy river flows 
 Soft by the cypress shore — the woods of old repose. 
 
 II. 
 
 The sparkling cascade gleams over the ledge. 
 Thro' sun-touched fog down to the steamy flood 
 FalHng, — while Iris springs up to the edge, 
 Frightened, down-looking, in confused mood. 
 As 't were, behind her fell some fearful brood. 
 Above, on all sides, prick fierce bristling trees. 
 Stunted and wild — thin, craggy solitude : 
 Beneath, the surge soon flats its glassy seas 
 To a calm lake, whereon big bubbles float at ease. 
 
75 
 
 There gold light shimmers on the maiden's hairs, 
 'Tween mist-clouds o'er her coming sheeted down, 
 Gilding the green moss on the dark, wet stairs 
 T^Hiieh glow around her, glossy-sleek o'ergrown. — 
 Hip-deep she sports it ! ivory-white upthrown 
 Her polished arms, in their exultant play. 
 The radiant fingers split, as she hath strown 
 Cold, glittering crystals thro' the shivered spray, — 
 Her cackling laughter lost in the rude torrent's bray. 
 
 She looks the gauzy Spirit of the scene. 
 Charming the waters, rocks, and trees around, — 
 Holding the frenzied senses all serene 
 Amidst this crazy wilderness of soimd. 
 Where else were all things in confusion drowned* 
 Echo, the nymph, went crazy long ago : 
 Still doth she haunt here, in the cataract's stound^ 
 And fain some vulgar life or death would know. 
 And not, nor dead nor 'live — poor thing! be tortured so. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh I where was Kenzi, and well-timed advice, 
 To warn them, thoughtless of the sable bark 
 Now anchored close under the precipice. 
 On th' island's far north-east ? No eye did mark 
 Her coming, with dark purpose, in the dark 
 Of night appropriate. 'T is too late now ! 
 Abetting rocks, rude, imminent and stark. 
 Scowling the tell-tale sun and mirror glow 
 Of billows, kept her safe — hugging the coast below. 
 
76 
 
 Far out, for safety, had they plowed the foam — 
 Kenzi, and he, the ever jubilant youth, 
 Who sang of ladies, nightingales, and rum, 
 With heels pitched uppermost. They were, in truth, 
 A tipsy pair ; unseaworthy were both. 
 Till morning-dawn the revel did not slack : 
 But then, unseen of harm, and nothing loth, 
 Down in the boat each heavily fell back, — 
 And the bark drifted on, over the ocean track. 
 
 The mid-day sun awaked them ; and they steered 
 TowW that doomed city. What therein they found, 
 Or how their purpose sped, hath ill appeared : • 
 
 They missed the errand which their vessel bound. — 
 The Chief not often did his course compound 
 Of men's advices. Here, since morning Hght, 
 His cautious fiends have prowled the island 'round, 
 To note, what danger from the Castle might, 
 Or if some lucky hap could fetch their game in sight. . . . 
 
 Lo ! screams, whose terror over hope did boast, 
 Wild, sharp-repeated, sickening to hear. 
 Then with rough curses muffled, from the coast 
 Leapt like swift arrows into Barron's ear ! 
 Thro' th' air he bounded, like a stricken deer. 
 Out to the northward, tow'rd the tunnelled rocks, 
 Whence yet, at intervals, the screams did rear, — 
 Bushing precipitate o'er shrub-strewn blocks 
 Of rugged stone, that jarred his course with rudest shocks.- 
 
 'Neath that tall coast was haste and hurried speech : 
 Five wretches grim a half-clad form did bear 
 Swift to a boat, whose bow, stuck in the beach. 
 Soon danced afloat. One ruffian held the fair ; 
 Four oars kissed heartily the water's glare ; 
 And off they glided, — when. Oh ! bitter woe — 
 With voice of Hberty — of freed despair, 
 Th' escaping maiden struck her breast a blow, 
 And o'er the vessel's side did like a phantom go ! 
 
77 
 
 Her blood did spot her captors ; and they gazed 
 Quick in the sun-bright billows, as they hushed 
 Their oars in balance. Sudden were upraised 
 Their eyes, —- almost they from their sockets gushed : 
 A furious, horrible, dark demon rushed 
 Down the faint air, his roaring vans upreared ! 
 Down, like a thunder-bolt, the wave it crushed, 
 E'en in their presence, and no more appeared. 
 They sat in breathless gaze, and each his heart-beat heard. 
 
 " What was 't ? did'st mark it ? " — None had marked it close. 
 
 Calm lay the level water, and on high 
 
 The rocks stupendous of the coast uprose, 
 
 In dark relief against the clear blue sky. 
 " 'T is strange ! — But she hath vanished, with the why 
 
 We here should tarry. To the oars — give way ! " — 
 
 Thus spake the steersman ; and, with awful eye, 
 
 Mechanic'ly the oarsmen did obey, — 
 Till 'round a point of rock the boat was gone straightway. — 
 
 Bent, weak, and staggering, on the distant strand, 
 The dripping diver on his pearl did stare ! 
 She lay all motionless on his cold hand ; 
 Backward was drawn each fibre of her hair, 
 And her young face looked upward, lily fair, — 
 Her naked bosom bleeding 'gainst his own. 
 He ope'd the eye-lids — violets wilted there ! 
 He pressed her soaking side for pulse — 't was gone I 
 The strange-kept, moving soul beyond all power had flown. 
 
 Yet death was beautiful. The taper chin 
 Upthrown, revealed the curvings of a throat 
 Of grained marble ; spotless was her skin, 
 Since friendly ocean fouled it not a mote ; 
 The sweet, curled lip checked daintily, as a note 
 Of love and sorrow the young voice had meant 
 To part the pearly teeth with, as 't went out ; 
 But th' eyes were sealed forever, which had sent 
 From that broad bosom up their love and laughter blent. 
 7 
 
78 
 
 Ah ! that light>dangling and elastic band 
 Which two may link, yet 'low them wide to part — 
 Who recks its toughness, till Death's mighty hand 
 Doth tug in vain the hardy bond to start, — 
 Or bolt and ring gives up the fragile heart ? — 
 Hopeless and fond, in tender monotone, 
 The man grew child again, by sorrow's art. 
 With desperate kiss he forced his breath her own, — 
 And the cold bosom heaved, to please him — and went down. 
 
 " Oh, darling Hermia, — Yet 'tis well to 'have sealed 
 
 Thy virtuous eyes in silence — not, wild wide, 
 
 To lustful orbs in horror have appealed, 
 
 With brow distorted, and all breathless died. 
 
 I did approve thee, my immortal bride : 
 
 But oh ! this comfort bears a load of pain. 
 
 My heart is stuffed to bursting ; wrath, tongue-tied, 
 
 Is gagged of sorrow. O yes ! while remain 
 These limbs, which held thy life, let memory fret and plain. 
 
 ^^ Beautiful, beautiful and fertile form, 
 Whose queenly grace upon my stalwart neck 
 Grew woman fondness ! — O the lips so warm, 
 That breathed a name at midnight on my cheek, 
 While these cool fingers slenderly did seek, 
 In silly sleep, to tangle in my hair, — 
 When these soft limbs with richest life did reek. 
 And these deep eyes — O dead and downy glare ! 
 
 O brute, inhuman crew — ha ! frenzy, art thou there ? 
 
 " Down — down, Heaven curse ye, to the singeing rocks 
 By fire-tongues licked forever ! Double their groans. 
 Echo ! All tempests, puff the flame that mocks 
 Their spirits, and shrivel them to the phantom bones ! 
 Char their nerved teeth to powder, till their moans 
 Blow forth the meal upon the frantic air ! 
 O thunders, madden them ! — ye tumbling stones. 
 Fall sickening on their backs, until despair — 
 Ah I bats, and large-eyed owls — methinks, the sky is fair." — 
 
79 
 
 Lo I crazv-gentle, plucking each packed fold 
 Of wet, close-clinging linen, he upraised 
 The round developed form of matchless mold, 
 E'en as she were an infant, while he gazed 
 A parent on her, staring and amazed. 
 Into the tunnel turned he. There likewise, 
 Seaward came on the Ancient, whose dim-hazed, 
 Obstructed vision could no ill surmise : 
 And thus his cheery voice in the dim cave did rise : — 
 
 " Well met, my lord ! — I would salute ye both, 
 But that a man and maiden should be one, 
 AMien they go on two legs.*' — " Ha-ha I on oath, 
 'Tis true ; it hath wit's countenance. Hast known 
 A prophet blind ? a relevance undone ? 
 Why, 'tis a wise man drunk with ignorance, 
 E'en to see double I " — '• So ? my lord — my son I 
 'Tis something rude ! — I go." — '• Nay, look askance, 
 
 And see thy misery here : this tongue 's a poisoned lance ! 
 
 " Why, 'twas so quickly done, the brain 's awhirl, — 
 It sings, like spirit of unprisoned wine — 
 And thou 'It cry, bubbles ! — 'Twas a foolish girl, 
 To drink salt water — drunk in arms of mine : 
 Yet proves it nothing ; swilling is not, swine I 
 But kiss me never — no — ah ! demons weep 
 With beggar envy of this soft confine 
 Of love's embracement : ugh ! the chilly deep 
 Hath all the red that e'er to this pale face could leap. 
 
 '* Speak I speak, old man ! midwife thy pregnant brains 
 Of their most dread conception I Thou shalt grow 
 All cubs of monstrous favor by thy pains. 
 An thy quick wits the circumstance may know : 
 Blood, blood it is, and sacrifice ; O ! O I — 
 Hence I dupHcate all misery in song. 
 And let Hell-thunders of immortal woe 
 Burst truth into the c bonis I " — Swift along 
 
 The roaring cave he rushed, with furious stride and strong. 
 
80 
 
 " Now wag forever thy vile jaws, O Death ! 
 Doth not this morsel surfeit thee to' upspew 
 The past thy ribs have treated to a sheath, 
 The falPn may rise no more." Thus, trembling, drew 
 The Ancient back, misdoubting all he knew, — 
 While on he hurried thro' the cavern rude, — 
 His footsteps echoing where it darker grew. 
 Stricken was he, to dull and heartiest mood ; 
 
 But old men's thoughts may well to patience be subdued. 
 
 ly. 
 
 Dusk night was clear : the stars were in the north, 
 Over the black woods of each rocky hill. 
 While 'neath the black woods of sea-imaged earth, 
 In night reversed, they glowed with flickering chill. 
 The breeze was creeping with electric thrill 
 Along the water, from the island shore ; 
 But all was hushed, with weary sorrow still — 
 All, save the kissing of a skiff's thin oar. 
 Which 'cross the level sea three forms reluctant bore. 
 
 A league from land, the vessel ceased to glide, 
 And the wake darkened. — With a glittering eye, 
 Looked 'round the Barron on the waters wide. 
 And the dim shore — then at the stars on high — 
 Then at young Renzi in the bow near by. 
 There lay the lost one, a wide band of gold 
 About her waist ; behind her, chain did lie. 
 And ball for anchor, with a swiveled hold 
 Upon that metal belt, amid the linen's fold. 
 
81 
 
 All that on earth did love him — all he loved — 
 All that, afar, made welcome in his home. 
 And drew him backward when abroad he roved, 
 Out on the ocean in that skiff had come. 
 Faith seemed deserting him. 'Neath that old dome, 
 Stood he the wisest, or one chiefly curst ? 
 A god — a clod might answer, — but in gloom 
 The man stood wavering, nor best nor worst, — 
 Till grief o'er doubt made way, and thus his thought outburst : 
 
 *' How are the silver planets waxen old ! 
 Ill set in cracked blue heavens which did bake 
 By fire-wheel sun — quenched now, tho' scarlet coated, 
 The charred frame burning ! Ocean's skin doth break 
 In stiffened, wavy crusts, when billows wake. 
 All painted nature — a racked, old time work, 
 Hinting by-gone magnificence, doth flake 
 It's varnish off. All things do shed their bark : 
 The world within is stript, and all without is stark. 
 
 " Time was — this sea-air on my naked brow, 
 I clutched the bulwarks, and this arm was free ; 
 The world was beautiful ! But now — ah now ! — 
 White form, one moment I thought not of thee ! 
 O, precious respite of the memory ! 
 But come !" — beneath her crept his trembling hand : 
 
 " Come to the burial she hath sued of me ! " — 
 
 The chain clanked lightly on the clasping band, 
 As slow the body sank, down to the liquid bland. 
 
 " Go to the elements, thou peerless form, 
 And sweeten the deep waters ! Every wave 
 Shall have its portion, — for the changing storm 
 Shall swing thine atoms into cloud and cave. 
 Till all the universe shall be thy grave ! 
 Her wide-souled body may no clods enclose, 
 Or might I keep thee, and thy solace crave, — 
 O solace needful, when the worst of woes 
 Blurs all the stars, and snaps the musk from every rose. 
 
82 
 
 " Farewell ! " She settled, winding to and fro, 
 Tugged by the anchor, with uplifted face ; 
 And he, who watched her with unuttered woe, 
 Beheld the arms upwaving from their place. 
 As they would hold him in their last embrace. 
 Fainter and fainter the white figure showed, 
 And still the watcher could a something trace, — 
 Nay ! 't was the light which in the billow glowed ! 
 
 Yet long his sorrowing eye looked down that ocean road. 
 
 " Where many a wreck of battle hath gone down, 
 For thy glad jingle, everlasting gold ! — 
 Where wandering barks, whose fate was never known. 
 Have found a haven, — from whose tale, when told, 
 The lying waves went laughing as they rolled, 
 Or vaulted haughtily from prayers and tears, 
 Rest thee a little, in the deep strong hold 
 Which hides the glories of forgotton years, — 
 
 While shells, with ribby teeth, sing to thy dreamless ears. 
 
 '' And I — ah me ! — A magnet in the flood 
 Doth pluck me downward ; but its full control 
 Hath lack of iron in this coward blood. 
 Yea — bate th' imagining of penal toll, 
 Levied on him who ferrieth his own soul 
 O'er death's dark tide, might I with this steel key 
 Unlock the spirit from the tangible. 
 And drift far out on strange eternity. 
 
 Alas ! who hath the log of that egregious sea ! 
 
 " To cease — to be a vacuum, — to drop. 
 Like worthies pebble, in that deep whose shore 
 Ne'er felt time's widest circles, — there to stop 
 Thought-piercing thought, and never to know more 
 This flesh identity which strives t' explore 
 And map th' invisible, — to feel this brain 
 Out on the waste of desert waters pour 
 The dregs of memory, and their gall of pain — 
 
 Oh, I would lay me down, nor ask to wake again. 
 
83 
 
 " Safe little cMldren, all over the earth. 
 Of one religion ! O, ye early dead, 
 Who into doubt, from your beginning birth 
 In innocent fore-nothingness, were led 
 Not far, till drooped each thoughtless little head, 
 As turns the rain-filled lily careless down, — 
 Oh, had I joined your number, e'er I said, 
 ' The soul is with flesh madness overgrown,' — 
 
 Or, giv'n more daring powers, was left to stand alone. — 
 
 " Gone — gone forever ! and this starry hour 
 
 No more, in silence on the Hghted sea. 
 
 Shall thrill that being with its holy power, 
 
 Nor wake the music in her memory ! — 
 
 O tricksy Fortune, wilt thou throttle me ! 
 
 Thy smile is loveless as a harlot's kiss ; 
 
 Fickle thy will — it hath no fixity : 
 
 A foul oath, come from childhood's lip of bliss, 
 Hath more expected birth than thy decrees amiss." — 
 
 He sat him in the vessel, with his head 
 
 Bowed o'er his breast, while sidelong on each knee 
 
 Were clenched his hands. The boy, who nought had said, 
 
 Hose up at last, — not half his wits had he — 
 
 And, 'round the Barron twining tenderly, 
 
 Breathed in his ear, " My lord, shall we go home ?" — 
 
 But his wide shoulders moved not : with stern ee 
 
 Boring his hand, in rigid, iron gloom, [come. 
 
 He mused. — The thoughtful boy pulled back whence they had 
 ********* 
 Far down, in cavern open-mouthed and large, 
 Green as a hop-toad's back, gem-crusted o'er, 
 tjlowing, yet darkling, where a six oared barge 
 Might wend about unhindered (so the floor 
 Were liquid, 'stead of amber, and the door 
 Breathed air, not glass,) the blue-eyed Siren dwells. 
 Festooned sea-weed, pearl-strung by the shore 
 Of Oman, dimly from the walls outs wells ; 
 
 And all sharp-angled rocks point out with spiral shells. 
 
84 
 
 Dark is the prospect out into the deep : 
 Night-covered hills dim featured, — vale and grot, 
 Of substance rude, unstratified, where sleep 
 Wrecks of all ages, wasting and forgot, — 
 Old anchors rusted, — corded bales that rot. 
 Sopping and heavy, — spars, broke long ago. 
 Dead-soaking, rope-bound, — weapons — chains — what not, 
 That e'er went down ? In yon dark vale, also, 
 Meseems the railed stern of some lost ship doth show. — 
 
 She comes ! from winding recess of her home, — 
 The golden Siren ! How her active scales 
 Like coined sheckels spark the emerald gloom. 
 With thin, sleek edges ! Tracked by light she trails 
 Up to yon cranny, where a blue globe pales — 
 Strange, corded bubble — 'tis her night balloon ! 
 Slowly 'tis bloating, ribbing, — for exhales 
 A singing gas from out the rock, — and soon 
 'Tis an arm's length across. She 'has netted th' ocean moon ! 
 
 The flood is still. No liquid zephyr heaves 
 The lofty hangings of dim, pearled grass ; 
 Yet moves the Siren, and her motion leaves 
 A billowy light to fade in solid glass. 
 Now mark her moveless ! Maiden form she has, 
 Down to the middle, — there the curving tail 
 Swells out for hips, quick tapering its mass 
 Of glossy silk, wherein each gilded scale 
 Is set in green relief — a bright and splendid mail. — 
 
 She flaunts the bubble, and one caudal spring 
 Sends her three fathoms out her cave of light. 
 Haste, haste to see ! — Both hands the cordage wring, 
 And lo ! how nimbly 'gins her upward flight ! 
 Swifter — she quickens, hisses up the night ; 
 Her scales shed back a stream of yellow fire, — 
 She shoots, a rocket, far up — out of sight ! — 
 On sea, some twenty cubits high, or higher, 
 The beauteous arch she turned did in a trice expire. 
 
85 
 
 A league from bottom, (for she sank again, 
 Leaving the circles vacant on the deep,) 
 She saw the maiden with the ball and chain 
 Dim sinking slowly, with a winding sweep, — 
 And straight unto her did the naiad leap — 
 The strange, odd bodies ! sweet, and sad, and frail, 
 Down thro' the ocean, on a journey steep — 
 Good friends, I ween, for thus fair Golden Tail 
 Sang to the dainty maid enwrapt in linen pale : — 
 
 " Come to the lost in my ocean hold. 
 
 Thou bride of a hapless day ! 
 And the mournful dash of the waters cold, 
 Heard down in my cavern so dim and so old. 
 
 For thee shall a requiem say. 
 
 " The waves may pale at the tempest's wail — 
 Shall nought come around thy sleep ! 
 Lo ! the trader ship, with his bloated sail, 
 Shall swagger along with his box and his bale, 
 Far up, on the top of the deep. 
 
 A royal grave is the ocean wave, — 
 
 And white sails the grave-stones be ! 
 For the wise and the simple, the dastard, the brave, 
 The jewels of beauty, the chains of the slave, 
 Were lost in the deep, deep sea." 
 
CANTO Y. 
 
 Justice were cruel, weakly to relent : 
 From Mercy's self she got her sacred glave. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 How dull and dark the vessel dips along 
 The waters cold, this night without a star ! 
 No yarns to-night ; no rough and guttural song- 
 Upheaves the thorax of the hardy tar. 
 Dim burns the lamp in the forecastle far ; 
 It scarcely sheds a glimmer to the wheel. 
 Yet ocean music thrills each corded spar ! 
 Like some far torrent roars the straining sail, 
 And bubbles gurgle loud under the polished wale. 
 
 " This wind that worries thro' the stiffened shrouds, 
 
 Rattles the turrets on my castle height. 
 
 There, wakening at tlie battle of the clouds, 
 
 A loving pair have lain, on such a night. 
 
 How little recked they of this angry wight 
 
 Who must a lurking murderer reprove ! 
 
 Close hushed in deep, ineffable delight, 
 
 Their bosoms wrapt in the embrace of love — 
 What argued, fate should e'er those linked arms remove V "- 
 
 He leaned upon the bulwarks, and his eye. 
 
 Glaring at darkness, all his soul betrayed. 
 
 Bitter he turned, — returning wearily ; 
 
 And oft he drew, and oft his thumb was laid 
 
 On the keen curve of a blue-edg^d blade, 
 
 A weapon of Damascus. " O ye fiends. 
 
 Whelming with sand the caravans," — he said, 
 " Ripping the desert up — Oh, howl, ye winds. 
 And bear me to the foe, of whom each wave reminds ! " 
 
87 
 
 How had he changed ! About his pallid face 
 Went straggling mannerless his reeking hair ; 
 The costly habit of his high-born race 
 Close hugged his limbs, as dubious of his care. 
 Yet deathless energy was in the glare 
 Of his fierce eye : in quick imaginings 
 The brows, close griping o'er the lightning there, 
 Rose, feU, and thi'eatened Hke an eagle's wings ; 
 And they that felt his look did quit all merry things. 
 
 Ofl shone a jewel luster in his glance, 
 Dazzling and flickering with incessant hght : 
 Soon, dark as iron, in its bronzed trance, 
 The heavens had burst above, and startled night 
 Turned red as blood, nor woke th' abstracted wight. 
 He loved not danger, yet it did beguile 
 Self-doubting from him, and a grim deKght 
 Spread o'er his regal features, — for a smile, 
 Like moonlight on an iceberg, ht his face the while. 
 
 The sailors watched him, but they neared him not. 
 Hjls words were brief to them, yet ne'er unkind. 
 Who loved him well, was tardily forgot ; — 
 But he was none of them : their thoughts confined 
 Knew not the region where his soul repined. — 
 Now slow he loitered where the helmsman stood — 
 A rough, brave cruiser, tanned by watch and wind, 
 And who but Kenzi ? in a virtuous mood, — 
 Tho' reckless he, like all the children of the flood. 
 
 " My good friend Renzi, hast thou studied books ? " — 
 
 " Not much, my lord." — " Why, then I '11 learn of thee. — 
 
 Are men born drunken, think'st thou ? " — " Faith I it looks 
 
 Too lucky fortune, that it true should be ! 
 
 What were the converse ? what, sobriety ? " 
 " Madness, good Renzi, — re very, and pain. 
 
 Can th' earth roll over, and ne'er spiU the sea ? 
 
 Yet th' earth o'erturns diurnal. Tell thee plain, 
 Thou hast not cared, to day, what did this orb sustain. 
 
88 
 
 " Would not men ogle, think'st thou, at the sight, 
 Should this bi-facial, black-and-yellow ball — 
 This globe besprent with beauty and dehght, 
 With sea, and field, and wood, and waterfall, 
 To one consistence swift be solved all ? " — 
 
 " Full well they might, my lord ! " — " No ! Renzi, no ! 
 We all are drunken ; else great eyes and small 
 Would burst with wonder that it bides e'en so ! 
 Health is of custom drunk : sober alone is woe. — 
 
 " Eternal accident ! — 'tis puzzling phrase ; 
 
 Yet power's arising knows no human wit, 
 
 Which nought accounts. We muse inside the phase 
 
 Of nature, parts, not compassers of it. 
 
 Man is a unit ; but the Infinite 
 
 Is universe — not unit, — boundless fact, 
 
 Existence, truth. Some little truth is writ 
 
 Against man's surface by externe contact ; 
 And some truth thro' him wells. Yet whence is truth enact ?" 
 
 He paused, and rose, and looked up the black sky 
 Which boded tempest : " Would the storm were here ! 
 Blow, blow, thou wind ! " he murmured absently, 
 
 " Blow till the sea-baeks shall like mountains rear." — 
 He wandered forward, — then again drew near 
 The wheel, and, wearied, laid him down, and slept, — 
 Slept on his arm, and sighed : and one big tear 
 Did wet his eye-lids, when the helmsman crept 
 
 To watch a face he loved : but thoughtlessly he wept. 
 
 Peopling night's hollow with fair saints and angels, 
 Of golden bosoms, and with crowns of beams. 
 And harps that struck the musical evangels 
 Of life immortal, came the sleeper's dreams. 
 
 " Joy to mortality ! the deep redeems 
 The dead that slumber ! " every harper sings, — 
 While up and down they go, with ^bless^d streams 
 Of Heaven's white, peaceful splendor on their wings 
 
 Of ancient loveUness, — calm, happy, harmless things ! 
 
89 
 
 Th' enthusiast helmsman nought of this regards ; 
 His gripe is tighter on the straining wheel, 
 His rolling eye exulting on the yards, 
 As down the vessel to the breeze doth reel. — 
 And praise who will, of joys that mortals feel. 
 Or mental, or material, or mixt pain 
 And joy of love, (more ill, I ween, than weal) — 
 Yet memory never shall past joys retain. 
 When brave hearts bound along over the dangerous main. 
 ***** 
 
 Lo ! th' ocean steeds, as fiends cry, sleep no more ! 
 Up leapt in terror of the thunder dread — 
 Their gray manes shaking, with tumultuous roar 
 Rush westward ! Swiftly each uplifted head 
 Turns back in fear, yet, in tremendous lead. 
 Bounds on — fierce lightnings lashing them away. 
 See ! two are mounted ! 'T is a chase indeed, 
 As midnight kindles to the glare of day, 
 Over the broad-backed steeds, and lights them to the fray. 
 
 How hke a demon drives the Pirate in. 
 From head to foot bestrewn with foamy fleck ! 
 Lit by the lightning see the ghastly grin 
 Of skull and thigh-bones, on his plume so black ! 
 As clings the Arab to the hairy neck 
 Of his quick steed, so, clutching ocean's mane, 
 That low-laid Pirate hugs the bounding back 1 
 They leap — they live — they breathe the hurricane ! 
 They gallop thro' the night, yet gallop all in vain. 
 
 Close foams th' Avenger, straining every sail, 
 Each grummet bursting, shattering every mast. 
 With grapnels ready. — "All men by the rail I 
 Up, every pike, and fight her to the last ! " 
 The Pirate's voice is shrieking 'gainst the blast, 
 As dark the monsters, rolling mightily. 
 Grow nearer, nearer — till high up at last 
 An anchor flickers. Wrenching every knee , 
 The vessels, bow by stem, close on the raging sea. 
 8 
 
90 
 
 Now from the scabbard leaps the cool blue steel, 
 And lips shut tighter, and cheeks paler grow. 
 " Board ! " shouts the Barron, as with bounding heel 
 He clears the bulwarks, struggling 'mongst the foe, 
 Where clashing blades close wild, with curse and blow, — 
 The boarders pouring on the deck full fast, 
 Swift mixed in conflict, urging to and fro 
 The staggering front — so thick in fight at last, 
 Not e'en the dead can fall, but upright sway aghast ! 
 
 How leaps and heaves each tiger-muscled form, 
 Shouldering, and lit by lightning, — the wind's moan 
 Lost in the battle's shouting ! One long arm 
 Pilots the slaughter ; one magnetic tone 
 Holds frenzy to the purpose. Lo ! alone. 
 Deep in the foe, it comes from panting breath : 
 Yet melts a circle there of flesh and bone ! 
 Blade of Damascus ! radius of death ! 
 Strike ! for the death-cold maid who drinks the sea beneath ! 
 
 His cries of vengeance fill the passioned air. 
 And well they heed : with shout, and stab, and strain, 
 The boarders struggle in their leader's rear, 
 Sliding in blood, and stumbling o'er the slain, 
 While " forward ! " still the cry is, — till in twain 
 The foe are splitted. Hark ! the shouting now, 
 
 " Barron forever ! " — Furious all in vain, 
 The corsair Chief, with fiendish oath and blow. 
 
 Thro' his own wretches fights, to every man a foe. 
 
 He shrieks — his weapon whirling in the glare, 
 " Face me, thou Barron ! " — Ha ! their pulses thrill : 
 Two mighty wrists are dancing in the air. 
 With yelling steel, and wild and desperate skill ; 
 Each fronts a hero, and his lips are still ! — 
 All 'round doth hungry Battle crunch his bone ; — 
 The storm roars on, — fierce lightning hath its will ; — 
 But whence, O Pity ! comes that painful tone ? 
 See ! stricken thro' the throat, the reckless Chief goes down ! 
 
91 
 
 His elbow props Mm. — 'T is a mother's child, 
 This reckless wanderer of every shore : 
 Oft hath she chid him, yet, with joyance wild, 
 Welcomed him ever, — begged him go no more. 
 How hath he heeded ! Choked with his own gore, 
 Maddened tho' fallen, lies the broken wreck ; 
 Shouting his comrades never to give o'er — 
 With blood and bubbles surging thro' his neck, 
 He drops as bold a sword as ever swept a deck. — 
 
 Faint thro' the tempest a hoarse voice is heard, 
 " The rocks ! the rocks ! " — They cease — then rush amain 
 The boarders home. Hath Renzi's weapon cleared 
 The grapnel cordage, which twanged loud in twain ? 
 Yea, — stern ward springing, as his eye doth gain 
 A glimpse of rocks which on the leeward hide, 
 Seizing the wheel, he whirls the rattling chain. — 
 " Darkness and demons ! we are lost ! " 't is cried. 
 Of those who, 'round the bow, quake at the Barron's side. 
 
 Down, down the valley — up, on mountain sea, 
 The bulwark hisses, and sidelong she goes. 
 Is 't a good vessel ? yes, O yes, — and he 
 Whose stalwart energy the wheel upthrows. 
 As stout a pilot as the ocean goes. 
 Vain, vain my hero ! Hark, the breakers dash ! 
 The surge shall tumble over friends and foes ! 
 Gaze, where the Pirate, in the blinding flash. 
 Throned on the distant wave, goes down with smothered crash ! 
 
 O might and glory of the bounding wave, 
 When nubian silex from the arch of steel 
 Strikes fire, and darkness blacker than the grave 
 From deep to deep red thunderbolts doth peal ! 
 It cheers the prophet of that vaulting keel. 
 His voice is low : " The ordeal hath come ! 
 Curst be the idols, bring it woe or weal ! 
 Explode, ye thunders ! break, thou throbbing dome ! 
 I meet mine hour with joy. O soul, in triumph, home I " 
 
92 
 
 E'en as he utters — shall he speak again ? 
 The vessel, lifting on the loftiest swell, 
 With one wild cadence seeks the rocks. — Amen ! 
 The crew are dropping on the deck, pell-mell ! 
 The lurch tremendous tolls the gloomy bell ! — 
 'Tis strange ! — she hath not struck — she is on high. 
 Breathless, triumphant ! — Rattle ! goes the wheel — 
 Ah ! helmsman, they forgot thee : " 'T is safe by. [nigh." 
 'T was th' ancient Spindle Reef. Thank heaven ! but we were 
 
 Those thickened hearts beat easier at last ; 
 The ship still labors, — is enough to do ; 
 Frantic the tempest rushes, and the blast 
 Still showers the drenched wretches, who outspew 
 • The brine, dashed breathless, with unfeigned ado 
 Sopping their eyes. But quickly all is gay. 
 Merry as ever grows the reckless crew. 
 To windward cheerily their course they lay, 
 And, crushing the stout surge with staggering bows, make way. 
 
 Four hours the storm hath torn the shattered main, — 
 For four dread hours, — then vanished o'er the lea. 
 The flickering lightnings come not forth again ; 
 The thunders cease ; their awful reveille 
 Hath left no sound, save where, in gentle glee, 
 The leaping swell the rocky coast doth lave. 
 With low, sweet dash. The stars are in the sea ; 
 And, softly chiding o'er the pirates' grave, 
 A breezy music swells along the fading wave. — 
 
 Mom flushed the world of waters, and the scene 
 Was calm and beautiful ; and none might say, 
 How wild a night upon the waves had been 
 Which rose so glassy in the glancing ray : 
 But planks, and spars, and casks half-sunken lay 
 Strewn o'er the ocean ; and the rocky coast. 
 Which scarce could feel the melting billows' play, 
 Told well, a vessel in the night was lost. 
 Whose crew should never more on ocean wave be tost. 
 
93 
 
 And now, shall sorrow crush him ? Shall the world 
 Be nought to him, who hath been nought to it ? 
 Shall life-love from his intellect be whirled ? 
 Shall he, who vaunted, that true man doth fit 
 Most rugged circumstance with plastic wit, 
 Nor flies the birth-right which his Grod hath wrought, 
 Now 'sdain the life-crown which his brows may sit, 
 A moral monarch's ? Shall his sombre thought 
 With earth's most weary fancies drive itself to nought, 
 
 O'er bleak, cold headlands dashed by grizzly waves, — 
 Dark, dull, monot'nous moors, where no man dwells, — 
 Brown vallies racked with saplings stript of leaves, — 
 Old bird-nests bare on limbs of lonely dells, — 
 Skies dreary, formless, where no bright cloud tells 
 Against blue heaven, but where all heav'n doth mourn 
 O'er Autumn's last, most melancholy fells, — 
 Tales of Kfe weariness, — -ill dreams forlorn, — 
 And the death-fearing wish, he never had been born ? 
 
 Shall " sober manhood," waxing dull of mirth, 
 Gro wisely prating of life's vanities — 
 Cracking the varnish of the beauteous earth, 
 To teach men merely, he can do 't with ease, — 
 Decrying all things earthly, for that these 
 Man may not journey with beyond the grave, — 
 Coward in secret, as he saith, " who sees ? 
 Or, seen, what boots it to be knave or brave ? 
 Is 't bread or meat to me — the name of hero 'or slave ? " 
 
 No ! no ! — self-honor is the lone delight — 
 The motive chief to strengthen and contend. — 
 Throttle the demons of thy mental night, 
 And swear, the worst shall perish, till the end. 
 Ah ! but to feel this : that nor death of friend, 
 Nor all the world's cold shoulder, nor the cloy 
 Of glory's appetite again shall bend 
 Thy mind down till it snap — this is a joy, 
 Joy of the gods serene, self-poised o'er all annoy. 
 8=^^ 
 
94 
 
 No. — As a rock rude plows a turbid stream, 
 And stands, a target for each vagrant fiend 
 To try his spite on, till the world shall deem 
 Its base immovable — about it wend — 
 Build temples on it, — so did he commend 
 His faith unto humanity. And time 
 Upreared him temples, tall and reverend. 
 Where hero bishops taught this truth sublime : 
 The fear of man's own soul is man's safeo^uard from crime. 
 
 Comrade, farewell ! Yet admonition bear : — 
 Tell thou no tales exaojorerate, to mark 
 The praiseful wonder of the vulgar stare — 
 Then pass, all glory-cloyed, world- wise, and dark ; 
 Beware the vice of Ireland — rank and stark 
 Hypocrisy of feature, treacherous fear 
 And furtiveness of vision, the dull cark 
 Of moral cowardice — a vice as dear 
 As ever cursed this world, and set men by the ear. 
 
 Be brave, for thou art watching thee ; be kind, 
 Thou ever shalt keep company thyself; 
 Be temperate ever, and so pleasure find ; 
 Relieve the needy with thine ampler pelf, 
 Thankless, tho' hoarding on thy mental shelf 
 Self-praise in heaps ; think never to reward 
 Another's charity to thee, poor elf: 
 Thy better is he, by his own regard, 
 Or was't a rain man's gift, and shall for both go hard. 
 
SUGGESTIONS 
 
 TOWARD THE 
 
 MECHANICAL ART OF POETRY. 
 
 < ^•^ > 
 
 I esteem the original conception of ideal beauty a divine 
 and blessed accident, rather than a teachable art Effort of 
 intellect mav tend to a frequency of this accident. But none 
 the less, the channels of thought we cannot explore. Strike 
 Shakspeare from the past, and who shall, according to rule, 
 reach forth into evident vacuity, and drag to hght Othello, or 
 Lear, or Hamlet, or the Tempest ? Genius is in some sense 
 pregnant of the gods : otherwise the wit of the scholar were of 
 the doctrine of his tutor : Whereas it is ever more so, " the 
 Ciceronism of Cicero is just that which no one could have 
 taught him." A poet's mind is a gate of the beautiful ; — and 
 men fail not to crown the arch with laurel, tho' they be pro- 
 verbially neglectful of substantial oil for the lubrication of the 
 hinges, — whereat the gates must have leave to croak a little, 
 in all conscience. 
 
 But, that ideal beauty conceived is best delivered by a pro- 
 cess somewhat capable of analysis and doctrine, is a suppo- 
 sition I have much affected ; and my conviction by its deter- 
 mined justness waxes deeper by dint of various agitation. 
 That this supposition has not, long since, been theorized and 
 exemplified, has been much to the disadvantage of hterature. 
 Indiscriminately have conception and expression been ac- 
 counted to inspiration. Our artists are too fond of throwing 
 the brush, in a rage. It is too much affected, that the brows of 
 
96 
 
 the gods are not beetling o'er and bulging out, by reason of 
 improving labor. That is true indeed, — more true than per- 
 tinent. It is true, first-thought upon an expression is often 
 the best. It is true, that which at the moment relieves the 
 writer's mind of its conception, is often good beyond improve- 
 ment. Hence it comes to pass, there are plenty of songs and 
 short poems, whose beauty lies all in the first two or three 
 lines, — the author having lost his inspiration by a momentary 
 relief, and having no such knowledge of his own thoughts as 
 could help him to proceed as he began. Hence also it is, a 
 good point in a passage often forgives a deal of accompanying 
 impertinence, by its own brave comparison. Often, half a 
 page is quoted, to exhibit a beauty which was of but one line. 
 Yet there is a genius which recurs, not to spoil that already 
 well enough, by elaborating it after the inspiration of its be- 
 ginning has exhaled, — but to excise imperfection, and to insert 
 truth. Where now a poem shall but succeed by reason of a 
 dispersed happiness of parts, it might wax a miracle under 
 the regulated efibrts of correction. It may be well, without 
 theory to sing a few stanzas on the ocean, or the deserts, or 
 the mount ans, or the lonely shore, in which a single adjec- 
 tive may suggest the easily-apprehended scene. But it is not 
 well, without theory to paint a large-sized and many-featured 
 verbal picture, — to give it date, character, atmosphere, sym- 
 metry, boldness of fore-ground, and dimness of distance. 
 Hasty painters of such pictures shall be much forgiven, for 
 they have of much repented. Whoever has shut his eyes in 
 the blind, youthful hope of genius possest, as he cast his scroll 
 to the winds of fame, saying " the gods are above all ! " has 
 but opened them anon to behold the unheavenly parchment 
 drifting fatally downward to the oblivious flood. Some ven- 
 tures in this sort have been and are kept up for a little by 
 mercenary, fitful, human puffing from beneath. Some have 
 been uplifted by the Icarian, wax-fastened feathers of gilt and 
 morocco ; but, being heaved to ohigh toward the hot indig- 
 nant spheres of the old broad-glaring suns of fame, they must 
 be denuded of their unfit and flimsy pretensions, and left 
 cold and naked, disgraced to fall to the dull earth of their na- 
 tivity, and to embalm the memory of their fate in a most 
 
97 
 
 wholesome, tho' unpleasant stench — the odor of their heaven- 
 blasted plumes. 
 
 But these children of mortal fame — some dead, and some 
 now dying — have been almost exclusively epic. A drama 
 shall die on its birth-night, or live on to some degree of gen- 
 tihty. ^N'ature will bear no imposition of deformity. It is 
 good proof of the power of art, that the heels in box and 
 pit soon clatter in unison. And as ill proof is it of the infalli- 
 bility of genius, that many a retired and tasteful reader, unac- 
 quainted with the private conversation of great and true 
 critics upon the authors of his day, are forced by a venal press 
 to beheve the world at large calls that beautiful which is to 
 him most homely and unnatural, and is glad to turn back from 
 the intolerable versification, to refresh his belief in genius 
 by a look at the steel-cut Apollo in front. — But, to rear a 
 drama like a mighty vessel, — to rip an oaken skeleton from 
 the heart of nature's old primeval woods, and brace it and 
 knee it with social, intricate, tight-fitting circumstances, — to 
 apply her verbal planking which, comely itself, coats over the 
 rack, and shows the rounding symmetry, and keeps all hurtful 
 elements without, — to paint, and shade, and polish the swell- 
 ing body, till at last the eye forgets the mechanism of its con- 
 struction in the glorious outline of majesty and grace, — and 
 then, spanking her " Hamlet," or " Tempest " round the bows, 
 to bid her clip the billows of all time, — it is not the work of 
 a day : and if she launch lop-sided, there is none so venal 
 whose mendacious effrontery dare swear her perpendicular. 
 
 It is, therefore, under a strong conviction that the mechani- 
 cal art of poetry will one day be as simply exhibited as is the 
 art of painting — and be far less difficult of acquisition, that I 
 venture to offer an opinion upon it. — But what can I do ? 
 Can I prove anything ? No : but I can suggest ; and if a 
 suggestion from my own consciousness find favor and fellow- 
 ship in the consciousness of another, then we two may gather 
 another and another, till our company's number shall make 
 it respectable : for, note it, wherever two or three honest 
 thoughts assemble together, there Truth will be in the midst 
 of them. He, who has not closely inspected the signs of these 
 times, shall beware of scouting the expression of individual 
 
consciousness. The times are changed. He who argues, 
 " this is so, and that is so : ergo " is not much heeded of late. 
 But he who says modestly, " this saying thus and so affects 
 me, if so be my stomach is in order, and my bile effective," — 
 to him the intellectual repair. This coming age believes in 
 proverbs, and respects vulgar prejudices. The days of book- 
 dignity and heart-hypocrisy have vanished forever; and now 
 the conversation of Philosophy is the small-talk of the soul. 
 The world's literature rises from ignorance to sublimity ; from 
 subhmity to ideality and variegated nature. Fetch me from 
 the past the honest-hearted confessions of the envy, the small 
 jealousy, the lesser and more original thinkings of any man 
 whatsoever, — fetch me history from the days of Julius Caesar, 
 wherein I may read whether or not Julius Caesar stared people 
 out of countenance, — whether he spat on the floor, — whether 
 he walked fast or slow, — and I will bring you choice volumes 
 of modern days, whose success depended from their utterance 
 of the very things which none else thought worthy of expres- 
 sion. To be original now, much is to be forgotten, as well as 
 much conceived. — An illiterate honest fellow writes a letter 
 for the first time. Mark that, on his reading it, small cant- 
 phrases which were nothing on his tongue, do look most 
 ticklingly humorous on paper. But he acquires more ex- 
 perience, and anon he writes sublime : nothing undignified 
 can come from his pen : lofty thoughts and sounding sentences 
 are his vogue. Again he changes his style : he has learned 
 that originality consists in the common-thought of man ; that 
 he is a true thinker, whose thought is what was not before 
 thought worthy of record ; that wit is " what oft was thought, 
 but ne'er so well expressed." Now he reveals his conscious- 
 ness ; now is he truly ideal ; now is he a man for the latter 
 half of the nineteenth century. The most successful book of 
 this age will be that, wherein the man shall dare to tell all his 
 thought ; to write a full autobiography ; to humble himself to 
 the utterance of things at which the dignity of even Boswell 
 had turned up its nose in dudgeon. 
 
 These things I have said, in order with better countenance 
 to take the reader by the button, while I tell him two or three 
 notions I have entertained of poetry ; — and should he ask me 
 
99 
 
 if I shall lecture to him, or sermonize, or give him a skeleton 
 of a future book, I say, not for the world ; but I would have 
 his opinion on a few points to which some others of eminence 
 have privately concurred. 
 
 And firstly, I must remark upon the Mechanical Descriptive 
 Power of Language. 
 
 I shall presume it obvious, that poetry differs from prose, in 
 the possession of two particulars, to wit, density and melody. 
 The method of melody shall be considered secondly. The 
 methods of density are three, viz. : an artful suggestion of one 
 thought by another ; the cunning use of standard language ; 
 and the use of language mechanically suggestive. Of the 
 intellectual, as distinguished from the mechanical part of 
 poetry — the method of writing that wherein 
 
 " More is meant than meets the ear," 
 
 as Milton hath it — I shall say nothing. As for the second 
 method of density — the use of standard language, it may 
 be as well to say : 
 
 In didactic, as distinguished from descriptive composition, 
 the density of the matter is effected by the employment of 
 words in accordance with their use in the lanomaCTe from 
 which they were derived. One scholar distinguishes another 
 from him who writes but the parlance of his day, by his pro- 
 per use of words derived from Greek and Latin roots. Upon 
 the derived words there is no contention. But of the orio^inal 
 words of our language, no lexicographer but dare tell us, this is 
 proper, and that is improper ; and no other lexicographer but 
 can tell him in turn, he is undoubtedly wrong.' — Pure lan- 
 guage is standard language, and it is no more. It was the 
 Devil who made the second dictionary. As far as any in- 
 herent purity were affected, the majority of words were as 
 well spelt backwards as forwards. 
 
 Nevertheless, there are some words which are commonly, by 
 implication, adiiiitted to be suggestive, or inherently indica- 
 tive. Hence it comes to pass, one word will be used differ- 
 ently from another of different sound yet of similar meaning. 
 There are words onomatopical — born of the things they 
 apply to — with their intention plain on their faces, — good, 
 
100 
 
 honest words, not above their business ; what tho* the majority 
 of the words in any language are named as some vain and 
 shallow artisans name their signs, thus: "JOHN SNIP, 
 tailor " — the name conspicuous, but the business nigh invisi- 
 ble. There may have been more of these words at some time 
 to be dated only by a knowledge of the origin of language. — 
 It is perhaps almost unnecessary to mention a few examples 
 of onomatope : such are, hum, rumble, buzz, clash, crash, 
 growl, wheeze, sneeze, hiss, gurgle, &c. 
 
 Now, however few the self-suggestive words may be, the 
 presence of any of them argaes a foregone conclusion. If in 
 several instances the mind has unadvisably admitted a sound 
 to be the fit representative of an idea, this quality of mind 
 acquiescent is prepared to admit such fitness in an intentional 
 generality. It may be, that the very words in whose use the 
 mind is wont to exhibit this quality are such as they are by 
 accident only. But, tho' their origin be accidental, their use 
 shall manifest an inherent favoritism of mind, which is antag- 
 onistic to the fated, dark, and unaccountable impertinence of 
 language as it now is. Therefore I have expected to find 
 many words in use onomatopically fit by reason of one or two 
 letters only ; and others peculiarly fit, not by reason of onom- 
 atopy, but on account of little national accidents attendant on 
 their utterance.— It is my intention to show, that each letter 
 has in some sense a suggestive character of its own. But 
 bear in mind, I enter on no explanation of the means thro' 
 which each letter is suggestive ; tho' it were easy to start off 
 on such a track. I might say, there is mental, as well as phys- 
 ical onomatopy. It may be that some of the letters are sug- 
 gestive on account of the position of the muscles of the mouth 
 in uttering them : thus, O, which is the letter of wonder and 
 loftiness, is the sound most fit and easy to the facial muscles of 
 a wondering man. So of N. The sentiment of contempt 
 affects the muscles at the side of the nose ; and n being a 
 nasal letter, comes most forcibly into use in such contemptu- 
 ous terms as sn-eaHng, n-asty, &c. Other letters may be 
 suggestive for reasons various and complicated beyond extri- 
 cation and classification. The different formation and use of 
 the vocal organs of different peoples may completely change 
 
101 
 
 the suggestiveness of any letter. Your gutteral Scot cannot stQop 
 to pronounce ale with a continuous : he must say a-ol. Your 
 Frenchman talks with his lips. Your Irishman talks peculiarly. 
 
 The natural formation and history of the country, — the 
 things generally known, seen, or talked of in a country, — ten 
 thousand little facts have modified the different languages of 
 different nations ; and ten thousand other little facts are still 
 effective in each nation, which facts, finding their effect in the 
 general similarity of the people, are tacitly considered in the 
 condensation of their poetry. The facts cannot be philoso- 
 phised, nor yet denied. The poetry cannot be translated to 
 another language. No faithful translation can equal its origi- 
 nal ; only a dictionary bard can be translated. No man can 
 be a great poet in two languages : he cannot have facial mus- 
 cles for two dialects. There cannot be two good names for the 
 same thing. Hence it is only of the English language that I 
 speak, — of English poetry, subject to English prejudices and 
 history. 
 
 I now proceed to characterize some of the letters, from my 
 own consciousness. I shall speak but briefly of each, as sud- 
 den contrast shall help me on more than continuous thought. 
 And first I shall present 
 
 O. This letter is apt in the expression of the solemn, the 
 lofty, and the wonderful. Perchance the muscles of the mouth 
 during the utterance of its sound has given the letter its com- 
 mon shape. At all events, the words most frequently and 
 heartily used in expressing loftiness and solemnity have this 
 O sound chiefly audible. Such words are noUe, bold, lofty, 
 glorious, lone, old, portly, pompous, ocean, roll, solitude, sober, 
 solemn, dolorous, slow, devotion, God, Lord, Jehovah, woe, moan, 
 dole, oh ! ho ! behold, &c. I shall mention one or two cases of 
 the illustrative use of each letter. And I would have the 
 reader advised, it is not by putting several passages of a kind 
 together that their force should most affect him, but by seeing 
 them unexpectedly in contrast with their surrounding neigh- 
 bors : yet he may conceive my intention better from the men* 
 tion of examples. — Who but has felt the awful solemnity of 
 this passage, from Ecclesiastes, — or what passage is oftener 
 read at a christian funeral ? 
 9 
 
102 
 
 " For man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go 
 about the streets." 
 
 " The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea, 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way " — 
 
 " Their shots along the deep slowly boom " — 
 
 " O ! Rome, my country, city of the soul ! " 
 
 " Roll on ! thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll !" 
 
 U. This is a huge, sullen, sluggish, dull, sulky, glum, lugu- 
 brious, surly, ugly, rough, brutal, rugged, clumsy, stupid, 
 dumb, dumpish, gullible, lubberly, blundering, dunder headed, 
 turgid, obtuse, absurd, numskull, dunce, and nuisance of a let- 
 ter : now mumbling and grumbling, and grunting and fumb- 
 ling, and thumping and nudging, and stumbling and tumbling 
 rudely along, making all manner of " bulls ; " now lugging, 
 and tugging, and struggling : a fusty, musty, crusty, disgust- 
 ing letter, whose bowels are but a " hutch " of guts, (said of 
 Falstaff), whose teats are but " dugs,'' whose ears are but 
 " lugs," whose nose is a " snub," whose head is a " mug,'* 
 whose hat is a " plug," whose victuals are " grub," whose gar- 
 ments are " duds," and whose child is a " cub." Also is he, 
 at his best, bluff, blunt, gruff. His " doublet is of sturdy buff" : 
 he will drub you with a club, or a slug, or a stub, or a nub, or a 
 bud, or a butt ; is always in a " muss " or a " fuss," and is apt 
 to be "jugged;" and should any call him a grudging cur- 
 mudgeon, he is in a " huff," or, in huge dudgeon, he gulps up, 
 " ugh ! — fudge ! " There is no delicacy in him whatsoever. 
 He has some humor, but more ugliness. 
 
 OU, diphthong, seems to me in some sense to fit an upward 
 curve: thus — round, mound, mountain, mount, flout, pout, 
 bow down. 
 
 Whoever has marked the sidelong, rolling gait of a gaudy 
 cock, I think he will see peculiar fitness and humor in the 
 line of Milton, where the pompous bird 
 
 " To the stack, or the bam door 
 Stoutly struts his dames before." 
 
103 
 
 An expression in the poem of Alexander Smith has been 
 much quoted. 
 
 " The eager waves lift up their gleaming heads 
 Each shouldering for a smile." 
 
 This word, shouldering, is also thus applied by Collins. 
 
 " Down the shouldering billows borne." 
 
 " Three gaudy standards y?ow^ the pale blue skies." 
 
 A* This letter is best used in presenting level surface, and 
 horizontal motion. It may be but a whim in me, yet it is 
 clear as mathematical demonstration, that there is a peculiar 
 fitness in the a sound, to impress on the mind the ideas of 
 such things as these : slate, flake, scale, cake, shale, plate, — 
 which such words as nub, hub, stub, bud, butt, plug, and 
 ' the like, do not possess. Short a gives the idea of flatness, 
 thus : mat, pat, slap, spank, pack, flap, flats, shallow, mash, 
 quash, splash. '' Flat as a pancake," means very flat indeed ! 
 Long a gives the idea of distance : plain, space, far away, 
 main, wave, (used for the whole ocean), watery waste, lake, 
 straight, vale, wail, trail, race, chase. Waver, and shake, give 
 horizontal motion ; splash, dash, &c., are obviously flatter, giv- 
 ing the idea of slapping something flat. 
 
 The word ocean is seldom used with any descriptive effect ; 
 but mam, waoe^ vast loaters, luatery waste, are substituted. 
 " The round ocean," says Wordsworth, very well : but level 
 water, or level anything, needs an a in its expression. Byron 
 speaks of the long summer days, 
 
 " which make 
 The outstretched ocean glitter like a lake." 
 
 I do not perceive that it glitters more like a lake than like 
 an ocean — save for the reason that laJce has an a in it. But 
 ocean is good in a lofty, noble apostrophe. — J. G. Whittier 
 speaks of the Morning, which shall 
 
 " Golden sandaled walk the lake." — 
 
104 
 
 " Far, far away, over the calm and mantling wave," begins 
 the boy whose imagination is possessed by the poetry of dis- 
 tance. 
 
 AU, diphthong, suggests to me forward upcurving motion ; 
 as in vault, flaunt, jaunt, saunter, taust (toss), haughty, 
 kc — 
 
 E. This letter is effective in the expression of intense con- 
 centration, or convergence. Mark the features of a man who, 
 feeling the edge of a razor with his thumb, writhes his mouth 
 toward his half-closed and intensely conceptive eye, and says, 
 " it is as k-e-e-n ! " Mark the child, who, speaking of something 
 very, very small, shuns the book-orthogi-aphy and pronuncia- 
 tion, and says, " it was a leetle, leetle bit of a thing ! " Mark 
 him again, at his play — he looks through his fingers, and the 
 smallest little orifice makes him cry, " peep ! " His mother 
 calls him : she does not cry out, " John ! " or " Bob ! " or 
 " Tom ! " — but with gentle tenderness, and pointed, concen- 
 tering affection, she says, " John^e ! " "Bobbee!" "Tom-^ 
 m6e ! " Cannot the reader perceive a different genius in the 
 keen, pointed, intense nature of the sound screech, or scream, 
 or squeal, from that in the longer though less intense sound, 
 moan, or icail ? We have such expressions as " keen eye," 
 " piercing eye," " keen stars," " tapering peaks," &c. 
 Dense, intense, centre, deep, serene, feel, appear to me well 
 composed. 
 
 " Deep self possession — an intense repose." 
 
 This line gives with peculiar force the impression of a cer- 
 tain state of mind. 
 
 To be, to see, to hear, feel, to smell, are of the concentrated 
 class. — 
 
 I. The genius of the letter i has perchance suggested its 
 shape. It is a spire, a thin, slim, stiff, prim, spine, spike, pin, 
 or spindle, — rising and sinking at its sides, like the " bristhng 
 pines " of the forest. There is evidently a difference between 
 a plate and a dish ; the dish is deeper ; a tub differs from 
 either. I could wish the reader would take the example I 
 shall give him of a peculiar effect of the i sound, and some- 
 
105 
 
 time revert to It, if it does not now please him. Thomson 
 says, in speaking of a Spring-time shower, 
 
 " The clouds consign their treasures to the fields." 
 
 Whether it be from the inclined, oblique lines which the 
 rain-drops take, or some accidental ideal impression from 
 some other matter, which makes this affect me, it boots little to 
 speculate. The word coil is one I like very well, — the only 
 good specimen I know, of the diphthong oi, — 
 
 SH. The sound of these letters gives peculiar indistinct- 
 ness or confusion. Preceded by the sound of a, their effect 
 is of that flattened disposition apparent in such words as dasJi^ 
 mash, smash, crash, quash, clash, lash, slash, wash, swash, splash, 
 thrash^ irasJi, and others of like genius. Preceded by the 
 sound of u their effect is altered. Thus in slush, juush, crush, 
 gush. " Slush ! " we say, when our foot sinks suddenly into 
 loose snow and water : or " splosh ! " say some — an onoma- 
 topical and original word : but •' splash I " we say, when some- 
 thing flat strikes water. \Yhen a stone is said to have been 
 crushed, the inference is, the stone is much broken, in a di- 
 versity of fragments : but when a thing is said to have been 
 mashed, or smashed^ the inference is different, in that the 
 thing is thought to be jammed more flat. The natural differ- 
 ence between a and u is very palpable in these words. 
 
 SH at the beginning of a word has much the same effect as 
 at the end : thus, in shatter, shiver, shake, shrivel, shred, shrink, 
 shrimp. 
 
 The stars, shining confusedly thro' mist, are thus mentioned 
 by Thomson : 
 
 '• The stars obtuse emit a shivered ray." 
 
 The suggestiveness of these two letters is well exemplified 
 in a passage of Milton : 
 
 '' As when the sim new risen 
 Looks thro' the horizontal misty air, 
 Shorn of his beams," 
 9* 
 
106 
 
 The word sliorn leaves about the sun that very mist which 
 supplies the place of his now-absent glory. If the sun stood 
 a distinct red ball in a clear blue heaven, I cannot see that the 
 absence of his usual radiance of light were well suggested by 
 saying it was shorn off. — When light is clear and steady, it is 
 said to gleam : but when indistinctly bright, (as on shaking 
 water), it shimmers. — 
 
 S, by itself is a wet letter : thus, in misty ^ nasty, moisture, 
 steam, slip, slop, slush, dash, swash, drizzle, " ivishy-washy," &c. 
 Luscious, delicious, nutricious, suggest juicy substances. — 
 
 T, H, and F. These are the etherial, or softening letters : 
 they show their power in such words, soothing, feathei^y, 
 smoothe, breathe, warmth, far, faint, faded, fleeting, forgetful, 
 muffled, lethean, ether, smother, suffocate, thoughtful, sabbath, 
 &c. Notice the difference in the sound oi fog, and mist: does 
 not fog give a softer, dryer, more definite volume than mist ? is 
 not fog a dryer word than mist f So froth is kept dry and light 
 by the spelling of it. A feathery wind, is a very dry, light- 
 touching wind : I know not that it has anything more like 
 feathers than like leaves in its composition. How suggestive 
 are these words of Epes Sargent : 
 
 " Full on our wake the smooth, warm trade-winds blowing." 
 
 Or these following, of Thomson, in which he alludes to the 
 Spring atmosphere and sky : 
 
 " The effusive south 
 Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven 
 Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. 
 At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, 
 Scarce staining ether." 
 
 " From these far off, a slow and silent stream, 
 Lethe, the river of oblivion rolls 
 Her watery labyrinth." Milton. 
 
 " Like a dish of ripe strawberries 
 Smothered in cream." 
 
 This last occurs in a humorous Irish song, very popular. 
 
107 
 
 The word smothered is excellent. I have read also of feath- 
 ery cream. — 
 
 R is a rough letter, marring and darkening all that it 
 touches : thus in grit, grate, grind, grain, (applied to the frac- 
 ture of stone.) scour, writhe, wrinkle, crisp, shrimp, fritter, fry, 
 blurred, scarred, rough, rude, broken, gnarled, burly, grim, hor- 
 rid, hoarse, croak, groan, grunt, growl, snarl, roar, &c. These 
 are to be used when 
 
 " The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar." 
 
 I will remark in advance, that G is a hard letter — as in 
 rugged, dogged, ledge; glitter, glow, kc. — and then mention 
 an accurate use of these two letters in the work of Alexander 
 Smith. 
 
 '' Tho' the ocean's inmost heart be pure. 
 Yet the salt fringe that daily licks the shore 
 Is gross with sand." 
 
 Hardness and roughness are here mixed into wetness in ad- 
 mirable style. But how dry and deep-carved are the /' sounds 
 in the following lines from the same author : — 
 
 " Dropt in my path like a great cup of gold. 
 All rich and rouo^h with stories of the gods." 
 
 How many times we read of crisped waters, since Milton 
 first used the word for the '* crisped brooks " of Eden. The 
 water, under the influence of a light wind, darkens and corru- 
 gates in a manner which this word well suggests. Blur is a 
 very good word, — not to forget bur. — 
 
 L, G, and K. — L is a pohshing letter ; it makes all clear, 
 cold, lucid, brilliant, lustrous, placid, liquid, sliding, slippery. 
 Icicle is a beautiful word, so slim, clear, glowing, and wet 
 withal. There occurs a fine example of the effect of I in 
 Alexander Smith's work. Speaking of the coming of the 
 stars into a clear, blue heaven, he says, thej overspread 
 
 " The cold, delicious meadows of the night." 
 
108 
 
 But I occurs most effectively in connection with g, which is a 
 hard letter: thus in gloiv, glide, gleam, glisten, glitter, glint, 
 glimmer, congealed, glare, glassy, glancing. G puts an edge 
 on the roughness of such words as grind, grit, grate, grained, 
 rugged, dogged, ledge. Pope says, 
 
 " Stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole." 
 
 The g's and Vs here have made this line popular, despite the 
 inaptness of the word gild : the stars are rather silver than 
 gold. — " Glittering constellations" is a favorite expression. — 
 Mr. Bryant, addressing the Evening Wind, says, 
 
 " Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway 
 The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone." 
 
 Cold, clear, polished, solid marble is well said to gleam, though 
 it be evening. G and I are frequently used when a metallic 
 sound is to be suggested, 
 
 " Hear the sledges with the bells — silver bells ! " 
 
 " Jingling bells" ringing, " sweet bells jangled out of tune," 
 " mellow wedding bells," " clanging steel," are all exemplary. 
 — There is an expression occurring in the " Revolt of Islam," 
 by Shelley, which defies all accounting for, save this which I 
 give. In Canto I., stanza X., are these words : 
 
 "Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheehng 
 With clang of wings and scream the eagle flew." 
 
 Again, in stanza XIY. the same singularity occurs : 
 
 " While o'er the continent 
 With clang of wings and scream the eagle past." 
 
 In the work of Alexander Smith, a similar expression occurs ' 
 
 " Unto whose fens, on midnight blue and cold, 
 Long strings of geese come clanging from the stars." 
 
109 
 
 Homer, also, speaks of the "clanging" of geese. — I do not 
 perceive any fitness to the wings of an ordinary eagle in the 
 word clang. Milton says, that Satan's wing shaved the surface 
 beneath — a beautiful expression, as any one may perceive by 
 moving his nail over a full-feathered quill. But clang, clang 
 — there is no clanging to flesh and feathers. — Now the nature 
 of the scene suggests the expression. The eagle was fighting 
 a mailed serpent in the air, and clattering his golden scales 
 through the surrounding space. To make an even fight of it, 
 it becomes necessary to make this brown eagle an iron bird — 
 to give him a metallic nature. To this end, eagle itself is a 
 hard word, and the clanging of metallic "vvings finishes the im- 
 pression, and helps on the suggestion of the screaming, which 
 is itself almost a metallic sound. Read the story with this 
 preface, and it is full of ideality. An iron eagle and a golden- 
 scaled serpent may well have their battle suggested by the 
 word clanning. — Mr. Smith's use of the word is for the ex- 
 pression of nothing supernatural ; yet the clear, cold, blue 
 night, with the yelling, and flapping, and pealing, and jangling 
 of the geese, might well encourage the entrance of the word 
 clanging. 
 
 K and 1 in connection have something the eflect of gl^ but 
 the influence is lighter, or finer, or thinner. -K shows its op- 
 tical nature, in such words as twinkle, flicker, bicker, darkle, 
 sprinkle, trickle, sjDarkle, crackle, blink, (as in ice-blink;) 
 and it shows its audible nature in such words as click, 
 clink, clank, link, tinkle, — a fine, thin metallic sound. (As a 
 sudden test of the vowels, I ask the reader, is not tinkle a 
 thinner, slimmer sound than clink — which is suggestive of 
 some flat, soft metallic substance, and which bears much the 
 same comparison with the word clang ^ as a sheet of zinc thrown 
 on the floor bears to a bar of steel dropped on the pavement.) 
 L and k are aptly used by Mr. Poe, in " The Bells" : the 
 sleigh beUs, 
 
 " How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 In the icy air of night, 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens seem to twinkle 
 With a I'rystahne delight." 
 
110 
 
 The letters g, 1, d, r and k, are the favorites in that indiffer- 
 ent composition called strong-writing. And you will remark, 
 that mothers, talking to their smallest children, generally avoid 
 these letters and the aspirates, in their " baby talk," in order 
 to a euphony of expression. Thus little becomes 'ittle^ &c. 
 
 " Ware is a baby? bess 'is 'art ! 
 Ware is mover's 'ittle boy ? 
 Does 'e 'ole 'is 'ittle 'ands apart — 
 A dearest bessen toy ! 
 An will its pitty 'ittle chin 
 Gwow jis as fat as butter ? 
 And will it pote its 'ittle finners in 
 Its tunnin mouf, and mutter 
 Nicy-wicy words ! " 
 
 " The ittle wogy pogy shall put e futty in e gwavy." — 
 
 Z is used in expressing a confusion dryer than that ex- 
 pressed by sli : it is the dreamer's letter ; — a lazy, drowzy, 
 dozing, hazy, mazy, dizzy, vizionary, furzy letter. A sort of 
 Indian-Summer atmosphere it describes, in which the genius 
 of Thomson — the "bard more fat than bard beseems," de- 
 lighted to repose itself Thus the atmosphere about the Castle 
 of Indolence is described with the z sound : 
 
 "A pleazing land of drowzy-head it waz," &c. 
 
 Which is quoted by Mr. Irving beginning the Legend of 
 Sleepy Hollow, 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith, describing midsummer, says ; 
 
 " The bee goes by with a lazy hum." 
 
 Now the bee is so far from laziness that his industry is pro- 
 verbial ; but the air is lazy enough, — and hazy and drowzy. 
 Besides, the z sound assists the onomatope, Jium^ by blending 
 the buzzing sound with it, by suggestion. — 
 
 D is a solid, compact, heavy letter : thus in wad, sod, clod, 
 load, plod, rugged, leaden, dead. The sound made by a short, 
 heavily loaded pistol going off is well suggested by the word 
 explode^ — a dead, dull, leaden, heavy sound. 
 
Ill 
 
 " Earth's cities liad no sound nor tread, 
 And ships were drifting with the dead 
 To shores where all was dumb." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 " Morena's dusky height 
 Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ! " 
 
 Byron. 
 
 P. I am well convinced that p has a character, tho' it be 
 difficult to describe. There was a word invented for the slow, 
 heavy bubbhng of any thick substance like suppawn, or hasty 
 pudding, when boiling : the word is wallop, — a capital word, 
 as any one who has seen that which it applies to can under- 
 stand. P gives a soft, round, dry fullness, like velvet, to that 
 which it suggests. The " purple curtain " of Poe is well men- 
 tioned in connection. " The bloom of young desire, the pur- 
 ple light of love," is very well. "Ripe lips " we read of. 
 Plump, voluptuous, sleep, dump, give me a special idea. 
 Patter is very well : and mark how inappropriate to its mean- 
 ing were any such word as rattle, clash, groid, or jingle, 
 
 I have notions of the pecuhar genius of nearly every one 
 of the letters : but the rest are of a more delicate and diffi- 
 cult influence to me, to explain which would require much 
 quotation beyond my present design. 
 
 I shall now proceed to remark upon Melody. 
 
 The first requisite of melody is measure. This consists in 
 the dropping of the accent on syllables at the ends of regu- 
 lar intervals ; and it is of several varieties which I need not 
 indicate. The usefulness of measure I consider to arise out 
 of the following facts : — 
 
 When we read, either mutely or aloud, we pronounce the 
 words ; and it is as unpleasant to read an ill-constructed sen- 
 tence, or an ill accented verse, mentally, as audibly. This 
 unpleasantness exists in our ignorance of the location of the 
 accent — the point where we should lay stress. We meet 
 an accented word or syllable where we are not ready to en- 
 ergise ; and we are making our effort in expectation of that 
 which disappoints us ; and so we are in continual uneasiness, 
 
112 
 
 in the apprehension of a disagreeable stumbling. Even so a 
 man goes a bad road, in a dark night : now he is forced into 
 sudden exertion to surmount an obstructing stone, — and now, 
 with arms a kimbo stoutly walking high to clear small impe- 
 diments, he puts his foot into a hollow the more forcibly that 
 he expected a hill. As were light on the pathway of this 
 benighted man, so is measure on the pathway of the reader 
 of poetry : it drops each accent in his anticipation, and warns 
 his mind into confident steadiness and facility. 
 
 But — you will say, most minds peruse prose at better ease 
 than they do poetry : yet prose is not measured at all. — This 
 objection hints at a worthy consideration. Poetry must be 
 denser — must contain more matter than prose, or straight 
 we are'in an ill humor ; the author is an ass. Often the mat- 
 ter of poor verse had made tolerable prose. Many a respect- 
 able prose effort had its respectability battered on the chords of 
 the lyre. The mind will not consent to make itself ridiculous by 
 moving in regular steppings when the load which it carries re- 
 quires no steadiness to balance it, and when the lack of digni- 
 fied occasion renders stateliness an absurd pomposity. Yet, 
 where the matter has enough of density to deserve the melody 
 of versification, and can wear it as gracefully and as fitly as a 
 hero wears his uniform on a gala day, he is but a churlish fel- 
 low who had rather see it in its every-day prose. Poetry 
 requires more mental exertion in its perusal than does prose, 
 because, if the poetry be worthy, we are soon filled with its 
 dense and nutricious matter, and must await digestion ; — and 
 if it be worthless, we are soon wearied and disgusted at the 
 strictness and propriety with which we wag our jaws and eat 
 nothing. This is very far from asserting, that the same mat- 
 ter is mastered more easily in prose than in verse. Measure 
 is an assistant in an operation more difficult than perusing 
 uncondensed prose, — and it is that assistant no less, because 
 it cannot make the two operations equal. Butter may assist 
 us in swallowing our bread, what tho' bread and butter to- 
 gether are not swallowed as readily as water. — Who would 
 have the dense plays of Shakspeare diluted into common 
 novel ? Assuredly, no one so stupid. Nay, the novelist, the 
 essayist, or the orator, having reared the proudest arch of his 
 
113 
 
 eloquence, still crowns it with a figure of the muse, saving, 
 " as saith the poet." 
 
 The second means which I shall mention as producing me- 
 lody in verse is, the use of the vowels in such manner as to 
 give an euphonious curving and winding to a favorite linQ. 
 This has been done bv using the vowels as if they were pos- 
 sessed of those peculiar quahties for suggesting surface and 
 motion which I have before supposed them to possess. The 
 most successful variation or curve has been that suggested hj 
 the letters i-o-u, which, if the reader has understood and re- 
 members me, will be seen to form, as accurately as well may 
 be, a line like that known as '• Hogarth's line of beauty." 
 The reader may conceive me better, on occasion of giving 
 him a few examples. 
 
 " The lady watched her lover, and that hour 
 Of Love's, and Xight's, and Ocean's solitude," &c. 
 
 In the last line occurs such a curve as I mentioned. 
 
 " And false the light on glory's plume." 
 
 " As Atlas fixed, each hoary pile appears 
 The gathered winter of a thousand years." 
 
 " Swiftest of a thousand keels." 
 
 Mr. Bryant is very fond of such curves ; and his works have 
 many examples, some varying from i o u, yet containing that 
 outline in some sort. Thus he has 
 
 " Curl the still waters bright with stars, and rouse 
 The wide old wood from his majestic rest." 
 
 " The wide old wood resounded with her sonor." 
 
 " In all that proud old world beyond the deep." 
 10 
 
114 
 
 " And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven. 
 
 " There is a tale about these gray old rocks." 
 
 There is another favorite curve, that of i a, or downward and 
 then onward, which is poetical, as suggesting distance. 
 
 " Flowers whose glory and whose multitude 
 Rival the constellations." 
 
 " Joy of the desolate. Light of the straying.** 
 
 " Once in the flight of ages past." 
 
 " Swilled by the wild and wasteful ocean." 
 
 " Some happier island in the watery waste." 
 
 " Oh, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave," 
 
 " Lands of the dark-eyed maid, and dusky Moor." 
 
 " God, the Eternal, infinite, all-wise. 
 Who out of darkness on the deep did make 
 Light on the waters with a word — all hail !" 
 
 " flings 
 
 Such wild enchantment o'er Boccaccio's tales." 
 
 " O, wild, enchanting horn !" (the bugle.) 
 
 " Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste 
 Where stood Jerusalem."' 
 
 There are many instances of curves original and singular. 
 How beautiful is this, by Burns : 
 
 " The golden hours on angel wings." — 
 
115 
 
 " The hand that rounded Peter's dome 
 And groined the aisles of christian Rome." 
 
 " Out of the heart of nature rolled 
 The burdens of the Bible old." 
 
 " There were waves in the sunshine, 
 And green isles before him." 
 
 But the chief means of melody in verse is rhyme — rhyme 
 not so much at the end of each line, as all over each line, in 
 both vowels and consonants. The love of rhyme is universal 
 in literature, and in colloquy. Cant phrases are made by 
 rhyme ; novels and tales are named by rhyme ; and scarce any 
 writer so dignified, but he will now and then chuckle over an 
 adjective which rhymes to its noun. The reader cannot but 
 observe the tendency to rhyme in such phrases as these : 
 " rhyme and reason," " wine and women," " fatal facility," 
 ** 'tween wind and water," " every dog has his day," " every 
 Jack has his Jill," " cold shoulder " " rump and dozen," " save 
 your bacon," " pic-nic," " nick-nacks," " wishy-washy," *'hum 
 drum," " old fogy," " hocus-pocus," " mad-cap," " dare-devil," 
 " fun and frolic," " fair, fat, and forty," " tweedle dum and 
 tweedle de," " fiddle stick," " give 'em fits," &c., &c. Then 
 of " fancy " names, to catch the public ear, the reader must 
 have noticed the number. We have them of merits hio-h and 
 low. From Puss in Boots, Mother Hubbard, Jack the Giant 
 Killer, Wing of the Wind, Witch of the Waves, Eover of the 
 Reef, Roderick the Rover, Kate Kearny, Handy Andy, 
 " Dick the Divil," Rory O'More, Larry O'Lugger, Curse of 
 Kehama, up to Lady of the Lake, Peter Pindar, Pilgrim's 
 Progress, Peregrine Pickle, Nicholas Nickleby, Tale of a Tub, 
 Rip Van Winkle, Sam Slick, Wide Wide World, &c. 
 
 From this conspicuity, we see consonants coming down to 
 rhyme in a sort of jingling recurrence, thus : 
 
 " Craigdarrock shall soar when creation shall sink." 
 
 " And stars unnumbered ^^'Id the ^Zowing po^e." 
 
116 
 
 " Like lightnings hurtZed o'er the Zurid skies." 
 
 " Shook heZZ's wan Zightnings from his bZazing cone," 
 
 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore 
 
 The hoarse rough verse should Hke a torrent roar. 
 
 " In the cZimmest north-east cZ^stance 
 Dawned (T^braltar ^rand and ^ray." 
 
 l?igh-bom JToel's Aarp, and soft Llewellyn's Zay. 
 
 But the most effective and notable rhymes are rhymes of 
 vowels, of which almost all famous lines hold two or three, 
 besides the one at the end. It is my purpose to pick from 
 English Literature some of the most quoted lines, and to show 
 how entirely their melody consists in the rhyming of their dif- 
 ferent parts. But it is necessary to first explain what I mean 
 by rhyming in the middle of a line. In the following line, 
 
 " In the dark backward and abysm of time,^' 
 
 dark may be said to rhyme to hack, as does abysm to time, 
 altho' time contains i long, and abysm contains i short. Some 
 of the most beautiful lines contain rhymes in the variations of 
 the same vowel, long, sharp, or flat : thus, in the expression 
 '^ Tadmor*s marble waste," or " the dark, unfathomed caves of 
 ocean bear." It is the sound which makes the rhyme, not 
 the orthography : hence aw, in awful, may rhyme to o, in gor- 
 geous. When the sounds are alike, and the spelling different, 
 the melody seems more mysterious, and less mechanical ; thus, 
 in Moore, we have "Moslem heart where buried deep," 
 which is a double rhyme, or very near it. The reader must 
 also be aware, the accented sounds in one line often rhyme on 
 to those of another : thus, in Byron, — 
 
 " not from one lone cloud. 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Jura, answers thro' her misty shroud 
 Back to the joyous ^Ips, who call to her aloud." 
 
117 
 
 Tongue^ containing short u^ chimes to Jura with its long t<, 
 and the long u in thro\ Observe a specimen of rhjTae with- 
 out similar spelling, in joyous and call. There are also nu- 
 merous instances where a line containing four rhjines, two of 
 a kind, has them intermingled : thus, above, — 
 
 Back to the joyous Alps who call, &c. 
 
 Back rhvmes to Alps^ and yo^o?/5 rhymes to call. Sometimes 
 it is thus : 
 
 " And h'ke the baseless fabric of th^'s vision." 
 
 With this much of warning I shall proceed to give some 
 picked and often-quoted lines, in proof of the foregoing re- 
 marks. And I shall besrin with a few sono^s. The rhvminoj 
 sounds are those of the italic letters. 
 
 Our b^jgles sang tri^ce, for the n/ght oloud. had lo'X'ered, 
 And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sk?/ ; 
 And thoi^sands had simk on the groimd overpo?^'ered, 
 The ice?Lrj to skep and the 26-0 '.mded to die. 
 
 Me thought, from the battle-field's dreadful array 
 Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 
 'T was Auti^mn, and simshine arose on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 
 
 I flg'X' to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
 In life's //lorning march, when my basom was joung] 
 I heard my own mountain gaats bleating aloft, 
 And kne?yj the sweet strain that the corn-reapers simg. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 At the Silence of twilight's contemplative hour 
 
 I have mi/sed in a sorrowful moad, 
 On the zdnd-shaken i^eeds that embosom the bower 
 
 Where the home of my forefathers stood. 
 10* 
 
118 
 
 All rwined and wild is their roofless abode, 
 
 And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree : 
 And traveled by few is the grass-covered road 
 Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode 
 To his Aills that encircle the sea. 
 
 There came to the beach a poor jEJxile of jEJrin, 
 
 The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill, 
 For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing 
 
 To z^ander alone by the z/;ind-beaten hill. 
 But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion. 
 
 For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean. 
 Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion. 
 
 He sang the &old anthem of Erin go 6ragh. 
 
 Love wakes and zoeeps 
 While hea.utj sleeps ! 
 O for mz/sic's softest numbers, &c. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Oh, yowng Lochinvar is come out from the west, 
 Thro' all the wide border his steed was the best, &c. 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, 
 He is lost to the forest, &c. 
 
 The harp that once thro' Tara's halls 
 
 The soul of music shed, 
 Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls 
 
 As if that soul were fled. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade 
 Where, cold and unhonored his relics are laid. 
 
 Let ^rin remember the days of old. 
 E'er her faithless sons betrayed her. 
 When Malachi wore the collar of old, 
 Which he won from the proud invader. 
 
119 
 
 When her kings, with standard of green unfurled, 
 Led the Red Branch Knights to danger, — 
 Ere the emerald gem of the western world 
 Was set in the crown of a stranger. 
 
 (This penultimate line is as fine as any in the language.) 
 
 Farewell ! — But whenever you welcome the hour, &c. 
 
 'T is the last rose of swmmer left blooming alone. 
 
 Oh ! had we some bright h'ttle isle of our own. 
 
 I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
 A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on. 
 
 Night closed around the conqueror's way 
 And lightnings showed the distant hiU. 
 
 She sung of love, while o'er her lyre 
 The rosy rays of evening fell. 
 
 She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps 
 And lovers are 'round her sighing. 
 
 Love is a hwnter boy, 
 
 Who makes young hearts his prey. 
 
 Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing 
 O'er the waters soft and clear ; 
 Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
 Now it bi^rsts upon the ear, 
 Jubilate, ^men. 
 
 iong and Zoving our Zife shaZZ be, 
 And I'll hide the maid in a C2/press tree. 
 When the footstep of Death is near. 
 
120 
 
 They made her a grave too cold and damp 
 
 For a heart so warm and true ; 
 And she 's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 
 Where all night long, by her fire-fly lamp, 
 
 She paddles her light canoe. 
 
 So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, 
 Unheard of the world, rises silent to thee. 
 
 And false the light on glory's plwme 
 
 As fading hwes of even ; 
 And love and hope, and Jeaw'ty's Moom, &c. 
 
 Not a drum, was heard, nor a funeral note. 
 
 Wolfe. 
 
 Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
 See the front of battle lower, 
 See approach proi^d Edward's power. 
 Chains and slavery. 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Let him twrn and flee. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 In vain, in vain ; we meet no ??iore. 
 
 Nor dream what fates befall ; 
 And long upon the stranger shore 
 
 My voice on thee may call. 
 When years have clothed the line in moss 
 
 That tells thy name and days. 
 And withered, on thy simple cross, 
 
 The wreaths of Pere la Chaise ! 
 
 Q. W. Holmes. 
 
 I come I I come ! ye have called me long. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
121 
 
 1 cannot eat but little meat 
 My stomach is not good. 
 
 Bishop Still. 
 
 Where Hudson's wave o'er silvery sands 
 
 Wmds thro' the hills afar, 
 Old Crow-nest like a monarch stands 
 
 Crowned with a single star. 
 
 G. P. Morris. 
 
 On old Long Island's sea-girt shore. 
 Wash the beach of Eockawav. 
 
 My name was Captain Ejdd, 
 
 As I sailed, as I sailed. 
 And Wicked thmgs I did, 
 
 As I sailed. 
 
 No TTiore they make a/iddle-^addle 
 About a iJessian Aorse and saddle. 
 
 " Oh ! Rory be aisy, don't taze me no more ! 
 
 For it 's eight times to day you have kissed me before." 
 " Then here goes another all for to make sure 
 
 For there's luck in odd numbers," says Eory O'More." 
 
 Yankee Doodle come to town, 
 
 Yankee Doodle dandy, &c. 
 Yankee Doodle is the time, &c. 
 
 Life on the ocean wave, 
 
 A home on the rolling deep ; 
 Where the scattered waters rave, 
 
 And the winds their revels keep. 
 
 The star spangled banner, Oh ! long may it wave, 
 Cer the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 
 
122 
 
 When midnight in wrath knits her terrible brows, 
 And we crush the Mack Sillow with staggering bows ; 
 When the hurricane bursts thro' the tattering sail, 
 And the thunderbolt tumbles the wake of the whale. 
 
 A wet sheet and a> flowing sea. 
 And a wind that follows /ast. 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 The zoorld of ?^aters i^as our home, 
 And merry men were we. 
 
 To be for a?/e in shady cloister mewed, 
 Chanting faint h?/mns to the cold, frititless moon. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 And Kke the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cZoi/d-capped toilers, the gorgeous palaces. 
 
 A flowrish trumpets ! — strike alarwm, dri^ms 1 
 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 'Rail on the Lord's anointed. 
 
 Now is the winter of our discontent 
 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York, 
 
 And all the clowds that loz^ered upon our house, 
 
 In the deep Josom of the ocean Juried. 
 
 Now are our broz^s bound with victorious wreaths ; 
 
 Our bruised arms hung wp for monuments : 
 
 Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, &c. 
 
 Grim visaged War hath smoothed his wrinkled front, &c. 
 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, &c. 
 
 Shall packhorses. 
 And hollow pampered jades of ^sia, 
 Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, ^ 
 
 Compare with Cesars and with Canibals. 
 
 Base is the slave that pays. 
 
123 
 
 But when the blast of war blows in your ears, 
 Then ^mitate the action of the tiger : 
 Stiffen the smews, summon wp the blood, &c. 
 
 Pish for thee, Jceland dog ! thou prick-eared cur of /celand ! 
 
 -4ngels and ministers of grace, defend us ! 
 
 Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more 
 Ye m?/rtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
 I come to plwck jour berries harsh and crude, &c. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 At which the t/niversal host wpsent 
 
 A shout that tore HelPs concave, and beyond 
 
 Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 
 
 Anon they move 
 In per/ect phaXanx to the Dorian mood 
 Of flwtes and soft recorders. 
 
 But his face 
 Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 
 Sat on his faded cheek. 
 
 When civil dwdgeon first grew high, 
 And men fell out, they knei^ not why ; 
 When hard words, jealousies and fears 
 Set folks together by the ears, &c. 
 
 Butler. 
 
 A calf an alderman, a goose a justice. 
 And rooks committee-men and trustees. 
 
 And prove their doctrine orthodox, 
 By apostolic blows and knocks. 
 
 His doublet was of sturdy buff, 
 And tho' not sword, yet cudgel proof. 
 
124 
 
 All dreams, as in old Galen I have read, 
 Are from repletion and complexion bred ; 
 From rising fwmes of indigested food 
 And noxious hwmors that infect the blood. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, 
 And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands. 
 
 Swift. 
 
 I love my friend as well as you, 
 
 But why should he obstruct my view, &c. 
 
 If with such talents heaven hath blest 'em 
 Have I not reason to detest 'em ? 
 
 Ye nymphs of Solyma begzn the song. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 O Thou my voice inspire. 
 Who touched Isaiah's hallowed k'ps with^re. 
 
 A Zzttle Zearning is a dangerous thmg ! 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian sj^ring ; 
 There shallow drafts intoxicate the^^rain ; 
 But drinking largely sobers it again. 
 
 True wit is nature to advantage dressed, 
 
 What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed. 
 
 They jwdge with /wry, but they write mthphlegai. 
 
 So Zembla's rocks, the beauteous work of frost, 
 'Rise white in air, and gh'tter o'er the coast. 
 
 Superior and alone Confwcius stood, 
 
 Who taught that wseful science — to be good. 
 
125 
 
 Far more true joy Marcellus eioled focis 
 Than Cbsar, with a senate at his heels. 
 
 And catch the manners liTing as they nse. 
 
 Or longh and shake in E^belais' easy choir. 
 
 O Hcrppiness I our being's end and aim ! 
 
 It 13 the knell of my departed hours ! 
 
 Where ore they ? With the years beyond the flood. 
 
 I wake emerging from a sea of dreams. 
 
 And panting time toiled after him in Toin. 
 
 Db. Johxsox. 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was joimg. 
 
 Collins. 
 
 Fnll many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark unfathomed coves of Ocean bear : 
 Full many a flower is bom to blush nnseen^ 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Gbay. 
 
 Amazement in his von, with fl/ght combmed, 
 And sorrow's ^aded />rm, and SoHtnde behind. 
 
 Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
 
 To Aigh-bom HoeVs harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
 
 On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blendinor. 
 And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. 
 
 Beattie. 
 11 
 
126 
 
 The broken soldier, kmdly bade to stay, 
 Sat hy his fire, and talked the night away, — 
 Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, 
 Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 And while the bubbling and loud hissing wrn 
 Throws wp a steamy column, and the cups, 
 That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, 
 So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 So fails, so languishes, grows dim and dies 
 .411 that the world is proud of. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 But as they left the darkening heath. 
 More cZesperate grew the strife of c?eath. 
 The English shafts in volleys hailed, 
 In Aeadlong charge their ^orse assailed ; 
 
 Scott. 
 
 He stood in simple Lincoln-green, 
 The center of that glittering ring. 
 And Snowdon's knight was Scotland's kinor. 
 
 Ancient of days I august Athena where — 
 Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
 All that we know is, nothing can be known. 
 
 Once more upon the waters ! yet once more — 
 And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
 That knows his rider ! Welcome to their roar ! 
 Swift be their guidance wheresoe'er it lead ! 
 
127 
 
 And -4rdennes waves above them her green leaves, 
 Dewy with nature's tear drops as they pass, 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 
 
 A thoifsand years their clowdy wings expand 
 Around me, and a d2/ing glory smiles. 
 
 But wnto us she hath a spell beyond — 
 Her name in story, and her long array. 
 
 She walks the waters like a thing of Kfe. 
 
 Beneath a woven grove it sails ; and hark ! 
 
 The ghastly torrent mingles its far roar 
 
 With the breeze murmuring in the mwsical woods. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Tall are the oaks whose acorns 
 
 Drop in dark A user's rill ; 
 Fat are the stags that champ the boughs, 
 
 Of the Cimmian hill ; 
 Beyond all streams Clitumnus 
 
 Is to the herdsman dear ; 
 Best of all pools the fowler loves 
 
 The great Yolsinian mere. 
 
 Macaulay. 
 
 The harvests of Arretium 
 
 This year old men shall reap ; 
 This year yoimg boys in Llobro 
 
 Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
 And in the vats of Luna 
 
 This year the must shall foam — 
 
 Vastness, and age, and memories of eld ! 
 Silence, and desolation, and dim night ! 
 I feel ye now — I feel ye in your strength. 
 
 Edgar A. Poe. 
 
128 
 
 Ah ! distmctly I remember 
 It was m tlie bleak December, 
 And each separate d?/ing ember 
 
 Wrowgbt its ghost upon the floor. 
 
 Green be the twrf above thee 
 
 Friend of my better days ! 
 None knew thee hut to love thee, 
 
 Nor named thee but to praise. 
 
 FiTz Green Halleck. 
 
 O'er the Isle of the Pheasant 
 
 The morning sun shone, 
 On the plane trees that shaded 
 The shores of St. John. 
 " Now why from yon battlements 
 Speaks not my love ! 
 Why waves ther^ no banner 
 My fortress above ? — 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
 " Massachusetts shall Aear 
 
 Of the Hi/guenots wrong. 
 And from island and creek-side 
 
 Her fzshers shall throng ! 
 Pentagoit shall rue 
 
 What its Papists have done 
 When its palisades echo 
 
 The Pwritan gwn." 
 
 't is a sleeping poet, and his verse 
 Sings like the Siren /sles. 
 
 Alexander Smith. 
 
 I had copied extracts innumerable, to exemplify the fore- 
 going assertions : but they seemed, on consideration, so 
 unnecessary, that I have cut off nearly all the American 
 quotations. 
 
129 
 
 In fair countenance to the foregoing matter, to what con- 
 clusion shall we come ? Is not this melody of Terse, or this 
 sublimit}^ — for it is all one in the latter-day capacity of these 
 words — a simple and easy accomplishment ? Strong writing 
 " — lofty language — that which tingles in the ears of the un- 
 initiated, and thrills the nerves of all but those who have 
 analyzed their feelings, is entirely a matter of curves and 
 rh}Tnes. It may fill the eyes with tears, but the imagination 
 loses the ideal in this disagreeable frenzy. I say disagree- 
 able : that which affects us to tears is seldom read twice over ; 
 but the deep and true ideal, however humble the subject, is 
 reverted to with pleasure as long as memory remains. There 
 is a frenzy, or enthusiasm, which is occasioned by words 
 rather than ideas. An Irishman can stomach his griefs well 
 enough, as long as he will hold his tongue ; but let him 
 attempt to tell them, and straight, that tendency toward elo- 
 quence in the Irish character induces the utterance of some 
 sentence too pathetic for his facial command, and soon he is 
 off into a spasm of tear-drowned, choking enthusiasm, which 
 is so far from ideal grief, that, but for his love of approbation, 
 his disposition to imitation, and his lack of self-esteem, it 
 were scarcely grief at all. In a moment more, he laughs as 
 sincerely as before he wept. "When strong language is used 
 orally, the hearer cannot stop to analyse it, but is borne along 
 among its bubbles ; but when put on paper, its rolling and 
 rhyming distracts his attention from the idea, and, to my taste, 
 sometimes does more harm than good. 
 
 We have such an expression as fatal facility : what can it 
 mean ? WTien I have polished my verse till there is not a jog 
 remaining in it, — when I have removed all of those impedi- 
 ments of which one standing by itself is, as a matter of course, 
 called an obstruction and a nuisance, then some one may cry 
 out, You are going very much too easily ; your speed is dan- 
 gerous ; your facility is fatal. I might well retort. If rough- 
 ness is bad, then smoothness is good ; if the art is the art of 
 going, then the swifter and easier I go, the more am I an artist. 
 But the truth is, verse is not attractive from the facihty of its 
 progress, so much as from the scenes thro* which it leads us. 
 What tho* the rail-cairf- rush with hghtning speed thro' the 
 
130 
 
 weary woods of Oneida ? The passenger draws in his head 
 from the dismal vision, and merely rejoices at the facility of 
 steam. But he can willingly ride all day on a dirt-train, if it 
 conduct him slowly thro' the beautiful valley of the Mohawk. 
 Verse moves in steps ; and these steps cannot be hastened. 
 Whenever the accents begin to caper and leap along, the 
 poetry gets looking at its feet instead of its pathway, and soon 
 tumbles heels over head. 
 
 I am not to say, melody should be designedly avoided : its 
 room were far worse than its presence. Melody has always 
 had its charm. And the analysis of melody can no more dis- 
 continue the use of rhyme, than analysis of the descriptive 
 power of consonants can eject them, — or that analysis of 
 bread can stop people's eating. I merely say, a baker is no 
 hero. I shall love myself none the less for knowing, I am but 
 an engine which, fired up and fed, will go, but not otherwise. 
 I shall fall in love none the later, because my charmer is the 
 growth of victual. I shall honor heroism none the less, for that I 
 can read the origin of heroism in the blood and brain and 
 muscle of my immortal. I will not eat off your plate, tho' 
 your mouth have nothing in it to poison me. I will go to the 
 theatre, tho' yon painted slide be not the Parthenon, nor 
 yon puffy hero with the bullet-eyes. Marc Antony. While 
 imagination and health are fitter to this world than are analysis 
 and melancholy, man shall, by absence, or fancy, enjoy that 
 ideal which, near seen and examined, grows material and com- 
 mon. He shall laugh with Jack Falstaff, and rage with 
 Othello, tho' all be acting. His canvass shall hold up — not 
 various-colored spots of lead and oil, but woods, and waters, 
 and towers, and mountains, and deserts, and century-living 
 solitude. His imagination shall be Jupiter to his praying love, 
 and infuse with blood the lifeless marble of Pygmalion. And 
 still shall his thought continue to be poured out in sublime, 
 and meledious language, long after the art of poetry shall 
 have become the lesson of a school-boy, and the frenzy 
 of verbal sublimity shall have passed forever to the rostrum 
 and the opera. But that melodiousness shall be, as it was with 
 Shakspeare, a secondary, and not a primary merit as it has 
 been often considered, — a wheel of the vehicle, and not, half 
 
131 
 
 the freight of the car of poesr, — a thing of course, and not a 
 nine-davs' wonder. He that most taxes the imagination, — he 
 that creates, and leaves his creation in the memoiy, — and 
 not he whose verse is easiest to be read audibly, shall be the 
 bard : for such is the relation which the consonants bear to the 
 Towels, that powerfully suggestive or descriptive verse shaQ 
 CTer be somewhat uneven ; — yet the roughness, like the 
 bulging muscles of the athlete, shall be the unavoidable accom- 
 paniment of strength.