Qass pTi ■.510 3 
 BookJleJZJt^L. 
 
 PRESENTED Vf 
 
K I LCO LMAN; 
 
 
 RALEIGH'S Visit TO Spenser, 
 
 AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS IN VERSE. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS E. NELMES. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PRINTED FOR S. NELMES, 
 
 HAMILTON, BERMUDA, 
 1875. 
 
<# 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 KILCOLMAN, H 
 
 THANKS, TO 
 
 VENICE, "^2 
 
 BEAED, TO 
 
 THE MONEY-FEVER, 83 
 
 EAINBOW : A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS, ... 88 
 
 ALMA, 113 
 
 INKERMAN, .116 
 
 BALACLAVA, 120 
 
 PEACE . .122 
 
 RHINE RHIMES, 123 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN MAID, 135 
 
 THE PRINCESS, 137 
 
 ROLAND AND HILDEGART, 139 
 
 THE BROTHERS, 143 
 
 THE SISTERS, 145 
 
 THE DEVIL'S LADDER, . . . . . . .148 
 
 HIGH CROSS, 150 
 
 ■ THE LURLEY BERG, ....... 153 
 
 THE SILVER BELL, 154 
 
 GEN0F]6VA, 156 
 
 THE BINGERLOCH, 160 
 
 THE RAT TOWER 162 
 
 THE FORGET-ME-NOT, ....... 164 
 
 THE CHILD OF ROTTERDAM, 167 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LOCH-LOMOND, . 
 
 THE BRHDE AND BKTDEGROOM, 
 
 LOCH-KATRINE. TO 
 
 THE BERMUDIANA, 
 
 THE WARWICK TAMARIND TREE, 
 
 FERN-CUTTING, 
 
 APOLOGY, . 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE, 
 
 A BOUQUET, 
 
 LINES, 
 
 THE CANARY-BIRD, 
 
 STANZAS, . 
 
 A VALENTINE FOR A LITTLE GIRL, 
 
 AD UNAM IN CCELO, . 
 
 THE WIDOW, 
 
 THE GIBBS' HILL TRAGEDY, 
 
 MOORE'S CALABASH TREE, 
 
 MEMORIAL, 
 
 RAIN, 
 
 BEAUTY AND MUSIC, 
 
 ESTHER, 
 
 FUNEREAL, 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 NOTES, 
 
 169 
 
 175 
 177 
 179 
 183 
 185 
 186 
 187 
 189 
 190 
 191 
 193 
 194 
 195 
 197 
 199 
 
 204 
 205 
 206 
 207 
 208 
 211 
 
TO HIS HELPERS. 
 
 A MORN of fiery trial dawned on one, 
 
 As long as known, so long and well esteemed : 
 Scarce was the deed, the deed of evil, done 
 
 Which wrought that day his ruin, as it seemed, 
 When you his prompt and liberal helpers proved, 
 
 By counsel, aid material, many a way : — 
 He was my kinsman near and well-beloved, 
 
 Hence this Book-offering to you, and this Lay. 
 
 Soon was the burnt Tower-building re-begun. 
 
 He re-established therein soon in trade ; 
 Again his dimmed horizon clearly shone — 
 
 May yours, long shining brightly, never fade ! 
 Acts of Beneficence will fruitage bear 
 
 For those who do them, surely, as is meet. 
 In the Hereafter ; and if only here 
 
 The consciousness abiding — that is sweet. 
 
 1^0 flitting impulse prompted from the first 
 
 Your generous speech, that so enkindled hope — 
 The needed hope when fortune frowned its worst — 
 
 And lent full heart-strength with his ills to cope. 
 Deeds follow^ed words, as gracious and benign ; 
 
 Kindness, like Nature, illustrates its reign — 
 The sun, in haste, pursnes the beams that shine 
 
 To herald its return to us again. ^ 
 
 (5) 
 
6 TO HIS HELPERS. 
 
 ISTot mine tlie muse that wins a laurel crown, 
 
 And fame bestows on any chosen theme ; 
 A thought that mine may give or gain renown 
 
 Has never yet prolonged ray vainest dream. 
 Yet for these lines, if for these lines alone, 
 
 I crave an audience — deeming it their due ; 
 Their mission being solely to make known 
 
 The grateful feelings welling forth to you. 
 
 Warwick, Bermuda, June^ 1875. T. E. N. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 KILCOLMAN 
 
 It was in the latter part of the summer of 1 589, that Sir 
 Walter Ealeigh visited Edmund Spenser, author of the 
 " Fairy Queen," at his castle of Kilcolman, in the county of 
 Cork. After staying a month, or a httle longer time, at 
 Kilcolman, he returned to England, accompanied by the 
 poet, whom, on reaching London, he presented to Queen 
 Elizabeth. This is all that is known with any degree of 
 certainty respecting Kaleigh's visit to Spenser. We can 
 only seek in conjecture for the way and manner in which 
 that hoUday was spent by those two gloriously gifted 
 men. What charming conversations they must have 
 held on all the leading topics of the day, as well as on the 
 world's old literatui'e and the world's new! With what 
 feelings of pride the two patriots must have contrasted Eng- 
 land and other countries — long dwelling on her naval and 
 military and intellectual glories ! What j)leasant rambles 
 they must have had together amidst the fine scenery which 
 environed Spenser's domain ! At the distance of a short 
 hour's ride fi'om the pleasant village of Doneraile, laved 
 by the gliding Awbeg, and still less from Buttevant, with 
 its ancient abbey, Kilcolman Castle, amidst its broad acres, 
 a portion of the forfeited estate of the Earl of Desmond, oc- 
 
 (7) 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cupied a delightful situation. At the foot of the eminence 
 on which the mansion stood, and not a furlong off, lay 
 Kilcolman Lake, reflecting in its glassy smoothness the 
 alders and trembling aspens that embowered its banks, or, 
 when gently rippled by the summer breeze, sparkling in 
 the sun or glimmering in the moonlight. South and south- 
 west, not distant, were the Ballyhowra Hills; amongst 
 them " Mole, that mountain hoar." There two rivers had 
 their source — the Bregog and the gentle Awbeg, Spenser's 
 '* Mulla mine." Through a valley, long and broad and fer- 
 tile, they wended their joyous ways together, till, owing to 
 a peculiarity in the formation of the ground, the former 
 lost his way, and all but perished ; whence the poet invents 
 the story which he sings of the hapless love of his river 
 Bregog. North and north-east were the towering heights 
 of the Galtees. 
 
 The following lines, descriptive of his reception of Ea- 
 leigh on the alder-shaded banks of the Awbeg, are from a 
 beautiful allegorical poem, which Spenser published soon 
 after his return from England, and in which he relates the 
 events of his late voyage, at the request of the shepherds 
 who have met to welcome him : 
 
 "• One day, quoth he,* I sate (as was my trade) 
 
 Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, 
 Keeping my sheep amongst the coolly shade 
 
 Of the green alders by the Mulla's shore ; 
 There a strange shepherd chanced to find me out, 
 
 Whether allured by my pipe's delight. 
 Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about, 
 
 Or thither led by chance, I know not right : 
 
 * Colin : tliat is, Spenser himself. 
 
INTRODUCTIOiN. 9 
 
 Whom when I asked from what place he came, 
 
 And liow he hight, himself he did ycleepe 
 The Shepherd of the Ocean by name, 
 
 And said he came far from the main-sea deep. 
 He, sitting me beside in that same shade, 
 
 Provoked me to play some pleasant fit ; 
 And, when be heard the music that I made, 
 
 He found himself full greatly pleased at it : 
 Yet, emuling my pipe, he took in bond 
 
 My pipe, before that emuled of many. 
 And played thereon : (for well that skill he conned ;) 
 
 Himself as skilful in that art as any. 
 He piped, I sung ; and when he sung, I piped : 
 
 By change of turns, each making other merry ; 
 Neither envying other, nor envied. 
 
 So piped we, until we both were weary. 
 When thus our pipes we both had wearied well. 
 
 Quoth he, and each an end of singing made. 
 He gan to cast great liking to my lore. 
 
 And great disliking to my luckless lot, 
 That banished had myself, like wight forlore, 
 
 Into tliat waste, where I was quite forgot. 
 The which to leave, thenceforth he counselled me. 
 
 Unmeet for man, in whom was aught regardful. 
 And wend with him, his Cynthia^ to see ; 
 
 * Here " Cynthia" is Queen Elizabeth ; as the " Shepherd of the 
 Ocean " is Raleigh, Elsewhere in the same poem, " Aetion " means 
 Shakspeare ; and allusion is made to Chaucer as " Tityrus." In the 
 "Fairy Queen," Queen Elizabeth's name is " Gloriana ;" " Timias," 
 Prince Arthur's Squire, stands for Raleigh ; and Spenser, in all his 
 poetical writings, uses the name of " Colin " for himself. Contem- 
 porary poets sometimes styled him " Our Colin." 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardful. 
 So what with hope of good, and hate of ill, 
 
 He me persuaded forth with him to fare. 
 Naught took I with me, but mine oaten quill : 
 
 Small needments else need shepherd to prepare." 
 
KILCOLMAN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 RALEIGH'S VISIT TO SPENSER. 
 
 I. 
 
 When, years ago, in sunniest hours, 
 I sought Kilcohnan's ivied towers, 
 Where once dwelt Spenser,—" Colin " he — 
 And Raleigh, " Shepherd of the Sea," 
 Was guest awhile ; that castle old 
 And each near spot, in seeming, told 
 Memories of him who held them dear. 
 Who lived and sung and suffered there : 
 While doubly classic seemed each scene 
 Where Bard and Hero both had been. 
 
 How does that Hero's knightly name 
 Shine on the varied roll of Fame ! 
 Historian, statesman, voyager free, 
 Skilled warrior both by land and sea, 
 Victor in many a daring fight. 
 Pattern of knighthood — brave, polite — 
 Sage, and adept in minstrelsy. 
 Scholar and courtier — all was he : 
 
 (11) 
 
12 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 While nature bounteous, kind, that earth 
 Might value more such wondrous worth, 
 And higher prize the noble-souled, 
 Had cast his form in beauty's mould. 
 What marvel that each following age 
 Has loved his Life's memorial page ? 
 What marvel that each age and clime 
 Have deemed his latest hours sublime, 
 And grieved that such a man should die 
 Victim of a judicial lie ? 
 
 Of gentle birth, of stature small, 
 Proud, patriotic, poor withal, 
 '' The Prince of Poets in his Day "^ 
 Was learned, loving, leal alway ; 
 And sweetest of the tuneful train 
 That graced the Elizabethan reign. 
 No brighter fancy since has shone, 
 Nor yet a more prolific one. 
 
 Paleigh at Court, in favor fair, 
 Amongst ambitious rivals there ; 
 Or forming enterprises high 
 Far golden regions to espy ; 
 Or ably active at his post, 
 To roiise to arms and guard the coast ; 
 Or gaining glory, sword in hand, 
 On ocean or some foreign strand ; — 
 Spenser, unused to warlike word. 
 Save when the scribe of Erin's Lord,"" 
 
KILCOLMAN. 13 
 
 Content beneath Kileolman's shade 
 To win the bhie-eyed muse's aid, 
 With busy pen, as loyal quite, 
 Achieving fam'e no time can blight ; 
 Their different paths and states of life 
 Were as unlike as calm and strife : 
 Their cherished innate leanings yet, 
 Akin, harmoniously met. 
 
 Two rivers thus — impetuous — slow^, 
 Through scenes dissimilar that go, 
 From heights unequal, wide apart — 
 One, crushing through a forest's heart, 
 Or cleaving with resistless force 
 Through rocky obstacles its course ; 
 The other, gliding through the meads 
 Befringed with mingled flowers and weeds ; 
 Will oft, as if indued with sense. 
 Tend to a point of confluence : 
 Tlience, blended, to the sea they run, 
 One stream rejoicing in the sun. 
 
 Raleio;h a hero was from youth ; 
 
 O « -J 7 
 
 Fate had ordained him that forsooth — 
 In peace or war, in naught he did 
 His heroism could be hid. 
 The turn for war he seemed to take 
 Was rather for his country's sake, 
 Than through ambition of his own ; 
 Yet there as bright his genius shone 
 As where his inclination led 
 In more congenial paths to tread : 
 1* 
 
14' KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Trade, arts, and literature he prized, 
 And them he ever patronized. 
 
 Feigning a shepherd youth to be 
 
 Through all his life of poesy, 
 
 Spenser, although no belted knight, 
 
 Of knightly prowess loved to write, 
 
 And oft in allegory told 
 
 The grand achievements of the bold. 
 
 Of " fights he sung," like Yirgil good, — ^ 
 
 But Yirgil's fights are flesh-and-blood ; 
 
 Whole mortal armies make his frays. 
 
 Or great ^neas Turnus slays; 
 
 While Spenser's battles -are ideal, 
 
 Though shadows of a warfare real 
 
 Forever waged in human hearts, 
 
 Where good and evil play their parts. 
 
 It is the spiritual strife 
 
 Ot Holiness and Error rife, — 
 
 Ihe nobler passions and the unjust 
 
 Strive in their righteousness and lust ; 
 
 The moral virtues, clad in mail, 
 
 Combat the vices and prevail. 
 
 Knights, squires, in holy armour dressed. 
 
 Of bold adventures ride in quest, 
 
 And tyrants, sorcerers, and knaves 
 
 Are vanquished by those sturdy braves. 
 
 Who, fearing naught with shield and brand. 
 
 Redress all wrongs in Fairy Land : 
 
 And Britomart, ''the martial maid," 
 
 Her sex unguessed, lends valiant aid. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 15 
 
 Those Avho have conned his minor strains 
 Of blushing nymphs and piping swains, 
 Their rivah-ies and hopeless loves, 
 By '^ Colin " told in shady groves, 
 What time his "Shepherd's Calendar"" 
 Was penned, and he became a star ; 
 His sonnets serious and gay, 
 And joyous Hymeneal lay ; 
 But have not read his master-song, 
 Ten thousand lines thrice over, long, 
 (Five thousand more he added then) 
 Know little of his matchless pen ; 
 Know little of the glorious things 
 His soul of souls so sweetly sings ; 
 Know nothing of the fearless way, 
 Great Homer's-like, his weapons play, 
 ]^or of his energy and skill 
 In fighting battles with a will. 
 
 Yet are there fairer scenes than these, 
 The eye to win, the heart to please, — 
 Word-paintings, rich in every charm 
 Of colour, combination, form. 
 As human interest fonder clings, 
 The bard with deeper wisdom sings ; 
 High-toned and earnest, tender, time, 
 He guides us all his mazes through ; 
 And while he shows his pictures bright 
 He blends instruction with delight 
 Bard of the Beautiful and Good, 
 He lauds them as his spirit's food, 
 
16 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 And each fond heart more homage pays, 
 Constrained by his melodious praise. 
 Sweet music seems to fill the air, 
 As though rapt spirits warbled there. 
 
 Kaleigh was studious, and his mind 
 
 Imaginative and refined, 
 
 Yet logical — nor less acute 
 
 To prove a theorem, than refute 
 
 A false induction, or to bring 
 
 To naught the sophist's reasoning. 
 
 To history, philosophic thought. 
 
 And song, liis varied powers he brought, 
 
 And gathered from those mines and bowers 
 
 Their gems and blooms in leisure hours. 
 
 List the sweet lyric that he sung, 
 
 " If that the world and love were young ; " 
 
 The sonnets that he penned peruse. 
 
 And own he courted well the muse. 
 
 Minds thus pursuing the same line. 
 
 Whose sentiments agreeing, twine, 
 
 Need no extraneous aid to meet 
 
 In fellowship and friendship sweet. 
 
 'Neath shade of alders green behold 
 
 " Om- Colin " and the '' Shepherd " bold, 
 
 Spenser and Raleigh, side by side, 
 
 In social talk by Mulla's tide — 
 
 The bright fulfilment of a hope 
 
 To w^hich they long had yielded scope. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 17 
 
 Each face declares the joy that reigns 
 Within tlieir hearts, and thrills their veins. 
 "Who, with his pencil, will display 
 In light and shade, or, who portray. 
 With his artistic brush and hues, 
 The scene imagination views ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Ealeigh's exploits and Spenser's muse 
 As well, were known as daily news, 
 And doubtless each in wonder mute, 
 Charmed by the other's high repute, 
 Had longed for some sweet hour of grace, 
 To meet in friendship face to face. 
 If they had really met before,^ 
 As some assert they had, the more 
 Does admiration still grow high, 
 To think how perfect was the tie 
 That years of separation long 
 Had tended not to make less strong. 
 Could aught with greater force impart 
 The worth of each one's mind and heart? 
 
 Raleigh's accomplishments, betrayed 
 By all he wrote, or did, or said, 
 His knowledge of the world, of war 
 And politics, owned near and far, 
 His eloquence, and manners bland 
 Which scarce a rival could withstand, 
 The interest that he seemed to feel 
 
18 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 For private as for public weal ; 
 Spenser's imagination bright, 
 AVit genial and far mental sight, 
 His cultured taste of daily growth ; 
 And the ripe scholarship of both, 
 Must have made each the other deem 
 A wonder passing e'en a dream : 
 While glowed with pride the mutual mind 
 At such a friendship there enshrined. 
 
 That visit many a wondering thought 
 Has sprung, and many a vision brought 
 Of lingering beautj^, bright, serene, 
 To minds contemplating the scene : 
 The truest hero and the best ^ 
 Became the greatest poet's guest. 
 
 The visit paid by " royal Ben " ' 
 
 To Drummond, bard of Hawthornden, 
 
 Affords somewhat a parallel ; 
 
 But of that visit all know well, 
 
 For Drummond's polished pen has told 
 
 Their conversations free and bold ; 
 
 And many a pleasant thought we gain 
 
 By listening to the social twain. 
 
 There is a class of minds for whom 
 Strange, far-off mountains, as they loom 
 In shadowy outline, hold a charm 
 Beyond a smiling landscape, warm 
 With the rich tinting of the sun, 
 
KTLCOLMAN. 1 9 
 
 And mellowed o'er with green and dun. 
 They give the smiling landscape praise, 
 But wonder at those hills of haze. 
 They note their altitude and clime, 
 And of the rolling year the time, 
 Then give imagination rein, 
 Conjecturing what those hills contain ; 
 Yv^hat scenes of beauty, nature's yield, 
 Lie there embosomed, unrevealed. 
 So of the Yisits they would choose 
 O'er Raleigh's most to pore and muse. 
 
 The briefest records of the hours 
 
 They spent amidst Kilcolman's bowers, 
 
 Could such a fragment be exhumed 
 
 From some old archives, dust-entombed, 
 
 Would gladden well the finder's sight, 
 
 And yield a banquet of delight 
 
 For thousands, who a costly gem 
 
 Would hold as naught, compared with them. 
 
 A blank, alas ! 'tis sad to think — 
 
 A month-long span, from brink to brink, 
 
 From Ealeigh's coming, to the day 
 
 For England's shore they bent their way — 
 
 That visit stands on history's page. 
 
 Grieved o'er by minstrel, statesman, sage : 
 
 A blank it has been, and remains. 
 
 And only silence o'er it reigns. 
 
 That summer month a blank we call, 
 Because unwritten ; that is all — 
 
20 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Because no eye, wi'li vision sound, 
 Has pierced the misty wreaths around, 
 And seen tlie joys that bloom unmarred, 
 Protected by their cloudy guard ; 
 Because no ear, with hearing keen. 
 Has caught the music-tones between. 
 With friendsliip, love and joy alive, 
 A fairer name it must derive : 
 That Month, tliat Visit, hence we style 
 A briglit and blooming Fairy Isle. 
 
 The bold historian, oft and well. 
 Along its marge awhile may dwell, 
 And hope to pierce its guarded rim ; 
 In vain — there's entrance none for him ; 
 Nor must he draw for words and acts 
 On fancy, for he deals with facts. 
 
 Yet many an eye can dimly see 
 The graceful forms therein that be, 
 And many an ear can faintly hear 
 The dulcet sounds ascending there. 
 But prosy lines and frail as these 
 Can naught reveal with power to please ; 
 O, for some graceful bard and strong ! 
 Its glories must be told in song. 
 
 O, that some poet, fond and true 
 And mighty, of the chartered few, 
 Whose patent came direct from Heaven, 
 And at his natal hour was eciven, 
 
KILCOLMAN. 21 
 
 "Would choose it for his master-theme. 
 And make it his absorbing dream ! 
 The sun-light of his genius strays 
 To meet the far-off coming days, 
 Or with unfaltering vision peers 
 Along the vault of vanished years. 
 His ear attuned to spirit-song, 
 He lists its numbers to prolong 
 In mortal voice, for other hearts, 
 The joyous music it imparts. 
 'T is he may enter, wand in hand, 
 That Fairy Isle, that guarded land, 
 And learn of waiting spirits there 
 The tidings that we long to hear. 
 
 Then should we know how spent their time 
 The man of war and man of rhyme — 
 What were their pastimes, what their themes. 
 What were their bright or shadowy dreams ; 
 "What books they read, what songs they sung 
 Kilcolman's ancient groves among ; 
 "What tales they told, exciting glee; 
 "What banter flowed, what repartee ; 
 For sages more discreet than they 
 Have jested on a holiday ; — 
 Their converse staid and dignified, 
 To their great natures more allied ; 
 The censures that they passed on men 
 Who ruled the State or swayed the pen ; 
 The praise the}^ yielded when deserved, 
 The men they scorned, the men they loved. 
 
22 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 And we should know in many a verse, 
 As bold as tender, smooth as terse, 
 How fared poor Erin, as they walked 
 Along her meadows green and talked ; — 
 For only genius can divine 
 Of genius, and its ways define. 
 
 What though stern Clio should withhold 
 Her signet from the tidings told ; 
 What though she scorned the merest dole 
 The blank to lessen on her roll ? 
 Thousands and tens of thousands soon 
 Would welcome the Parnassian boon, 
 And, in the rapture thus inspired. 
 Deem her concurrence undesired ; 
 Would rest content — ^lier smile undeigned- 
 For ''Poetry is History feigned.'' 
 
 III. 
 
 The poet's life, as said by men. 
 
 Is less instructive than his pen. 
 
 With rare exceptions, widely known, 
 
 He is a child of song alone, 
 
 With thoughts less often where they seem 
 
 To be than those about him deem : 
 
 And oft his manner will deny 
 
 The courtesy his lays imply, 
 
 And oft his actions and his speech 
 
 Oppose the wisdom that they teach. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 23 
 
 While none can know the joy and strife 
 
 That checker o'er his mental life, 
 
 (Save when his muse, the darling elf, 
 
 Unconscious sings his inner self) 
 
 His outer history forms no part 
 
 Of aught that thrills tlie great world's heart. 
 
 Not so the hero's, which inspires 
 
 Enthusiasm's generous fires. 
 
 Yet 't is the poet's glowing verse 
 
 Can best the hero's deeds rehearse, 
 
 Can gild his memory, and can give 
 
 A bloom that makes the dead to live. 
 
 Let valour shine, let beauty charm. 
 
 Let truth detraction vile disarm. 
 
 Let noble hearts coy merit cheer. 
 
 Or virtue daunt temptation's leer ; 
 
 Let generous natures promptly aid 
 
 The efforts by a sorrower made 
 
 To rise again, with hope aglow. 
 
 Above the ashes of his woe, — 
 
 Of all the tributes thanks can bring. 
 
 Or that from admiration spring. 
 
 Of all the guerdons meant to crown 
 
 The winners of such fair renown. 
 
 The garland woven by his hand. 
 
 Alone, the test of time will stand. 
 
 A thinker born, the wakeful night 
 
 And lonely walk are his delight, 
 
 Nor heeds he as he tasks his powers 
 
 How swiftly pass the winged hom-s. 
 
 Depressed, excited, weak and strong, 
 
 By turns, and yet not either long. 
 
24 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 (Save when, and long as, need demands 
 A heart of oak and iron liands), 
 His fitful Tnoods and thoughtful face 
 Few friendships gain and little grace. 
 Ah ! little think we, of the throng, 
 With evener pulse and nerve more strong. 
 Who find in common life's employ 
 At once a profit and a joy, 
 How irksome are, and oft how grim, 
 The sterner tasks of life to him : 
 We little guess the efifort when 
 He speaks and acts like other men. 
 Whate'er in morals, nature, art. 
 Arrests his eye or charms his heart, 
 Contributes to his mental store, 
 Unpolished jewels, goodly ore ; 
 And there, till needed, they repose. 
 When, by a process that he knows, 
 They shine, and we behold in them 
 The glistening gold, the gleaming gem. 
 The transcripts of his musings bear 
 The charm that makes his memory dear ; 
 And sing he wheresoe'er he may, 
 That spot is hallowed, and for aye. 
 
 Hence, when I climbed Kilcolman's walls. 
 
 Or trod its desolated halls. 
 
 Or mused, beside the shapeless hearth, 
 
 'T was here the " Fairy Queen " had birth,* 
 
 A presence, hard to be defined, 
 
 Yet felt by every kindred mind. 
 
KTLCOLMAN. 25 
 
 Impressed mv spirit with a sense 
 
 Of its mysterious influence. 
 
 Methought from all the ruined pile, 
 
 Un syllabled in sound tlie while, 
 
 Came forth the eloquent appeal 
 
 Which rutliless Time had scorned to feel, 
 
 And man, as ruthless, could refuse, 
 
 O^ spare me for my Spenser s Muse ! 
 
 An all-pervading voiceless wail, 
 
 My inner being seemed to hail, 
 
 Like that amidst primeval woods, 
 
 In one of nature's stillest moods. 
 
 And are the fays he did invoke 
 
 Yet lingering here, the spell unbroke, 
 
 The spirits, call them what we will, 
 
 Awaiting his successor still — 
 
 Some wizard like him, some fond one. 
 
 To end the story here begun ? 
 
 O, for some master, great as he, 
 
 To set these pining spirits free ! 
 
 How oft within this room, or that, 
 Around the social board had sat . 
 " Our Colin," and his honoured guest; 
 And Colin 's wife, the loveliest, best 
 Of Erin's bright-eyed daughters fair, 
 Who, the fond poet's lays declare, 
 Was for her goodness, form, and face 
 " Advanced to be another Grace." 
 ' Another she deserves to be. 
 Such grace and courtesy hath she ; 
 
26 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Such honour, with such beauty rare, 
 
 That spite itself no blemish dare. 
 
 To future age,' the poet said, 
 
 '' Of her this mention shall be made." 
 
 Was ever brighter garland set 
 
 On brow of wife or maiden yet ? 
 
 True to the habit of the bard, 
 Be he renowned or all unstarred, 
 Spenser would show his classic friend 
 The latest stanzas he had penned ; 
 His latest then — and yet were they 
 The first of his immortal Lay, 
 The earliest of that wondrous Song, 
 Though just begun, imagined long. 
 
 '' A gentle knight was pricking on the plain, 
 Yclad in miglity arms and silver shield, 
 Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, 
 The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
 Yet arms till that time did he never wield : 
 His angry steed did chide his foaming bit. 
 As much- disdaining to the curb to yield : 
 Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, 
 As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit. 
 
 '' And on his breast a bloody cross he bore. 
 The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 
 For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 
 And dead, as living, ever him adored : 
 Upon his shield the like was also scored, 
 
KTLCOLMAN. 27 
 
 For sovereign hope which in his help he had. 
 Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; 
 But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad ; 
 Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was jdrad. 
 
 " Upon a great adventure he was bond, 
 That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 
 (That greatest glorious Queen of Fairy Lond), 
 To win him worship, and her grace to have, 
 Which of all earthly things he most did crave. 
 And ever as he rode, his heart did yearn 
 To prove his puissance in battle brave 
 Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; 
 Upon his foe, a dragon, horrible and stern. 
 
 *' A lovely lady rode him fair beside. 
 Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; 
 Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide * 
 Under a veil, that plaited was full low ; 
 And over all a black stole she did throw. 
 As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad, 
 And heavy sate upon her palfrey slow ; 
 Seemed in heart some hidden care she had; 
 And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she lad." 
 
 And as he read, or briefly ran 
 Along the labyrinthian plan. 
 Or uttered many a glorious thought, 
 Not yet in liquid numbers wrought ; 
 Raleigh would wisely criticise. 
 And Spenser each suggestion prize. 
 
28 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 " Pursue, my friend, that wondrous theme 
 Which but a mighty mind could dream ; 
 The vast design thy powers will test, 
 And its details demand thy best : 
 But tliou hast sung so long and well, 
 Thy suie success I now foretell. 
 Thy present fame as naught will be, 
 Compared with that awaiting thee, 
 When thou tlialt give the world, I ween. 
 Thy greatest work, the Fairy Queen." 
 Encouraged thus by such a tongue. 
 The poet with new ardour sung. 
 Hence, while we own the wreath his due. 
 Be Ealeigh well-remembered too. 
 
 lY. 
 
 Spenser's example, Raleigh then 
 Would follow ; for his own good pen 
 Had lately dwelt for many an hour 
 On a new Lay of thrilling power — 
 His " Cyntbia," — now lost, alas ! 
 But Spenser eulogized it has.^ 
 " Soldier and sailor, prompt with sword 
 To serve thy country at her word, 
 To give thj valour t(^ her cause ; 
 Statesman, the maker of her laws, — 
 Methinks the laurels thou hast won 
 Might satisfy Ambition's son : 
 But no — so covetous thy ways, 
 Thou graspest at the poet's bays. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 29 
 
 Strip not of every leaf the tree ; 
 Leave some for those that humbler be, 
 And by no other way can gain 
 A leaflet green, than by their strain. 
 Forgive, my friend, the pleasant jest ; 
 Sing at the Muse's high behest ; 
 Her tuneful train with pride will claim 
 The honour of Sir "Walter's name, 
 And boast unfeignedly the ties — " 
 Thus Spenser spake in cheerful wise. 
 
 Then host and hostess both, would crave 
 Some story of the tropic wave. 
 Or tale of blooming isles that shone, 
 Fruit-laden, 'neath the radiant zone ; 
 Or question of that dire defeat, 
 To Spain, of her Armada-fleet. 
 And oft the " Ocean Shepherd " bold 
 Would such a sketch as this unfold : — 
 
 " There is a group of Islands hight 
 Bermudez, from the Spanish wight 
 Who spied them first, a voyager free — 
 And far from any land they be.^° 
 Around them coral rocks do rise. 
 And billows roll of monstrous size : 
 There storms do howl, and lightnings flash, 
 And thunders bellow with a crash 
 Incessantly, both night and day, 
 To keep adventurous ships away. 
 Dark caverns hollow make the earth ; 
 There beasts obscene alone give birth 
 2 
 
80 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 To their vile progeny, whose feed 
 
 Is stranded fishes and sea- weed. 
 
 It is the strong-hold or resort 
 
 Of vile enchanters, says report ; 
 
 There they work spells and evil charms, 
 
 And plan all manner direful harms. 
 
 Hnge rocks, like castles, stud the tides 
 
 Whose waves leap up and lash their sides ; — 
 
 Each castle rock contains a cell 
 
 Where spell-bound maids in durance dwell. 
 
 And ever must, until set free 
 
 By some braye knight of Chivalry. 
 
 This is the story of those isles, 
 
 Which so the vulgar mind beguiles ; 
 
 But I do think them fair and bright, 
 
 For all these tales, and in despite. 
 
 Though storms may oft assail the strand, 
 
 I fancy them a fairy-land, 
 
 Where cedars raise to heaven their brows. 
 
 Strike deep their roots, and spread their boughs, 
 
 And tall palms grow, whose fronds aloft 
 
 Do rustle in the breezes soft ; 
 
 Where luscious fruits, and flowers abound, 
 
 And wholesome herbs enrich the ground 
 
 Which waits to pay for gentlest toil. 
 
 With wealth, the tiller of the soil : 
 
 Where silvery fish throng every cove, 
 
 Fit food for man ; and bright birds rove 
 
 And sing through bowers wild, sweet, and gay, 
 
 And Spring holds lasting holiday. 
 
 In their ow^n way two things do wail, — 
 
 The generous soil and health-fraught gale ; 
 
KILCOLMAN. 31 
 
 No human life to feed, no breath 
 Of man to save from early death I 
 May not these gardens of the seas 
 Be owned by new Hesperides ? — 
 Atlantides their fitter name — 
 Who shall the dragon slay or tame, 
 And plnck the golden fruits that smile 
 From bending boughs on every isle ? 
 This is a wondrous age, my Bard, 
 And bold adventure wins reward ; 
 Ere long our British flag shall fly 
 On those green hills, in their bright sk}^, 
 And those same isles, so feared and lone, 
 Shall shine as gems in Britain's zone. 
 Could you not make these isles a scene 
 In your unwritten Fairy Queen ? 
 And thither send Sir Calidore 
 The fairy region to explore, 
 Sir Artigal, or other knight 
 Who best enchanters loves to fight ? 
 — Or Marlowe, or young Aetion, 
 Will surely pounce the prize upon.'' 
 
 " Your fancy paints a lovely place, — • 
 Perhaps it yet the Tale may grace. 
 When all the journeys I have planned 
 For knights and squires through Fairy Land, 
 Have been performed, as I desire, 
 Then Timias, who is now a squire. 
 Shall knighted be ; and him I'll send : — 
 Would'st like the task, my gallant friend ? 
 
32 KILOOLMAN. 
 
 And he shall slay enchanters all, 
 And free all ladies from their thrall." 
 
 And oft the warrior would beguile 
 His listeners of a sigh or smile, 
 By the word-pictures which he drew. 
 True to the life, to death how true ! 
 Of that wild war of winds and waves 
 "Which hurled its thousands to their graves ; 
 Of that fierce fight which struck from Spain 
 Her boasted sceptre of the main. 
 And made her Second Philip wroth 
 That e'er he sent his navies forth 
 With fourscore thousand men, or more, 
 To conquer England's sacred shore ; 
 Of that proud victory, whose shouts — 
 From Logan-stone to John O' Groat's, 
 From shore to shore, from wave to wave, 
 To last while British Tars are brave, — • 
 "Went forth, as by a tempest hurled. 
 Proclaiming to the awe-struck world 
 The mighty, still resounding strain ; 
 " Britannia's Empress of the Main." " 
 
 But when he told of London ways. 
 Of pageants, fetes, and Court displays. 
 Of gentle knights and dames, who paid 
 Their homage to the Royal Maid, 
 And of that noble Queen herself, 
 With all her glory, pomp, and pelf, — 
 
KILCOLMAN. 33 
 
 Spenser, with all a poet's zeal, 
 
 On memory's page the whole w^ould seal, 
 
 Shaping e'en then the bland report 
 
 In scenes for Gloriana's court, — 
 
 (The elfin queen and court he drew 
 
 In loyal homage of the true,) 
 
 And smile to thmk 't would shine, ere long, 
 
 In warp and woof of fairy song : 
 
 And she would almost hold her breath 
 
 To hear of great Elizabeth, 
 
 The brave, the wise, the bounteous Queen, 
 
 "Who ruled with such a gracious mien : — 
 
 And both would laugh, but not in blame, 
 
 To hear her boast the self-same name.^" 
 
 'T was then the Courtier plied his host 
 With reasons why poor Erin's coast 
 "Was home less fit for men of rhyme 
 Than richer England's lettered clime. 
 " Come o'er with me," the Knight would say, 
 " Kilcolman's queen will not say nay " — 
 (And as he sought the lady's eye, 
 To read therein the kind reply, 
 His gallant bow and smile and word 
 Were potent as, elsewhere, his sword.) 
 " Come o'er to Court, where men of taste 
 And wealth to be thy friends will haste ; 
 And England's Queen, my word for it, 
 Will nobly welcome such a wit, 
 And will reward those matchless lays 
 So filled with great Eliza's praise." 
 
34 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 — Such eloquence, and reasoning strong, 
 Won promise of the Prince of Song : 
 He thought of London, '' kindly nurse, 
 That gave him life's first native source," 
 Till faithful memory fondly glowed, 
 And hope some fairer fortune showed ; — 
 And she, who bore her sovereign's name, 
 Assented for her husband's fame. 
 
 (A moment we suspend the strain. 
 
 To show he hoped not all in vain ; 
 
 To show how England's Queen who knew, 
 
 Somewhat, the skill of versing, too. 
 
 And loved to aid the struggling ones, 
 
 Who were the Muse's true-born sons, 
 
 Keceived him at the Courtly scene, 
 
 As well became so great a Queen ; — 
 
 " Well pleased we are thyself to know ; 
 
 Thy Muse we welcomed long ago." 
 
 To Burleigh, who in Councils sate 
 
 Chief of her Ministers of State, 
 
 Burleigh, grown powerful, but grown 
 
 Unfeeling as the senseless stone, — 
 
 " A hundred pounds," the monarch said, 
 
 " To England's greatest Bard he paid. 
 
 And yearly fifty pounds, beside. 
 
 To show our love and grateful pride." 
 
 " Pardon ! " cried Burleigh," this seems wrong- 
 
 All this for just a jpoet's song f " '^ 
 
 Three centuries, nigh, have rolled away, 
 Great Queen Eliza ! since that day ; — 
 
KILCOLMAN. 35 
 
 And lo, we seek thy memory's shrine, 
 And chant those prmcely words of thine. 
 While mean aspersers, lost to shame, 
 Would dim the Instre of thy name, 
 To give their books the flavour craved 
 By tastes, just like their own, depraved, — 
 We laud thy noble worth, and will. 
 Despite their innuendos, still. 
 
 Three centuries, nigh, have rolled away, 
 Burleigh, the Premier, since the day 
 Thou grudg'dst a poet daily food. 
 Earned by his sweat of brain and blood. 
 As virtue led and genius taught 
 To labour in his field of thought. 
 Till glorious forms of beauty shone, 
 'No pen could picture but his own ; — 
 We own thy statesmanship) and zeal 
 For England's glory, and her weal, 
 And never minstrel-hand Avill aim 
 A dart against thy well-earned fame. 
 As well might men of ancient time. 
 The dwellers in Italia's clime, 
 Who, w^hen autumnal fevers came. 
 On glowing Sirius cast the blame. 
 Have shot their arrows up to mar 
 The sheen of that malignant star. 
 Yet never minstrel true shall twine 
 Immortelles on thy tomb to shine ; 
 Or breathe thy name, but to impart 
 That story of thy selfish heart ; 
 
36 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Its arrogance and cliurlishness, 
 
 Wliicli foiled a sovereign's aim to bless, 
 
 And culminated in the deed 
 
 That robbed our Colin of his meed. 
 
 The gentle poet to his breast 
 
 Shall welcome an unwonted guest — 
 
 Resentment's flame — which shall inspire 
 
 Each chord of his responsive lyre. 
 
 Then shall its tones more angry flow, 
 
 As billows wax while tempests grow, 
 
 Till what was mute disdain before, 
 
 In vehemence of wrath shall soar. 
 
 The Muse for her remembered wrong, 
 
 Yet scorns thee as thou scorn' dst her song.) 
 
 YI. 
 
 The East was dappled with the light 
 That every instant grew more bright. 
 So faint the breeze, it scarce awoke 
 The foliage of the elm and oak, 
 And waved a wing too light to break 
 The slumber of a glassy lake ; 
 Yet every moment quickened it 
 To bid the hills' mist-drapery flit. 
 On either hand was many a flower 
 That owned but beauty for its dower ; 
 AYhile thousands, from no florist's care, 
 Had that and fragrance for their share. 
 The woodland birds were on the wing — 
 The lark had earlier soared to sing ; — 
 
KILCOLMAN. 37 
 
 So, what with birds and flowers around, 
 The air was rich with scent and sound. 
 That morning rode at easy rate 
 Two horsemen from Kilcohnan-gate. 
 
 One was above the average height, 
 
 Well-formed, and neither stout nor slight ; 
 
 His face was handsome; his mustache 
 
 And pointed be^rd and long eje-lash 
 
 Almost the raven's hue had caught : 
 
 But what a brow for lofty thought ! 
 
 His eye could be or tierce or mild, 
 
 To daunt a foe or charm a child, — 
 
 The cottage maid he met was fain 
 
 To turn and catch a smile again. 
 
 At intervals a light blue wreath 
 
 Of smoke forth-issued with his breath, — 
 
 A new phenomenon indeed 
 
 To strangers to the " Indian weed." '* 
 
 Rode with such dignity and grace. 
 
 As showed the saddle was his place 
 
 Full oft, from choice or duty's force. 
 
 The good Queen's " Captain of the Horse." 
 
 The other was of smaller size, 
 
 "With short-cut hair and fine full eyes, — 
 
 He had a small and dainty hand. 
 
 Wore little cuffs and narrow band. 
 
 Rode with a less imposing mien 
 
 The Author of the " Fairy Queen." 
 
 They chose no subject on the way 
 That called their higher powers in play ; 
 2* 
 
38 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Nor LaAV nor State became their text, 
 Nor yet this life, nor yet the next. 
 They chatted freely as they went, 
 Like men on recreation bent. 
 Depending on the road and field 
 For what amusements they might yield : 
 And whatsoever pleased the eye 
 Won ready word and quick reply. 
 Despite their lightsome mood, each word 
 Was something worthy to be heard. 
 For pleasant thought that kindled mirth, 
 Or simile of deeper worth ; 
 For oft a wise man's lightest speech 
 Is fitted common minds to teach. 
 Two miles perhaps, and one beside, 
 The distance was they had to ride 
 Before alighting ; then their feet 
 Must bear them over furze and peat. 
 Up craggy steeps, if they would seek 
 To reach the mountain's highest peak. 
 
 'T is best from some commanding height, 
 
 AVhence shines a landscape, calm and bright, 
 
 To let the vision wander free 
 
 O'er the long range of scenery 
 
 Awhile, until its cravings nigh 
 
 Are, seemingly, sufficed thereby ; 
 
 Then choose each portion, bit by bit. 
 
 That helps to make the whole of it, 
 
 Observing all it has to show. 
 
 As bees from flower to blossom go ; 
 
KILCOLMAN. 89 
 
 Then, iu a calm and thankful mood, 
 To face the whole iu posture good, — 
 Each vagrant wish called iu at last, 
 The hour of joyous frenzy past, — 
 Until its image true shall pass, 
 As photographed, to memory's glass : 
 And in some distant futnre year 
 The lovely scene w^ill still be there. 
 And, from description, other eyes 
 May view the picture that you prize. 
 
 Meanwhile the friends the spot had gained 
 For Avhich their active limbs had strained. 
 To one it was no novel task 
 To climb that hill : — need any ask 
 Which of the twain ? — Oft, o'er and o'er 
 Has Spenser sung of Galtee-More 
 And " Mulla mine," each spot around; 
 And now the Avhole is classic ground, 
 And bears one charm, the rest above. 
 That he and Raleigh dreamed not of. 
 
 What rapture must have filled each breast, 
 
 When " Mole, that mountain hoar," they prest. 
 
 The landscape's smiling charms to see 
 
 From Ballyhowra to Galtee ! — 
 
 The fruitful fields, the shining lines 
 
 Of furze in gold from Flora's mines ; 
 
 The homes of men ; the sacred fane ; 
 
 The kine and sheep-besprinkled plain ; 
 
 The Bregog stream, that whilom stole 
 
 To Mulla's side, till checked by Mole, 
 
40 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 And ever since, by night and day, 
 
 Still frets and pines its life away ; 
 
 The mystic round-tower, pointing high ; 
 
 The Awbeg's waters gliding by ; 
 
 Abbey and monastery grey ; 
 
 (But heaps of ruins now are they.) 
 
 The narrow vale ; the higher ground 
 
 By dark woods robed, and castle-crowned ; 
 
 The rocky steeps ; the hillocks green ; 
 
 The trodden path that wound between ; 
 
 The shadow here, and there the sheen 
 
 That vivified the lovely scene. 
 
 Here, mountains yet the dark mist wooed, 
 
 Like giants seeking solitude ; 
 
 There, all emblazoned by the sun, 
 
 The haze evanished, others shone ; 
 
 While Arlo, towering o'er the rest, ' 
 
 Displayed on his imperial crest 
 
 A vapoury form, a sun-lit gem. 
 
 That morning for his diadem. 
 
 Some heedless eye may skim that scene, 
 And scarce one ray of beauty glean; 
 Some heart, with sordid thoughts possest, 
 May turn unthankful and unblest : 
 But oft has that dehghtful view 
 "Won admiration fond and true. 
 And oft has Nature welcomed there 
 The homage that she holds so dear. 
 'T was Nature that they gazed upon, 
 Though Nature with her sandals on. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 41 
 
 Spenser and Raleigli ! two snch souls 
 As rarely meet on Time's long rolls, — 
 Spenser and Raleigh ! equal heirs 
 Of Fame, — what communings were theirs ? 
 Could they behold aught so divine, 
 JS'or worship at a holier shrine ? 
 
 YII. 
 
 ^Kilcolman's halls were shining bright 
 
 With many a waxen taper's light ; 
 
 Laurels and flowers, adroitly wreathed. 
 
 Adorned the rooms, and sweetness breathed ; 
 
 And viands, and abundant store. 
 
 The hospitable tables bore. 
 
 And squires and dames were gathered there, 
 
 Who dwelt the ancient castle near, 
 
 Of high degree and noble mien ; 
 
 And youth and beauty graced the scene, — 
 
 All bidden, as the host confessed. 
 
 In honor of his hero-guest. 
 
 And pleasantly the moments went. 
 
 With music, dance, and compliment, 
 
 Among the younger and the gay ; 
 
 As pleasantly they Tvinged their way 
 
 For those of graver head and heart, 
 
 Who chose in converse to impart 
 
 Their sentiments on subjects deep, 
 
 And others' views thereon to reap. 
 
 The poet and the hero gave 
 
 Divided time to gay and grave, 
 
42 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 No\v talked philosophy, and now 
 
 Said pleasant things, with smile and bow. 
 
 The hostess had arranged a plot, 
 
 Known but to few, — to Raleigh not : 
 
 A youth and maid, as shepherd he, 
 
 She as a nymph of Arcady, 
 
 With crook anS pipes, each needed thing, 
 
 Agreed in character to sing, 
 
 The one, Kit Marlowe's poesy, 
 
 The other, Raleigh's " Nymph's Reply." 
 
 The happy guests were on the eve 
 Of taking their reluctant leave. 
 When lo ! a shepherd, by his look. 
 Stepped forward and his standing took. 
 If there was wonder or surprise, 
 'T was only in expressive eyes ; 
 If there were questions on each tongue, 
 They were not uttered while he sung. 
 In richest voice and fitting tone : 
 
 THE shepherd's INVITATION. 
 
 Come live with me and be my love. 
 And we will all the pleasure prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield. 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks. 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks. 
 By shallow rivers to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 43 
 
 There will I make thee beds of roses 
 AYith a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool 
 "Which from our pretty lambs w^e pull ; 
 Slippers lined choicely for the cold ; 
 With buckles of the purest gold ; 
 
 A belt of straw, and ivy buds ; 
 With coral clasps, and amber studs : 
 And, if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Then live with me and be my love. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May morning ; 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my love. 
 
 The shouts beneath Kilcolman's roof 
 Through open casements went aloof ; 
 But they were little to the roar 
 That followed in a moment more, 
 When came the maiden, — by her dress 
 She was a lovely shepherdess — 
 And sang with a melodious voice, 
 Which would have been a siren's choice, 
 Could she by wishing it obtain, 
 In answer to the other's strain : 
 
44 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 REPLY. . 
 
 If tliat the World and Love were young, 
 And truth on every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might be move 
 /To live with thee and be thy love. 
 
 But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
 When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, 
 And Philomel becometh dumb. 
 And all complain of cares to come. 
 
 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
 To wayward winter reckoning yield ; 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall. 
 Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 
 
 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies. 
 Soon bi'eak, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 
 
 Thy belt of straw and ivy buds. 
 Thy coral clasps and amber studs ; 
 All these in me no means can move 
 To come to thee and be thy love. 
 
 But could youth last, and love still breed ; 
 Had joys no date, or age no need ; 
 Then these delights my mind might move 
 To hve with thee and be thy love. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 45 
 
 There had been gentry oft before 
 Within that hospitable door, 
 And, in the great Earl Desmond's day. 
 Full many a knight and noble gay ; 
 But never to the voice of song 
 Had listened there a happier throng. 
 Hearty and long the plaudits rung, 
 And praises leaped from every tongue ; 
 So loud and lengthened the applause, 
 Despite aristocratic laws, 
 The hinds -who tilled Kilcolman's grounds 
 Awakened at the midnight sounds ; 
 For when the whole-souled Irish cheer 
 They seem to wish the world to hear. 
 
 And Raleigh would have praised, I wis, 
 The singer, but the song was his ; 
 So moving up with graceful air. 
 He bent one knee before the fair. 
 Then taking from his finger small, 
 A circlet, gold and jewels all. 
 He placed it on her finger, and 
 Bowed down his lips upon her hand. 
 The lovely maiden in a breath 
 Raised, erst concealed, a laurel wreath. 
 And laid it on the author's head ; 
 Then, in a lull of plaudits, said. 
 While still he knelt in mute surprise, 
 " Arise, Sir Laureate ! Arise !" 
 Through life the maiden prized his gem 
 iN'ot more than he her diadem. 
 
46 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 S. On yestereve lieard'st tliou Squire Bree 
 Propound his views on Man to me ? 
 But thou wast listening to the words 
 Of Madame Saye of Castle Fords ; 
 The while thy vision did not fail 
 From that sweet lass from Doneraile, 
 Whom only great persuasions move 
 Beyond her garden-walks to rove. 
 
 ^. No ; but he spoke to me on Man, 
 On human nature too, began — 
 I think I know his views ; but why ? 
 How didst thou to the sage reply ? 
 
 S. He had named men to crime allied, 
 And some to bigotry and pride, 
 In ao-es dark — in centuries dim : 
 And these were my replies to him : 
 — Such then were some of those whose bark 
 Of life careered in ages dark ; 
 And such are some of those whose ways 
 Are in these Truth-illumined days, 
 Such some in acts ; some in desires 
 But emulate their ancient sires. 
 Man as he really is to-day 
 Shows man in ages past away, 
 With nature of the self-same kind. 
 And the like faculties of mind ; 
 And every clime and every age 
 May show its tyrant and its sage. ' 
 
KILCOLMAN. 47 
 
 The men who lived in ages flown 
 
 Had hopes, fears, passions, like our own ; 
 
 Their joys and sorrows were the same, 
 
 And from resembling causes came ; 
 
 They hated, loved, and strove for power. 
 
 Like men at this transpiring hour. 
 
 Did ever tyrant rob and slay ? — 
 
 In heart bis fellow lives to-day. 
 
 Who, clothed with might, would soon display 
 
 A Nero or Caligula. 
 
 Did ever bigot torture, burn ? — 
 
 To-day the racking engines turn 
 
 By men who, fitted both by heart 
 
 And chartered might, inflict the smart, 
 
 And think — -just Kke Mahomet fierce 
 
 While brandishing the sword to pierce 
 
 Some scorn er of the Koran lie, — 
 
 That God is glorified thereby. 
 
 Was any proud to vast degree ? — 
 
 These days have many proud as he ; — 
 
 Proud of their riches, though a spark, 
 
 Or wave, may waste their treasure ark ; 
 
 Proud of their looks, though in a week 
 
 The worm may dine upon their cheek ; 
 
 Proud of their birth, though with their name 
 
 None of their fathers' virtues came i 
 
 Proud of their rank, though they may be 
 
 But simpletons of high degree ; 
 
 Inflated thus they view with scorn. 
 
 The humble, poor, and lowly born, 
 
 And are, in lack of greater power. 
 
 The little Tarquins of the hour. 
 
48 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 But light has dawned; and, where it shines, 
 The track man should pursue, defines. 
 'T is education makes him wise, 
 Tliat and the aids which it supplies — 
 Hence from his wisdom, broad, august, 
 Come wholesome laws and judgment just : 
 Society, improved thereby. 
 Does wider spread and ramify ; 
 It and the Law look wide alike, 
 Approve, condemn, with terror strike 
 The heart that's fully ripe to do 
 Such deeds as they with horror view : 
 For human nature still retains. 
 Amidst this light, its former stains. 
 Suppose a case : — rescind all laws ; 
 There is not left a single clause : 
 Do as thou wilt. To-morrow's sun 
 Would see the downward course begun ; 
 Eage, rapine, ruin, howling round, 
 Man's human nature all unbound. 
 The vile, untaught, and brutish erst, 
 Would tread the path of terror first ; 
 But by-and-by that decent man 
 Would follow or be in the van : 
 Might would be right, from that same hour, 
 At l^ast with those of greatest power. 
 Laws do force men in check to keep 
 Their passions vile, as if asleep ; 
 Learning and right example lead 
 Men's minds on wholesome food to feed ; 
 They elevate, improve, refine. 
 More than aught else that's not Divine. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 49 
 
 But only Grace Divine can tame 
 Man's inborn evil passions' flame ; 
 The Heavenly Spirit, it alone, 
 Can sanctify his nature's tone. 
 And from its surface to its core 
 Make it what it should be, once more. 
 Else all the centuries that have run 
 Since man was Heaven's fallen son. 
 Have found and left him in his shame, 
 And human nature still the same. 
 
 IX. 
 
 B. Is Madam Saye a poetess ? 
 
 I scarce can think of her as less. 
 
 Her talk so full of tigures is, 
 
 Of emblems and of images. 
 S. She has some sentiment, I own, 
 
 But if she makes* it is not known, — 
 
 When poets write their fancy flows. 
 
 But poets talk in plainest prose. 
 
 JR, She told me of that damsel pale, 
 That blighted flower of Doneraile ; 
 And told me of the wight unkind, 
 Who, fickle as the veering wind. 
 Performed the fell assassin's part 
 So surely on the fond one's heart : 
 What though his lips ne'er breathed the word 
 I love, he bade it be inferred, 
 
 * Composes. 
 
50 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Taught her to read his practised eye, 
 
 And read in hers the kind reply. 
 
 He wooed with all a lover's care, 
 
 With all a courtier's grace and air ; 
 
 For nature formed his person fine, 
 
 And gave him wit and parts to shine. 
 
 In everything he learned her choice, 
 
 By artful, delicate device. 
 
 Then flattered with his trifles fair, 
 
 And she believed he was sincere. 
 
 What maid, whose young affections sleep 
 
 Within her bosom's sacred keep 
 
 As yet unstirred by Cupid's dart. 
 
 Though, ready to awake and start, 
 
 May long supply the opiate-dose 
 
 Sufiicient for their calm repose, 
 
 Wlien well-dressed imps, with clamorous voice, 
 
 Invite them forth to share their joys, 
 
 Or importune, with ceaseless prayer, 
 
 Leave to make common play-ground there ? 
 
 Thus won — each look, each word, each art 
 
 Usurped some portion of her heart. 
 
 Till pure, intense, the flame arose. 
 
 Such love as only woman knows ; 
 
 And then he left, as ruthlessly. 
 
 That gentle one to droop and die 
 
 Just like some dove whose smitten heart 
 
 Yet quivers mth the arrow's smart. 
 
 — Those were the words of Madam Saye — 
 
 Here is a song I wrote to-day. — 
 
 And Raleigh did a lay impart, 
 
 (Not tliis) ycleeped The Broken Heart. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 51 
 
 The word was not spoken, 
 
 The vow was not plighted, 
 No promise was broken, 
 
 Yet she had been slighted, 
 "Who trusted so surely. 
 So fondly and purely. 
 
 The cheek of the maiden 
 
 Is losing its brightness, 
 Her heart is o'er-laden 
 
 With sadness for lightness ; 
 Her langhter and singing 
 1^0 longer are ringing. 
 
 And lie the deceiver, 
 
 The triHer and sinner, — 
 O, how could he leave her ? 
 
 Or why did he win her ? 
 Though many may love her. 
 How few could deserve her ! 
 
 Though others despise hira. 
 
 Herself she can never ; 
 For once she did prize him. 
 
 And love him must ever ; 
 Sweet lovely endurer ! 
 And pity his lurer — 
 
 The fair frail unkind one, 
 Whose blandishments won him : 
 
 O, could she not find one 
 Unloved, and smile on him ? 
 
62 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Such conquest would sadden 
 The heart of no maiden. 
 
 Unseen by her, view her, — • 
 She's mentally writhing ; 
 
 Yet for her undoer 
 
 The sweet one is breathing 
 
 The prayer, that of Heaven 
 
 He may be forgiven. 
 
 Pure one, thou art hastening 
 From earth and all sighing ; 
 
 Though sad was thy chastening, 
 And sore was thy trying, 
 
 Love, joy, overflowing 
 
 Are where thou art going. 
 
 S. That minds me we are bound to view 
 A marriage we are bidden to, 
 Three evenings hence, and that a fit 
 Is wanted from my pen for it : 
 It will be sung, as I am told. 
 O'er gentle bride and bridegroom bold. 
 And here are paper, pen, and ink. 
 All ready, but my muse, I think — 
 Pray take my Horace and find out 
 That line we differed so about, 
 While I unto my task attend 
 To please my worthy bridegroom-friend. 
 Soon Spenser read (think not, I pray, 
 It was this one) A Marriage Lay. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 53 
 
 Hail to this auspicious hour ! 
 Hymen here asserts his power, — 
 Joy is filling every breast, 
 Two are happier than the rest. 
 
 Blessings on the twain who join 
 Hands to-day ! how sweetly twine 
 Orange-blossoms round her brow, 
 Who now pledgeth vow for vow. 
 
 Happy bridegroom, happy bride. 
 Every earthly bliss betide ! 
 This, the burthen of our prayer, 
 Happy bride and bridegroom hear. 
 
 May a long and peaceful life 
 Thine be, husband, thine be, wife, 
 Angels smiling on your love. 
 Till you join their throng above ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Authors and books their theme became. 
 This passage charmed, and that was tame ; 
 One author's style was clear but cold, 
 Another's bright as it was bold. 
 Homer and Yirgil, one may guess. 
 And Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
 And Pindar's ever-charming page, 
 Plato and Aristotle sage. 
 And Juvenal's satiric feud 
 Were quoted as prevailed the mood, 
 3 
 
54 KILCOLMA^. 
 
 An argument to harm or aid, 
 
 Or for the pleasure each conveyed. 
 
 Nor did the ancient classic page 
 
 Alone their leisure hours engage ; 
 
 The later classics, too, were there 
 
 Intact, or in translation fair ; 
 
 For where the language was not known 
 
 Its gems were rendered in their own. 
 
 Or in some other, that they knew 
 
 Like Flemings or like Frenchmen true. 
 
 Tasso's Jerusalernme brought 
 
 The rich enjoyment that they sought. 
 
 And Dante's Commedia gave 
 
 Sublime emotions, wave on wave : 
 
 And Laura's shade, they deemed, drew near 
 
 Petrarcha^s '' well sung woes" to hear. 
 
 The French Eomances of the day, 
 And Spain's, extravagant as they. 
 Which told of Princes', Errant-knights', 
 And Saints' impossible exploits, 
 So gravely, not a few believed 
 Those marvels all had been achieved ; 
 (The same that soon provoked to birth 
 Don Quixote from Cervantes' mirth, 
 And Sancho Panza's humor, fit 
 To rival e'en Llibernian wit) 
 And fervid odes of bright Provence 
 To Beauty's smile, and Yalour's lance. 
 
KILCOLMAN. 55 
 
 Sung by each wandering Troubadour. 
 While Chivab*y its prestige bore ; 
 Served oft to raise a merry laugh, 
 Or sound a chord in love's behalf. 
 
 Full many a weird Teutonic tale 
 To fancy brought its phantoms pale, 
 And many a Hunic ballad told 
 Of Sea-kings' rover-days of old ; 
 And oft the sagas of the Scalds 
 Displayed Yalhalla's sumptuous halls. 
 But soon all interest failed from them 
 Before that rich Castilian gem, 
 Which lay so long in darkness hid. 
 The fine old Poem of the Cid. 
 The Hero and the Poet gave 
 Full sympathy to Diez brave. 
 The Campeador, great and good 
 Whatever fortune ruled his mood ; 
 But heaped upon those dastards born. 
 The craven lords of Carrion, scorn. 
 
 Dunbar, Buchanan, and the best 
 Of Scotia's bards among the rest. 
 For truth to nature, feeling, lore. 
 Were honoured on the Awbeg's shore. 
 But when, beneath the winged quire, 
 They touched the Lusitanian lyre, 
 The birds sat silent on the sprays 
 To list to more impassioned lays, 
 While Camoens' madrigals of love 
 With sweeter music charmed the grove. 
 
56 KILCOLMxVN. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Eapt fancy pointed where they'd strayed 
 
 On Mulla's banks of alder shade, 
 
 While converse, rich in wit and lore. 
 
 Philosophy as taught of yore, 
 
 And modern thoughts on subjects grand. 
 
 Sped on the day on Mulla's strand. 
 
 Thus many an hour, each shining day, 
 
 By Awbeg's wave they whiled away. 
 
 My verse is not, full well I know, 
 
 Though swift and smooth its numbers flow, 
 
 A medium of conveyance fit 
 
 For lore, philosophy or wit. 
 
 It echoes but their plainer words, 
 
 Their pastimes only it records. 
 
 The poetry of their own clime 
 Was paid full homage many a time ; 
 And oft would pride and pleasure reign 
 In converse o'er some thrilling strain. 
 The whispering trees, and every bird, 
 A¥hose old progenitors had heard 
 Each colloquy, seemed proud to bear 
 Its memories to the listener's ear. 
 
 Though Gower somewhat near him sung 
 
 (Once only) in his native tongue ; 
 
 Though Pierce the Ploughman earlier dreamed, 
 
 And Minot's star remoter gleamed. 
 
 By neither, — by a greater one 
 
 Was English Literature begun. 
 
 # 
 
KILCOLMAN. 57 
 
 From Chaucer's down to their own time, 
 
 Thej culled the choice of English rhyme, 
 
 Long dwelling, with delighted zest, 
 
 On his, the really first and best. 
 
 The "fount of English nndefiled" 
 
 His " Canterbury Tales '' they styled. 
 
 Lydgate and Hawes were quickly scanned, — 
 
 They were but landmarks near at hand. 
 
 That showed where next the Muse did deign 
 
 To leave a few faint smiles again : — 
 
 And little by the search was found 
 
 To cheer the voyagers homeward-bound. 
 
 And nothing for their pains they gleaned 
 
 Through the long years that intervened. 
 
 For not an efi'ort made did bless 
 
 The intellectual vdlderness. 
 
 'T was only as they drew near home, 
 
 And almost touched its verge, that some 
 
 Bright tokens of the wealth in store 
 
 Its border years rejoicing bore. 
 
 Skelton's and Gascoigne's satires showed 
 'No feeble hands their shafts bestowed, 
 Kor without smoothness flowed the strain 
 That bore them to the lewd and vain. 
 Surrey and Wyatt cheered the road 
 "With many a charming song and ode, 
 And " sonnet's undulating maze," 
 That breathed of love in silvery phrase ; 
 While Bryan's verse, from Erin sent, 
 In sweet accord with theirs was blent. 
 
58 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 '' The songless desert now is past," 
 
 Said Raleigh to his friend, " at last ; 
 
 And pleasant are the notes we hear 
 
 Soft-sounding nearer and more near : 
 
 Yet these are not the true ones, sure, 
 
 To build a nation's literature, 
 
 Which needs a firm and fearless hand, 
 
 A full-toned lyre, and themes more grand." 
 
 Then Spenser, to approve the thought, 
 
 His ready illustration brought : 
 
 '' The sculptured ornaments and gilt 
 
 That deck a temple partly built. 
 
 Aid not its massive w^alls to rise 
 
 In stately grandeur to the skies ; 
 
 But course on course reveals the plan 
 
 As first the master-mind began. 
 
 O, who shall prove his right divine 
 
 To reign in Chaucer's royal line ?" 
 
 The harp of '' Tityrus " unstrung 
 Remained until " our Colin " sung, — 
 And he (and next him, " Aetion,") 
 Ascended the long-vacant tlirone. 
 
 But when they came to their own da^^s 
 Abundant were the songs and Plays 
 That greeted them from many a pen ; 
 For every muse w^as lavish then, 
 Yet not with such efi'ulgent smiles 
 As later blessed the Biitish Isles. 
 It was the portal to the time 
 When genius soared to heights sublime, 
 
KILCOLMAN. 59 
 
 And poet, orator, and sage 
 
 Made glorious England's learned age, 
 
 And Classic, ever to endure, 
 
 Her Language and her Literature. 
 
 Spenser and Raleigh then began 
 
 Each young aspirant's claim to scan, 
 
 Oft dwelling long, though only here . 
 
 Few names and comments brief appear ; 
 
 And as they spoke of scene or plot 
 
 That charmed them much, or pleased them not. 
 
 Or quoted elegy, or ode. 
 
 Or epigram, or episode 
 
 Of some new epic, then the rage 
 
 Amongst the simple and the sage, 
 
 Oi-, on some pastoral did dwell, 
 
 (For poets can remember well) 
 
 They judged their merits, and decreed 
 
 To each its rank and fitting meed. 
 
 So true and just their judgment was, 
 
 Apart from all pedantic laws, 
 
 That as they thought of every lay, 
 
 So has posterity alway. 
 
 Though smooth the flow and true the chime, 
 Verse needeth more than that and rhyme. 
 To miss the doom that's sure to be 
 The lot of soulless poesy. 
 Lnagination there must dwell, 
 A sympathy-retaining spell, 
 Suggestiveness, an earnest tone. 
 And naturalness ; nor these alone — 
 
KILCOLMAN. 
 
 For sentiment must fuse tlie whole, 
 Or verse is form without a soul. 
 
 Whose verses met no kind regard, 
 Oblivion hides that would-be bard ; 
 Whose numbers won both praise and blame. 
 He is not all unknown to fame ; 
 Whose muse they said would win renown. 
 That author now does glory crown. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Euckhurst and Googe could fairly sing, 
 Yet lacked their verse the genuine ring ; 
 Their finer thoughts were dressed for show, 
 And seemed on gilded stilts to go. 
 For humour, Green, and Lodge, for plays. 
 Deserved at least their present bays ; 
 Wits for the day — their names of note 
 Would last beyond the Avit they wrote. 
 The sonnets, odes, epistles, penned 
 By Tubervile, " our Colin's " friend, 
 Had tenderness, discernment, thought. 
 Yet were with faulty rhythmus fraught. 
 Young Marlowe's drama, just produced. 
 Their willing powers of praise unloosed 
 From themes where casual merit shone. 
 To one of excellence alone. 
 Such passages of beauty rare 
 And pathos exquisite were there, 
 So did its every part reflect 
 A rich and star-briirht intellect, 
 
KILCOLMAN. 61 
 
 That pleasure kindled into flame, 
 
 Till rapture was its fittest name. 
 
 The earliest efforts from the hand 
 
 Of Drayton did their lauds command ; 
 
 They saw, unfearful of mistake, 
 
 The qualities that poets make. 
 
 And held them as the earnest true 
 
 Of better things his muse would do. 
 
 With all his Latin, Hebrew, Greek, 
 
 Harvey's hexameters were weak, — '' 
 
 The friend of genius, he had sighed 
 
 For that which Nature had denied — 
 
 The power of song ; they prized the friend, 
 
 Yet could not much his lines commend : 
 
 But then — the Doctor's noble prose 
 
 Abundantly atoned for those. 
 
 Southwell's effusions were too few, — 
 
 Though brief the praise, 't was ample too. 
 
 But there was one who well had quaffed 
 At Helicon his earliest draught, 
 And, thus inspired, had lately sung 
 The y^ondering play-house wits among ; 
 All others destined to outshine 
 Who worshipped at the muse's shrine. 
 By nature blessed with gifts to look 
 And read in her abounding book, 
 To study man — his every phase 
 Of passion, prejudice, and praise, 
 To fill thereby, as if by stealth. 
 His cofifers vast with wisdom-wealth, 
 3^ 
 
62 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Then to broadspread it bj his pen, 
 Re-shaped and simplified, again — 
 lie well performed his poet-part ; 
 And dwells a joy in every heart. 
 These inborn gifts, to powers np wrought. 
 By active use and earnest thonglit, 
 With others, nameless here, combined 
 To form so radiant a mind, 
 That metaphoric stars look dim 
 In the same galaxy with him. 
 Young Shakspeare's genius eacli foretold 
 Would yet the world in wonder hold : 
 His name's heroic sound, said they. 
 Forebodes his pen's triumphant sway. 
 
 0, not forgotten in those hours 
 Were Sidney and his minstrel powers ; 
 Sidney, who brought his wealth of sense 
 And taste to Poesy's Defence ; 
 Sidney, whose rich poetic prose 
 The reader of ^' Arcadia " knows ; 
 Sidney, the chivalrous and good. 
 Who fell on Zutphen's field' of blood— ^^ 
 A hallowed name to speak, to hear. 
 By Raleigh loved, to Spenser dear : 
 Truth and affection joined to praise 
 Alike his memory and his lays. 
 
 jS. The ball that laid our Sidney low 
 ]N^o fury winged, an angel sped ; 
 A fairer life — he is not dead — 
 It called him none too soon to know. 
 
KILCOLMAN. , 63 
 
 H. It called him none too soon for him ; 
 
 But friends and Queen and country weep 
 That but his soulless dust we keep ; 
 And nature's face itself grew dim. 
 
 S. We miss the smile, the generous hand, 
 The love, the intellect, the lore 
 And song that made him, more and more, 
 The darling of his native land. 
 
 H. If so he blessed the earth he trod 
 By reason of his noble mind. 
 His spirit now sublimed, refined, — 
 How nobly must he worship God ! 
 
 S. And could he leave those courts above, 
 
 l^o charm would lure him back to earth 
 And joys of such inferior worth, — 
 Not Poland"'s crown, nor England's love.*^ 
 O, who — ^his life-long journey done, 
 Done all with him beneath the sun, 
 His cares at rest, his sins forgiven. 
 Himself a habitant of Heaven — 
 O, who would, if he could, return 
 To scenes where evil passions burn. 
 Where he and sin were one from birth. 
 However bright his days on earth. 
 And be for one brief hour abroad 
 From Heaven, the angels, saints, and God ! 
 
64 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 R. Witli deference do I say, Sir Bard, 
 Thou art on this our world full hard ; 
 It is the best we know as yet, 
 The which to leave I should regret : 
 It is a beauteous world to rove, 
 And much contains that wins our love, 
 And there are rare enjoyments here ^ 
 
 Adapted to the hearts we bear. 
 The pleasure of these charming hours 
 Beneath Kilcoman's social bowers — • 
 8. Thanks for the compliment, Sir Knight, 
 And I, as truthful as polite, 
 Would own acknowledgments to thee, 
 For such right noble company. 
 Yet will these same enjoyments pass 
 Too soon, too soon away, alas ! 
 And ills may follow — all we know 
 As through this lower life we go. 
 Is, that all things are changing here 
 Forever as our rolling sphere. 
 Plere are some stanzas that I penned 
 On Mutability, my friend : — 
 They will to Fairy Queen belong ; 
 But in what portion of that song 
 Their place will be, not yet is known — 
 The thoughts came, and I wrote them down : 
 The Titaness her claim preferred 
 (N'ature and all her subjects heard) 
 
KILCOLMAN. 65 
 
 To be the greatest over all, 
 As goddess of the great and small. 
 Hear the conclusion of her claim, 
 Then ^Nature hear — the wiser dame : 
 
 " Then since within this great wide universe 
 J^othing doth firm and permanent appear, 
 But all things tossed and turned bj transverse ; 
 What tlien should let, but I aloft should rear 
 My trophy, and from all the triumph bear ? 
 Now judge thee, O thou greatest goddess true, 
 According as thyself dost see and hear. 
 And unto me adoom that is my due : 
 That is, the rule of all ; all being ruled by you." 
 
 " I well consider all that ye have said ; 
 And find that all things steadfastness do hate 
 And changed be ; yet, being rightly weighed, 
 They are not changed from their first estate ; 
 But by their change their being do dilate ; 
 And turning to themselves at length again, 
 Do work their own perfection so by fate : 
 Then over them Change doth not rule and reign ; 
 But they reign over Change and do their states 
 maintain. 
 
 '* Cease therefore, daughter, further to aspire, 
 And thee content thus to be ruled by me ; 
 For thy decay thou seek'st by thy desire ; 
 But time shall come when all shall changed be, 
 And from thenceforth none no more change shall 
 see ! 
 
GQ KILCOLMAN. 
 
 So was the Titaness put down and whist, 
 And Jove confirmed in his imperial see. 
 Then was that whole assembly quite dismist, 
 And Nature's self did vanish, whither no man 
 wist. 
 
 " When I bethink me of that speech whilere 
 Of Mutability, and will it weigh ; 
 Me seems, that though she all unworthy were 
 Of the heaven's rule ; yet, very sooth to say. 
 In all things else she bears the greatest sway : 
 Which makes me loathe this state of life so tickle. 
 And love of things so vain to cast away ; 
 Whose flow^ering pride, so fading and so fickle. 
 Short Time shall soon cut down with his con- 
 suming sickle ! 
 
 " Then gin I think on that which Nature said, 
 
 Of that same time wlien no more change shall be, 
 
 But steadfast rest of all things, firmly stayed 
 
 Upon the pillars of Eternity, 
 
 That is contrair to Mutability : 
 
 For all that moveth doth in change delight ; 
 
 But thenceforth all shall rest eternally 
 
 With liim that is the God of Sabaoth hight : 
 
 O ! that great Sabaoth God, grant me that Sab- 
 
 bath's sight ! " " 
 
 XIY. 
 
 Great ones who steered the Ship of State, 
 Or trimmed her sails or marked her rate, 
 
KILCOLMAN. 67 
 
 Biirleigli and Hatton, Oxeiiford 
 And many a Commoner and Lord ; 
 Hawkins and Frobisber and Drake 
 (jS'ames that old Ocean's echoes Avake) 
 Were made to pass in brief review, 
 Tbeir measures and their motives too ; 
 While less of blame than praise was cast 
 As each one, in succession passed. 
 There — with no shadow o'er the joy 
 Controlling every hour's employ, 
 Save the withdrawal for a while 
 Of his kind Sovereign's partial smile, 
 Caused by his late unhappy feud 
 With Essex, which he ligbtly viewed, 
 And trusted in his hopeful soul 
 His better star would well control ; 
 There, — unsuspicious of bis fate, 
 The Tower, through crafty Cecil's hate ; '^ 
 The axe, that ended years of pain. 
 Through that of him who cringed to Spain, 
 The King, whose memory is immersed 
 In scorn — the loathed James the First — '" 
 Spoke Raleigh of his country's weal 
 And greatness ; and with patriot zeal. 
 Told how her glory, then so vast, 
 Might soon a wider halo cast. 
 And how her flag might be unfurled 
 In peaceful commerce o'er the world." 
 
 Then would he picture those bright dreams 
 Anent his colonizing schemes, 
 
68 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 "Wherein he saw the wealth and power 
 Of England spread abroad, and tower 
 (As her own brave oak spreads and soars) 
 Along the New World's tempting shores. 
 
 " There is a land I long to tread, 
 And must ; " the brave enthusiast said, 
 '' Beyond our sunset-waves afar 
 It glows beneath the Western star, 
 And waits for some explorer's eje, 
 Its time-long hidden wealth to spy ; 
 Its hills and vales and river shores 
 Teem with unmatched i*esplendent ores ; 
 Nor Spain nor Portugal may boast 
 Such mines on either Indies' coast : 
 And England's flag I must behold 
 Wave freely o'er that land of gold, 
 Wave proudly on each breeze that stirs, 
 For El Dorado must be hers." " 
 
 When evening's breezes fanned the brake, 
 And moonlight kissed Kilcolman Lake, 
 (Now dwindled to a mere morass. 
 For that fair scene is changed, alas !) 
 Then Spenser sung by that loved wave 
 Sweet welcomes to the " Shepherd " brave ; 
 And Raleigh's heart was proud to tell 
 The tales " our Colin " loved so well. 
 
 What happy hours, what blissful fare. 
 For gifted souls like theirs to share ! 
 
KILCOLMAN. 69 
 
 Too blest tlie pastimes tliej pursued, 
 To last for long, or be renewed. 
 Where worth excited envy's ire, 
 And factions left a trail of fire. 
 
 The bliss of those Kilcolman days, 
 
 So blessed with fortune's kindest rays. 
 
 Must long have dwelt within each breast 
 
 The brightest memory, and the best, 
 
 That cheered their sorrows, soothed their fears. 
 
 In many an hour of after years. 
 
 Ye spoilers — Man, Time, winds and rains, 
 Henceforth touch lightly these remains ! 
 These crumbling walls of Spenser tell, 
 And Ealeigh, whom he loved so well : 
 Here Spenser trilled the sweetest song 
 That ever charmed a listening throng ; 
 Here Raleigh joyed his friend to meet — 
 I pray ye, by their friendship sweet, 
 And by that eloquent appeal 
 Which thus far ye have scorned to feel, 
 Ye Spoilers — Man, Time, winds and rains ! 
 Henceforth touch lightly these remains ! 
 If spoil ye must, by Fate's decree, 
 By Nature's law, spoil tenderly. 
 Spoil gently — for Kilcolman sues : 
 ^' spare me, for my Spenser's muse ! '' " 
 
70 THANKS. 
 
 THANKS. 
 
 " Think of this when you 're smoking Tobacco."— Erskine. 
 
 For no afflatus will I stay, 
 To thank you in a pompous lay ; 
 The grateful task I '11 try at once, " 
 Although my rhymes should mark the dunce. 
 Rhymers, you know, 't was ne'er designed 
 Should give, for what they get, in kind 
 Of things substantial ; one would scorn 
 To take from them — the nigli forlorn ! 
 And e'en the longest face would laugh 
 Should they propose to share their chaff: 
 Yet, folly-blinded wights ! they dare 
 To claim the boundless iields of air. 
 
 " You owe me naught," I hear you say — 
 That 's just the generous donor's Avay ; 
 But he who has received the boon 
 Should not dismiss the thought so soon. 
 Shylock contended for his " pound 
 Of flesh," until his match he found ; 
 You gave a j)ound of fragrant " weed," 
 A down- weight pound, to one in need ; 
 " Live on a thousand years, nor lack 
 (A Biscay an wish) the best tabac ! " 
 
 Oft as the odorous herb I burn, 
 And seem the tinted fumes to spurn. 
 Setting the thickening folds astir. 
 Like '' Cloud-compelling Jupiter," — 
 
THANKS. 71 
 
 What castles Fancy rears at will, 
 
 Proving her architectural skill ! 
 
 The gods, we know, had nectar good 
 
 To quaff with their ambrosial food ; 
 
 But never had they an idea 
 
 Of ''golden leaf" or '' Latakia;" 
 
 Else had their raptured laureats sung 
 
 How Hebe, ever blooming young. 
 
 With graceful air and iingers soft 
 
 Served them with well-filled meerschaums oft. 
 
 Poor gods ! without a fragrant pipe 
 
 To soothe them ere their wrath grew ripe, 
 
 Or lure their thoughts from error's trail, 
 
 1^0 wonder they were fierce and frail. 
 
 No marble bust of theirs shall loom, 
 
 Enwreathed, within our smoking room, 
 
 Or yet of ancient chief or sage, 
 
 Whate'er his rank on glory's page : 
 
 Sir Walter Paleigh's bust we 'U raise, 
 
 Crowned with his own tobacco bays. 
 
 At once our patron, guest, and host. 
 
 The smoker's friend and smoker's boast ; 
 
 And, with a hearty ' three times three,' 
 
 We'll hold our smokers' jubilee. 
 
 'T w^as he who taught the British mind 
 
 AVhat potent charm there lay enshrined 
 
 Within Virginia's plant, whose fame 
 
 Now gilds the Old Dominion's name. 
 
 Thus while our thoughts three centuries span, 
 
 In memory of that wondrous man. 
 
72 VENICE. 
 
 Historian, statesman, soldier too, 
 And Spenser's friend and patron true, 
 We '11 puff the weed, and scorn the king 
 Who strove to '^ Counterblast " the thing. 
 
 Again I '11 light my briar-root bowl. 
 And watcli the eddying incense roll ; — 
 But ere I soar my realms to view, 
 I'll w^aft a friendly thought to you : — 
 A thousand thanks suggest these rhymes, 
 A thousand thanks, a thousand times ; 
 Live on a thousand years, nor lack, 
 In all their course, the best tabac ! 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 Written at the close of the late Austro-Prussian War. 
 
 But Fortune frowned 
 On Austria, on each battle-ground, 
 Save on her claimed Lombardian plains, 
 And where her victories brought no gains. 
 Italy, eager to display 
 
 Her chivalry and warlike art, 
 Eager to win the wreath of bay, 
 
 And fold Yenetia to her heart, — 
 Too promptly braved in his stronghold 
 The stubborn foe ; too rashly bold 
 From ground ill-chosen launched her ire ; 
 And reeled beneath his fiercer fire. 
 Though sorely foiled where'er she fought. 
 She grasps the greater prize she sought, 
 
VENICE. Y3 
 
 The jewel to enrich her crown — 
 Yenice of song and old renown : 
 The laurels, craved to wreath her head, 
 The valiant alien wears instead. 
 
 Yenice the Proud, degraded long, 
 
 Grew sadder at each sad defeat 
 
 Of Victor^s armies, and his fleet 
 At Lissa ; but his ally strong, 
 
 The rapid Prussian, caused a ray 
 
 Of hope to cheer her soul the day 
 
 He triumphed in Sadowa's fray. 
 
 Sin bringeth suffering, soon or late, 
 
 To States as surely as to men ; 
 
 Think of the doings of her " Ten " 
 
 Alone, and wonder, who can, then, 
 At her long years of bitter fate. 
 Enough she'd borne the servdle band, 
 
 And drunk the gall in her dismay; 
 So her deliverance was at hand, — 
 
 Peace came, and rent her chains away. 
 
 The Austrian banner flouts no more 
 The Adriatic's western shore ; 
 No more the Kaiser's rule enslaves 
 Its '^ Queen," enthroned amid the waves. 
 With all the powers of freedom blessed. 
 
 She weds her choice — an equal she — 
 With greater pomp than ever graced 
 
 Her Doge's nuptials wnth the Sea. 
 
71 VENICE. 
 
 Now shall those energies revive 
 
 Which made her once a glorious name ; 
 
 Now sliall lier white-vringed commerce thrive, 
 
 And industry be all alive 
 
 As in her palmiest days of fame. 
 
 No incubus shall paralyze 
 
 , Her genius, or delay its bloom ; 
 For, like her, rising from the gloom, 
 Like her it hails a goklen doom — , 
 
 A flowery path and smiling skies. 
 
 Beneath a mild and fostering rule. 
 
 Each art shall now resume its school ; 
 
 Tlie pencil and the chisel rife 
 
 Shall rivals be in noble strife ; 
 
 Music shall breathe emotions high ; 
 Sculpture and Painting shall adorn 
 Their smiling country late forlorn. 
 
 And every Muse shall glorify 
 Venice the happy, the re-born ! 
 
 O for an hour ! the sunset hour, 
 To glide along those smooth canals, 
 (Scene of approaching festivals,) 
 
 With noiseless dip of gleaming oar, 
 As chime St. Mark's sweet vesper beUs, 
 Whose gentle music's hallowing spells, 
 
 Descending softly through the air. 
 
 Bid boisterous mirth one moment rest, 
 And call in love each foithful breast 
 
 From thoughts of earth to grateful prayer ; — • 
 
VENICE. 75 
 
 To pass beneath Kialto then, 
 
 By palace walls of ancient pride, 
 
 "Where gondolas swift cleave the tide, 
 Graced with fair women and brave men ; — 
 To mark the throngs of old and young, 
 
 Restless with joy-abonnding hearts ; 
 
 As each the new-found bliss imparts 
 No less with countenance than tongue. 
 
 That single hour would flit too SQon : — ■ 
 for the next ! when the round moon 
 "With silver paves the broad Lagune ; 
 To hear the tuneful gondolier's 
 
 Spontaneous numbers — not of shame 
 And improvised amid the tears 
 Of bondage, as in vanished years, 
 Dirges, low murmured in their fears — 
 But in exultant voice, that pours 
 Melodious wealth from long-pent stores, 
 And in full freedom spreads and soars, 
 
 Carols, to Liberty and Fame ! 
 Alike rejoicing hearts and ears. 
 
 And kindling sympathetic flame 
 
 In breasts that other countries claim ; 
 At mention of great chiefs of theirs. 
 Diverse in station, yet compeers 
 As patriots, and as glory's heirs ; — 
 
 Names that excite the echoing shores, 
 
 Names that proud Italy adores. 
 And the wide world scarce less reveres, — 
 
 Yictor's and Gakibaldi's name, 
 Recasoli's and dead Cavour's. 
 
76 BEARD. 
 
 BEARD. 
 
 Who has not often read and heard 
 
 Of ancient Aaron's comely beard, 
 
 On which the ointment from his head 
 
 Descended, and rich perfume shed ? 
 
 In almost every asje and clime, 
 
 Such priests as had a taste sublime 
 
 Have cultivated facial locks. 
 
 From Aaron down to fearless Knox. 
 
 Is there a wretch so prone to blame, 
 
 So lost to every sense of shame, 
 
 As with impiety to charge 
 
 These men because their beards were large ? 
 
 Historic pages oft you've turned, 
 
 And with enthusiasm burned, 
 
 As they the glorious deeds revealed 
 
 Of warriors on the tented field : 
 
 Ancient and modern times may boast 
 
 Of heroes — each himself a host, 
 
 A sword and shield, a lightning flash — 
 
 Who gloried in the grand mustache. 
 
 0, what a scene of gore and gloom 
 Was that within heart-stricken Rome, 
 When, her proud hosts o'erthrown, her walls 
 Checked not the fierce exulting Gauls ! 
 Her Senators resolve to die 
 Their people's sins to expiate ; 
 
BEARD. 77 
 
 JSIot to the citadel they %, 
 
 But to the forum ; there to wait, 
 
 Each seated in his ivory chair, 
 
 And habited in robes of state, 
 
 The rude barbarians ; and prepare 
 
 To meet with dignity their fate. 
 
 Like marlle statues sat they all, 
 
 Silent, within that lofty hall : 
 
 Their venerable aspect threw 
 
 An awe upon that savage crew. 
 
 Whose reeking blades and gory rods 
 
 Were lowered : — they thought they gazed on 
 
 gods. — 
 It was their beards, their beards alone, 
 Which overawed those hearts of stone. 
 One luckless Gaul approached, and dared 
 To touch Papyrias' god-like beard ; 
 That action broke the w^ondrous spell — 
 Beneath the Koman's mace he fell. 
 'T is not my purpose to recall 
 The after- scene within that hall. 
 
 Poets, if pictures tell us true, 
 Kejoiced in this appendage too, 
 Mustached and " bearded like the pard," 
 From David down to Avon's bard. 
 
 The King of England, it appears. 
 Once sent Lord Exmouth to Algiers 
 On weighty business ; but the Dey 
 Kefused to treat with him straightway : 
 4 
 
78 BEARD. 
 
 The Dej and mufti at liim sneered 
 Because he did not wear a beard. 
 " A beardless bov " they did not fear — 
 His answer may be read elsewhere. 
 
 Beard dignifies the satrap's phiz ; 
 The Arab chieftain swears by his, 
 And when he speaks of one revered, 
 Says, " Allah save his precious beard I 
 You cannot see the beard he wears, 
 And doubt an honest heart he bears." 
 The sapient Turk sits down and sips 
 Cool sherbet through his whiskered lips, 
 And should he ever deign to kiss 
 A fair Circassian, for the bliss 
 He strokes his beard, in pious mood, 
 And gravely utters, " Allah 's good !" 
 He's fighting now the Russian knave 
 To save his coftee, pipe, and slave. 
 
 Has a grave Chinaman the woe 
 
 To have a smooth and sterile face ; 
 
 The proud Celestial is not slow 
 
 To remedy the dire disgrace : 
 
 He has a way false tutts to fix, 
 
 Which swells his fame for ' Chinese tricks. 
 
 England, supreme in warhke arts. 
 And fair Columbia, each allow'th 
 The grandeur that the beard imparts 
 Above, and just below the mouth. 
 
BEARD. 79 
 
 There is a land, a vine-clad land, 
 Where chivalry is not extinct : — 
 Where love and valour, hand in hand, 
 And heart to heart, are fondly linked. 
 Iberia ! 'neath such glowing skies, 
 Why art thou not a paradise ? 
 Because a race of drivelling things. 
 Creatures half imbecile for kings, 
 Tyrants in will, while dupes and slaves, 
 Bourbons by name, yet trading knaves. 
 Have by their weakness and misrule 
 Debased the fairest realm on earth. 
 Disgraced thy sceptre and thy thi-one, 
 And made thy power a butt for mirth. 
 Thy tarnished diadem, e'en now. 
 Rests on a female wanton's brow. 
 Yet hast thou still thy v ah ant sons. 
 And lovely daughters, (O the nuns !) 
 Worthy alike of minstrels' lays. 
 And worthy of thy palmiest days. 
 In Spain you meet superb mustacheos. 
 And dark eyes, with long silken lashes ; 
 And their proud owners, belle and knight, 
 Exchange encomiums of delight ; 
 He poetizes her dark lash. 
 She worships his superb mnstache : 
 But he whose upper lip is bare 
 Receives no notice from the fair. 
 
 Since poets, princes, patriots, peers. 
 Priests and philosophers and seers, • 
 
80 BEARD. 
 
 In short, the bravest, wisest, best, 
 Of men, now in or out of heaven, 
 Kegardless of the gibe and jest, 
 Have nobly kept their chins unshaven, 
 "Why should I mind the balderdash 
 About my long beard and mustache ? 
 
 The world will soon begin to scoff 
 
 Eather at men who shave them off ; 
 
 For a reaction in this matter 
 
 Is setting in, myself I flatter. 
 
 Is it not part of Nature's plan 
 
 That beard should grow on chin of man, 
 
 On lip and throat and cheeks, that he 
 
 Might have peculiar dignity, 
 
 And lord amongst his species be ? 
 
 'T is disappointing nature so 
 
 To mow it ! it should surely grow 
 
 To a half cubit's length, or so. 
 
 Think you it was with no wise view 
 
 This grace, O man ! was given to you ? 
 
 A physiologist has said 
 
 Shaving brings baldness of the head ; 
 
 Another, that if men would dare 
 
 To cultivate their facial hair, 
 
 'T would strain the air, and save entire 
 
 Their lungs from inflammation dire. 
 
 Men will grow wiser soon, I wis. 
 And barbers' poles provoke a hiss ; 
 In smart saloons will not be seen a 
 
BEARD. 81 
 
 Group of young fools, best oJ3 at home, 
 
 As was when first Ticinias Mena 
 
 Imported barbers into Rome, 
 
 Has been since, and is still, a pity, 
 
 In every village, town, and city. 
 
 Men who have wives may always get 
 
 ' Ta'en by the nose,' and ' combed their hair ; ' 
 
 They need not go from home to let 
 
 Those acts be done by hands less fair : 
 
 They '11 always find ' close shaving ' there. 
 
 While wives want something new to wear. 
 
 So the tonsorial art must cease 
 
 Men's chins and pockets both to fleece, 
 
 And men and boys wiU save the cash 
 
 That goes for razors and such trash. 
 
 My persecutors ask me, how 
 I take my soup and deal in kisses ? — 
 A stale and pointless joke, I vow, — 
 And wonder if I share such blisses : 
 The ninnies ! have they never seen, 
 (Or think they it 's an idle fable,) 
 That there are napkins white and clean. 
 At every well-bred person's table ? 
 And as for kissing — there is still 
 A way, whenever there 's a will. 
 
 'T is well to trace out moral flaws — 
 A want of courage is the cause 
 Why they and others, in most cases, 
 Clothe not their half-effeminate faces : 
 
82 BEARD. 
 
 And chicken-hearted as they are, 
 They 'd rather shorten life's brief lease, 
 By violating nature's law, 
 Than bear the taunts of cackling geese. 
 Two stunted tafts, one on each cheek, 
 The measure of their souls bespeak. 
 Worn just to pacify their conscience; 
 Such half-way things betoken nonsense. 
 
 Be wise, and let your beard descend 
 And sweep an honest breast, my friend ; 
 And when you meet the shallow crew 
 Shake your beard at them, as I do ; 
 It may be black, or grey, or red, — 
 The colour's naught to those who love it — 
 It is the length which makes the beard : 
 Though a ' blue beard ' one scarce could covet. 
 
 Why should our ladies so despise 
 
 What other ladies idolize ? 
 
 O ladies ! I have shown you long 
 
 My heart's devotion in my song ; 
 
 And ever has my best employ 
 
 Been that which gave you greatest joy. 
 
 O, for some labour more severe, 
 
 To show my homage is sincere ! 
 
 ladies ! bid me not, I pray. 
 To take my flowing beard away ; 
 
 For though I 've served you long and well. 
 My bosom would at once rebel. 
 
 1 '11 wear it ! though I lose the while, 
 The heaven of your enchanting smile ! 
 
 1854. 
 
THE MONEY-FEVER. 83 
 
 THE MONEY-FEVER 
 
 Fanny Beele, a maid of fifty, 
 
 Had a score of beaux at once ; 
 One Avas ('ouglitj Captain Beeftee, 
 
 Aged sixty years, some months ; 
 And another. Squire Seecour, 
 
 Aged nearly forty-one ; 
 So 't is plain this belle of fifty 
 
 Must have been a charming nun. 
 She had always bloomed obscurely ; 
 
 Now emerging from the shelf. 
 Like a flower she was purely 
 
 Worshipped for her lovely self : 
 So asserted every lover ; 
 
 But a doubt had gentle Fan, 
 When she thouglit the matter over, 
 
 Though s'e wished to bless a man. 
 When she lived on her own earning, 
 
 Fanny poorly dressed and fed ; 
 J^ow she wore becoming mourning. 
 
 And had butter with her bread. 
 An old nabob at Calcutta, 
 
 Scared at grinning death's alarms, 
 Willed his rupees to none but her, — 
 
 Hence the secret of her charms, — 
 Willed his shining filthy lucre 
 
 To his long-forgotten niece. 
 With his palanquin and hookah, 
 
 Everything, — and died in peace. 
 
84 THE MONEY-FEVER. 
 
 When the ladies joked her, Fanny 
 
 Yowed she never would engage 
 Her sweet self to marry any 
 
 Man but one of her own age : 
 She would have to nurse an older, 
 
 And a younger, for herself, 
 She well knew would ne'er enfold her ; 
 
 He would only wed her pelfi 
 'T is a mystery how it ever 
 
 Reached the other sex's ear, 
 Since the ladies never, never, 
 
 Do repeat a word they hear. 
 Soon her lovers, every fellow. 
 
 Strove with more than wonted zeal 
 To obtain her and the yellow 
 
 Treasure of Miss Frances Beele. 
 Such excitement there was never 
 
 Seen before by young or old ; 
 It was called the "^ money -fever," 
 
 On account of Fanny's gold. 
 Captain Beeftee, he of sixty, 
 
 Paying his devoirs one day. 
 Said that service long, and weighty 
 
 Cares had turned him early grey. 
 He had ploughed the stormy ocean, 
 
 Travelled in all sorts of climes. 
 Fought in battle's fierce commotion. 
 
 And been v/ounded tvrenty times. 
 Once the cannibals had nearly 
 
 Had him for their breakfast warm ; 
 But he beat them off, and fairly, 
 
 With his own unaided arm : 
 
THE MONEY-FEVER. 85 
 
 He was only in the prime of 
 
 Life and health and vigour, too ; 
 Fifty, said he, is the time of 
 
 Life when love is staid and true. 
 Afric's fevers though did harm him 
 
 Most of all, he must allow ; — 
 " Yes," said Fanny, sidling from him, 
 
 " You \e the Gold Coast fever now." 
 Squire Seecour, he of forty, 
 
 Entered next, with guileful tongue ; 
 He had led a life so naughty 
 
 That in truth he looked not young ; 
 Yet did add the half of twenty 
 
 Years, and hinted at his wealth, ^ 
 Feigned to utter grateful senti- 
 
 Ments to Heaven for his health ; 
 Said he had no cause for murmurs. 
 
 He had basked in fortune's smile ; 
 Few had spent their fifty summers 
 
 Smoothly as had he, the while ; 
 Said the silver thinly sprinkled 
 
 On his head was not from fears. 
 And his brow, though somewhat wrinkled, 
 
 Was a wonder for his years. 
 Not till he beheld the glances 
 
 Which her eyes unconscious cast. 
 Did he dream, " divine Miss Frances ! " 
 
 That his heart would ache at last. 
 " You 've the money-fever, Squire, 
 
 And you 're raving a great deal ; 
 You are suftering from that fire 
 
 Like the captain," said Miss Beele. 
 4* 
 
86 THE MONEY-FEVER. 
 
 At that moment, Farmer Hinclman, 
 
 Who had lately lost his wife, 
 And had always been a kind man 
 
 To her in her humble life, 
 Passed the door, With looks of sadness. 
 
 Such as woman's pity win ; 
 And a thought akin to gladness. 
 
 Bade her ask the farmer in. 
 He had given " Bond and Judgment " 
 
 For a debt, he quickly told, — 
 Crops had failed, and Lawyer Dodge meant 
 
 ISow to have his cattle sold. 
 'T was to him a thankful matter 
 
 Th^ his dear Rebecca died ; 
 She was better off, far better, — 
 
 Then he wiped his eyes, and sighed. 
 In a moment, — who could dream it ? 
 
 As if by a magic wand 
 Yellow guineas gleamed. " Redeem it," 
 
 Said Miss Beele, " redeem the Bond. 
 Captain Beeftee, you were forty 
 
 When my thirtieth birthday came — 
 You 're a sinner, hardened, haughty. 
 
 And a gambler, more 's your shame. 
 Squire Seecour, I was thirty 
 
 When your twenty -first began — 
 You 're a sinner, mean and dirty, 
 
 And a spendthrift, you 're no man. 
 Sirs, my house is no hospital " — 
 
 Spake the Lady Croesus fair — 
 " If your fever 's cooled a little, 
 
 You will please to take the air. 
 
THE MONEY FEVER. 87 
 
 Farmer, while I have a guinea 
 
 You and yours shall never lack ; 
 For your kindness to poor Fanny 
 
 She will pay you kindness back.'' 
 Then the Squire, he and Beeftee, 
 
 Bowed " adieu," discomfited : — 
 Hindman was exactly fifty ; 
 
 So 't is clear whom Fan did wed. 
 
88 RAINBOW : A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS. 
 
 RAINBOW: 
 
 A TALE OF THE NARK AG AN SETTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 That region vast, ]^ew England styled, 
 
 Once savage nations trod, 
 Lords of the wildernesses wide 
 
 x\llotted them by God. 
 But when from o'er the Eastern wave 
 
 Came strangers to their land. 
 They saw one common enemy 
 
 In that adventurous band. 
 Like heroes of the ancient days. 
 
 Those archer-warriors strove, 
 But vainly, with a wiser race 
 
 Armed with the bolts of Jove. 
 And, chafed in spirit, deep they mourned 
 
 O'er their declining day, 
 While their vindictive natures spurned 
 
 The white usurper's sway. 
 Yet, instigated oft by arts 
 
 Of their superior foe. 
 Tribe turned on tribe its angry darts. 
 
 Hastening their own o'erthrow. 
 
 Part I. 
 'T was noontide — in the moon of leaves, 
 
 And woods 'and vales and streams 
 Eejoiced, and blithely sang the birds 
 
 Beneath the day-god's beams, — 
 
RAINBOW : A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS. 89 
 
 When a young Narragansett Brave, 
 
 Whose fame had gone afar, 
 For matchless vigour in the chase, 
 
 And bravery in war, 
 Was hunting in the forest shade. 
 
 In sohtary pride, — 
 The native Nimrod of the woods. 
 
 Along Pawtucket's tide. 
 A winged arrow from his bow 
 
 Had pierced a fair young deer : 
 The wounded creature, bleeding, lame. 
 
 Dragged on the rankling spear, 
 And, in its flight, approached the marge 
 
 Of that adjacent flood. 
 Where, in a few brief moments' course. 
 
 Its swift pursuer stood. 
 There, like a naiad of the stream, 
 
 A vision of deliglit, 
 A beauteous maiden form reclined 
 
 Beside those waters bright. 
 To dream of one in secret loved, 
 
 And nurse some floweret sweet. 
 The Indian maiden oft repaired 
 
 To that serene retreat. 
 The harmless animals that grazed 
 
 Along that quiet bank, 
 Accustomed to her gentle mien. 
 
 Scarce from her presence shrank : 
 But one less timid than the rest 
 
 Her favourite soon became ; 
 Oft fed by her and oft caressed. 
 
 It seemed her care to claim. 
 
90 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 The wounded tenant of the phxin, 
 
 Breathless with pain and tear, 
 And dappled with its oozing blood, 
 
 Had sought a covert there — 
 Had sought within the friendly arms 
 
 Of her who there reclined, 
 A refuge, in its dread alarms ; 
 
 And found a refuge kind. 
 A moment — and the dart was drawn, 
 
 A soothing herb applied ; 
 And closer now the conscious fawn 
 
 Prest its preserver's side. 
 He, that no danger could affright, 
 
 With strange emotions gazed 
 On the fair scene that met his sight. 
 
 Like one unmanned, amazed. 
 Not long these influences quell 
 
 His nature's fiercer wave ; 
 Impatient e'en of beauty's spell, 
 
 Outspake the Indian Brave : — 
 '' J^ay, woman ; yield my rightful prize. 
 
 Nor tempt, by vain delay. 
 The Rainbow, certain to chastise 
 
 All those who disobey." 
 His eye revealed the haughty ire 
 
 That heroes had dismayed, 
 While native dignity entire 
 
 His faultless form displayed. 
 An artist might have deemed he saw 
 
 Erect on that wild sod 
 A statue by some Phidian hand 
 
 Of the dread Archer-god. 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 91 
 
 With equal grace uprose the maid ; 
 
 Like Dian, at her side 
 She held her charge, resolved to save 
 
 Its life, and thus replied : 
 " Art thou the Narragausett youth 
 
 Whose fame has gone afar 
 For matchless vigour in the chase, 
 
 And bravery in war ? 
 Art thou the youth whose counsels sage 
 
 The oldest chiefs admire — 
 Honoured to sit with hoary age 
 
 Around the council fire ? 
 Speak, warrior, speak — art thou the brave 
 
 Whom young and old agree. 
 For all his brilliant deeds, to name 
 
 The Rainbow ?— art thou he ?" 
 '^Ha! woman," — asked the warrior then — 
 
 " Where hast thou chanced to dwell ? 
 Hast ne^er before the Rainbow seen ? 
 
 And yet thou hearest well : 
 Haste, yield my prize — e'en now my hand 
 
 Is raised above thee — see ; 
 Or else my tomahawk may end 
 
 The life of it and thee." 
 " Nay, warrior," — thus the dauntless maid — 
 
 " Put by the hatchet, pray ; 
 And keep it for some worthier head, 
 
 In some approaching fray. 
 Start not, young Rainbow, when I add 
 
 I do not fear thy arm ; 
 Thou hast too brave a heart, 't is said, 
 
 To do a woman harm : 
 
92 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 Nor shall this gentle creature die — 
 
 For I will still be true, 
 And I will heal its wound, and try 
 
 To make it love me too." 
 That bosom, late so fierce and stern, 
 
 JSTow soft emotions fill — 
 Thus gentle woman oft may turn 
 
 Man's fiercer purpose still. 
 '^ Where hast thou dwelt,'' the youth replied. 
 
 " That we should never meet 
 Till this strange hour, when first my pride 
 
 Is bent at mortal's feet ? 
 And thou a tender sapling, too, 
 
 With Rainbow darest contend ; 
 . A graceful maple for the bow. 
 
 And yet thou wilt not bend. 
 The stoutest warrior from the foe 
 
 My tomahawk had felt ; 
 His reeking scalp had long ago 
 
 Been dangling from my belt. 
 Who has not of my arrows heard. 
 
 The keenness of my eye ? 
 And when I aim at beast or bird 
 
 The thing lies down to die. 
 I tread the war-path, beauteous maid. 
 
 And danger frights not me : 
 I long to dare the Yengee's blade, 
 
 And yet I yield to thee. 
 Maiden, behold my waving plume. 
 
 My hatchet at my side, 
 My scalping knife, the Pequot's doom. 
 
 And be a warrior's bride." 
 
rainbow: a tale op the narragansetts. 93 
 
 " Ay, we have met," — the maid replied — 
 
 " And it hath cheered my heart 
 To hear the story of thy deeds 
 
 Each warrior's lip impart. 
 Ere thou could 'st bend a strong man's bow, 
 
 Once hunting lone and late, 
 A traitor's arrow laid thee low. 
 
 And no man knew thy fate. 
 But ere the morrow's sun was up, 
 
 To gather flowers I went. 
 And to a bank whereon they grew 
 
 My early footsteps bent. 
 'T was there thy prostrate form I spied 
 
 Upon the blood-stained ground ; 
 I drew the arrow from thy side, 
 
 And bound thy bleeding wound. 
 I blame thee not, and ne'er will chide, 
 
 If thou hast since forgot 
 The humble maid who lent thee aid 
 
 To reach thy father's cot. 
 I need not tell the nights of pain 
 
 That sleepless kept thine eye ; 
 l^or fear to own who nursed thee then — 
 
 We were but girl and boy. 
 Thou had'st not time to think of her 
 
 When with thy scouting band — 
 Scarce could'st thou wait to reckon o'er 
 
 The trophies of thy hand ; 
 For thou hast proved the war-tool's use. 
 
 The hatchet did not cease ; 
 Our aged Sachem did not choose 
 
 To smoke the Pipe of peace. 
 
94 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 When thrice the moon hath Avaned and waxed, 
 
 Then on this spot decide 
 If in thy heart such Avish remained ; 
 
 So will 1 be thy bride.'' 
 " J^icuma ! " — thus the impassioned youth. 
 
 With half offended pride — 
 " Why wilt thou doubt a warrior's truth ? 
 
 The E-ainbow never lied. 
 No lodge shall be so warm as thine, 
 
 No bride so blest as thou ; 
 My spoils upon its walls shall shine, 
 
 And I will deck thy brow. 
 The forest's game and river's fish 
 
 For thee shall fill my snares ; 
 Our village maids shall gaze and wish 
 
 Thy happy lot was theirs.'' 
 While yet the Narragansett spake 
 
 The war-yelp smote his ear, 
 And signs, which neither could mistake. 
 
 Proclaimed the Pequots near. 
 A nearer step, a step away. 
 
 Conflicting passions show ; 
 He has a lover's heart to stay, 
 
 A warrior's to go. 
 " Haste," said the girl, our tribe demands 
 
 Another arm of might ; 
 May the great Spirit aid thy hands. 
 
 And save thee in the fight. 
 Our women now will need my aid 
 
 To tend each wounded brave ; 
 Go, let no Narragansett maid 
 
 Become the Pequot's slave. 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 95 
 
 Haste thee, young Rainbow, to the van, 
 
 To conquer or to fall ; 
 When did a woman love the man 
 
 Who'd shmi the war-whoop's call ?" 
 One glance, one waving of the hand — 
 
 His tomahawk then shone ; 
 He turned and joined his shouting band, 
 
 The loudest whoop his own. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 The moon of leaves and moon of flowers 
 
 Were witli the silent past. 
 And natm-e brought the glowing time 
 
 Of summer fruits at last. 
 'T was evening — at the witching hour 
 
 When day and night contend, 
 And, putting forth their claims for power, 
 
 Awhile their beauties blend. 
 An Indian girl, with lithesome tread, 
 
 Passed down the flowery glade 
 That smiled between her village home 
 
 And where Pawtucket strayed. 
 Just as she reached the verdant bank, 
 
 Hopeful, yet fearing harm, 
 . Came down the stream a light canoe 
 
 Urged by a vigorous arm. 
 It was the appointed hour and place — 
 
 Again the lovers met ; 
 Both had of time's dull steps complained, 
 
 For neither could forget. 
 
96 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 The clouds were gone, the mists at rest, 
 
 All banished doubt, suspense ; 
 And each sufficing bliss expressed 
 
 By silent eloquence. 
 Such gladness swelled each youthful breast, 
 
 As lovers ever feel 
 On meeting, after months unblest. 
 
 Which words cannot reveal. 
 By this the twilight hour had fled ; 
 
 But Luna, calm and bright, 
 A flood of softest radiance shed 
 
 Upon the lap of night. 
 And flower, and field, and forest all 
 
 Were brilliant in her beam. 
 Save where some giant pine-tree cast 
 
 A shadow o'er the streain. 
 But not to view the charming scene 
 
 Had youthful lovers met ; 
 It had before as lovely been ; 
 
 As lovely would be yet. 
 First spake the Brave — '' For all my toils 
 
 These happy moments pay ; 
 And now my lodge is filled with spoils 
 
 From many a Pequot fray. 
 Ay, when the recollection burned 
 
 Of thy last words, withal, 
 Thou could'st not love the brave who shujined 
 
 The war-whoop's thrilling call ; 
 I feared some braver arm might win 
 
 And cage my beauteous bird ; 
 Then all my passion glowed within, 
 
 Like watch-fires newly stirred. 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 97 
 
 But now the Pequots' power is crushed, 
 
 Their fort a smouldering heap ; 
 Forever is their war-whoop hushed, 
 
 Their thousand warriors sleep — 
 Sleep in the dust, without their scalps ; 
 
 Like slaves the rest are bound, 
 And Sassachus, their Sachem, flies 
 
 Far from his hunting-ground. 
 Uncas, the fierce Mohegan chief. 
 
 And those more crafty bands. 
 The Yengees, from the rising sun, 
 
 Lent us their faithless hands. 
 And now we 've smoked the calumet 
 
 With Uncas — hence, awhile, 
 The war-path's dangers I forget. 
 
 And choose the hunter's toil. 
 Young maiden, by thy stubborn will, 
 
 Thou'st bent a stately tree. 
 Ay, and I own canst bend it still ; 
 
 All others yield to me, 
 A hawk was challenged by a dove — 
 
 He might have torn her breast. 
 But paused to view her eyes of love 
 
 And smoothed his wrathful crest. 
 The dove now rules the warrior-bird ; 
 
 What stranger thing may be ? 
 He does the bidding of her word, — 
 
 'T is thus with thee and me. 
 Behold 1 wait, thou beauteous one, 
 
 To hear thy tongue decide 
 If by to-morrow's evening sun 
 
 Thou wilt become my bride." 
 
98 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 " Young Brave," — the damsel then replied- 
 
 *' Brave deeds to tliee belong ; 
 Do we not hear the rushmg tide ? 
 
 So flows thy fame along. 
 Yet naught that ever thou hast done 
 
 Can with one thing compare; 
 'T was the Good Spirit in the sky 
 
 That bade thine arm forbear. 
 The Yengee captive thou didst spare, 
 
 When yonder village blazed, 
 Was but a harmless teacher there. 
 
 His hatchet was not raised. 
 Soon as he came, a prisoner bound, 
 
 We heard his truthful words. 
 And, when no ill was in him found, 
 
 Untied the painful cords. 
 Eainbow, how grateful was his heart ! 
 
 Mcuma's mother lay 
 Almost expiring from the smart 
 
 Of foul disease that day : 
 He raised her arm — 't is like a dream — 
 
 And touched it with his knife ; 
 The pain went with the gushing stream — 
 
 He saved my mother's life. 
 'T is true, his people seize the lands 
 
 Our fathers trod so long ; 
 Our hunting-grounds are in their hands, 
 
 And sore we feel the wrong. 
 But came not he to steal our herds — 
 
 He hath a kinder heart ; 
 He came that he might learn our words, 
 
 And wondrous things impart. 
 
KAINBOW: A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS. 99 
 
 Say, wilt thou shield the medicine-man 
 
 From those that seek his life, 
 And hear about the God he serves ? 
 
 So will I be thy wife." 
 " Maiden, had I such strength of arm 
 
 As thou hast strength of speech, 
 A hundred braves, in wild alarm. 
 
 Would shun my hatchet's reach. 
 The white man's scalp is safe : thy word," 
 
 The youthful chief replied, 
 " Is law awhile — he shall be heard, 
 
 And thou wilt be my bride." 
 
 The morning came — 'neath beechen shade, 
 
 And on the flowery lawn. 
 The marriage-feast was quickly spread, 
 
 And many a sport went on : 
 And every heart was happy there. 
 
 And youths and maidens vied 
 In praises of the youthful pair, 
 
 The bridegroom and the bride. 
 The aged warriors fit no more 
 
 To tread the path of war, 
 Or chase the roebuck as of yore, 
 
 Through field and forest far. 
 Told their exploits of other days, 
 
 "When youth shone in their eyes, 
 Their swiftness, and their wily ways, 
 
 And hard-gained victories. 
 The listening youths that thronged around. 
 
 Seemed fired to deeds of fame, 
 
100 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 And e'en the aged too have found 
 
 Once more their youthful flame. 
 At length a hoary chief appeared, 
 
 More honoured than the rest ; 
 His wampum belt command declared ; 
 
 And thus the throng addressed, — 
 " Brothers and children, lo, I stand 
 
 'E'eath weight of fourscore snows ; 
 Feeble is this once mighty hand, 
 
 The terror of all foes. 
 "When was I ever known to flinch 
 
 From any pale man's face ? 
 When did I not dispute each inch 
 
 Gained by the hated race ? 
 ISTo fox was half so sly as I, 
 
 No Pequot chief so brave. 
 Yet 1 must soon lie down and die, 
 
 To feed the hungry grave. 
 Then hear an old man's parting word — • 
 
 It suits the time and place 
 To draw the captive white man's blood. 
 
 And mock his milky face. 
 Then let the young men bend their bows. 
 
 And exercise their aim ; 
 His scalp, a matchless troph}^, goes 
 
 To raise the Rainbow's fame.'' 
 Shouts of applause then told the joy 
 
 Which each grim warrior felt. 
 And forthwith turned was every eye 
 
 To where the white man knelt. 
 Then drew our youthful hero near, 
 
 And thus the sage addressed : — 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 101 
 
 " Father, though wise thy counsels are, 
 
 Unsay thy last behest. 
 Have I not said to one, my sire, 
 
 The pale man shall not die ? 
 Deserves he not the Indians' ire — 
 
 And when did Rainbow lie ? 
 Bid the young warriors cast aside. 
 
 E'en now, their half-bent bows ; 
 Yonder behold, my beauteous bride 
 
 Weeps for the stranger's woes." 
 " Then shall he live," repKed the chief, 
 
 " My son, thy words prevail ; 
 Go, speak the words that give relief, 
 
 And raise the Yengee pale." 
 * * * « ^ -jf 
 
 How brightly did the summer smile 
 
 Upon the grateful earth. 
 Alike inviting sturdy toil 
 
 And intervals of mirth. 
 The hunter to the forest went. 
 
 The fisher to the waves, 
 For not in war the bow was bent 
 
 By J^arragansett braves. 
 At peace with each surrounding tribe, 
 
 They longed but for the hour 
 When all should join in vast array, 
 
 To crush the Yengee power. 
 Full oft the Eainbow and his wife 
 
 And missionary friend. 
 To scenes remote from village life 
 
 Their noontide steps would bend ; 
 5 
 
102 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 Xor seldom to tliat flowery mound, 
 
 Where once in sad alarm, 
 She spied, upon the blood-stained ground, 
 
 Her husband's prostrate form. 
 And oft they urged their bark canoe 
 
 Along the liquid way 
 To those delightful isles that gem 
 
 The Narragansett-bay. 
 'T was in those solitudes profound, 
 
 By natm-e's hand attired. 
 Where every glorious scene around 
 
 A tranquil joy inspired — 
 'T was there the gentle teacher sought 
 
 To win, with language kind. 
 To Him, whose holy truths he taught, 
 
 Each simple heathen mind. 
 Nor doubted he that those who strive 
 
 Shall aid divine receive ; 
 Soon Heaven inclined the gentler mind 
 
 Those teachings to believe. 
 And w^hen the Tale of Love was told, 
 
 Beyond all love beside. 
 E'en he, by nature stern and cold, 
 
 Could scarce emotion hide. 
 The autumn came ; and youths and maids 
 
 The corn and fruits secured. 
 While matrons fish and venison dried, 
 
 To be for winter stored. 
 How beauteous w^as the forest scene ! 
 
 What varied tints were there ! 
 The deepest brown, the lingering green. 
 
 The yellow leaves and sere, 
 
RAINBOW : A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS. 103 
 
 The ash-hued trunks of giant trees, 
 
 Which winter's earliest storms 
 Would strip of their most gorgeous robes, 
 
 And leave but naked forms. 
 Yet would another spring-time send 
 
 The life-blood through each vein, 
 And bid those trees in foliage stand 
 
 All glorious again. 
 The village camps were now repaired 
 
 With sheets of bark, and skins ; 
 And stronger made, with thoughtful care, 
 
 To brave the stormy winds. 
 Nor w^ere the Kainbow and his wife 
 
 Less careful than the rest ; 
 None more prepared for winter life, 
 
 As they were none so blest. 
 
 Part III. 
 Old Time could boast another snow 
 
 Upon his hoary head ; 
 And winter, dreary, long, and slow. 
 
 At length reluctant fled. 
 Within the Rainbow's cot was heard 
 
 An infant's earliest voice ; 
 Thus spring another bliss conferred 
 
 To make two hearts rejoice. 
 Each village dame and village maid 
 
 Repaired the babe to greet. 
 And many a stalworth warrior paid 
 
 His gratulations meet. 
 'T was when the simple words they spake 
 
 At length had found an end, 
 
104 RAJNBOW: A TALE OF THE NARRAGANSETTS. 
 
 The hero rose, and thus addressed 
 
 Their missionary friend, — 
 " Man of the Yengees ! thou art nmte ; 
 
 Thy lips forget their speech — 
 Hast thou no words the time to suit ? 
 
 Or dost thou cease to teach ? 
 Why hide thy thoughts ? hast thou no cheer ? 
 
 Whence have thy wise words fled? 
 Speak ! for no prisoner art thou here — 
 
 Thou eatest freedom's bread." 
 '' Brave leader, of a race of chiefs," 
 
 The zealous teacher plead — 
 " True, when thou gather'dst in thy sheaves, 
 
 Thou bad'st me eat thy bread. 
 And thou didst raise thy valiant arm, 
 
 In pity, not to kill ; 
 And thou hast hid me from all harm, 
 
 And bid me speak my will. 
 Hear what a Yengee teacher says. 
 
 Nor deem his counsels ill ; 
 E'en now his grateful bosom prays 
 
 For blessings on thee still. 
 A slender vine which clasped a tree 
 
 For succour from the storm, 
 Hath borne a flower, and it shall be 
 
 To grace its stately form. 
 See, the sun shines, and all is gay ; 
 
 No clouds foreboding lower ; 
 The tree looks down with joy to-day 
 
 To greet the vine and flower. 
 Should not the tree and slender vine 
 
 Alike look up to Heaven, 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. IOd 
 
 With praises for the beams that shine, ' 
 
 And for the dew that 's given ? 
 For verily by Heaven's behest 
 
 The beauteous flower does shine 
 "Which brings such greetings from the breast 
 
 Of every forest pine. 
 Have I not told thee oft, my son, 
 
 (And wonder held thee then) 
 Of that All-Great and glorious One 
 
 Who made the world and men ? 
 And that 't was disobedience brought 
 
 On all mankind a curse ? 
 And that through love a Grod-man died 
 
 To bear it off from us ? 
 Then rend the last remaining tie, 
 
 O warrior, of the spell 
 That binds thee to a foolish lie, 
 
 And with the true God dwell. 
 The red man and the white alike 
 
 May share His light and love ; 
 For all who honour here His name 
 
 Shall rest with Him above." 
 " JNTay," boldly spake a warrior grim, 
 
 " The Indians all must go 
 Far to the South-west, good and bad ; 
 
 Our fathers told us so." 
 " But, brother," — thus the hero said — 
 
 " The white man books hath got. 
 And one which God himself hath made. 
 
 Such had our fathers not. 
 Therefore he well may wiser be 
 
 Than all our fathers were : 
 
106 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 And henceforth shall his teachings be 
 As music to mj ear." 
 
 In climes where winter's reign is long, 
 
 The bright return of spring 
 Inspires a rapture all unknown 
 
 Where birds miceasing sitig. 
 To savage breasts and minds refined 
 
 Alike the spring is sw«et : 
 All things in nature seem combined 
 
 In hymns her smile to greet. 
 There 's rapture in the' bounding stream, 
 
 When winter's reign is done. 
 And the freed w^avelets brightly gleam 
 
 Beneath the genial sun. 
 There's gladness on the upland lawn, 
 
 And on the dewy glades, 
 When the white flocks burst forth at morn. 
 
 Led on by youths and maids. 
 Tliere 's incense on the soft-breathed gales. 
 
 With song the welkin rings. 
 There 's pleasure in the woods and vales ; 
 
 The very toiler sings. 
 Though these in brighter climes may last 
 
 The whole unchanging year, 
 Thou vainest less the joys thou hast, 
 
 O man ! who dwellest there. 
 For man enjoys of life the sweets 
 
 Least as his cup o 'erflows ; 
 Lie drinks, but not appreciates 
 
 The blessings Heaven bestows. 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. lot 
 
 He owns them sweet, but seems to say 
 
 " These are my natural right, — 
 Flowers to imparadise the day, 
 
 Soft airs to fan the night." 
 Whatever good kind Heaven bestows 
 
 On man, to cheer his lot, 
 Is ever valued most by those 
 
 Who once possessed it not. 
 TJie spring had now with quickening beams 
 
 Awoke the welcome flowers ; 
 And woodland choirs and glancing streams 
 
 Sano' to the smilino^ bowers. 
 The sky was blue and brio-ht again. 
 
 Soft odours filled the air, 
 And every charm that swells the train 
 
 Of spring unfolded fair. 
 Upon a neighbom-ing lawn had met 
 
 The villagers so gay. 
 Their hearts on many a pastime set ; 
 
 It was a gala-day. 
 The sturdy braves their strength employ 
 
 In bold and wondrous feats. 
 Which, emulous, each warrior-boy 
 
 In mimic style repeats. 
 The valiant youths and smiling maids, 
 
 Decked in their bright array, 
 Of painted feathers, flowers and beads. 
 
 Dance the gay hours away. 
 Their fragrant pijDes the aged smoke, 
 
 And, as they watch the games, 
 Perhaps embarrass by some joke 
 
 A bevy of young dames. 
 
108 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 While tlms eacli heart within that throng 
 
 Essayed its part to bring 
 To welcome in with dance and song 
 
 The bright return of spring — 
 The Eainbow with JSTicnma strayed 
 
 Far from the festive sc'&ne, 
 And sought the woodland's fragrant shade 
 
 Where natnre smiled serene. 
 There rested they and their white guest, 
 
 !Near to a rivers marge ; 
 While on the youthful mother's breast 
 
 Reposed her infant charge. 
 Awhile from neither tongue was heard 
 
 The utterance of a sound ; 
 And, save the lay of many a bird, 
 
 'T was silence all around. 
 Yet thought was busy in that hour 
 
 With each on different themes, — 
 The babe its mother's breast inspired 
 
 With bright and happy dreams ; 
 The warrior, of his nation thought. 
 
 Its prowess and its foes ; 
 The teacher heavenly guidance sought. 
 
 While his mute praise arose. 
 The hero spake — " Metliinks 'twere well 
 
 If we could yield belief 
 To promise of that sachem fell. 
 
 The fierce Mohegan chief. 
 For, though we smoked the pipe of peace. 
 
 Of him we must bcAvare ; 
 The warlike hatchet would not cease 
 
 If he had strength to dare. 
 
rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 109 
 
 For TJncas helps the Yengee power 
 
 And us the Yengees hate, 
 And both would seal in death, this hour. 
 
 The l^arragansetts' fate. 
 We triumphed in the Pequots' fall, 
 
 And valiant foes were they ; 
 Uncas, the Yengees, we and all, 
 
 Exulted much that day. 
 Strange visions float before my sight, 
 
 As if some dread alarms 
 Would burst upon us ere the night 
 
 Reveals its starry charms. 
 I 'd rather face an open foe 
 
 Than fear a faithless friend, 
 I 'd rather fight with Uncas now. 
 
 Than doubt him to the end. 
 O, had the Indian nations joined 
 
 In one tremendous force, 
 Nor let the pale-faced strangers find 
 
 A home upon our shores ! 
 Or, had we cordial welcome given 
 
 To that superior race. 
 They would have taught us truths of heaven 
 
 And war had known no place — 
 For had the Yengees come not here, 
 
 My father, thou hadst not j 
 And 1 had missed thy words of cheer. 
 
 Nor Christian teachings got. 
 Strange visions now before me float ; 
 
 They say the day will come 
 When not a wigwam will denote 
 
 A Narragansett's home." 
 5* 
 
110 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 " Mj son," the missionary said — 
 
 " Tlie wisdom of this earth 
 Is foohshness with Him who called 
 
 The universe to birth. 
 Tlie best and wisest man indeed 
 
 Can really nothing know 
 Of what the Maker has decreed 
 
 A future age shall show. 
 Would that my people, and the tribes 
 
 That long these wilds have trod, 
 Would cease from wars and angry gibes, 
 
 And love and serve their God." 
 Then sang they in that forest shade, 
 
 And praises swelled their voice. 
 The solitary place was glad, 
 
 The desert did rejoice. 
 Alas ! alas ! while thus employed 
 
 Amidst that leafy wild, 
 An arrow grazed the warrior's side, 
 
 And glanced into his child. 
 And ere another breath had sped. 
 
 And as they wondering sat. 
 Their fierce Mohegan foes appeared, 
 
 False to the calumet. 
 And fiercely raged the unequal fight. 
 
 And few remained unharmed ; 
 Three warriors sank beneath his might, 
 
 Ere Rainbow w^as disarmed. 
 Then were the captive trio bound, 
 
 And led, with gibes and jeers ; 
 Yet no unmanly sign was found 
 
 That showed the Eainbow's fears. 
 
RAINBOW : A TALE OF THE XARRAGANSETTS. Ill 
 
 Soon Uncas met tliem in the wood — 
 
 The fciithless chief expressed 
 His thirst for Karragansett blood, 
 
 And Rainbow thus addressed : 
 " Thou of the IS'arragansett men ! 
 
 The wolf is caught at last 
 That prowled about Mohegan camps, 
 
 His hunting days are past. 
 Perhaps he fain would be unbound, 
 
 He may not like the grave, 
 And may prefer his hunting-ground 
 
 To that where hunt the brave. 
 (Man of the Yengees ! tliou art free ; 
 
 Fear not Mohegan bands ; 
 Thy people are at peace with me, 
 
 No weapons fill their hands.) 
 But Narragansett, what say'st thou ? 
 
 Suppose I bid thee live. 
 As surety for thy fealty now, 
 
 Wilt thou thy woman give ? " 
 The indignant youth on Uncas turned 
 
 A look of proud disdain, 
 "Which showed the insulting offer scorned. 
 
 And that his taunts were vain ; 
 Then turned towards his hapless mate 
 
 To seek the last caress ; 
 Lo ! like a statue there she sat, 
 
 Secure in death's embrace. 
 The grief, the anguish of that hour. 
 
 Had wrought the bane and cure ; 
 So does the tempest crush the flower 
 
 That bloomed a breath before. 
 
112 rainbow: a tale of the narragansetts. 
 
 Still to her silent heart was prest 
 
 Her babe, her youth's first joy : 
 The hero stooped, and once caressed 
 
 His lifeless wife and boy. 
 The teacher was not silent. there ; 
 
 He, pointing to the sky. 
 Spake words that did not fail to cheer 
 
 The victim doomed to die. 
 " Uncas," — the E'arragansett said, 
 
 " Why should I wish to live ? 
 Behold, my wife and child are dead ! 
 
 What now would comfort give ? 
 Uncas, I wait — thy mutes command 
 
 To strike the deadly blow ; 
 Behold in readiness I stand : 
 
 The Eainbow longs to go." 
 A bow^-string twanged — a winged dart 
 
 Like lightning hurried then, 
 And clove its passage to a heart 
 
 That never beat again. 
 
 1842. 
 
ALMA. 113 
 
 ALMA. 
 
 A SHOUT of victory rent tlie air, ♦ 
 And swift across the ocean came ; 
 Proud breezes bore the tidings here, — 
 We heard, and swelled the loud acclaim. 
 We heard, and praised the valiant sons 
 Of France and Britain, meet allies, 
 Who braved tiie wrath of Russia's guns 
 Till Alicia fell, a glorious prize. 
 
 That test of arms and victory-cry 
 Have taught his Czarian Majesty 
 That the fierce Cossack from the Don 
 Is not a match for Britain's son ; 
 That the rude Muscovite must fly 
 Before a Briton's steel, or die, 
 And e'en his vaunted chieftain yield, 
 Whert British leaders take the field. 
 
 Lo, Russia's batteries scowl around. 
 Her legions swarm the vantage-ground ; 
 Yet other feet must tread thereon. 
 Before the hurrying sun is gone. 
 
 Brave Gallia's sons commence the work 
 With hearts enthusiastic, gay ; 
 And the battalions of the Turk 
 Are there, as vehement as they. 
 
114 ALMA. 
 
 ]^ow Britain's phalanxes advance, 
 Less briskly than the sons of France, 
 But with a bold, determined front, 
 Like men prepared to stand the brunt, 
 Defiance in each waving crest, 
 The lion pent iii every breast ; — 
 There's something terrible to view 
 When lion-hearts have anght to do. — 
 Thus firmly Britain's columns came 
 To brave a hurricane of flame. 
 
 See, lightnings leap from every height, 
 And clouds of smoke take Sihj flight ; 
 And o'er the field the glittering arms. 
 The serried lines and martial forms. 
 The varied colors, bright and gay, 
 Of every regiment's array ; 
 While gorgeous banners proudly wave 
 To lead the onset of the brave. 
 
 Hear the loud battle-tempest's roar 
 Along the affrighted Alma's shore ; 
 The clash of arms, the cannon's noise. 
 The winged bullet's piping voice. 
 The rumbling of the iron sphere 
 Cleaving its passage through the air, 
 The high command, the gallant word. 
 The murmers at a charge deferred. 
 The neigh of steeds, the ceaseless hum. 
 The call of trump, and roll of drum. 
 
ALMA. 115 
 
 Amidst the din, which rends the skies, 
 
 Behold the British Hon rise ! 
 
 He shalves his mane, and stares about, 
 
 His eye sm-veys the bold redoubt ; 
 
 He covets with an iron will 
 
 A lair on everj^ towering hill. 
 
 What though each height 's a lightning-pyre, 
 
 Each steep an avalanche of fire, • 
 
 And every glacis hurls its storms 
 
 Of vengeance on advancing forms? 
 
 He must dislodge the growling bear, 
 
 The lion must be rampant there. 
 
 Those thundering batteries must be hushed ! 
 " Up ! up ! " — and British valour rushed — 
 "Up ! up ! your trusty bayonets wield, 
 And a just quarrel be your shield ; 
 Yault o'er your comrades' prostrate forms, 
 Think of the prize, your fame, your arms ; 
 Up ! up ! though fury gores yonr path, 
 Like a volcano's fiery wrath. 
 Or falls, where'er your footsteps tread, 
 A whole Niagara of lead ! 
 Those demon-forges must be quenched, 
 Tho' they in British blood be drenched 1" 
 The word was said, the deed was done ; 
 And thus w^as Alma's victory won. 
 
116 INKERMAN 
 
 I N K E R MA N . 
 
 At the dead of the night, when the darkness was deep, 
 
 And quiet had hilled Britain's soldiers to sleep, 
 
 Crept the hosts of the Foe, as a smooth river runs, 
 
 With their sabres all whetted and loaded their guns, 
 
 Like a torrent to fall, ere the light of the sun, 
 
 On the heroes they feared when their armour was on ; 
 
 And hotly they longed for the onset of blood 
 
 To slaughter or force them down deep in the flood. 
 
 There was wrath in their bosoms, and steel in their fists, 
 
 They were cheered by their chieftain, and blest by their 
 
 priests, 
 And urged by the heir of the tyrant who swayed 
 The sceptre they all in their serfdom obeyed ; 
 But the promise of plunder made valiant each slave, 
 As they climbed the dark heights for the camp of the 
 
 brave. 
 
 Ye chiefs of that camp, at whose door lies the fault 
 That a pass was unguarded, exposed to assault ; 
 And ye others who, toil-worn, unwary, slept on 
 While the Moscovite prowled with his scimitar drawn. 
 Let the prosemen exculpate, or blame if they choose, — 
 Be your lion-like valour the theme of the muse. 
 
 Saw ye not in your dreams as ye slumbered, ye bold, 
 'Neath your canvas-formed canopies, comfortless, cold. 
 How your foemen pressed forward from yonder fierce 
 
 town. 
 Like a flood o'er a field when the barrier is down, 
 
INKERMAN. 117 
 
 And silently crost the Tchernaya's dark bed, 
 Whose waves ni the sunlight were soon to run red ? 
 
 Came the morn, — yet a dense mist, as dark as the night, 
 Hid each valley and hill from the picket-man's sight, 
 As benumbed with the cold, wet and weary, he trod 
 With his sentinel -step on the rain-beaten sod — 
 When the yell of the foe and a volley's loud noise 
 Broke the silence, and told of the wily '' surprise." 
 
 Then bugle and drum sounded forth the alarm — 
 " Arouse ye, arouse ye, up sleepers, and arm ! " 
 " Quick as lightning be out, in your harness all dressed, 
 Or the Moscovite's steel will be sheathed in your breast ; 
 Come with vengeance all nerved, and a shout on your 
 
 breath, 
 And let your loud war-cry be " Glory or death." 
 Through the mist that enshrouds, where the sheen of 
 
 his flash 
 Is but dimly discerned, like a hurricane dash — 
 Give him volley for volley, and hurl back the car 
 Of the fight, till its wheels crush the ranks of the Czar. 
 Though but few, ye are men, and though vast be his 
 
 host. 
 If ye stand they must fly ; if ye flinch ye are lost. 
 
 JS^ow on hillside and vale meet the Briton and Euss, 
 And, with bosoms unflinching, their quarrel discuss : 
 But the spot where raged fiercest the mortal afli*ay 
 Was a pass where a modern Thermopylae lay. 
 There the legions of Russia pressed madly to pass, 
 While the steel of Britannia resisted the mass. 
 
118 INKERMAN. 
 
 For her sons, each another Leonidas, stood 
 
 With their face to their foes, and their feet in their 
 
 blood. 
 *T was a conflict unmatched in tlie annals of strife ; 
 There was death in each blow — it was '' war to the 
 
 knife." 
 Loud ro£.red the fierce cannon ; the mountains afar 
 Sent back on their echoes the thundei's of war, 
 A.nd the solid ground shook, as if in nature, in arms, 
 Lent her earthquakes to add to the battle's alarms ; 
 While the mists of the morn in affright fled awaj, 
 And left to the smoke of the conflict the day. 
 
 " On, veterans of Alma ! and conquer as then," 
 Were the words of each leader, himself in the van — 
 '' On, soldiers of Britain ! whose fame has been bought 
 By your fathers in battles long, long ago fought ; 
 Preserve it undimmed — 't is your heritage bright. 
 And the ' charge ' is your trust when ye rush to the fight. 
 Lo ! a sight to bid welcome---see swiftly advance 
 Your warlike companions of chivalrous France ; 
 With a ray on each face, and a glance in each eye. 
 Which show that their hearts after glory beat high : 
 The foe may yet strive, but his destiny's sealed 
 When Britain and Grallia are friends in the field." 
 
 Thus aided, the battle spread widely around, 
 
 All sulphury the air, and all gory the ground ; 
 
 'T was a hand-to-hand fight ; 't was a fight with 
 
 grimace. 
 For defiance stood plain on each combatant's face : 
 
INKERMAN. 119 
 
 While the freeman's brave shout, and the serfs yelling 
 
 breath, 
 Seemed to vie with the din of the engines of death. 
 But the battle was won ! Then ye valiant allies. 
 Your shouts of proud victory rent the dun skies. 
 As the vanquished retired from the field of their shame, 
 And left with you glory and honour and fame, — 
 The foes who had vowed you should die by the glaive, 
 Or lie fathoms deep 'neath the Euxine's dark wave. 
 
 On thy field, Inkerman ! lie the gallant and good, 
 Who to freedom gave freely their swords and their 
 
 blood ; 
 And mingled in death, side by side, they repose 
 With the thousands on thousands who died of their foes. 
 And sorely will Britain and Gallia complain 
 In their tears, for tlie flower of their chivalry slain ; 
 And long shall thy name prompt the tear and the sigh 
 Of the soldier's lone wddow, and poor orphan boy : 
 While history shall glow with the record for aye 
 Of the valour and victory of Inkerman's Day. 
 
120 BALACLAVA. 
 
 BALACLAVA. 
 
 ^' Balaclava ! " sound tlie word — 
 " Balaclava " shall be heard, 
 Coupled with the " Light Dragoon," 
 "While continue sun and moon. 
 There the British Horsemen bold, 
 Just Six Hundred, and all told. 
 Charged an Army, right or wrong. 
 Thirty Thousand — Eussians — strong. 
 
 "On, Dragoons ! " — the order came ; 
 " Charge, and win a deathless name, — 
 At the foe, and seize his guns : " 
 All along the line it runs. 
 " Charge on Army? " asked their head,- 
 " Take their guns too ; " Nolan said ; 
 "Charge on Army?" Lucan cried; 
 " You 've your Order," he replied. 
 
 On the gallant Lancers go. 
 As a tempest's billows flow ; 
 Full a mile they rush to death, 
 Horses foaming, out of breath — 
 Li2rhtnino;-like the doomed braves 
 Hasten to their waiting graves. 
 Search the rolls of AVar at large. 
 Was there ever such a Charge ! 
 
 Cannon on their left and right. 
 Cannon fronting, vent their spite, — 
 
BALACLAVA. 121 
 
 Bursting shell and solid ball — 
 JSTolan is the first to fall. 
 To destruction still they run, 
 Sabres flashing in the sun, 
 How they fall beneath the ire 
 Of the Eussian's triple fire ! 
 
 Isow they rush with flaming swords 
 Headlong on the JSTorthern hordes ; 
 Cut and thrust they fiercely deal, 
 Death is in each horseman's steel : 
 Men and angels ! wonder, stare — 
 What a blunder bade them dare ! 
 One to fifty ! fearful odds, 
 Though the few were de mi-gods. 
 
 O the human havoc then ! 
 Few returned to serve again ; 
 How they ever carved their way 
 Is the marvel of the day. 
 Honour to the fallen give ! 
 Honour to the few that live ! 
 'T was an order they obeyed — 
 Honour to the Light Brigade ! 
 
122 PEACE. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 The Demon of War from his revel is driven 
 Away on his car, as offensive to Heaven, 
 To his gloomy dominions, dark caverns afar, 
 There to struggle in pinions, the Demon of War. 
 
 The Angel of Peace, with a countenance scowling 
 On him, bade him cease from his slaughter and prowling: 
 So he gave up his toiling, and yielded his lease. 
 With a grudge, to the smiling sweet Angel of Peace. 
 
 The Angel's glad word to the combatants given, 
 Through Europe was heard as the music of heaven : 
 '' Peace ! Peace to each Nation 1 Be sheathed every 
 
 sword !" 
 Was the blest proclamation, the Angel's glad word. 
 
 The welkin then rang with prolonged acclamations, 
 And gentle hearts sang Faith's and Hope's sweet ovations; 
 For, the warfare now over, had ceased every pang 
 For each warrior-lover, — the welkin still rang. 
 
 Now — Joy to the Brave, who have laurels been reaping ! 
 A sigh for each grave, wliere the Yaliaut lie sleeping ! 
 " Peace ! Peace to the Nations ! Be sheathed every 
 
 glaive ! " 
 Be each heart's gratulations, and " Joy to the Brave ! " 
 
 To Him be the praise, who the blessing presented. 
 When War's bloody frays were by millions lamented — 
 Who, when every evangelist prayed for His grace. 
 Sent His peace-bearing Angel — to Him be the Praise ! 
 
RHINE RHYMES. 123 
 
 RHINE RHYMES. 
 Thou garlanded and glorious Eliine ! 
 
 « -K- -Jf w * 'X- 
 
 "Whether the eao-er wanderer o^lide 
 
 Along thy summer sun-bright tide, 
 
 Or climb thy bold romantic shore, 
 
 Thy beauty charms him inore and more. 
 
 Each prospect tempts a long delay, — 
 
 Yet ever as he bends his way, 
 
 And greets unfolding landscapes, new 
 
 In form and character and hue. 
 
 He o^Yns their power to quicken still 
 
 The raptures that his bosom fill ; 
 
 And whereso'er his eye be cast 
 
 The present scene excels the past. 
 
 The wanderer views with wondering eyes 
 
 Bold mountains pierce the smihng skies. 
 
 Some in their aspect wild and rude. 
 
 And still incorrigibly nude, 
 
 As when they rose from Nature's shock. 
 
 Her landmark-piles of stubborn rock ; 
 
 While others, in their form as grand, 
 
 Yield to the tiller's careful hand, 
 
 And bear the fair and fruitful vine. 
 
 The garland of the glorious Rhine. 
 
 How fair, grand, varied, are the fonns 
 
 In which are moulded Nature's charms ! 
 
 On either hand, rich vales appear. 
 
 Bright with the promised wealth they bear ; 
 
124 RHINE RHYMES. 
 
 Or blooming hills compose the scene 
 
 On either side — ^the wave between — 
 
 With terraced slopes, from base to crest, 
 
 All in the vinej^ard's drapery dressed ; 
 
 While, glowing in the smnmer shine, 
 
 The pendent bunches of the vine, 
 
 Fast hastening to their purple prime. 
 
 Suggest a merry vintage-time. 
 
 No river's shore for beauty ranks, 
 
 O Rhine ! with thy romantic banks ; 
 
 So varied are the scenes that gleam 
 
 On either side thy winding stream, 
 
 "N^ow strangely wild, now fairy bright, 
 
 Inspiring wonder or delight. 
 
 The fair Mozelle, the bride of Ehine, 
 
 ISTor loath her lot with his to twine, 
 
 Comes forth in all her virgin grace 
 
 To bear his name and his embrace. 
 
 Here loom, the savage strand their throne, 
 
 Huge masses of basaltic stone ; 
 
 The fastnesses of warrior-fowl. 
 
 There naked precipices scowl. 
 
 The crumbling structures, bold and lone. 
 
 To medieval ages known, 
 
 The fortress and the feudal tower 
 
 Frown amid rocks that like them lower ; 
 
 And modern villas smile serene 
 
 On gentle slopes and lawns of green. 
 
 Thus art and nature harmonize. 
 
 As if to charm the wanderer's eyes ; 
 
 As if of old some master-mind 
 
 The picturesque effect designed. 
 
RHINE RHYMES. 125 
 
 And said, denoting every spot, 
 
 " Here build tlie castle, there the cot ; 
 
 Here, there, around, the vine must grow. 
 
 That so abundant wealth may flow : 
 
 Taste Avith utility combine, 
 
 Thus saith the genius of the Khine." 
 
 The eye, untired, views around 
 
 The harvest-field, the pasture-ground, 
 
 The cottage homes, the grand chateaux, 
 
 The scattered trees, the trees in rows, 
 
 The bulky tower, the slender spire. 
 
 The ruins of an ancient choir 
 
 Which seems to mourn the voice of song 
 
 That echoed once its aisles along. 
 
 But for the sounds that strike the ear 
 
 From ardent toil, and travel near. 
 
 And the brave notes, the martial strains, 
 
 That stir the heart and thrill the veins, 
 
 Well may the wanderer's fears arise 
 
 Lest all be visionary guise. 
 
 The baseless evanescent gleam 
 
 Of some enchanting fairy dream. 
 
 What noble cities meet the sight. 
 And thriving towns, on left and right. 
 Whose swelling domes and tapering spires, 
 Bright with the sun's reflected fires. 
 Seem viewing, as with sense endued. 
 And proudly from their altitude, 
 The many-featured scene below — 
 The gliding barks, the river's flow, 
 6 
 
126 RHINE RHYMES. 
 
 The palaces, the mart of trade, 
 The streets, the park, the promenade. 
 The human throngs that to and fro 
 With active step, or loitering, go ; 
 The citadel, the rampart-wall, 
 The martial pageant ; best of all. 
 The crowded piers that speak of health 
 In commerce, and the flow of wealth. 
 A hundred villages are viewed. 
 Like clustered jewels many-hned ; 
 And as in all their tints they shine 
 Along the sunny marge of Rhine, 
 Again their smiles and blushes glow, 
 Reflected in the wave below. 
 
 If from the landscape blooming bright, 
 The wanderer turn his eager sight 
 To view in some cathedral pile 
 Fair Architecture's ancient style. 
 Its vast design and chaste details 
 His eye with admiration hails. 
 And when within his footsteps fall. 
 The pillared nave, the pictured wall 
 Replete wdth many a high-born thought 
 In marble or on canvas wrought ; 
 The sumptuous choir, the vaulted roof 
 That seems the sky so far aloof, 
 The sculptured groups — memorial stone, 
 Of life that was, now ages flown — 
 Exhibiting in every trace 
 The air of haughtiness or grace ; 
 
RHINE RHYMES. 127 
 
 The rich adornments wealth and art 
 Have lavished on its every part ; — 
 These, and the shrines of jewelled gold, 
 The reKcs of the saints of old, 
 The crowns and swords of ancient kings, 
 Form a museum of rare things ; 
 And will inspire, amuse, delight, 
 As taste and judgment guide aright. 
 
 While mountains fill the soul with awe, 
 And valleys admiration draw, 
 Fair islands gem the classic stream, 
 Rich towns and cities brightly gleam, 
 Like lightning on the '' iron road " 
 Darts the long train with human load, 
 Ancient and modern buildings claim 
 Due tribute to their beauty's fame, 
 Bright palaces and blooming bowers 
 Smile back the frowns of feudal towers. 
 And many a roqk's steep terraced side 
 Upholds the vine's luxuriant pride ; 
 While steamers gay and sailing craft 
 Dash by the huge and peopled raft ; 
 With flashing arms a warlike corps 
 Yon bridge of boats goes gaily o'er, 
 Led on, but not to scenes of strife, 
 By martial sounds of drum and fife ; 
 Fair rivers as they sing and shine. 
 Pay their full tribute to the Rhine, 
 And the bright heaven of summer blue 
 Smiles down on every glorious view ; 
 
12S EHTNE RHYMES. 
 
 While art and nature thus combine 
 To charm the wanderer of the Rhine, 
 Associations high abound, 
 Enhancing every charm around : — 
 Here Csesar's conquering legions crossed ; 
 There Gallia won and Austria lost ; 
 Creseutius preached on yonder bank ; 
 Here Roman fled before the Frank ; 
 This town was troubadours' resort ; 
 Here Druses built his fiftieth fort, 
 And here held Charlemagne his court. 
 Skirts yonder hill a Roman road ; 
 Banditti in those cliffs abode ; 
 And where these Prussian banners wave 
 Once soared Napoleon's eagles brave. 
 
 And there are other themes for him 
 Who looks into the distance dim, 
 And ponders on the stirring days 
 When minstrels sang their roundelays 
 In praise of beauty, valour, wine. 
 Along the glorious banks of Rhine ; 
 When royal chieftains raised on high 
 Their banners to the smiling sky. 
 And nobles, knights, and freemen bold. 
 Beneath the sacred sign enrolled, 
 A gallant host, a vast array. 
 Equipped for war, and marched away, 
 Reckless of worldly gain or loss. 
 To fight for glory and the Cross : 
 When stout Crusaders from the wars 
 Returned with laureled brows, and sears. 
 
EHINE RHYMES. 129 
 
 The tlieme of many a well-sung line, 
 
 To lay their wreaths on beauty's shrine. 
 
 Where'er he roved, the troubadour 
 
 Was welcome in those days of yore ; 
 
 And if his hand had poised a lance 
 
 More gracious still was beauty's glance. 
 
 What high emprises were conceived, 
 
 What feats of loyalty achieved, 
 
 What deeds for love and duty done 
 
 By Chivalry's romantic son ! 
 
 'T was on the glorious banks of Ehine 
 
 Arose an art most like divine, 
 
 The intellectual lamp to trim. 
 
 When few the minds that were not dim, 
 
 And bid the feeble flame expand, 
 
 And dart its rays from land to land : 
 
 Then Truth, long struggling through the gloom, 
 
 Came forth in its celestial bloom, 
 
 To give to each succeeding age 
 
 Its reflex on the printed page : 
 
 The world the banks of Ehine must bless 
 
 For that great boon to man — the Press. 
 
 Such hold has every scene around, 
 
 Where myths and legends wild abound, 
 
 And where traditionary lore 
 
 Lights to the palmy days of yore, 
 
 The wanderer scarce can break the ties 
 
 That bind him to his paradise. 
 
 On every mountain, every hill, 
 Some ancient fortress scowleth still, 
 
130 EHINE RHYMES. 
 
 Or ruined castle, ivy-bound, 
 That in the middle ages frowned ; 
 And each one hath its thrilling tale 
 Of love sublime, or sorrow pale. 
 "Within those fabrics, ruined long, 
 Were sorrow's sigli and siren's song, 
 The clieerful heart, the cheerless hearth. 
 The mirth of vice, the voice of mirth, 
 The tones of love, the angry breath, 
 The bridal revel, birth, and death ; 
 Higli aspirations, sensual tires. 
 And temperaments with few desires. 
 And there lived gallant lovers too ; 
 And some were faithless, some were true ; 
 And there were beauteous maidens then, 
 As ever charmed the hearts of men ; 
 Some gentle were and some were proud. 
 And some were belles above the crowd, 
 And some were false of heart and breath. 
 And some were faithful unto death. 
 Those castles, ruined now so long. 
 Were once the holds of barons strong. 
 Who ruled with all a despot's sway 
 O'er vassaled thousands in their day ; 
 Oft warred at will to humble down 
 Some liigh-born neighbor's haughty frown, 
 Or, marshalling retainer-bands. 
 Marched to the wars in distant lands. 
 And there dwelt pirate-chiefs of old, 
 As merciless as they were bold. 
 Who robbed each passing ship, and slew. 
 Not seldom, its defenceless crew. 
 
RHINE RHYMES. 131 
 
 Where'er the wanderer's eye be cast 
 Appears some fragment of the past ; 
 Some stone or tumulus conveys 
 His fancy back to Pagan days : 
 And wild and wondrous is the myth 
 That superstition links therewith. 
 Yet oft the meaning is most clear 
 Of myth you read or myth you hear — 
 The triumph of the Christian Light, 
 In those dark times, o'er Pagan night. 
 In every vale, a convent grey, 
 Slow mouldering into dust away, 
 Or roofless abbey's moss-clad wall 
 And tottering porch, the past recall. 
 Within those walls, in olden time. 
 Were holy deeds and deeds of crime, 
 And honest vows and vows of course, 
 And willing nuns and nuns by force. 
 And hearts at ease, and hearts that pined 
 For joys for which were hearts designed. 
 What verdant shores these waters lave ! 
 What lovely islands gem the wave ; — 
 This in its flowery -bright array ; 
 That with its gilded cupola ; 
 A third, a fourth, with castles bold 
 Built in the stormy days of old, 
 When might was right, the robber said, 
 Who pillaged every bark of trade ; 
 Yon, in its robe of softest green, 
 With trees that sentinel the scene. 
 Sweet haunts the fairies well may love 
 When shines the silvery lamp above : 
 
132 EHINE RHYMES. 
 
 And one tliere is wliose convent holds 
 Sweet love-lorn maidens in its folds : 
 But fairest, loveliest, I assert. 
 Of all the isles, is Nonnenwerth, 
 Where Hildegart, poor child of woe. 
 Slept well a thousand years ago : 
 Thus oft is cherished, ages through, 
 The memory of the tried and true. 
 What beauteous trees are those that grace 
 This jewel in the Rhine's embrace ! 
 Methinks the loveliest of them must 
 Have root in her sublimer dust. 
 
 O, on a moonlight night to land. 
 And draw one's light skiff on the strand, 
 And roam in loneliness aw^hile 
 The flowery labyrinths of the isle, — 
 Then 'neath that tree to choose one's seat, 
 ' And dream, with open eyes — ^how sweet ! 
 When fancy's highest point was won, 
 I 'd deem I saw the sainted nun, 
 In the chaste drapery that fell 
 Around her beauty in the cell. 
 Glide softly, gently, through the trees 
 That glimmered in the moon and breeze ; 
 'Nov tremble at the approaching shade 
 Of that once melancholy maid. 
 And then methinks her eye would beam 
 Off to the hill beyond the stream, 
 Up to the ivied arch where he, 
 Her faithful Eoland, wont to be 
 
EHINE RHYMES. 
 
 rd'6 
 
 Day after day, till envious night 
 Curtained the island from his sight, 
 Till her fond spirit, first set free, 
 Wooed his into eternity. 
 And if she drew near and more near, 
 I 'd weave a song for spirit-ear, 
 As if I really saw, nor dreamed, 
 The vision that before me gleamed. 
 And while I pHed the shuttle, thought. 
 Along the weft on which I wrought, 
 The working of my mental loom 
 Should be as voiceless as the tomb ; 
 Since if one accent left my tongue. 
 Farewell the spell and song I sung : 
 Nor should one earthly thought entwine 
 . To make my numbers not divine. 
 
 O, spirit bright ! 
 How couldst thou leave yon realm of light. 
 To visit e'en for space most brief 
 This scene of unforgotten grief? 
 What charm has e'en a spot like this 
 To woo Celestial back from bliss ? ^ 
 Care for the dust that once was thine— 
 Thine only fragment not divine ? 
 . No vigil needs it here, for see, 
 'T is cherished in this lovely tree ; 
 And when it dies, as die it must. 
 Sweet flowers will next enshrine thy dust : 
 Transmuted oft, 't will yet be fomid 
 To clothe thee at the Trumpet's sound. 
 6* 
 
134 RHINE RHYMES. 
 
 No fond remembrance can remain 
 To lure thee to this earth again, 
 Since pain and discontent and woe 
 Exceeded all thy joys below, 
 And all foretasted peace and love 
 Thou hast in endless bloom above. 
 Thou canst not one new truth impart 
 To warn or guide the worldling's heart, 
 Since all we know not is, unknown 
 Alike to thee, — known but to One ! — 
 For all thou knowest of Heaven is this — 
 And men may read it — Heaven is Bliss. 
 Away, fair fugitive ! away. 
 To tliose who chide thy longer stay ; 
 And reimite with that blest Choir 
 That anthem Praise on golden wire 
 To Him who is their King and Sire ! 
 Forgive a rapt enthusiast's flame. 
 Who dared to call, and dares to blame, 
 Spirit of her ! 
 
 Thus would I sit, or, musing, stray 
 And dream the silvery hours away ; 
 Till, the last granted moment done, 
 The moonlight fading in the sun, 
 'T was time I broke my thoughtful strain, 
 And launched my little bark again : 
 But ere I 'd leave my isle of bliss. 
 That tree should bear a parting kiss. 
 1858. 
 
 \ 
 
THE CHRISTIAN MAID. 135 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN MAID. 
 
 XoT sweeter are the flowers of Spring, 
 
 Nor fairer those that brightest shine, 
 Than was the Christian maid I sing, 
 
 Who dwelt beside the lovely Rhine. 
 While yet the Christian creed, was new 
 
 Upon the then barbarian shore, 
 Her sire had heard its doctrines tiiie 
 
 Fresh from the lips of good St. Goar. 
 But soon a Pagan army spoiled 
 
 Their pleasant vale, their paradise, 
 And slew the father, but his child : 
 
 They spared to be the chieftain's prize. 
 On Drachenfels a dragon fierce 
 
 His terrible abode had made, 
 And, proof against the keenest spears, 
 
 He still on human victims preyed. 
 The nei2:hboiinno' countrv round was awed, 
 
 And filled with terror at his name ; 
 By day and night he prowled abroad 
 
 With breath of smoke and eyes of flame. 
 To Drachenfels' tremendous rocks 
 
 The weeping Christian maid was led. 
 Because she would not bow to stocks, 
 
 Nor yet the pagan chieftain wed. 
 The dragon made his evening meal 
 
 On those who dared his den invade ; 
 But not with claw or tooth of steel 
 
 He once could tou(jli the Christian maid. 
 
136 THE CHRISTIAN MAID. 
 
 Some charm the damsel did possess, 
 
 That naught against her e'er prevailed, 
 A shield unseer. — yet not the less 
 
 The drascon rag-ed hecanse he failed. 
 And there she sat with shivering frame, 
 
 And wept and wailed the livelong night 
 But ever as the monster came. 
 
 He backward drew in strange affright. 
 The morning dawned, and nature smiled, 
 
 As if to cheer the heart that prayed ; 
 'T was then the dragon, raging wild, 
 
 A doubly fearful onset made. 
 Then from her bosom's snowy cell 
 
 She drew a cross, and it did kiss ; 
 The dragon knew that emblem well, 
 
 And rushed into his dark abyss. 
 The pagan king the cross embraced, 
 
 And she became his royal queen ; 
 And long it was before the beast 
 
 Again on Drachenfels was seen. 
 
THE PRINCESS. 137 
 
 THE PRINCESS. 
 Klntg Gilibaldus well may say, 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, I Ve lost mj child ; 
 
 To some dark cave or mountain wild 
 The beast has borne my child away. 
 Her brothers lack the hearts of men, 
 
 The craven dolts, or they would haste 
 
 With vengeance armed, nor food would taste, 
 Till they had slain him in his den. 
 O, liad I but the strength of yore, 
 
 And had these Ihnbs their vigour yet, 
 
 I 'd rest not till my sword was wet, 
 Thi-ice 07er, with his hated gore. 
 My jealous sons no sorrow show, 
 
 No pity for their aged sire ; 
 
 But only follow wild desire, 
 Down-hastenino; to their overthrow. 
 0, shall I see my child again. 
 
 The darling daughter of my age. 
 
 Who so could every grief assuage. 
 And charm me with her music-strain ? 
 Is there around a knight so bold, 
 
 So loyal, valourous and true. 
 
 Would search all deep recesses thi'ough, 
 All mountain-tops and find his hold ? 
 To threefold glory he 'd aspire — 
 
 To conquest in a dragon's lair, 
 
 The rescuing of a princess fair. 
 The homao'e of the kins:, her sire. 
 
13b> THE PRINCESS. 
 
 Out spake Sir Siegfried, brave and good, 
 Whose heart was never known to quail, 
 Whose sword was never known to fail, 
 
 This blade shall taste the dragon's blood. 
 
 Sir Siegfried travelled night and day, 
 For iron wills need little rest. 
 Where'er lie wandered making quest. 
 
 And searching each suspected wav. 
 
 At Drachenfels arrived at last, 
 
 He quickly scaled the rocky steep ; 
 And high with joy his heart did leap 
 
 When on the beast his eye, he cast. 
 
 And long and stubborn was the tight ; 
 But what avail were iron teeth. 
 And claws protruding from their sheath. 
 
 Against the sword of such a knight ! 
 
 The beast was slain ; the lady freed, 
 A7id borne rejoicing to her home ; 
 King Gilibaldus, joy-o'ercorae, 
 
 Paid homage for the valiant deed. 
 
 Then spake the king, with outstretched hand. 
 Since tlireefold glory you 've acquired, 
 Is there aught else to be desired. 
 
 Which such a knight may not demand ? 
 
 The knight replied : All else were naught 
 Without this charming princess fair : 
 Tlie lady's blush, the lady's tear. 
 
 Assured him of the prize he sought. 
 
ROLAND AND HILDEGART. 139 
 
 ROLAND AND HILDEGART. 
 
 Than Ehiue no fairer river runs : 
 
 Fair are the isles that do it grace ; 
 
 Bat fairest, in its bright embrace, 
 Is xs'onnenAverth — the Isle of Nuns. 
 And on a neighboring mountain bold, 
 
 A ruined castle still is seen 
 
 Down looking on that isle of green. 
 As looked its lord in days of old. 
 O, sad and mournful is the tale 
 
 That hnks the wave-divided twain — 
 
 The ivied arch and island fane — 
 When told beneath the moonlight pale. 
 Among the famous knights of yore 
 
 Was none with Roland could compare ; 
 
 As Hildegart w^as none so fair, 
 Of all the maids the Rhineland bore. 
 The rose may blush, but does not shun 
 
 The sunbeam, when he seeks her bower : 
 
 So Hildegart, a bashful flower, 
 Was sought by Roland, wooed and won. 
 But soon the call of honour came 
 
 To couch the lance in lands aftir ; 
 
 And Roland left his idol-star. 
 Reluctant, though athirst tor fame. 
 The love of parent, sister, friend, 
 
 The maiden blessed, and it was sweet ; 
 
 But was not of the nature meet 
 To make her drooping spirits mend. 
 A year had past, when Hildegart 
 
140 ROLAND AND HILDEGART. 
 
 One morn sat pensive in lier bower ; 
 
 For since the sad, the parting hour, 
 ISTo tidings came to cheer her heart. 
 The flowers were bright, the birds were gay, 
 
 The mountain to2)S were all unveiled ; 
 
 The tender vines rejoicing hailed 
 The smi on that young summer day : 
 Expanding fruits enriched the trees ; 
 
 The Hhine reflected nature glad — 
 
 But only hearts that are not sad 
 Have sympathy for things like these. 
 Not long she sat till one drew near ; 
 
 She turned to hear what word he brought- 
 
 The hateful wretch a lie had wrought, 
 And came to breathe it in her ear. 
 Brave Eoland dead ! — the woe-begirt, 
 
 Heart-broken mourner, weak and pale, 
 
 In her first anguish took the veil. 
 And chose a cell in i^onnenwerth. 
 But scarce was o'er the solemn rite 
 
 That placed her in a living tomb. 
 
 In her first prime of maiden bloom, 
 When, safe, returned the gallant Knight. 
 Proud of the laurels he had won, 
 
 In haste he sought his love to meet, 
 
 To lay his honours at her feet. 
 And clasp and claim her all his own. 
 And that delight would fill his bowl, 
 
 That joy his other joys would crown ; 
 
 Ah ! the tremendous blow came down, 
 A thunder-stroke uj^on his soul. 
 
ROLAND AND HILDEGART. 141 
 
 Awhile be sat, with cheek turned wan, 
 Scarce breathing ; moving, heeding not ; 
 More like a statue on the spot 
 
 Than like a mighty living man. 
 
 Far better had he died in fight 
 
 Than lived to hear the tidings broke ; 
 The young grew old beneath the stroke, 
 
 His raven hair turned silver white. 
 
 No more with lance he sought the tilt. 
 The tonrney had no charm for him. 
 With seeming age his eye grew dim, 
 
 His sword grew rusty, blade and hilt. 
 
 One only melancholy joy 
 
 Soothed the bleak surface of his heart, — 
 To watch the walls where Hildegart 
 
 Was hid forever from his eye. 
 
 And that his soul may drink its fiU 
 Of that one joy, and never lack. 
 He built the towers of Kolandseck, 
 
 Above the island, on the hill. 
 
 And there he sat, day after day, 
 In silence, but to w^atch and pine. 
 As if his eye might pierce the slirine, 
 
 And charm the Heaven-vowed gem away. 
 
 'Nor gallant bark that skimmed the tide, 
 Nor minstrel's song of feats of arms. 
 Nor cheerful word nor scenery's charms, 
 
 Could draw his steadfast gaze aside. 
 
 Two years had wasted nigh to death 
 That once erect, Herculean form. 
 That never bowed to other storm. 
 
 However terrible its breath. 
 
142 ROLAND AND HILDEGART. 
 
 But mortal grief rings its own knell, 
 Its ravages itself destroy — 
 The morn was bright, the sun not high, 
 
 When Koland heard a passing-bell ; 
 
 A voice within declared for whom ; 
 And he was right, for she was dead, — 
 Poor Hildegart ! the sweetest maid 
 
 That ever pined in convent gloom. 
 
 lie watched, and saw, with busy spade. 
 The silent workman dig for her 
 A grave, and from that sepulchre 
 
 His mortal vision never strayed. 
 
 And Roland saw at close of day 
 The slow procession wind along, — 
 Saw her entombed, and heard the song. 
 
 The requiem o'er his loved one's clay. 
 
 Attendants stood in .waiting plight 
 To lead him to his bed's unrest ; 
 In vain awaited his behest, 
 
 Till twilight darkened into night. 
 
 And when the moon shone on his head, 
 Still there he sat, though moving not. 
 His face directed to that spot. 
 
 With open eyes, but he was — dead ! 
 
THE BROTHERS. 143 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 A WEALTHY Baron, great withal, 
 Two castles had, two sons had he. 
 Besides a lovely ward, and she 
 
 Sat danghter-hke within his hall. 
 
 On yonder mount the castles were, 
 And still their ruins may be seen 
 Confronting, with a chasm between, 
 
 And each became a brother's share. 
 
 Both brothers loved the gentle maid, 
 For she was high-born, rich and young. 
 And good, acknowledged every tongue. 
 
 From lofty tower to cottage shade. 
 
 She chose the younger for her lord ; 
 But he would battle for the Gross — 
 So donned the plume, and mounted horse, 
 
 And left the fair, his father's ward. 
 
 The maiden tears of sorrow shed ; 
 But all unmoved by prayer or sigh. 
 He marched with banners waving high. 
 
 To win renown ere he should wed. 
 
 The elder fled his father's hall. 
 For he was worthier of the twain. 
 And dared not by the maid remain. 
 
 Lest he in love should deeper fall. 
 
 But soon the aged Baron died ; 
 
 Then homeward came the elder son 
 To take possession of his owm. 
 
 And guard the rover's share beside. 
 
 And closely did he shield his heart 
 
144: THE BROTHERS. 
 
 Against the warrior's promised bride ; 
 
 And acted only by her side, 
 With generous soul, a brother's part. 
 Two years had passed when, from the strife, 
 
 The gay crusader came again, 
 
 But sad to tell, a married man, 
 And with him brought his eastern wife. 
 The injured lady mourned her plight. 
 
 As maidens mourn whose hopes are crushed ; 
 
 And swift her brave avenger rushed 
 To dare the false to deadly fight. 
 And mortal had the combat been. 
 
 For both were bold, and men of might. 
 
 But for the fair, who claimed the right 
 With prayers and tears, to stand between. 
 Within a convent's sacred door, 
 
 She sought the peace the world denied, 
 
 And never, to the day she died, 
 Saw either of the brothers more. 
 Their swords were sheathed, but still their wrath 
 
 Baged ever in their coursing blood; 
 
 And, though their castles neighbouring stood. 
 Each shunned through life the other's path. 
 Full deeply did the one deplore 
 
 The maiden's fate amid the strife ; 
 
 The other soon beheld his wife 
 Another's flaunting paramour. 
 High on the Rhine's romantic shore 
 
 Are Sternberg's towers and Liebenstien, 
 
 Divided by a deep ravine. 
 Deep as the hate the Brothers bore. 
 
THE SISTERS. 145 
 
 THE SISTERS. 
 
 On Stroml)erg is a chapel, old 
 
 And ruined, wliicli Sir Dietrich built — 
 
 Sir Dietrich the crusader bold 
 
 And good, and famous at the tilt — 
 
 And near it is a lowlj grave, 
 
 Where the tall grass and wild flowers wave. 
 
 At Argenfels the Knight had claimed 
 His bed and board, one stormy night ; 
 
 Two lovely daughters, — Bertha named 
 Was one, and one Angelia hight — 
 
 The Burggraf had, the legend tells, 
 
 Who owned the towers of Argenfels. 
 
 How unsuspectedly the dart 
 
 Of C lipid oft a wound has made ! 
 Thus Bertha's beauty charmed a heart 
 
 That never from its magnet strayed : 
 In hght, and in the captive's cell, 
 He loved her still, and loved her w^ell. 
 
 But after years of toil and pain. 
 
 The knight to Argenfels returned, 
 To find the Burggraf had been slain 
 
 By foes who had his castle burned : 
 The lovely sisters, homeless made. 
 Had sheltered in some mountain shade. 
 
 But love and valour soon wall find 
 The object of a pious quest : 
 
146 THE SISTERS. 
 
 Tlieir only friend, a faithful hind, 
 
 Led Dietrich to their place ol rest, 
 Their refuge, on the lofty brow 
 Of Stromherg, where that grave is now. 
 
 If years of grief had made less fair 
 
 Sweet Bertha's face than erst it seemed, 
 
 His heart held her young image dear. 
 And there as radiantly it beamed ; 
 
 And there her blush and smile and eye 
 
 Were lovely as in years gone by. 
 
 Thus e'en in age the charms of youth 
 Sliine in the aspect of the wife, ^ 
 
 For him on whose fond heart of truth 
 Her beauty fell in early life ; 
 
 And naught can from the heart remove 
 
 The smile daguerreotyped by love. 
 
 The s:entle Bertha soon became 
 Of Schwarzenech the Lady grand. 
 
 Nor feared to own the mutual flame 
 
 That cheered her 'neatli misfortune's hand 
 
 And but one cloud was in their shy. 
 
 One only sorrow marred their joy. 
 
 Still on that bleak and lonely spot, 
 "Where, long unknown, the sisters dwelt 
 
 In poverty's unfriended lot, 
 
 And daily keenest sufferings felt. 
 
 The fair Angelia chose to stay. 
 
 And naught could lure her steps away. 
 
TUE SISTERS. 147 
 
 Not all the most endearing arts, 
 
 The kindest words, the fondest prayers 
 
 That ever flowed from lips and hearts, 
 Urged with the eloquence of tears, 
 
 Conld move a mind as firm in tone 
 
 As Stromberg on its base of stone. 
 
 Must the reluctant muse reveal 
 The mystery of her purpose bold ? 
 
 Before a heart can pity feel 
 
 For suffering must the cause be told ? 
 
 Then hear, — but never breathe the word — 
 
 Angelia loved her sister's lord. 
 
 Hence for his own, and Bertha's peace, 
 
 She chose that desolate domain, 
 Before a home of wealth and ease 
 
 Where she must love, but love in vain ; 
 And trembling virtue bade her dread 
 The snare that worth unconscious spread. 
 
 Sir Dietrich built on Stromberg's height. 
 
 That chapel, now a ruined fane, 
 At once to mark the dreary site 
 
 Of Bertha's cot through years of pain, 
 And that her sister, mournful maid, 
 May nestle in its sacred shade. 
 
 There dimly burned her lamp of life 
 
 Year after year, her only joy 
 The contrite prayer ; and naught of strife 
 
 Intruded on her lone employ, 
 
148 
 
 Naught save her heart's rebellious pain, 
 That told her slie had loved in vain. 
 
 There is a grave that meets the eye 
 
 On Stromberg's brow, that chapel near ; 
 
 And there Angelia's ashes lie, 
 And claim the tribute of a tear. 
 
 O, pass not heedlessly that grave, 
 
 Where the tall <rrass and wild flowers wave ! 
 
 THE DEVIL'S LADDER. 
 
 The ancient town of Lorch beside, 
 
 The mountain Kedrich scowling stands : — 
 The Prince of all the evil bands 
 
 Up to its summit once did ride. 
 
 Arid near behind is Whisperthal, 
 A dark and cavernous ravine, 
 Where gnomes, ol evil form and mien, 
 
 Dwelt in the ages darksome all. 
 
 A noble, of that ancient town, 
 For daughter had the fairest maid 
 That by the Rhine's bright waters strayed. 
 
 In summer, as the sun went down. 
 
 By Libo, in a thoughtless hour, 
 
 By chance aggrieved a wrathful gnome ; 
 And forthwith, from his arms and home, 
 
 The demons stole his lovely flower. 
 
149 
 
 They bore her to tlie rugged crest 
 
 Of lofty Kedrich, there to wait 
 
 In anguish and bemoan her fate, 
 The mountain's solitary guest. 
 E'aught e'er the father's grief beguiled, 
 
 Bereft of all he loved on earth ; — 
 
 His lands, his treasure, all he's worth, 
 Are his who shall restore his child. 
 Kone but the Knightly Kuthlem bold 
 
 Adventured for the captive maid ; 
 
 His heart had secret homage paid, 
 He sought the damsel, not the gold. 
 But he must ride, or not at all 
 
 Attempt to scale the rugged steep, 
 
 And while the gnomes are wrapped in sleep, 
 Ere breaks the day on Whisperthal. 
 But how shall one unaided man 
 
 Do what immortals deemed a feat ? 
 
 Yet Buthlem vowed the task to meet. 
 Soon as the shades of night began. 
 And well he urged his steed, and strove 
 
 Up minor steeps, till midway high ; 
 
 Then friendly elves drew timely nigh 
 And cleared the rougher way above. 
 And still the elves assistance gave, 
 
 O'er chasms held a rocky roof 
 
 On which may rest his horse's hoof, 
 Now built a stair, now cheered the brave. 
 Thus aided, after many a leap, 
 
 Before the morning's rosy light 
 
 Had tipped the mountain's rugged height, 
 The knight had cleared the topmost steep. 
 7 
 
150 HIGH CROHS. 
 
 The bird let loose, the dew-blest flower, 
 Are eniblema of Garliuda's joy ; — 
 And, though her cheek had paled in dye, 
 
 Serener beanty was its dower. 
 
 Ask not the pen, that loves too well 
 On such a pleasing theme to write 
 As cavalier and lady bright, 
 
 Ask not the pen the rest to tell ; 
 
 But think, — and from thy judgment gain 
 The sequel natural and right : 
 Then say if such a daring knight, 
 
 With such a claim, could woo in vain. 
 
 HIGH CROSS. 
 
 Count Thebold left his castle-hold 
 On yonder mountain, bleak and bold, 
 Attended by a chosen band, 
 And hastened to the Holy Land. 
 The stout crusader battled well. 
 As ghosts of Saracens could tell ; 
 Than his there was no braver blade 
 Amongst the Christian cavalcade. 
 Count Thebold seeks his castle-hold 
 On yonder mountain, bleak and bold : 
 His herald has proclaimed him near, 
 Which two alone are isad to hear. 
 The Count is at his castle-gate, 
 Nor long the warder lets him w^ait ; 
 The tidings all within have heard, 
 And vassals welcome back their lord. 
 
HIGH CROSS. 151 
 
 But where is she, the wife he kissed 
 At parting, when he sought the East ? 
 She 's not in chamber, hall or tower; 
 In vain he seeks her in her bower — 
 '' Speak, caitiffs, is your mistress dead ? 
 If so, where lowly lies her head ? 
 Or what has happened since I left 
 To make me of my wife bereft ?" 
 Alas ! the lady, fair, but frail, 
 Had listened to a lover's tale ; 
 To secret care, but yesterraorn, 
 The offspring of her guilt was borne ; 
 A neighbouring convent screens the fair, 
 Where she hath vowed a life of prayer ; 
 Her gay betrayer, too, hath fled, 
 And for the Holy War hath sped. 
 The Count has left his castle-hold 
 On 3'onder mountain, bleak and bold ; 
 Stung to the quick, and filled with wrath, 
 He owns no barrier in the path. 
 Rests not by day, scare sleeps at night, 
 Until the battle looms in sight : 
 But only one in all the fray, 
 He seeks to meet and longs to slay : 
 Nor seeks he long, with breast of storm, 
 Before he spies the Burggraf's form, 
 Nor long they light before his steel 
 Has made the vile betrayer reel ; 
 And soon the spoiler's pulses cease — 
 The spoiler of Count Thebold's peace. 
 The Count has gained his castle-hold 
 On yonder mountain, bleak and bold ; 
 
152 HIGH CROSS. 
 
 But while witliiii the convent grey 
 His lady ])rays both night and day, 
 His bosom's wrath has not been stayed, . 
 His vengeance is not yet allayed ; 
 For twenty years his thonghts are bent 
 To find and slay the innocent. 
 At length he meets his lady's son 
 Passing from Godesberg to Bonn, 
 And in the hapless youth can trace 
 The beauty of the mother's face. 
 In vain the pleadings of the laid. 
 Count Thebold's ire has made him mad, 
 And with a demon's strength and wrath 
 He slays the youth upon the path. 
 For full five hundred years has stood 
 The High Cross on that scene of blood ; 
 And sighs and groans are heard at night, 
 And oft is seen a gliding sprite. 
 By those who pass from dusk to dawn. 
 That spot 'twixt Godesberg and Bonn. 
 
THE LURLEY BERG. 153 
 
 THE LURLEY BERe. 
 
 The LrELET Berg, a monntain mass, 
 Stands on the shore and in the Rhine ; 
 The savage rock bears not the vine, 
 
 And wild and gloomy is the pass. 
 
 The eddying waters darkly stray, 
 And well the passing voyager knows 
 There 's danger, should the nymph oppose, 
 
 The water-nymph, who guards the way. 
 
 Hence, till that frowning rock is past, 
 He " Lurley " shouts, and then is heard. 
 Repeated oft the well-known word ; 
 
 And the fifth echo is the last. 
 
 But should the shores make no reply, 
 'No soft reverberation lend, 
 The mystic fair is not his friend, 
 
 And woe betide the passer-by. 
 
 O, let no faithless swain intrude, 
 ]S^o jilting maiden venture there, 
 For Lurley hates the insincere. 
 
 And Lurley scorns ingratitude. 
 
 How many a false and truant wight 
 Hath rued too late some evil deed. 
 While suifering the tremendous meed 
 
 Inflicted by the water-sprite ! 
 
154 THE SILVER BELL. 
 
 J3ut constant lovers favour find 
 
 And faithful wives and husbands all ; 
 Five times, responsive to their call, 
 The nymph assures them she is kind. 
 
 Hence, till that famous spot is past, 
 The Lurlej Beri:^, so wild and drear. 
 The voyager calls on Lurley there — 
 
 And the fifth echo is the last. 
 
 THE SILVER BELL. 
 
 At Yalmich is a lofty tower, 
 
 Which to a darksome dungeon led, 
 Far deeper than the river's bed, 
 
 When Falkenstein held lordly power. 
 
 And into that tremendous pit, 
 
 The wicked governor would throw 
 Such victims, shriven yea or no, 
 
 Whate'er their rank, as he thought fit. 
 
 "Valmich possessed, in those same years, 
 A silver bell, a precious thing, 
 Which pious friars wont to ring 
 
 For extraordinary prayers. 
 
 Kor fearing God, nor dreading hell, 
 The sacrilegious Falkenstein, 
 With avaricious soul and mien, 
 
 Stole from the church its silver bell. 
 
THE SILVER BELL. 155 
 
 Then mournful was the choral band ; 
 
 And aching was the prior's breast, 
 
 As, in his sacerdotals dressed, 
 He dared the sacred bell demand. 
 
 The tyrant langhed in scornful glee — 
 So then, Sir Priest, you seek your bell, 
 A Bishop's legacy ? well, well, 
 
 Forthwith it shall be yonrs, quoth he. 
 
 Then round his neck he hung the toy. 
 And, while the demon loudly laughed. 
 Flung priest and bell adown the shaft, 
 
 Where hundreds had been hurled to die. 
 
 But ere the fourth day's sun had set, 
 
 The cruel Falkenstein himself 
 
 Was laid on the sepulchral shelf ; 
 And doubtless his reward he met. 
 
 And ever as the day comes round. 
 
 The anniversary of his death. 
 
 The sacred bell is heard beneath ; 
 And merry is its silvery sound. 
 
 Nor that alone ; — on dismal nights, 
 . About the castle's crumbling stones, 
 
 Are seen the ghosts, and heard the groans 
 Of those who died unshriven wights. 
 
156 GENOFEVA. 
 
 GENOFEVA. 
 
 Count Siegfried, Palatine of Ubine, 
 From glorj's field in Palestine, 
 Had reached the spot he loved the beet, 
 The happiest home in all the west, 
 Where joy in loving bosoms burned, 
 And welcomes greeted the returned: 
 But ah ! that season of delight 
 Was only transient as 't was bright. 
 Since man became a sinful soul, 
 And earth continued still to roll, 
 Has any age unmarred by crime 
 Been noted on the roll of time ? 
 Or any region yet been found 
 Where perfidy is but a sound ? 
 Where breath of slander, false, unkind. 
 Has poisoned not a noble mind. 
 And made not some pure gentle heart 
 The victim of its deadly dart ? 
 The vile, perfidious Golo, skilled 
 In all the arts from sin distilled. 
 By slow degrees and guileful care. 
 Won o'er the Count's too yielding ear ; 
 Then soon from innuendoes sti'ange, 
 And whispers narrow in their range. 
 His tone grew louder and more loud, 
 As gathered fast the thickening clotid ; 
 Until with pestilential breath, 
 Like Upas, charged with taint of death, 
 
GENOPEVA. 
 
 He dared accuse for secret end, 
 His pliant patron's bosom friend, 
 His faithful Countess, loyal, true, 
 Whose life was pure as heavenly dew . 
 Count Siegfried, roused to dreadful ire, 
 Unquenchable as Etna's fire, 
 Quick banished from her splendid home. 
 He knew not, cared not where, to roam 
 A friendless outcast, that fond wife 
 So late the angel of his life. 
 Cruel the sentence, foul the word. 
 Pronounced by Genofeva's lord. 
 Beneath whose withering curse that day 
 She fled in misery and dismay ; 
 l^ot from her palace home alone, 
 Where she a radiant star had shone, 
 But from her lovely children dear, 
 Whose wailings sounded in her ear, 
 And worst of all, the keenest smart, 
 Forever from her husband's heart : 
 But heaven the outcast one confessed, 
 And angels guided the distressed. 
 Year followed year, and not one word 
 Of Genofeva e'er was heard ; 
 Till hunting once with dog and spear, 
 The tusked boar or antlered deer. 
 The eager Siegfried, dreaming not 
 Of one who was not yet forgot. 
 By seeming accident drew nigh 
 A scene that fixed his wondering eye :— 
 Close to a c^ivern's mouth, beneath 
 A rock which bore a bramble-wreath, 
 7* 
 
 157 
 
158 GENOFEVA 
 
 Her refuge from the rain and wind, 
 A woman with a cliild reclined : 
 He knew the beauteous face of one, 
 Saw his own likeness in her son ; 
 For there, within that forest wild, 
 Keposed the outcast and the child 
 To whom in that rude spot of earth, 
 Untended, she had given birth. 
 Struck with surprise and overawed 
 At the kind providence of God, 
 Who thus had guided, shielded, fed. 
 One he had numbered with the dead. 
 He listened with excited ear 
 To the strange tale of Heavenly care ; 
 ]^or scorned the story of the wrong 
 "Which innocence had borne so long. 
 Each word she spoke like sunlight stole 
 O'er the dark waters of his soul ; 
 Each justifying accent gave 
 Sweet music to its brightening wave ; 
 Till, stung with late remorse and shame, 
 He uttered Genofeva's name. 
 In tones to tenderness allied. 
 As when he called her first his bride. 
 His anger banished, love once more 
 Eegained the throne it filled before, 
 And as each dark suspicion died 
 His justice triumphed over pride. 
 In vain the hunters waited long 
 Their master to rejoin their throng : 
 Count Siegfried was too happy then 
 To heed the chase that day again. 
 
GEXOFEVA. 159 
 
 Back to his court the Count c )nvejed 
 The exile from her forest shade, 
 Resolved, though late, the charge to hear. 
 In calmness, with impartial ear, 
 And grant the prayer he once refused, 
 To face accuser and accused. 
 That trial every doubt removed, 
 Her innocence was fully proved ; 
 And Golo, Haman of his time, 
 "Was punished as deserved his crime. 
 Then to her palace home, which stood 
 At Andernach, by Rhine's bright flood, 
 The happy Count his lady bore. 
 To be more honoured than before. 
 As Countess, mother, loyal wife, 
 And angel of his future life. 
 The story of that injured one. 
 The Providence that o'er her shone. 
 Her spotless purity and truth. 
 Through a long hfe from early youth. 
 In many a Christian clime and tongue 
 Are widely known, and nobly sung ; 
 And many a church is proud to claim 
 The sainted Genofeva's name. 
 
160 V THE BmGERLOCH. 
 
 THE BINGERLOCH. 
 
 "Why do the waters foam aud fret, 
 
 In Bingerlocli, and twirl 
 As if on the destruction set 
 
 Of something in their whirl ? 
 Hans Broemser kissed his daughter dear, 
 
 And blessed her from his heart ; 
 Bade her not weep, although a tear 
 
 In his own eye did start : 
 A righteous cause, the Holy War, 
 
 Was taking him from her. 
 And he must surely battle for 
 
 The Holy Sepulchre. 
 And well he plied his battle-blade ; 
 
 But fortune frowned at last — 
 The Saracens him captive made, 
 
 And in a dungeon cast. 
 While there, his liberty to earn, 
 
 He vowed, should it be given, 
 To dedicate on his return 
 
 His daughter dear to heaven. 
 Meanwhile a gallant suitor came, 
 
 With noble form and face ; 
 Toung Odon was the lover's name, 
 
 A Knight of German race. 
 No longer was she lonely now. 
 
 With Odon by her side ; 
 Unwitting of her father's vow, 
 
 She vowed to be his bride. 
 
THE BINGERLOCH. 161 
 
 How well they loved ! their only pain 
 
 AYas for her sire's return ; 
 J^ot doubting he would bless them twain 
 
 AYhen he their troth should learn. 
 At length released, the warrior came 
 
 His pious vow to pay ; 
 But soon his breast was filled with flame 
 
 Of anger on that day. 
 The story of the daughter's love 
 
 Removed the father's grace ; 
 And, when his mandate failed to move, 
 
 He cursed her to her face. 
 With hope all blasted in a breath, 
 
 Joy's bitterest reverse, 
 The wretched maiden rushed to death 
 
 Beneath her father's curse. 
 Because, in her young spirit's strife, 
 
 To that dark wave was given, 
 By suicidal act, the life 
 
 Which had been vowed to heaven, — 
 Therefore the waters, where was found 
 
 Her cold and hfeless clay, 
 Fret, rage and foam, twirl round and round. 
 
 Tumultuous, to this day. 
 
162 THE RAT TOWER. 
 
 THE RAT TOWER 
 
 '^ The rats are squeaking," Hatto said, 
 
 As groaned liis victims, shrieked and prayed 
 
 " The horrid rats," at midnight time, 
 
 Cried Hatto, dreaming of his crime. 
 
 Long, long ago, went Hatto hence, 
 
 That mitred ruler of Mavence ; 
 
 'T is hoped the Church has now no son 
 
 As cruel-hearted as that one. 
 
 That life of charity he led 
 
 Which giveth blessings, never bread; 
 
 And trading better profit brought 
 
 Than lending to the Lord, he thought. 
 
 One harvest bad the Bishop went 
 
 And, counting on his cent-per-cent. 
 
 Bought all the corn that he could find. 
 
 Then raised the price the poor to grind. 
 
 Soon famine spread on every side, 
 
 Of very hunger hundreds died ; 
 
 But Hatto dealt in grain alone 
 
 For that of which the poor had none. 
 
 They thronged within his palace yard ; 
 
 His heart was as its marble hard ; 
 
 They wept, entreated, prayed in vain ; 
 
 He blessed them, but withlield the grain. 
 
 At length he bade his archers bold 
 
 Seize on the rabble, young and old, 
 
 An empty barn to thrust them in. 
 
 And rid him of their horrid din ; 
 
THE RAT TOWER. 163 
 
 Then fired the pile ; and while their screams, 
 
 Heard 'midst the crackling of the beams, 
 
 Were fit to melt a heart of steel, 
 
 Said Hatto — " How the rats do squeal ! " 
 
 That night he dreamed he was pursued 
 
 By rats, a famished multitude, 
 
 To eat him for his cruel pride — 
 
 *' The horrid rats ! " then Hatto cried. 
 
 And sure enough when rose the sun 
 
 Ten thousand rats, if there was one, 
 
 A horrid, hungry host indeed, 
 
 That heap of ashes seemed to breed ; 
 
 They chased him to his palace hall. 
 
 Through every chamber great and small, 
 
 And with their never-failing squeals 
 
 Kept close behind his reverend heels. 
 
 Refuge he sought from place to place, 
 
 The rats forever giving chase, 
 
 A famished, loathsome, squeaking crew, 
 
 A most ungallant retinue. 
 
 At length the Bishop, in his fear, 
 
 Took refuge in a castle near. 
 
 Upon a rock within the Rhine, 
 
 And there he hoped in peace to dine. 
 
 '' Ha, ha,'' — the Bishop laughed and grinned. 
 
 And rubbed his hands, the horrid fiend — 
 
 " I 've now a tower that 's strong and tall, 
 
 Where I defy the vermin all." 
 
 But vain his boast. The rats swam o'er, 
 
 Climbed up the rock and scaled the tower. 
 
 Gnawed through the ceiling, sill and stone. 
 
 Rushed in, and ate him to the bone. 
 
164 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 He pitied not the poor distressed, 
 Their deatli-slirieks were bis merry jest, 
 So God in judgment sent those grim. 
 Gaunt animals to feed on him. 
 When e'er is seen at midnight's hour 
 A shadowy form about that tower, 
 (For still the structure keeps its post,) 
 That mystic sight is Hatto's ghost. 
 
 THE FOReET-ME-NOT. 
 
 A GALLANT youtli and maiden fair 
 
 Together bent their way. 
 To breathe the soft and fragrant air 
 
 One eve in flowery May. 
 
 Soon they approached a narrow tide 
 AYhich ran with rapid force ; 
 
 And from that verdant river-side « 
 Awhile they watched its course. 
 
 The youth had said some flattering word 
 That pleased his darling there ; 
 
 But, save her own, no ear has heard 
 Those words of love sincere. 
 
 Perhaps he said — This little hand, 
 
 Thou fairy bright, of thine, 
 For all the gold that kings command 
 
 Thy Carl would not resign. 
 
THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 165 
 
 Oh hush thee I said the teasing girl, — 
 
 While blushes went and came, 
 And smiles betrayed her teeth of pearl, — 
 
 False lovers swear the same. 
 
 Suppose I test thy vaunted truth, — 
 
 See'st thon, beyond the wave, 
 Those sweet blue flowers? now, boastful youth, 
 
 One of them I would have. 
 
 Scarce had the jesting maiden done, 
 
 When in the lover sprung , 
 In vain she called him to return, 
 
 In vain her hands she rung. 
 
 The feelings that her bosom grieved. 
 
 As wild the torrent rolled 
 About his form, may be conceived. 
 
 But never can be told. 
 
 But soon, rejoiced, she saw him reach 
 
 Unharmed the other side ; 
 He pulled the flower, and turned to fetch 
 
 The trophy to his bride. 
 
 The maiden's fears were well-nigh o'er, 
 
 So well he neared the spot. 
 When, throwing her the fatal flower, 
 
 He cried " Forget me not ! " 
 
 His strength had failed, he sank to die, 
 
 But not to be forgot, — 
 For still when lovers bid good-bye, 
 
 They say " Forget me not." 
 
1G6 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 And still tlie flower is prized by them, 
 
 And be it ever must, 
 While it, or its resemblance-gem, 
 
 They give in Hope and Trust. 
 
 And she, that fond and faithful maid, 
 Through life, with aching breast, 
 
 Along that stream a maniac strciyed, 
 And sought him without rest. 
 
 Her lip^ no other accents passed, 
 Her heart none other knew, 
 
 But those fond words, her lover's htst,— 
 To them was memory true. 
 
 She prized that withered flower alone, 
 O, worse than his, her lot ! 
 
 And when death came, her latest moan 
 Was still — " Forget-me-not." 
 
THE CHILD OF ROTTERDAM. 167 
 
 THE CHILD OF ROTTERDxVM. 
 
 'T WAS noon, when on a shady walk, 
 
 (Beside the flowing Maas,) 
 In Kotterdam's deh'ghtful park, 
 
 I strolled an hour to pass. 
 
 Beneath a tree, both broad and tall, 
 
 A group of children met ; 
 And one was loveliest of them all, 
 
 The youngest and the pet. 
 
 In ringlets waved her flaxen hair. 
 
 Bright azure were her eyes ; 
 Her picture, could I trace it here, 
 
 "Would something be to prize. 
 
 It was a lovely little face, 
 
 Enriched with rosy health, 
 And showing by its dimpled grace 
 
 Her spirit's joyous wealth. 
 
 She held some flowers, nor gay nor grand. 
 
 But tinted like her eye, 
 And came and placed them in my hand — 
 
 The dear ! — I knew not why. 
 
 That act so graceful must liave won 
 
 A sterner heart than mine, 
 E'en though her cherub face had shone 
 
 With sweetness less divine. 
 
168 THE CHILD OF ROTTERDAM. 
 
 I kept the flowers, and valued them 
 For that sweet infant girl, 
 
 As some would prize a shining gem 
 Presented by an Earl. 
 
 I kissed her, and I kissed the flowers, 
 Again I kissed the dove, 
 
 And gave her, for that gift of hers, 
 A token of my love. 
 
 We toyed a moment in the shade, 
 With glee that was no sham ; 
 
 And still I bless that little maid, 
 That Child of Eotterdam. 
 
LOCH-LOMOND. 169 
 
 LOCH-LOMOND. 
 
 " There comes a voice that awakee the soul. It is the voice of years that are 
 gone ; they roll before me with all their deeds." — Ossian. 
 
 Loch-Lomond, adieu ! ' T is with truth that I say 
 Most complete was the joj of my visit to-day : 
 Adieu to the guardsmen that stand by thy side — 
 The lordly Ben-Lomond, their chieftain and pride. 
 
 Farewell, lovely scene ! for the day fast declines, 
 And elsewhere are claims when the waning moon 
 
 shines ; 
 Yet to leave thee so soon is a pang to endure. 
 Since the eye that now views thee, may greet thee no 
 
 more. 
 
 And it seems like a graceless return for a smile, 
 When we bid a farewell, not to Linger awhile 
 O'er the joys we must leave, with a look of regret 
 And a kind word of thanks for the welcome we met. 
 
 Then let the eve warn ; but I will not depart 
 "Wliile a ray of thy beauty thus gladdens my heart ; 
 O, sweet is the spell of the last cherished gaze, 
 When we praise what is lovely, and love what we 
 praise. 
 
 The morning was calm when I came to thy shore, 
 And the sly elf that haunts thee was dimpling thee oe'r,^ 
 But the mountains were veiled : — then I sighed as I 
 
 thought 
 I was fated to miss half the pleasure I sought. 
 
170 LOCH-LOMOND. 
 
 But the wind-spirit woke ; and the mist knew its doom, 
 And quickly Ben-Lomond doffed bonnet and plume, 
 And, basking in sunshine, invited the eye 
 To dwell with delight on his brow in the sky. 
 
 And his gallant example was followed by all — 
 Ben-Ducray, Ben Yoirlich, Ben Arthur the tall ; 
 How noble they looked with their summits all bare ! 
 Like Bannockburn's heroes uncovered for prayer.' 
 
 Then the pensive expression was chased from thy face, 
 For the Day-king had smiled on its beauty and grace ; 
 And the isles that adorn thee looked lich in the sheen, 
 As the ge:ns that encircle the brow of a queen. 
 
 How danced the glad waters ! how gay was the shore, 
 With the purple and red that the wild heather bore ! 
 And the upland was tinted green, golden, and dun, 
 "While the waterfalls sparkled and laughed in the sun. 
 
 Like an instant creation, as fast the mist flew. 
 
 Sprang to light the far landscape 'neath heaven's clear 
 
 blue ; 
 "While each spot lying nearer grew more and more fair 
 As the sun brighter shone through the sweet-scented 
 
 air. 
 
 There was Tarbet, white-gleaming like a gem for a 
 
 bride, 
 Fair Luss, like a naiad looking down on the tide, 
 Inversnaid, with its mill and its shining cascade, 
 Waking thoughts of its sainted, sweet young High- 
 land maid : ' 
 
LOCH-LOMOND. 171 
 
 Inch Cruin, for wives that do evil behave/ 
 Inch Cailliach, enshrining its dust of the brave,^ 
 Inch Murrin, whose oaks hide the old castle Vs'all, 
 And lofty Inch Tavannoch fairest of all ; 
 
 The chieftain's tall mansion, woods, parks, and green 
 
 hxwns, 
 Where the antlered deer grazed, and disported the 
 
 fawns, 
 The manse, the old kirk pointing meekly above, 
 Through the blue, to the Throne-seat of Infinite Love. 
 
 But the solemn old mountains, the bold rocky shore, 
 And rain-swollen torrents with thunder-like roar, 
 "Were the scenes that deep awe in the breast did excite ; 
 While the bland and the soft lent a placid delight. 
 
 Through the maze of bright isles sped the breeze- wafted 
 
 sail. 
 And the swifter black bark not propelled by the gale, 
 Bat its trail of dark smoke in the air, looked the while 
 Like sin entering Eden to mar and defile. 
 
 ' All nature was joyous : the world of wild flowers 
 Bloomed in beauty and sweetness to match the bright 
 
 hours ; 
 And the birds told their gladness among the green 
 
 leaves, 
 And round the old castle, and grey abbey's eaves. 
 
 Not in the still morn, with that sly elf s deceit, 
 But at noon was thy glory and triumph complete. 
 
172 LOCH-LOMOND. " 
 
 When thy beauty best blooming half led one to deem 
 That he trod ground enchanted, or joyed in a dream. 
 
 All then who felt rapture rich, rare, and refined, 
 Gained a bright spot to cheer them henceforth in the 
 
 mind ; 
 And none had a right to be there, if his soul 
 Was proudly or meanly beyond its control. „ 
 
 Where'er was a point whence the prospect was grand, 
 
 Where'er was a cataract — there was at hand 
 
 Some artist-enthusiast, prompt to portray 
 
 On his canvas thy glories, this bright summer day. 
 
 But I saw the best subject — a vision-like gleam — 
 
 As I looked through the bracken, above a bright 
 
 stream ; 
 'T was a youth and fair -girl : — and I knew by the way 
 That her hand lay iu his, what their hearts had to say. 
 
 Erush, easel, and palette, neglected were all, 
 
 Though he came there to paint that sublime waterfall ; 
 
 And the volume she brought, while he worked, to 
 
 peruse. 
 Was as little thought of as his half-finished views. 
 
 Perhaps she had raised her bright eyes from the book, 
 
 And unconsciously cast on his picture a look. 
 
 When her accents of praise and her smile, as he 
 
 turned. 
 Made his heart bold to show what had long in it 
 
 burned. 
 
LOCH-LOMOXD. 173 
 
 But an instant I looked ; and unseen I withdrew, 
 And left tliem alone their fond theme to pursue ; 
 But I thought had I skill in the art that's divine 
 That love-scene sliould soon as my master-piece shine. 
 
 I have sailed on thy waters, have clambered thj hills, 
 I have watched thv wild torrents, and drunk from thy 
 
 rills ; 
 Elastic my step was, my spirit was free 
 As the breeze on the mountain, or brook in the lea. 
 
 Yet oft from thy loveliness, grandeur and glow. 
 Thou " Queen of the Lochs ! " to the dim long-ago 
 Was my mental eye led by some legend or song, 
 Or tradition, or scraps that to history belong. 
 
 Then I saw the fair daughter of Torquin the Gael 
 Flee with a bold bard who had sung his love-tale ; 
 Or I saw bold Boh Roy at a hut on the moor, 
 Giving spoils of the rich to the hungry and poor ; 
 
 Or I heard the wild pibroch resound through the glen. 
 And watched the fierce combat of clan ao;ainst clan, 
 Till the slogan of Alpine told proudly the death 
 Of the luckless Colquhouns on Glen Fruin's red heath ; 
 
 Or I saw through Glen Falloch's romantic extent. 
 Where the Fall- Water foams in its maddening descent, 
 Undiscouraged, thougli sad, the great Bruce hasten on 
 In his flight from defeat and McDugald of Lorn, 
 
 8 
 
1 74: LOCH-LOMOXD. 
 
 Till the monarch of Albyn, her l)ravest and best, 
 In a cave by Locli-Lomond found safety and rest ; 
 Or I saw in his youth at a fort, or its wreck, 
 Him whose name, death, an<.l glory, are carved on 
 Quebec ; * 
 
 Or I saw the rude J^orthmen of Haco the strong 
 Come to pillage thine isles, by the pass from Locli- 
 
 Long : 
 But at Largs they were slain, or made fly, every thief. 
 And in Orkney soon died their prince-chieftaiu of grief. 
 
 At Dunfin and Arden may Fingal have fought, 
 And Ossian some high inspiration have caught : 
 How rejoiced would I be could I boklly maintain 
 That the shadowy forms fancy saw were the twain. 
 
 Fair Nature ! forgive that I wandered at whiles 
 Away with the tempter, away from thy smiles ; 
 'T was the voice of the genius of time that is flown, 
 Whose charm never foils on a heart like my own. 
 
 It is sweet to let fancy run riot among 
 
 The exploits of old days which the minstrels have sung, 
 
 When we tread the true scenes, and enjoy at each 
 
 glance 
 A full flow^ of feeling akin to romance. 
 
 But scene of enchantment ! I must now have done ; 
 For yon strip of upland hides half the great sun, 
 And the gloaming will change into darkness full soon, 
 Nor till late will thy waters be cheered by the moon. 
 
THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 175 
 
 'T were a shame from a friend in his sadness to flee ; 
 But the shades that will wrap thee would pain only me, 
 For thon wilt sleep calmly, and dream through the 
 
 hours. 
 Till the sun agahi brightens thj braes and thy bowers. 
 
 Loch-Lomond, Farewell ! by this sun-setting ray 
 Let me bless thee, and bear thy fair image away : 
 O ! impress of beauty like thine can depart 
 Alone when hfe's throbbings have ceased, from the 
 heart. 
 
 THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 In Loch Maree's dark shadowed tide 
 An island smiles ; and two huge stones 
 . There mark the spot where rest the bones 
 Of lovers twain — Bridegroom and Bride. 
 
 And, side by side, their ashes lie. 
 
 As side by side they would have walked. 
 Had envious Fate their hopes not balked, 
 
 And had not Death glazed o'er each eye.- 
 
 The youth, a King of ISTorway's son, 
 And she, an Irish princess bright. 
 Had chosen there their troth to plight 
 
 Before the holy man thereon. 
 
 Foremost arrived the impatient youth. 
 Who, anxious at his bride's delay. 
 In haste sent messengers away 
 
 To learn the cause, and brins: the truth. 
 
THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 ^' When on the Lake ye hasten back, 
 
 If ye have tidings of dehght, 
 
 Display aloft the flag of Avliite^ 
 It' not, then hoist the doleful black." 
 
 At Port Poolewe they met the bride, 
 From Erin's shore safe landed there, 
 And joined her train, rejoiced to bear 
 
 The fair one to their master's side. 
 
 When on the Lake they launched their bark. 
 In sport, to test their prince's love. 
 They made the black flag wave above, 
 
 As though they brought but tidings dark. 
 
 O, heartless, heartless was the sport ! 
 The prince beheld the emblem sad, 
 Fell down in anguish, and was dead 
 
 Before arrived the true report. 
 
 The princess, late so blithe and gay. 
 Heard the sad tale and saw his corse. 
 Then sank, down-smitten by the force 
 
 Of wildest grief, but lifeless claj. 
 
 There rest the lovers, side by side, 
 Because so true had been their love. 
 With two memorial stones above — 
 
 The "Bridegroom" one, and one the "Bride." 
 
LOCH-KATRINE. 177 
 
 LOCH- KATRINE. 
 
 TO . 
 
 FoxD memory oft recalls, my Friend, 
 
 The pleasant boars we spent together 
 Along Loch-Katrine's heathery shore, 
 
 One clay in summer weather. 
 The Day-king's highest point was won ; 
 
 The fairy lake spread out before us, 
 A burnished mirror in the sun. 
 
 The mountains towered o'er us. 
 
 There a deep shadoAV seemed to sleep, 
 
 Here charmed the eye a bright reflection, 
 Now skimmed a skiff across the deep. 
 
 Imparting life and action. 
 The velvet verdure of the banks, 
 ' The bracken's darker intermixture, 
 With rocks uf gray in serried ranks. 
 Made up a perfect picture. 
 
 And there we strayed, tw:; hours at least, 
 
 In cheerful mood and converse social ; 
 Let other minds choose other feast. 
 
 Be that my food ambrosial. 
 What theme so meet for such a scene, 
 
 As that sweet Tale of Lake and Highland 
 And Snowdoun's Knight in Lincoln green 
 
 And Ellen of the Island ? 
 
178 LOCH-KATRINE. 
 
 We traced along the winding shore, 
 
 The island, creek and promontory, 
 The spot where gleamed the Lady's oar, 
 
 As tells the charming story. 
 And as we read the Minstrel's lays, 
 
 Which make the lovely scene enchanting. 
 We gave to nature half our praise, 
 
 The rest to genius granting. 
 
 Awhile we spoke of scenes afar, 
 
 Beyond the blue and bounding ocean, 
 And friends beneath a Western star. 
 
 With pleasurable emotion ; 
 For thou hadst been a dweller there, 
 
 Where brightly shone thy worth and talents, 
 And admkation gave thee friends, 
 
 And envy some assailants. 
 
 Yet did thy accents point alone 
 
 To friends that cheered, and scenes that 
 charmed thee, 
 As if from memory long had flown 
 
 All that anno)"ed and harmed thee. 
 Thus memory oft recalls, my Friend, 
 
 The pleasant hours we spent together 
 Along Loch-Katrine's heathery shore, 
 
 One day in summer weather. 
 1858. 
 
THE BERMUDIANA. 179 
 
 THE BERMUDIANA. 
 
 Little bright Bermudiana, 
 
 Wild flower, with the star-shaped banner, 
 
 Smiling up thy mute hosanna, 
 
 Smiling every eye to cheer — 
 One, I venture, of a million, 
 Further venture, of a billion, 
 If I dare not say a trillion. 
 
 At this moment just as fair — 
 Decking every sunny hillside, 
 
 Yale and sea-shore ; everywhere 
 
 Sj3rinkled as by fingers fairy, 
 Viewless fingers, rich, uiichary. 
 O'er our Islands bright and airy, 
 
 Whei-esoe'er there's leave to grow. 
 Grouped or single, thousands meeting, 
 You I welcome, still repeating — 
 " One and all ! receive my greeting, 
 
 As amidst jour bloom I go : 
 There 's no floweret wild before you 
 
 In his choice who tells you so." 
 
 Little bright Bermudiana, 
 
 Wild-flower with the star-shaped banner, 
 
 Smiling up thy mute hosanna. 
 
 Smiling evt^ry eye to cheer, — 
 Is it fact, or fiction merely, 
 
180 THE BERMUDIAXA. 
 
 Wliat thej say wlio love tliee dearly, 
 When tliey hail thy coming yearly, 
 
 That thou bloomest only here ? 
 Pleased to think it, I accept ir, 
 
 !Nor to question further care. 
 
 Yes, thou little venial smiler, 
 Fi-ail as fair, my cares' beguiler, — 
 While I thus of time am whiler, 
 
 Take my welcome and caress ; 
 And while gentle natures prize thee, 
 And fond accents eulogize thee, 
 May no passer-by who eyes thee. 
 
 Thee with wanton footsteps press ! 
 Only one bright day assigned tliee, 
 
 Who should mar thy joyousness ? 
 
 With the sun thy life thou twdnest, 
 When he 's brightest best thou shinest, 
 When he faileth thou declinest, 
 
 Missing sore his warm embrace : 
 So, rent heart I when thou resio;nest 
 Up thy treasure, thy divinest 
 Earthly treasure, so thou pinest 
 
 Through thy shortened mortal race ; 
 Earthly solace knowing never : 
 
 Naught can fill the vacant place. 
 
 Who, the while the sun is beamino-, 
 Earth and sky and all things gleaming. 
 Ocean round a mirror seeming 
 To repeat the grand display, — 
 
THE BERMUDIANA. 181 
 
 Who, unconscious of the story 
 Of thy evanescent glory, 
 Could detect one monitory 
 
 Symptom of thy swift decay ? 
 Or, who, gazing on thy beauty. 
 
 Would not wish thy longer stay ? 
 
 Gentle favourite, thou remindest 
 Of a friend, the truest, kindest. 
 One who to my faults was bhndest, 
 
 A sweet flower of hu;nan birth — 
 Like thee she was fair as morning ; 
 Thought and act unworthy scorning. 
 Fragile, briefly earth adorning. 
 
 Aimed she after iiigher worth ; 
 So angelic spirits bore her 
 
 To a kinder clime than earth. 
 
 When the morrow shall be glowing, 
 
 And the tide at noon be flowing, 
 
 And the South's sweet breath be blowing 
 
 Softly as the zephyr blows. 
 Light and warmth will fail to move thee; — 
 But around thee, and above thes. 
 Sisters now unborn, as lovely, 
 
 Then will watch thy death-repose ; 
 Blooming just to fade at even — 
 
 What a lesson flowers disclose ! 
 
 E'en already, moving slowly, 
 That thou lovest stoopeth lowly : 
 8* 
 
182 THE BERMUDIANA. 
 
 Bright the western slopes are wholly, 
 
 Every vale is bright in part — 
 But across the verdant meadow 
 Creeps the chilly evening shadow, 
 Wounding like a baneful adder, 
 Ah ! a failing thing thou art. 
 So the loved one drooped and faded 
 From my vision, not my heart. 
 
 Thou art smitten, quickly blighted, 
 Like fond love when ill-requited ; 
 For the damp of eve hath lighted 
 
 Eaily on thy golden eye : 
 And thy purple petals' closing, 
 Never more to know unloosing. 
 Shows thy decent self-composing. 
 
 Darling little flower, to die. 
 Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission. 
 
 Cheering earth, and smiling thy 
 
 Mute hosannas to the sky. 
 
THE WARWICK TAMARTXD TREE. 183 
 
 THE WARWICK TAMARIND TREE. 
 
 MoxARCii of Trees sniTomiding tliee, — 
 All hail, gigantic Tamarind Tree ! 
 Scene of mj boyish sports, well pleased 
 
 I greet thy green old age — in form 
 Still staunch to brave as e'er thou wast 
 
 The fnry of the autumnal storm. 
 
 Yon Locust Tree fast goes the way 
 
 Of all things earthly, by decay ; 
 
 No more its arms with foliage spread 
 
 The canopy they reared so long, 
 Or woo the joyous nymphs and swains 
 
 To sylvan shade for dance and song. 
 
 That spectral tree, so bleached and old, 
 Could many a tale of love unfold ; 
 In tViir or rude initials now 
 
 Full many a name its trunk imparts, 
 Engraved at Cupid's instance there, 
 
 With transcripts from impassioned hearts. 
 
 Yon dying Olive I survey. 
 
 Laid prostrate by the tempest's sway ; 
 
 So, like it, may not peace depart 1 
 
 The Cedar's dark unchanging green, 
 The tall Palm's radiating leaf, 
 
 And rich Banana grace the scene. 
 
 The Lemon and the Orange shade, 
 By interlacing branches made ; 
 
18-i THE WARWICK TziMARIND TREE. 
 
 The Calabasli with ponderous fruit ; 
 
 Pomegranate-trees, with scarlet flowers. 
 And Pride-of-Indias greet me still, 
 
 Scene of evanished happy hours. 
 
 Since last beneath thy ample shade 
 With boon companions here I played, 
 In youth's glad morn, enacting all 
 
 The hero's feats in mimic fights. 
 Or in some tamer sports engaged, 
 
 Or stories told of errant-knio^hts, — - 
 
 How oft since then, when far from thee, 
 
 On some strange land or stormy sea. 
 
 My thoughts from each surrounding scene 
 
 Have turned their retrospective waj-s, 
 Is^or rested, till they bore me back 
 
 To thee, in boyhood's halcyon days ! 
 
 Then, during fancy's short-lived reign, 
 I climbed thy stalwart form again 
 In quest of flowers or tempting fruit ; 
 
 Again I met my comrades bold — 
 Blessing attend the living ! Peace 
 
 To those whose funeral knell has tolled ! 
 
 My heart is somewhat seared I own. 
 Yet inly keeps its earlier tone ; 
 Within its deep recesses lodge 
 
 Pond memories still of them and thee, 
 Whose voices oft make music there — ■ 
 
 Scene of my youth, old Tamarind Tree. 
 1840. 
 
FEEN-CUTTIXG. 185 
 
 FERN-CUTTING. 
 
 There was a time when youths could learn, 
 And maidens, too, on iirst of May, 
 By nothing more than cutting Fern, 
 "Whom they would wed ere next May-day. 
 They sliced tlie roots, and then appeared 
 Formed by the sap and fibre plain. 
 The letters which at once declared 
 The name of some fair nymph or swain. 
 J. S. would mean, of course, John Smith, 
 Unless the maid preferred a beau 
 "Whose name agreed those letters with, 
 For instance, handsome Jarvis Stowe. 
 S. D. again, meant Sarah Dunn, 
 If the young blade knew such a one ; 
 But if he loved sweet Susan Drew, 
 He then was sure of charming Sue. 
 These letters, when they sought their beds. 
 They snugly placed beneath their heads; 
 If dreams propitious came, why then 
 They fixed on bridesmaids and groomsmen. 
 O. M., O. B., caused discontent ; 
 Old Maid, Old Bachelor, they meant— 
 Unless queen Mab dispelled the gloom 
 By promising a brighter doom. 
 Perhaps she blessed their mental sight 
 With lovely visions through the night 
 Of some rich Obadiah Manx, 
 Or amiable Olivia Banks. 
 
186 APOLOGY. 
 
 Thus every youth and maid could tell, 
 By tills veracious oracle, 
 Exactly, what initials fair 
 Would grace their household silver-ware. 
 But now, alas ! the custom's done ; 
 We don't draw hidden knowledge thence, 
 But vegetate like monk and nun. 
 And live in terrible suspense. 
 And folks are now grown so polite, 
 They think old ways are vulgar quite : 
 And cutting Fern is in their view 
 Only the sheerest nonsense too. 
 Come back, old ways, that I may earn 
 The secret yet, by cutting Fern, 
 Whom I shall bless, or whether I 
 Am doomed a bachelor to die. 
 
 APOLOGY. 
 
 I FAIN would gather from our bowers 
 The most appropriate emblem flowers, 
 
 Expressive of my thoughts of you. 
 And with artistic pencil trace 
 Each perfect form, each smiling grace, 
 
 And every varied shade and hue. 
 
 They should be placed in order so 
 That in an instant you would know 
 
 The very words I bade them say ; 
 In Eastern lands, I 've heard it said, 
 Love-messages are oft conveyed 
 
 In this game most delightful way. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 18 T 
 
 Fancy lias power, we must confess, 
 To make the real more or less 
 
 In seeming, — even to create 
 From nothing, what at least appears 
 Substantial cause for joys or fears 
 
 That ofttimes sadden or elate. 
 
 Since Fortune me denies the joy 
 Of painting's exquisite employ, 
 
 But, kindly, rhyming gifts has lent — 
 Imagine in this floral lay 
 You have the eloquent bouquet 
 
 I would have painted and have sent. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 Proudly it stands, as if it knew 
 
 Its strength, its worth, and purpose grand ; 
 As if rejoicing in the view 
 
 It widely takes o'er sea and land ; — 
 Boldly, as if it did defy 
 The fiercest storms than rend the sky. 
 
 Nobly it stands ; the object last 
 
 The native seaman may discern 
 As off he steers, and first to cast 
 
 A glance to welcome his return ; 
 The first or last — by day — by night — 
 Its column, or revolving Light. 
 
 For, far beyond each reef and bar 
 That guards his Isle on every side, 
 
188 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 Salutes his eye tliat home-lit star ; 
 
 At once his comfort, warniiig, guide. 
 While night moves on on ebon wings, 
 Till morn the welcome pilot brings. 
 
 And say, what sound has met his ears 
 Since forth he wandered long antl far. 
 
 So sweet as that which now he hears, 
 The " Light ho ! " of the watchful Tar ? 
 
 'T is doubly sweet if clouds or haze 
 
 Have hid the noontide sun for days. 
 
 The bold night-fisher far from land, 
 
 "Warned by the signs that round him frown, 
 
 Weighs anchor, and with skilful hand 
 
 Steers shoreward ere the storm comes down ; 
 
 That cynosure, that star-lamp's ray. 
 
 Will guide him to a sheltering bay. 
 
 But O, when some poor stranger-bark. 
 Sore shattered on the wintry main. 
 
 Approaches through the lingering dark, 
 A haven kind, secure, to gain. 
 
 How anxiously each eye will gaze 
 
 To catch the Light's first starry blaze. 
 
 And when at last is seen its gleam. 
 And hope says, ' all will yet be well,' 
 
 How joy in every face will beam, 
 And gratitude each bosom sw^ell ! 
 
 Then every honest sea-bred wight 
 
 Will bless Bermuda for its Lidit. 
 
A BOUQUET. 189 
 
 But for the Light the wreck had passed ; 
 
 And ! in such a helpless state, 
 A leaking ship with jury- mast, 
 
 Who may not guess its mournful fate ? 
 Who tlien would soothe the anguish wild 
 Of widowed wife, and orphan cliild 1 
 
 And thus the noble Pharos stands, 
 
 A snow-white pillar seen by day j 
 And throuo;h the ni2:ht its cheerino- Lia-ht 
 
 Goes streaming o'er the ocean spray, 
 To guide the weary in distress, 
 Like that o'er Etham's wilderness. 
 
 A BOUQUET. 
 
 I LOVE the stately Cedar-Tree, 
 
 And eke the simple sage-bush flowers ; 
 I loved them when in boyish glee 
 
 I wandered through my native bowers. 
 Methinks I now shall prize them more, 
 
 Since thou esteemest them so dear ; 
 A Cedar-sprig thus sprinkled o'er 
 
 AVith their wee blooms, henceforth I '11 wear. 
 
 Our Cedars are our Island's pride. 
 
 From them it takes a world-wide lame ; 
 
 The carping critic, evil-eyed. 
 
 Will scarce dispute their honest claim. 
 
190 LIxNES. I 
 
 The sage-bush is the pasture's bane ; | 
 
 But let him search his breast within — h 
 
 He may discover, to his gain, J 
 
 He nourishes a plant of sin. -} 
 
 The wild bush bears a lovely flower ; \ 
 
 From spleen no wholesome bud we see — j 
 There is no plant on Java's shore 
 
 Foul as the spirit's upas-tree. 
 Perhaps some, less divine than thou, 
 
 May frown on the plebeian flower, :\ 
 
 As do they on a human brow \ 
 
 Where wealth and birth are not the dower. ; 
 
 P)ut never shall my muse contemn \ 
 
 The claims of honest lowly worth, ; 
 
 E'en though perchance a graceless stem • t 
 
 Gave to the human floweret birth. I 
 
 The flower thou gavest is frail we find, ] 
 
 For beauty bath a transient lot ; ^ 
 
 Eut be thy truth-ennobled mind ; 
 
 Firm as the tree that changeth not. • 
 
 LINES. 
 
 It is sweet to look on a lovely face, 
 An eloquent eye, and a form of grace, 
 And sweet to hear the words that flow, 
 Through lips that are formed like Cupid's bow. 
 From a heart that is gentle and kind and true, 
 x\nd a mind that is pure as a gem of dew. 
 I would homage pay at so blest a shrine. 
 For Beauty and Goodness are both divine. 
 
THE CANARY-BIRD. 191 
 
 THE CANARY-BIRD. 
 
 " The deep affections of the breast, 
 
 Wliicli Heaven to living things imparts, 
 
 Are not exclusively possest 
 
 By human hearts." — Campbell. 
 
 A little bird, whose feathers were 
 'All yellow, in its gilded dome 
 
 "Was here an exile from its fair 
 Canary home. 
 
 Though parted from its native scene. 
 So rich in ISTatnre's blandest smiles, 
 
 It fomid as bright a home within 
 Bermuda's Isles. 
 
 The one to whom belonged the bird 
 Was of the sterner sex, and yet 
 
 He ever had a gentle word 
 To cheer his pet. 
 
 Oft as his accents charmed its ear, 
 His presence its expectant sight, 
 
 It sweetly warbled, loud and clear, 
 In its delight. 
 
 And when he gave it dainty grains, 
 And crystal water from above. 
 
 And golden wild flowers, for his pains 
 It looked its love. 
 
192 THE CANARY-BIRD. 
 
 The good man sickened ; — then it missed 
 The hand that erst bestowed its food, 
 
 And sat, by others well caressed. 
 In silent mood. 
 
 It would not lave, it would not sing, 
 The choicest seeds it would not pick, 
 
 Until they placed the drooping thing 
 Where lay the sick. 
 
 And then it sought its fountain's brim. 
 And fed, and sang with sweetest tone, 
 
 Cheered by the voice and look of him 
 It loved alone. 
 
 To test it further, oft they hung 
 Its cage in other rooms — as soon 
 
 The little tenant's heart seemed wrung, 
 It seemed to swoon. 
 
 At length, resolved no more to try 
 
 So cruelly its little breast. 
 Its patron's couch they placed it by, 
 
 And let it rest. 
 
 The good man died : then many strove 
 To cheer the bird, — in vain tliey tried ; 
 
 The faithful thing no more could love, 
 And it too diQ.d. 
 
STANZAS. 193 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 The world is not so bleak and drear 
 As some would make it out to be, 
 
 AYho kuow not Iioay to seize the cheer 
 It spreads alike for them and me : 
 
 If life's enjoyments hold alloy, 
 
 There 's more to cheer us than annoy. 
 
 Turn where we may there 's music nigh, 
 For E"ature hath more joy than gloom ; 
 
 And beauty's glances meet the eye 
 
 Where landscapes smile and flowerets bloom. 
 
 The sun-bright hill, and shady nook, 
 
 Are hymns of love in Nature's book. 
 
 And when the birds have ceased their lay, 
 And evening bids them fold their wings, 
 
 The moon-lit wavele's dance and play 
 Like happy life-inspired things : 
 
 Or stars come forth to cheer night's crown, 
 
 As friend should friend at fortune's frown. 
 
 These lovely Isles, that stud the sea, 
 " Like emeralds on a silver zone,'' 
 
 Are matched by few (search far and free) 
 For beauty, and sm-passed b}^ none. 
 
 Italia's skies and Hellas' bowers 
 
 Are bright, but not more bright than ours. 
 
194 A VALENTINE FOR A LITTLE GIUL. 
 
 While beauty, wit, and goodness clinrm, 
 Wliile converse cheers and friends are true, 
 
 There is for every wound a bahn, 
 For every sigh a solace too ; 
 
 As*, oft, where baneful plants appear, 
 
 Nature hath placed a healer near. 
 
 But who could think of sighing, while 
 He shared the radiance of thy smile, 
 Unless (and he should mercy win 
 If selfishness like this be sin,) 
 He sighed to find its beams would light 
 On others with a spell as bright ; 
 Would not converge and be as one. 
 To cheer and bless his heart alone. 
 
 A VALENTINE FOR A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 A GOOD little girl, hke a fresh rose-bud, 
 
 Is pretty and lovely and sweet ; 
 The pretty bud blows and becomes a fine rose, 
 
 Like the one at the top of this sheet. 
 And the good little girl grows up, and in time 
 
 Becomes a fine woman, and then 
 The rose and the lady are pleased, and quite ready 
 
 To be thought like each other again. 
 Now the rose's best charm is its fragrance, jou know, 
 
 For its beauty fades quickly forsooth — 
 So the kdy's best charm is, not a fine form. 
 
 But a mind stored with sweetness and truth. 
 
AD UNAM IN CCELO. 195 
 
 AD UKAM IN CCELO. 
 
 Awhile amidst degenerate beings, 
 Yet all unsullied by earth's things-, 
 An angel, wanting only wings, 
 
 Thou sojourned st below — 
 I knew thou wast too sweet and fair, 
 Too good for this corrupted sphere ; 
 Thou dweliest now forever where 
 
 The sainted spirits go. 
 
 Hast thou in thy ethereal form, 
 In thy new life, sensations warm ? 
 Those selfsame features, every charm 
 
 Which graced thee in this clime, 
 Only more luminously fair ? 
 O, could my vision reach thee there, 
 And feast on every look and air 
 
 All glorious and subhmel 
 
 Do glossy ringlets deck thy head, 
 
 Thence o'er thy polished shoulders spread ? 
 
 Are rays of light, as whilom, shed 
 
 By those dear eyes of thine. 
 Like day-beams from their orient throne? 
 That smile, ah ! is it still thine own ? 
 That voice, wdiich charmed within its zone 
 
 All ears, is 't more divine ? 
 
 In thy sweet face may yet be traced 
 Thy heart's emotions, pure and chaste ? 
 
196 AD UN AM IN CCELO. 
 
 That Pliidian brow, with high thought graced, 
 
 Doth intellect yet fill ? 
 And is thy immaterial frame, 
 Fashioned in loveliness the same, 
 Behold by spirit-eyes ? thy name, 
 
 Is it Aminta still ? 
 
 This mortal eye, e'en could I stray 
 To til at blest region far away, 
 Where shineth one eternal day 
 
 Which never night can hide — 
 This mortal eye were too impure 
 To view thee on that azure shore, 
 Where thou art lovelier than before, 
 
 And all beatified. 
 
 But how are saints imparadised 
 Distinguished — thus etherealized, 
 Light amid light, and recognised 
 
 When lovers mingle there ? ' 
 
 Have spirits a sublimer sight 
 Than ever blest a mortal wight, 
 Forms of light seeing amid light ? 
 
 Have they acuter ear ? 
 
 Then shall I know, if, on the road 
 Which thou in youthful beauty trode, 
 I aim for that Divine abode, 
 
 Nor yield to earthly thrall — 
 Shall recognise, with my new sight, 
 The lineaments of wavy light. 
 Yet worship not an Angel quite, 
 
 Where God is all in all ! 
 
THE WIDOW. 19T 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 Observe yon little cottage, where 
 
 A garden smiles, the sea-side near, — 
 
 A childless widow now lives there. 
 
 She had a son, a fisher-lad, 
 
 The only stay and hope she had, 
 
 Her all on earth that made her glad. 
 
 Her liealth was frail, her strength was small, 
 
 The fisher-lad was growing tall 
 
 And every day was more her alL 
 
 Though little lore from books he knew, 
 
 He 'd read at least his Bible through. 
 
 And thence his honest maxims drew. 
 
 By peep of day no more his head 
 
 Was resting on his humble bed. 
 
 He sought his and her daily bread. 
 
 And ever as, to catch the. gale. 
 
 He 'd nimbly spread his tiny sail. 
 
 The mother's heart would almost fail. 
 
 Her an-xious eye w^ould watch each tack 
 
 Till baffled by his devious track. 
 
 Then lono;ed her soul to have him back. 
 
 All day if more than zephyrs blew, 
 
 How anxious was her spirit, too, 
 
 Until his evening song she knew. 
 
 Not large his gains when best success 
 
 Had crowned his toils ; how often, less 
 
 Sufficed for their contentedness ! 
 
 When evening came, — at home once more, 
 
 Safe with his boat and scaly store. 
 
 Sweet greetings met him at the door. 
 9 
 
198 THE WIDOW. 
 
 IIow liappy was tlie widow's son 
 And widow's heart, for tliey were one, 
 WJien tlins liis daily task was done. 
 The evening meal was quickly spread, 
 And with no lack of thanks they fed, 
 For he had earned their daily bread. 
 A conscience clear, and appetite 
 Made sharp by work, and spirits light 
 Would scarce a humbler supper slight. 
 His playful smile, his laugh outright. 
 His sunburnt clieek, and forehead white, 
 His story of the day's exploit. 
 His vagi-ant curl, his love-lit eyes. 
 His tenderness, — her only joys — 
 How could that mother overprize ? 
 Who but must own incompetence 
 To scan the ways of Providence ? 
 The .widow's son was taken hence. 
 One fatal morn he sailed away. 
 But came not back at close of day, 
 'Nor ever gained his native bay. 
 
 The sky was clear, the sea untossed, 
 For boats as small had safely crossed. 
 And none could tell how he was lost. 
 The wildest grief the heart can know 
 When sorrow's billows o'er it flow, 
 Was that bereaved widow's woe. 
 Her only tie on earth was cleft, 
 And she was of a truth bereft, 
 And wondered why herself was left. 
 
THE GIBBS' HILL TRAGEDY. 199 
 
 But He wlio sends the tlinnder's noise, 
 The whirlwind and the still small voice, 
 Consults His glorj, not man's choice. 
 The Bible of her darling child 
 Declared in language sweet and mild, 
 Who could assuao^e her an Ornish wild. 
 That Friend she sought and soon did find, 
 And peace, like dew of Hermon, kind. 
 Came her sad broken heart to bind. 
 He, whom she sought on bended knee, 
 With soft response, and soothingly, 
 Said, Let the widow trust in Me. 
 And since the day her idol died. 
 Her every want has been supplied ; 
 God's promise has been verified. 
 
 THE GIBBS' HILL TRAGEDY 
 
 Where the seaman's beacon stands 
 Greeting him from distant lands, 
 (Holding up throughout the night 
 For his guide its flashing light) ; 
 And the flagstaff tells the tale 
 Of his near-approaching sail — 
 On that hill where they are placed, 
 Outwards viewing ocean's waste. 
 Upwards pointing, looking low, 
 O'er an archipelago — 
 Witnessed yester evening's eye 
 A most horrid Tragedy, 
 Two tremendous crimes allied, 
 Murder foul, and suicide. 
 
200 THE GIBBS' HILL TRAGEDY. 
 
 There a serjeant and bis four 
 Soldiers of a gallant corps 
 Watched for sliips till evening's shade, 
 Every day, and signals made. 
 Better had that serjeant slain 
 Hundreds on the battle-plain, 
 Than have ta'cn a single life 
 With the fell assassin's knife; 
 Better had his spirit flown 
 By a weapon not his own ; 
 Better for him still, had death 
 Stifled his first infant breath. 
 
 He had borne an honest name, 
 He had shared a decent fame, 
 Till of late, the story goes, 
 Charo^es o-rave a2:ainst him rose. 
 What provoked the fiend to kill 
 First his wife, and then to spill 
 His own blood, 't is hard to say — 
 Rumour speaketh many a way. 
 Was it that he could not face 
 Loss of station, a disgrace ? 
 Was he jealous of his wife ? 
 Was he weary of his life ? 
 Was he sane, or was he crazed, 
 When the fearful blade he raised ? 
 
 Not alone liis wife was slain 
 
 When she suflered, — there were twain ; 
 
201 
 
 For a life within her life 
 Perished in her nature's strife : 
 Then the self-same weapon hurled 
 Him into an untried world. 
 
 Followed soon a lightning-flash, 
 
 Followed next a thunder-crash, 
 
 Just as if the fiendish bands 
 
 Flashed their eyes and clapped their hands : 
 
 Followed an aerial sigh, 
 
 Followed raindrops from the sky, 
 
 As if eyes of angels ran 
 
 Tears for poor deluded man. 
 
 Eashly, rashly sought he death ; 
 
 Is Eternity a breath ? 
 
 Did he think that He who died 
 
 Once for man, the Crucified, 
 
 Bled to make the door of Heaven 
 
 Free to sinners unforgiven ? 
 
 Did he think awhile to wait 
 
 In a purgatorial state, 
 
 Till the prayers of men and saints 
 
 Won him from its dire restraints ? 
 
 Did he think to toil for years 
 
 Through a series of spheres. 
 
 Till his expurgated soul 
 
 Reached at last the happy goal ? 
 
 Did he think the soul of man 
 
 Ended with his mortal span ? 
 
 Thought he that the grave would steep 
 
 Ilim in an eteraal sleep. 
 
202 moore's calabash tree. 
 
 Waking never at the word 
 Of his Maker and his Lord, 
 ^^ever hearing from Hi in flow 
 Words of blessing or of woe ? 
 
 Did he from the subject shrink, 
 Kashly vowing not to think ? 
 Did his bosom's anguish-pain 
 Steal his sleep and turn his brain 1 
 Know we not, nor may we know ; 
 But a day shall all things show.^ — 
 Leave we him to Heaven then, 
 God is more merciful than man. 
 
 MOORE'S CALABASH TREE 
 
 In kindness spare this Tree ! 
 
 Harm not a single bough — 
 It claims repect from thee 
 
 For root and trunk and brow. 
 In kindness let it thrive 
 
 His monument for long, 
 Who, dead, is yet alive 
 
 In his undying song. 
 Beneath its pleasant shade, 
 
 In sunny hours Icmg sy 7ie, 
 With friends he merry made. 
 
 As thou hast done with thine. 
 Each was the other's guest, 
 
 Each was the other's host ; 
 They laughed at every jest, 
 
 And echoed every toast. 
 
MEMORIAL. 2U3 
 
 And how the air did ring 
 
 "With song- voice of each friend ! 
 But he was ona conkl sing 
 
 The song himself had penned. 
 Think of that social day, 
 
 Which gave this Tree its fame, 
 Full sixty years away, — 
 
 And breathe in love his name. 
 Friends absent not forgot, — 
 
 Friends present ! frank and free, 
 Own this a pleasant spot, 
 
 And this a hallowed Tree. 
 
 1863. 
 
 MEMORIAL. 
 
 He stood with sacred vestments on ; 
 The fiat came 't were vain to slight : 
 His work was done — he 'd fought his fight ! 
 
 And now his crown of glory 's won. 
 
 Forget his portly form who can 
 
 That met him oft, and loved to meet. 
 Slow moving on and prompt to greet, 
 
 With beaver raised, the po5re3t man ? 
 
 We seem to see his massive brow 
 
 As pondering something good to say, 
 To hear his deep-toned voice convey 
 
 The sage reflection even now. 
 
204 RAIN. 
 
 In converse well he knew tlie art 
 
 To please, and when to part he knew : 
 The sallies of his wit wei*e to 
 
 Inform the mind, improve the heart. 
 
 In his large head what varied lore ! 
 
 How wise and liberal was his miud ! 
 
 Love, sympathy for all mankind, 
 Thus winning love, his great heart bore. 
 
 RAIN. 
 
 O, FOR another rainy day, 
 
 That so the earth may bloom again ! 
 There is a language, iar away, 
 
 In which the name of God is Ilain ! 
 The ground for lack of moistnre ails, 
 
 Dead fruits and flowers alone remain, 
 The cistern's liquid treasure fails, — • 
 
 O, for another day of rain ! 
 
 The grass dies by the solar blaze. 
 
 The thirsty cattle low, complain. 
 And dust-clonds choke the hot highways 
 
 O, for another day of rain ! 
 The firmament is blinding glare, 
 
 All nature seems to feel the j)ain ; 
 The tantalizing clouds draw near. 
 
 But haste away nor yield us rain. 
 
BEAUTY AND MUSIC. 205 
 
 Poor earth ! how canst thou siiiilo and bloom ? 
 
 Thy willing forces strive in vain ; 
 An absent force controls thy doom : — 
 
 O, for another day of rain ! 
 shadowdng cloud, in rain to-day 
 
 Descend on every hill and plain ! 
 There is a language, far away, 
 
 In which the name of God is Rain. 
 
 BEAUTY AND MUSIC. 
 
 There 's beauty in the blue of heaven, 
 
 And in the morning's roseate light ; 
 There 's beauty in the shades of even, 
 
 And in the star-gemmed brow of night. 
 There 's beauty in the aerial bow, 
 
 And in the round-cheeked Luna's beam, 
 And in the cloud, like fleecy snow. 
 
 And in the myriad dew-drops' gleam. 
 There's beauty in the sunny waves 
 
 That dance like life-enjoying things, 
 And in the stately palm that braves 
 
 The storm, and in the vine that clings. 
 There 's beauty in the queenly rose, 
 
 And in the lowly violet's dyes ; 
 There 's beauty everywhere for those 
 
 Who look with beauty-loving eyes. 
 There 's music in the tinkling sound, 
 
 As rippling waters kiss the shore, 
 And in the teeming air around. 
 
 From viewless minstrels hovering o'er. 
 9* 
 
206 ESTHER. 
 
 There 's music in the hum of bees, 
 
 And from the woodland's winged quire ; 
 There 's music in the whispering breeze : — 
 
 Nature is one melodious Ijre. 
 And oft the cunning hand of man 
 
 Hath imitated beauty's forms : 
 And music after Jubai's plan — 
 
 The instrumental — vaunteth charms. 
 But where may we such beauty trace, 
 
 (I'd seek it whereso'er enshrined) 
 As greets us in a fair one's face 
 
 Expressive of a lovely mind ? 
 And where may we such music find 
 
 As in the words her lips impart, 
 Kevealing sentiments refined, 
 
 And welling from a gentle heart ? 
 Beauty and Music ! Gentle one. 
 
 How sweet the theme ! to thee the lay, 
 A tribute — more deserved by none — 
 
 The muse has deemed it meet to pay. 
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 In the sky, in the sea, on the land, 
 
 What beautiful objects there are ! 
 But none can excel, for its jewel-like spell, 
 
 The smile of a beautiful star. 
 A woman, a man, or a child. 
 
 Who 's noted at home or afar. 
 For talent, or worth, or for innocent mirth, 
 
 Admiringly call we a star. 
 
FUNEREAL. 207 
 
 The speaker, whose eloquence charms, 
 
 The hero, pei'haps with a scar, 
 The singer, whose song is the joy of the throng — 
 
 Each one in his way is a star. 
 If you are a good Httle girl, 
 
 (I have not a doubt that you are) 
 You win lots of love and, besides, you deserve 
 
 Youi' pretty name, Esther — a star. 
 
 FUNEREAL. 
 
 Aiq"OTHER life on earth is done. 
 
 Another life in Heaven begun ; 
 
 To her of fourscore years and twain, 
 
 To live was Christ, to die was gain. 
 The old Kirk-bell begins to toll ; 
 The slow procession nears the goal — 
 The church where best she loved to pray, 
 And hear God's Word each Sabbath-day. 
 
 The prayer is o'er, the chapter ends, 
 
 The hymn exhorteth those who weep : 
 
 " Take comfort. Christians, when your friends 
 
 In Jesus fall asleep." 
 
 Departed one ! upon thy bier 
 Love only drops fond nature's tear ; 
 For death was stingless, and o'er thee 
 The grave achieves no victory. 
 
 Form so long cherished ! now we lay 
 
 Ashes with ashes, clay with clay, 
 
208 FRAGMENT. 
 
 (O tomb, tlie sacred relics guard !) 
 And leave tliee in the old Kirk-yard : 
 
 Leave tliee with him who called thee Wife 
 Through sixt}^ years of wedded life, 
 Who shared thy earthly joy and grief, 
 Thy Heavenly hope and firai Belief. 
 Sleep well ! we know ye both shall rise, 
 That Bay, to gain the immortal prize, 
 With throngs that rest in peace unmarred 
 Around you in the old Kirk-yard. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 O, COULD this gliding pencil trace 
 In Poesy ' the line of grace,' 
 And thus describe with master-skill 
 The grandeur of an Alpine hill, 
 The less sublime, yet lovely views 
 Within the charming vale of Mouse, 
 The rapture-yielding scenes that shine 
 Along, around the lordly Ehine ; 
 Could it portray the blooming grace 
 Of Nature's ever-varying face 
 Expressive in its silent speech 
 Of truths, (august as words may teach,) 
 That so impress the inmost soul 
 Where landscapes shine and rivers roll ; 
 With the bright images that throng 
 The heart that warms to aught of song ; 
 And breathe its aspirations rife 
 For something of a truer life ; — 
 
FRAGMENT. 209 
 
 IIow would I plj the honoured task, 
 Xor care in brighter joys to bask I 
 Then, as I studied well the charms 
 Of nature in her varied forms, 
 And saw expressed the wondrous Power 
 That formed the mountain and the flower ; 
 JMethinks I soon might turn my lays 
 To more than mere Creation's praise. 
 And, step by step, might soon aspire 
 To land her uncreated Sire, 
 Until they reached the mount Divine 
 Where Throned is I^ature's God and mine. 
 
]Sr OTE s. 
 
 KILCOLMAN. 
 
 1. This is a part of the inscription on Spenser's monument in 
 Poets' Corner. 
 
 2. The poet had been for a few years secretary to Lord Grey de 
 Wilton, Viceroy of Ireland. 
 
 3. " Of fields, farms, fights I sung "—part of Virgil's epitaph. 
 
 4. Spenser's earliest poem, first published in 1579. 
 
 5. St. Johr, Raleigh's latest biographer, asserts that they had m^^t 
 nine years before, at the siege of D^l Ora, Spenser then being Lord 
 Grey's secretary. One would not suppose they had from the lines 
 in which Raleigh is styled " a strange shepherd." 
 
 6. The same author accuses Raleigh of acts of cruelty at the 
 capture of Del Ora. If there are any grounds for the charge it 
 should be borne in mind that Raleigh was a subordinate otiicer, and 
 that no important step could have been taken by him without 
 the necessary order from his superior in command, who was Gen. 
 Grey. St. John adds, however — " Besides, the age, I repeat, was a 
 barbarous age, in which nothing was viewed in the light in which 
 we behold it now." 
 
 7. Most of us are familiar with the couplet which is said to con- 
 tain the exact words of the hospitable salutation and of the grateful 
 rejoinder, as the stately Scottish bard met the English laureate in 
 front of Hawthornden Castle, on the occasion of Ben Jonson's 
 celebrated visit : 
 
 " Welcome, welcome. Royal Ben ! " 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye, Hawthornden ! " 
 
 8. The family of Spensers, to which the poet immediately belonged. 
 was descended from one common ancestor with the ennobled house 
 of Spencer. " The nobility of the Spencers," says Gibbon, in his 
 Memoirs of his own Life, " has been illustrated and enriched by the 
 
212 ■' NOTES. 
 
 trophies of Marlborougfli ; but I exliort them to consider tlie Fairy 
 Qaeen as the most precious jewel of their coronet." 
 
 9. " That sweet verse, with nectar sprinkeled, 
 In which a gracious servant pictured 
 His Cynthia, his heaven's fairest light," — Fairy Queen. 
 
 Spenser, also, in his letter to Raleigh, explaining the plan and 
 allegory of his great work, makes mention of the latter's " excellent 
 conceit of Cyuihia." 
 
 10. " Who did not think till within these foure years, hut that 
 these islands had been ratlier a habitation for Devills, than fit for men 
 to dwell in ? But behold the misprision and conceits of the world ! 
 for true and large experience hath told us it is one of the sweetest 
 paradises that be upon earth." — Plaine Descrii)t of the Bermudas, 
 1613. 
 
 11. The defeat of the Spanish Arinada had been the great event 
 of the year before (1588). Sir Walter Raleigh was one of the 
 number appointed to form the council of war to prepare the national 
 defences. After organizing the militia of Dorsetshire, Somersetshire, 
 Devonshire and Cornwall, and fortifying Portland, he took up his 
 own post at the latter place to await the invader. Sir Walter was 
 on board the fleet, commanded by Lord Howard, during the grand 
 battle off Portland on the 23d of July; and the tactics then adopted 
 by its commander were chiefly due to his suggestions. Raleigh on 
 this, as on other occasions, proved himself one of the most trust- 
 worthy of his country's heroes. 
 
 13. In his seventy-fourth sonnet, Spenser records the circumstance 
 that his mother, his Queen, and his love, all bore the same name, 
 —Elizabeth. 
 
 13. "The tradition is," says Craik, "that Burleigh had stood 
 between the poet and the Queen's bounty, by exclaiming, when 
 Elizabeth had ordered him a hundred pounds, as an expression of 
 her admiration of some verses which he had presented. What, all 
 this for song ? and also, that he for some time exerted his influence 
 to prevent Spenser getting the pension of fifty pounds a year," This 
 story has been confirmed by a record, almost of Spenser's own day, 
 discovered by Mr. Collier, among the Harleian MSS. 
 
 14, " Sir Walter never visited his settlement in Virginia ; but the 
 introduction of tobacco into England is generally believed due to 
 
NOTES. 213 
 
 him. The pleasant anecdotes upon this occasion are well-known ; 
 how Sir Walter's servant, alarmed to see the smoke pouring out of 
 his master's mouth, thought he was on fire, and emptied a tankard 
 of ale on his face to quench the flame ; how, also, the Queen lost a 
 wager to Sir Walter, who had betted her. that he would -sveigli the 
 smoke of a given quantity of tobacco, which he did by weighing 
 the ashes, and deducting the weight from that of the tobacco 
 before he smoked it." 
 
 15. Gabriel Harvey, LL.D., an early friend of Spenser's. He 
 attempted to imitate in English, the measures of Greek and Latin 
 poetry ; and, indeed, wished to see reduced all English versification 
 under the laws, or supposed laws, of ancient quantity. 
 
 IC. Sir Philip Sidney's death occurred in October, I086. He 
 was greatly loved by Spenser, whose earliest patron he was. It 
 was also, owing in part to his influence that the poet obtained 
 from the crown the grant of the Kilcolman estate in June of 
 the same year. The following anecdote is interesting. Spenser, 
 when a very young man, went up to London, from his then home 
 in the north of England, with the manuscript of his first poem in 
 his pocket, in search of a patron or publisher. He called at the 
 house of Sir Philip, and was fortunate enough to induce the steward 
 to take the papers up to him. Sir Philip, before he had finished 
 reading the first page, called out to the steward to give the young 
 man fifty pounds. The steward hesitated. Give him a hundred 
 pounds, said the delightful reader, as he turned to the second page. 
 In another moment he called out that the largess was to be increased 
 to two hundred pounds, and that it must be given immediately, or 
 the fascinating young poet would cheat him out of all his fortune, 
 
 17. The offer of the crown of Poland had been made to Sir Philip, 
 who was prevented from accepting it b}'- the reluctance of the 
 Queen to part with so valued a subject. 
 
 18. These stanzas from " The two Cantos of Mutability," form the 
 concluding portion of the "Fairy Queen." The poem in its unfin- 
 ished state contains six books. It w^as Spenser's design that it 
 should consist of twelve books, at the least, as we learn from his 
 letter to Raleigh. 
 
 19. " Sir Robert Cecil, Avho had made use of the unsuspecting 
 Raleigh to undermine the Earl of Essex, began to treat him coldly, 
 and a sullen strife gradually arose between these two, which did 
 
214 NOTES. 
 
 not break out into avowed hatred till tlie death of Elizabeth, in 
 1602. The new King was speedily persuaded by Cecil to withdraw 
 the marks of Eoa al esteem which had been conferred on Sir 
 Walter, But this was not enough : and within three months after- 
 wards, Raleigh found himself accused of treason, and divers conspir- 
 acies, with others, to dethrone James, and to set, up Arabella Stuart 
 or else some Pretender in the Spanish interest. These charges were 
 altogether unfounded and unproved ; but he was tried with great un- 
 fairness, sentenced to death, and remanded to the Tower. Sir Walter 
 beguiled his long confinement of thirteen years, with philosophy 
 and poetry, the composition of his learned and eloquent History of 
 the World, and the conversation and correspondence of his distin- 
 guished friends, as well as of his faithful wife permitted to visit him 
 daily in his priaon. The King's eldest son, Prince Henry, a youth 
 of great promise, delighted to talk with Raleigh, and used to say, 
 * No one but my father would keep such a bird in a cige.' The 
 opportunity of his liberation occurred in 1615, after the death of 
 Cecil, through the revival of the scheme for opening a gold-mine in 
 Guiana. 
 
 " Raleigh was placed in charge of thirteen vessels a,nd of a numer- 
 ous company, with which he reached the mouth of the Orinoco; but 
 an attack of illness prevented him from going up the river. This 
 was in 1617. The party which he sent up could find no gold-mines, 
 and came back to the ships having suffered much loss. There was 
 a complication of disasters, including an unlucky dispute and fight 
 with some Spaniards, though England was then at peace with 
 Spain, and a mutiny of sailors in Sir Walter's fleet. The news of 
 these events when reported in London, inflamed the mind of James 
 1st to furious displeasure, which was artfully kept alive by the 
 personal foes of Raleigh, and by the crafty agents of Spain." 
 
 20. " James was at that time bent on the marriage of his son, Pri nee 
 Charles, to the Spanish Infanta, and Raleigh was to be made the 
 victim. Almost immediately on his return to England he was 
 again cast into prison. Having received no formal pardon since he 
 was sentenced to death in 1603, he could not be tried again ; but it 
 was decreed by the king in Council, that the sentence should now be 
 put in execution. He was beheaded on Tower-hill, October 29, 
 1618, in the sixty-sixth year of his age, behaving with exemplary 
 dignity and serenity, as well as with manly courage." 
 
NOTES. 215 
 
 21. "Whosoever commands the sea, commands the trade ; who- 
 soever commands the trade of the world, commands the riches of 
 the world, and consequently the world itself." — Raleigh, 
 
 22. Raleigh shared largely in the prevailing belief of his time 
 respecting the existence of a golden land somewhere in the New 
 World ; nor can that belief be any longer regarded as visionary and 
 chimerical, since the discovery of the treasures of California, He 
 never found the El Dorado he sought ; but in the search of it he 
 rendered signal benefit to science and the world by his explorations 
 in Central and South America. "Already," says Kingsley in his 
 Ijetters from the Tropics, " gold discoveries in the Sierra de Parima 
 are indicating the honesty of the murdered Raleigh." 
 
 23. " The last authentic notice of Spenser, that has been discov- 
 ered," says Gr. L. Craik, " is a letter from the Queen to the Irish 
 Government, dated 30 September, 1598, recommending him to be 
 sheriff of Cork. But the breaking out of the Tyrone rebellion, 
 drove him with his family from Kilcolman. Ben Jonson told 
 Drummond of Hawthornden, that after plundering him of his goods, 
 the rebels burned his castle and a little child new born ; but that 
 he and his wife escaped. He came over to London, and died at an 
 inn in King Street, Westminster, on the 16th of January, 1599, 
 His body was interred in Westminster Abbey, and it is said to have 
 been by his own desire that his grave was made next to that of 
 Chaucer. The funeral was at the charge of the Earl of Essex ; the 
 pall was held up by poets, and mournful elegies, with the pens that 
 wrote them, were thrown into the grave." 
 
 LOCH-LOMOND. 
 
 1. The surface of the Lake is rippled, even when there is not a 
 breath of wind felt. 
 
 2. When these lines were written, seventeen years ago, it did not 
 occur to me, as now it does, that the comparison of a sublime physi- 
 cal scene to an impression of moral magnificence, might seem to 
 some future reader far-fetched and unapt. The eflfect produced on 
 my mind when a boy, by reading an account of the Battle of 
 Bannockburn, wherein it was stated that just before the fight, and 
 while in the presence of the enemy, the entire army of Bruce 
 devoutly implored the Divine aid in prayer, had scarcely lessened 
 
21 G NOTES. 
 
 in the lapse of so many years. Admiration of the moral and spirit- 
 ual grandeur of the spectacle thus presented to my ima<?ination, of 
 an army of heroes at prayer on the battle-field, was the medium 
 through which those hardy warriors seemed of such noble bearing 
 and of proportions perfectly superhuman. 
 
 3. See Wordsworth's lines : — 
 
 " Sweet Highland Girl ! a very shower 
 Of beauty is thy earthly dower," etc. 
 
 4. On tliis island there is a prison, though but rarely needed, for 
 tipsy women of Luss. 
 
 5. This island was formerly the burying-place of the Clan Mac 
 Gregor. 
 
 6. Near Inversnaid is an old fort where the immortal Wolfe did 
 duty for a short time, when a young officer. 
 
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