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 LIBRARY OF COi^GRESS 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
LYRICS 
 
 SPAIN AND ERIN 
 
 7 
 
 EDWARD lIATURm, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MONTEZUMA," "EVA," ETC., ETC. 
 
 1883 
 
 -^'^WASH^^ 
 
 X 
 
 ,■»', 
 
 BOSTON: 
 TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 
 
 nt p (- f (' T , 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by 
 
 EDWARD MATURIN, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 Craighead, Printer and Stereotuper. 
 112 Ftdton ttreet, New York. 
 
MISS HAINES, 
 
 TWENTIETH STREET, 
 
 NEW Y o R ; 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Receive my thanks for your acceptance of the following 
 pages. Their demerits may, in the eyes of our common friends, 
 be atoned by the privilege of your name ; which, though it 
 guarantee not the excellence of the work, affords yet ample 
 testimony to the kindness of your heart. 
 
 I have the honor to be. 
 Madam, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 The Author. 
 J^ew York, Oct., 1850. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 I HAVE nothing to say in the shape of Preface ; nor, had 
 I, do I think the Public would trouble itself therewith. 
 They are generally masses of egotism, or meant as 
 palliatives for faults, were better left to the ingenuity 
 of the Reader, a function he is seldom slow in exercising. 
 For the former I have no personalities to communicate, and 
 for the latter, I am as unwilling to deprecate censure, if 
 deserved, as to solicit unmerited praise. 
 
 It may serve to propitiate Critics, soi disant and otherwise, 
 to inform them that the majority of the volume has 
 undergone what may be termed the cobweb-prolation of 
 Horace, the glorious Novennium of shelf and silence. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 SPANISH BALLADS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Destruction of Numantia, 
 
 Roderick after the Battle, 
 
 Lament of Roderick in the Garden 
 
 Bernardo's Father, 
 
 Bernardo del Carpio to his Army, 
 
 The Vengeance of Mudarraz, 
 
 The Banner of the Cid, 
 
 The Foray of the Cid, . 
 
 Bermudez' Appeal to the Sons-in-Law of the Cid on the 
 
 point of Flight, 
 The Cid's Farewell, 
 The Cid's Pennon, 
 Babieca, .... 
 Alphonzo's Oath, 
 The Burial of the Cid, . 
 Address of Count Fernan Gonzalez previous to battle 
 
 with the Moors, ...... 
 
 Florida leaves her Father's House at Night, embarking in 
 
 the Galley of her Lover, Dnardos, . 
 King Sebastian dies in Battle, 
 Vellido Dolfos' Treason, 
 Boabdil's Lament, ....... 
 
 Boabdil's Farewell, ....... 
 
 1 
 
 5 
 
 10 
 IG 
 19 
 23 
 27 
 31 
 
 35 
 37 
 39 
 43 
 
 47 
 51 
 
 53 
 
 57 
 GO 
 63 
 67 
 70 
 
f • r» N 1 F, N I !=; 
 
 Pagt 
 LEGENDS AN'I) SITF.USTITIONS OF IRELAND. 
 
 The Enchanted Ring, . .77 
 Eileen Aroon, . . 114 
 The Spirit-Bridegroom. ... 140 
 The Death- Kiss, 150 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Belshazzar, . . • .171 
 
 The Sea, 183 
 
 The Woods, 19^ 
 
 Napoleon, .....-• 204 
 
SPANISH BALLADS 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF NUMANTIA. 
 
 [The Spanish Chronicler says : "The invasion of the French is so fresh 
 in the memory, tbat it is sufficient to say, the inhabitants of Zaragossa 
 imitated the desperate example of Numantia against Scipio." 
 
 Monti, in his tragedy of Caio Gracco, alludes thus to Scipio, and the 
 bitter extremities of want and suffering experienced by the Numantians : 
 "Rememb'rest thou not the fell work of the destroyer (Scipio), and the 
 famine of Numantia, which blackened and cursed our name throughout 
 the world?"] 
 
 With haughty Rome's unconquered band, that ne'er 
 knew flight or fear, 
 
 To desolate Iberia's land with fire, and sword, and spear, 
 
 The conqueror of Carthage goes, in Afric's field re- 
 nowned. 
 
 To win for Rome, Numantia, or raze her to the ground. 
 1 
 
2 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 No sooner, then, his warrior-men, with sword and 
 
 buckler bright, 
 In war-array, at break of day, in ghttering armor dight, 
 Were marshalled on the grassy plain by Darro's golden 
 
 water,* 
 Than Scipio thus aroused his men to deeds of blood 
 
 and slaughter : 
 
 " Soldiers ! the banners that ye bear are emblems of the 
 
 Day; 
 Rome's haughty eagle flies where'er is felt its genial 
 
 ray- 
 May the shouts of Roman triumph sustain her as she 
 
 flies. 
 To make her bright pavilion in the depths of yonder 
 
 skies ! 
 
 "Remember, that to-day ye fight to gain a brighter 
 
 name 
 Than e'er was set by Glory yet upon the scroll of 
 
 Fame ! 
 Remember, that the deeds of war shall hve to future 
 
 years ; 
 
 * This river (an abbreviation of the Spanish Dk oro) derives its name 
 from the tradition that its sands were golden. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 3 
 
 The victor ! the triumphal car ! the captive chained in 
 tears !" 
 
 Nor heard these men their leader, then, impatient for 
 
 the fray ; 
 For eager cries did rend the skies, and cleave the vault 
 
 of day : 
 " To arras ! to arms !" from left to right, from right to 
 
 left, they cry — 
 The spear upon the shield they smite, and raise their 
 
 banners high* 
 
 The Numantine in serried line, as he looks from his 
 
 guarded tower. 
 And sees advance with targe and lance the might of 
 
 Roman power. 
 Resolves to make the tented field the proud Numan- 
 
 tian's grave. 
 Ere Spain to Roman sword should yield, or crouch as 
 
 Roman slave ! 
 
 No bread they have for famished life within those 
 
 'leaguered walls ; 
 She bares her breast, the fearless wife, and 'fore her 
 
 husband falls ; 
 She quails not at the naked knife, and with her babe, 
 
 she prays — 
 
4 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Death from the arm which guarded her from wrong in 
 other days. 
 
 They build a blazing fire, the while, and in their 
 
 strong despair, 
 Resolve to make that flame the pile of all that's rich 
 
 and fair ; 
 In low, but sternest voice they cry, that pale but iron 
 
 band : 
 "That day shall rather see them die, than Spain a 
 
 conquered land !" 
 
 Th' exulting Romans, heedless then of what was done 
 or said 
 
 Amid that ghastly troop of men, resolved, and un- 
 dismayed : 
 
 " To arms ! to arms !" from left to right, from right to 
 left, they cry ; 
 
 The spear upon the shield they smite, and raise their 
 banners high. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 RODERICK AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 The painted bird forgets his lay, and folds his wings in 
 
 rest, 
 Faded the amber light of day, and gloom is in the 
 
 West ; 
 The earth in solemn silence hears the murmur of the 
 
 wave, 
 As its watery tribute on it bears, to make the sea its 
 
 Dimly shines the evening star, like the fair bride of 
 
 night. 
 Sailing in her pearly car o'er waves of misty light ; 
 And scarce, I ween, the moon is seen through rack and 
 
 drifting cloud, 
 For the storm hath wrapped*the midnight sky in a pale 
 
 and dismal shroud. 
 
 And who is he, o'er mount and vale, who wends his 
 weary way — 
 
 Worn his weeds, his cheek is pale, and hair in dis- 
 array ? 
 
6 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Rodrigo, from the bloody plain of Jerez takes his flight, 
 To shun the heaps of his thousands slain — for a King a 
 Sony sight ! 
 
 And he hath ta'en a sad disguise on that drear and 
 
 lonely way — 
 Weeds that a Palmer would not prize, so torn and bare 
 
 are they ; 
 No jewelled crown upon his head — no sceptre doth he 
 
 hold ; 
 But poor and tattered robes instead of purple and of 
 
 gold. 
 
 What soldier now could recognise the King he once 
 
 adored ? 
 Oh! who could think that tattered guise concealed a 
 
 kingly sword ? 
 Where are the glittering gems that shone in victory's 
 
 bright day — 
 Gems that the Goths themselves had won from foes as 
 
 strong as they ? 
 
 Many a dint his armor bears, and many a crimson 
 
 stain 
 Upon its polished face appears — the blood of Moorish 
 
 slain : • 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 7 
 
 With blood and dust his face was smeared — his head in 
 
 thought was bent ; 
 The triumph of that luckless day was the reed on which 
 
 he leant ! 
 
 Through vale and plain, with slackened rein, Oreha bears 
 
 him on ; 
 His courser true, that weary day, master and steed 
 
 alone ! 
 With weary hmb and lightless eye, with faint and 
 
 drooping head, 
 Orelia trod the midnight-way, unknowing where it led. 
 
 Sad images the horseman's eye at every step assail, 
 Anon he hears the Moorish ery, anon the Christian wail ; 
 He dares not look to Heaven, for there God speaks in 
 
 every tone ; 
 He dares not look to earth — alas ! that earth is not his 
 
 own ! 
 
 That land is now another's — and he has nor crown 
 
 nor throne ; 
 He throws with pride the tear aside, and stifles every 
 
 groan. 
 " Wo ! wo betide the hour," he cried, " I first felt 
 
 passion's fires — 
 Wo worth the clay T fell a prey to love's accurst desires! 
 
8 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " 'Twas not the part of Gothic King his people to 
 
 bewray 
 For the deadly wile of woman's smile, or her eyes' 
 
 deceitful ray. 
 Where is my kingdom's glory gone, and where my 
 
 people's trust ? 
 Where are my sceptre and my throne ? All trampled 
 
 to the dust ! 
 
 " And Cava ! — thou fair enemy ; thou Helena of Spain ! 
 Oh would to God that I were blind ere I had worn thy 
 
 chain ; 
 But in thy beauty slept the fire the flint within it bears ; 
 Our luckless passion now, alas ! can scarce be quenched 
 
 by teaii^ 
 
 "Would, Julian, that thy dagger's point — foul traitor 
 
 that thou art ! — 
 Had found its way through harness-joint, and pierced my 
 
 very heart ! 
 The swarthy hordes of Afric's land o'erspread our hills 
 
 and plains — 
 I w^ould the fragment of this brand could rend thy 
 
 traitor's veins !" 
 
SPAx\ISH BALLADS. 9 
 
 He bowed his head upon his breast — his words were low 
 
 and faint — 
 His hps in agony were prest to the image of his saint ;* 
 The weary steed to earth fell dead! The knight full 
 
 sore he weeps — 
 Upon the sward he makes his bed, and vigil sad he 
 
 keeps. 
 
 And ever from his hps there fell a prayer for conquered 
 
 Spain, 
 That God would smite the Infidel, and break his 
 
 country's chain ; 
 And oft amid the hng'ring night he'd gaze upon his 
 
 steed. 
 Dream o'er again the Moorish fight, and Orelia's arrowy 
 
 * The Goths were Christians. — Vide Sismondi's " Uistoire du Midi.'' 
 
 1* 
 
10 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 LAMENT OF RODERICK IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 Amid the garden's clust'ring beds, where rose and lily 
 
 pale 
 Shroud, tremblingly, their dewy heads, 'neath ev'ning's 
 
 dusky veil. 
 The throneless King Rodrigo strays, while thought with 
 
 magic wand 
 Conjures bright dreams of other days, when the Goth 
 
 ruled o'er the land. 
 
 The sparkle of the fountain bright falls darkly on his 
 
 eye; 
 The murmur of its meteor-flight, on his heart sank 
 
 heavily ; 
 The rose hath lost her damask hue — all withered is her 
 
 leaf; 
 And the lily, 'tis the emblem true, of Rod'rick's pallid 
 
 grief. 
 
 Bright hues, in clusters, 'round were spread to glad the 
 
 gazer's eye ; 
 Nature's bright hand around had shed a flowered 
 
 galaxy ; 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. H 
 
 But evening waved her shadowy wand o'er every 
 
 flow'ret's breast, 
 And lulled, as by a mother's hand, they closed their 
 
 leaves in rest. 
 
 His hurried step betrayed the thought, repentance* 
 
 keenest pang ; 
 In solitude, the Goth had sought to blunt her poisoned 
 
 fang ;— 
 He leaned in sadness 'gainst a tree, its boughs of leaves 
 
 were bare. 
 And with a broken \'oice spake he, in accents of 
 
 despair. 
 
 " Lo ! every plague beneath the heaven, within this 
 
 breast hath found 
 Its darkened home, by vengeance given, to rend each 
 
 gaping wound ; 
 The elements themselves conspire, for water dims the 
 
 eye; 
 Within my breast's a raging fire, and air begets the 
 
 " The earth alone hath mercy shown — her terrors are 
 
 concealed, 
 For in the tomb, that darkened home, Life's fountains 
 
 are congealed ; 
 
12 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 And with meteor-speed the hour of Fate comes upon 
 
 friend and foe, 
 And stilled is the burning pulse of Hate, in icy realms 
 
 below. 
 
 " These odors sweet, that float and stray, as they heaven- 
 ward take their flight. 
 
 Like incense laid by dying Day on the altar of the 
 Night, 
 
 Are linked with tearful memory of hours for ever fled ; 
 
 Those flowers have grown beneath thine eye, and now, 
 aLas ! they're dead I 
 
 " In every faded rose, I seek that bright and blushing 
 
 bloom. 
 That, Cava, once adorned thy cheek, dark signet of my 
 
 doom ! 
 And vainly strive in each to trace the memory of thee, 
 Whose image Time shall ne'er erase, how long soe'er it 
 
 be. 
 
 "Hard as the mountain-rock, the tree whose trunk 
 
 supports me now ; 
 Silent its leafy melody, and withered every bough ; 
 But, Cava, harder far art thou than rock or aged tree — - 
 The very life-blood of this heart hath been, traitress, 
 
 shed by thee ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 13 
 
 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 
 
 Alphonzo sate in his castle-hall, his knights on either 
 
 hand ; 
 His warriors and nobles all held each his naked brand : 
 A stern and haughty suitor stood before the monarch's 
 
 throne, 
 And, while his brow was flushed with blood, 'twas thus 
 
 the knight spake on : — 
 
 " Within the walls of yonder tower in chains my father 
 
 lies ; 
 Thou'st shut the sunny day for aye in darkness on his 
 
 eyes ; 
 Thou'st palsied strength of heart and limb by the weight 
 
 of the deadly chain ; 
 And the youth, that was hght and joy to him, hath 
 
 closed in gloom and pain ! 
 
 " Senseless we deem the stones that guard the captive's 
 
 dungeon deep ; 
 Pity, within their bosoms hard, is locked in icy sleep ; — 
 And yet upon these senseless stones grief writes her 
 
 sacred sign ; 
 
14 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 They hear my father's sighs and groans — Foul tyrant ! 
 where are thine ? 
 
 " The bloom of youth was on his brow — its light was in 
 
 his eye ; 
 But both, alas ! are faded now, by long captivity : 
 Bright and flowing was his hair, hke noon-day's golden 
 
 hght ; 
 But Time hath set his signet there, and Age hath made 
 
 them white. 
 
 " The blood that warms my father's veins, Alphonzo 
 
 holds in scorn ; 
 The flesh that moulders in his chains, he deems it lowly 
 
 born ; 
 Yet 'twas that foul and worthless blood that nerved 
 
 Bernardo's heart, 
 When in the blaze of fight he stood, and dared the 
 
 Frankish dart. 
 
 " When Charlemagne his steel-clad horde marched 
 
 proudly through thy realm, 
 Who was the first to draw the sword, and who to brace 
 
 the helm ? 
 Bernardo boldly took the field, with Leon's knightly band, 
 Seized his broad and burnished shield, and bared his 
 
 battle-brand. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 16 
 
 " When civil discord's lawless rage swept through the 
 
 realm of Spain, 
 Dyed deep with blood her virgin page, and forged thy 
 
 country's chain, — 
 Upon the instant, out there flew, from every slumbering 
 
 sheath. 
 Swords, that, baptized in life's warm dew, were stained 
 
 with its last breath. 
 
 " I am thy sister's son, false king ! Bernardo's blood is 
 
 thine ! 
 It were a foul and shameless thing that Ejng Alphonzo's 
 
 line 
 Should bear upon his 'scutcheon bright the bastard's 
 
 lowly stain — 
 The son demands the father's right, or vengeance upon 
 
 Spain ! 
 
 "ISTay, flush not thus thy haughty brow — I fear nor 
 
 threat nor death ! 
 Though armed men be 'round thee now, I tell thee in 
 
 thy teeth — 
 The frozen heart and the whitened head of the old man 
 
 now in chains 
 Shall, traitor ! strew thy path with dead, and the blood 
 
 of Castilian veins !" 
 
SPANISH BALLADS, 
 
 BERNARDO S FATHER. 
 
 " Ere yet the beard of manhood's growth liad left its 
 
 darkened track, 
 Thou swor'st, false king ! a perjured oath, to give my 
 
 father back ; — 
 To free my prisoned sire for aye from dungeon and from 
 
 chain ; 
 Yet, though I sue thee day on day, my hopes, my 
 
 prayers, are vain ! 
 
 " Thy curse was on his bridal-hour, when he thy sister 
 w^ed ; 
 
 The convent was thy sister's dower ; the cell his bridal- 
 bed : 
 
 Nor convent-walls nor dungeon-chains can alter nature's 
 line — 
 
 The blood that warms Bernardo's veins is, traitor ! also 
 thine ! 
 
 " Say, he was rebel to the throne ; — the crime he's paid 
 
 with years ; 
 His pillow 's now the dungeon-stone, his bread thou'st 
 
 steeped with tears ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. l7 
 
 But no ! not treason to thy land did deadly vengeance 
 
 move, 
 And kindle hate's undying brand — ''Twas that he dared 
 
 to love! 
 
 " Alphonzo ! freedom hast thou sworn my sire, upon thy 
 sword — 
 
 Let not thy subjects hold in scorn a knight's — a mo- 
 narch's word ; 
 
 For never yet was falsehood known her slimy path to 
 trace. 
 
 Where stood the monarch's sacred throne, or flush a 
 soldier's face ! 
 
 "Bernardo men 'a coward' call — 'tis false as hell the 
 
 word ; 
 The champion of Koncesvalles ne'er feared to draw his 
 
 sword. 
 I dare the liars ! By the rood ! Bernardo 's true and leal. 
 To write the falsehood in the blood of any in Castile ! 
 
 " My sire for thee in bloody strife hath many a battle won ; 
 For thee, false king ! Bernardo's life hath many a peril 
 
 run. 
 Shame ! shame upon thy guerdon foul ! my ftither hast 
 
 thou ta'en — 
 
18 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Tremble, traitor ! for by my soul, this blade thy heart 
 shall drain ! 
 
 " Ten thousand curses on the sword that fought for thee 
 
 and thine ! 
 Curst be the breath that gave the word to Spain's 
 
 embattled hne ! 
 The brand of craven 's on my brow — its curse is on my 
 
 heart, 
 To leave a sire in dungeon low, yet face Rfoeman's dart !" 
 
 Then spake Alphonze : — " A monarch's faith is time as 
 
 lover's token : 
 Sir knight, fear not thy father's death, his chain shall 
 
 soon be broken ; 
 Or ere to-morrow's sun shall rise o'er steeple, hill, and 
 
 tower. 
 The old man's form shall glad thine eyes, free from 
 
 Alphonzo's power." 
 
 The king his solemn vow he kept, which he had made 
 
 that day ; 
 Deceit within his bosom slept, to murder and betray : 
 His bloody 'best the soldiers bear to the dungeon lone 
 
 and drear — 
 The trembling old man's eyes they tear from their dull 
 
 and lightless sphere. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 19 
 
 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO TO HIS ARMY. 
 
 The stoutest lances at his side that ever fought for 
 Spain, 
 
 Bernardo's raUied far and wide 'gainst haughty Charle- 
 magne ; 
 
 In iron phalanx on they go, in rest is every lance ; — 
 
 Their leader is Del Carpio — their enemy is France ! 
 
 Alphonso,' traitor to his throne, hath sought for Frankish 
 
 aid, 
 And France hath to his summons flown, and bared her 
 
 every blade ; 
 And foul the price the king hath paid for the hire of 
 
 Frankman's blood : 
 His sires' soil he hath betrayed — the soil whereon they 
 
 stood ! 
 
 Weary with march the glittering train, ere the bright 
 
 sun goes down, 
 Halt in the middle of a plain two leagues from Leon's 
 
 town ; 
 Bernardo raised his visor up, surveyed his army then, 
 
20 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 And while he spake, no sound there brake from that line 
 of steel-clad men. 
 
 " Sons of Leon ! ye who prize a warrior's name and 
 
 glory, 
 "Whose valiant deeds of high emprise shall live in 
 
 Spanish story — 
 Warriors ! ye, whose every vein with noblest blood is 
 
 fed. 
 Shall Leon wear the Frankman's chain, or fear her blood 
 
 to shed ? 
 
 " Within yon' band no craven hearts palsy the swords 
 ye bear ; 
 
 Your breasts defy the Frankish darts — then where- 
 fore should ye fear ? 
 
 The strife is for our king and throne — then onward : 
 God looks down ! 
 
 With ye I stake my life upon the honor of the crown ! 
 
 " The land your Christian fathers swayed for many a 
 
 year of old. 
 Shall it to France be now betrayed, through fear, or 
 
 love of gold ? 
 Your lives are on this mighty stake as heroes brave and 
 
 leal: 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 21 
 
 Rise, Leonese ! your fetters break, nor fear the Frankisli 
 steel ! 
 
 " Will ye consent that stranger blood should forge the 
 
 griding chain — 
 That France should pour- old Leon's blood o'er Leon's 
 
 blooming plain — 
 That to-morrow's sun should rise upon your sons in 
 
 bondage led ? 
 This sacred soil to France a spoil, for which our fathers 
 
 bled? 
 
 " Shall your bucklers, broad and bright, forget the sign 
 
 they bear 
 Blazoned on their breasts of might — The Lion in his 
 
 lair? 
 Shall the haughty Lion yield his place to the pallid 
 
 fieur de lis ? 
 Shall Leon's sons her arms erase for Frankish blazonry ? 
 
 " For many a year this land so fair in peace your fathers 
 
 swayed ; 
 Freedom's foundations with their blood and valor have 
 
 they laid ; 
 Stout Leonese ! it cannot be, that the terrors of a day 
 Should blot from every memory their toils and blood 
 
 awav ! 
 
22 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " Where are those craven hearts that fear to bite the 
 ground in death ? 
 
 Remember, Leon's banners ne'er were fanned by cow- 
 ard's breath ! 
 
 We ask not of them sword or lance ; we ask alone the 
 brave, 
 
 To stem the iron-tide of France, or make old Spain their 
 grave !" 
 
 He vaulted on his steed, and plunged the rowels in his 
 
 side, 
 And dashed away with fiery speed, as shafts from bowmen 
 
 glide ; 
 " Leal knights and true ! your coursers spur !" his voice 
 
 rose on the breeze, 
 " Shall the Lion quail before the cur ? 'Fore France the 
 
 Leonese ?" 
 
PANI6H BALLADS. 23 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARRAZ. 
 
 Count Gonzalez Cordova leaves, and straight to Salas 
 goes; 
 
 Within that fortress strong he grieves for years of count- 
 less woes, 
 
 With pain he ransacks mem'ry's stores, revives his 
 ■wrongs afresh, 
 
 And rends again Time's half-closed sores,* as pincers tear 
 the flesh. 
 
 " Oh ! blasted trunk ; of every leaf bare and decayed 
 
 art thou ! 
 O'er me hath passed the storm of grief, as the tempest 
 
 strips the bough ; 
 There's not a single blossom left to mark where once it 
 
 stood, 
 Alike of bough and foliage 'reft: a curse is on my 
 
 blood ? 
 
 " I once had seven noble sons ; — but they are dead and 
 gone — 
 
 * " The flesh will follow where the pincers tear."— Young's ''Revenge." 
 
24 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Curst be the hand that laid them low, and left me here 
 
 alone ! 
 There's one — but one is left me yet ; I would he too 
 
 were dead ; 
 His craven-falchion ne'er he'll wet, nor a foeman's blood 
 
 he'll shed. 
 
 " For bastard blood his veins doth warm ; — his is the 
 
 coward's part ; 
 Nor knightly strength is in his arm, nor valor in his 
 
 heart ; 
 E'en though his hoary sire were dead, no loyal son I 
 
 have 
 A prayer to say, a tear to shed, upon my lonely grave ! 
 
 " My murdered sons ! how oft ye rise in the midnight 
 
 lone and deep, 
 "When your aged father's sleepless eyes their sorrowing 
 
 vigils keep ; 
 Anon I seem to clasp each form; — anon it takes its 
 
 flight ! 
 Your necks, with life-blood dripping warm, assail my 
 
 aching sight !" 
 
 " Can the weary captive break his chain ? Can he his 
 wrongs redeem ? 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 25 
 
 Can he revenge the bitter pain that shades Life's holy- 
 stream ? 
 
 No ! no, my sons ! The God who gave ye hfe will yet 
 atone 
 
 Your wrongs in yom- foeman's bloody grave ; — ^your 
 death — your dying groan. 
 
 " Would God I'd died in Moorish land ; for now, were 
 
 past my pain — 
 They would have used the naked brand, but never bound 
 
 the chain ; 
 But now I stand amid mine own ; — shame on their 
 
 Christian faith ! 
 Christians ! what mercy have they shown ?^a slow and 
 
 painful death !" 
 
 Such sad and waihng accents rise from the captive in 
 
 despair ; 
 He presses now his streaming eyes — anon he rends his 
 
 hair ; 
 When, on a sudden, he descries a knight in full career, 
 'Tis a Moorish knight ! his pennon flies, and glanceth 
 
 bright his spear — 
 
 He sees the dim and half-orbed moon upon his rounded 
 shield 
 
 2 
 
26 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Pillowed on piles of fleecy clouds ; the ground, its azure 
 
 field, 
 And, wrought in letters of pure gold, upon its breast 
 
 appears — 
 *■'' Lost one! I go to find thee, thd' I brave a thousand 
 
 spears /" 
 
 Upon his lance a streamer bright spreads far its snowy- 
 sheen ; 
 
 Inscribed upon a ground of white, it bears a cross of 
 green ; 
 
 While dangles from his saddle-bow a head that drips 
 with blood, — 
 
 It is the head of a Christian foe, who hath his lance 
 withstood. 
 
 Still on the knight, in full career, presseth with breathless 
 
 speed. 
 In rest he holds his slanted spear, and spurs his gallant 
 
 steed ; 
 At the dungeon-grate he quickly reins, and to his father 
 
 cries: 
 " Sire ! here is vengeance for thy chains, and the tears 
 
 that dim thine eyes !" 
 
 " Here^ father ! is Velasquez' head — thy seven sons he 
 slew — 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 2*7 
 
 I swore that I'd avenge the dead, though I the blow 
 
 should rue — 
 / am thy bastard son, my Lord ! Revenge thou did'st 
 
 not deem, 
 Could ever gild the bastard's sword, or his heart's 
 
 polluted stream !" 
 
 THE BANNER OF THE CID. 
 
 Within San Pedro's blessed walls the Cid in prayer is bent, 
 Midnight in solemn silence falls o'er ev'ry monument ; 
 And dimly doth the waning hght fall on the Champion 
 
 brave. 
 So dim, the warrior seems a sprite fresh risen from the 
 
 grave ! 
 
 The suppliant still kneels in prayer : the carved saints 
 they stand 
 
 Like spectres wrought in silent air, from a far and 
 shadowy land ; 
 
 The holy cross before him stands, the Saviour's bleeding- 
 brow. 
 
28 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 While the kneeling knight with clasped hand renews 
 his holy vow ! 
 
 The Cid hath chosen well his part, in humble prayer to 
 
 kneel, 
 For God doth better shield the heart in war, than mail 
 
 of steel ; 
 He, who in battle's peril bears the Christian's holy faith, 
 Tho' thousands be his foes, ne'er fears to die a soldier's 
 
 death ! 
 
 Now swells the organ's solemn peal — bends ev'ry casque 
 
 and cowl, 
 The Abbot and the monks they kneel and speed the 
 
 parting soul — 
 Upon the cross their eyes they bend, — full many a bead 
 
 they tell. 
 That the Cid their banner may defend against the 
 
 Infidel. 
 
 Bivar then raised the banner high before that kneeling 
 
 line, 
 While solemnly was bent each eye on the Sa^^our's holy 
 
 sign; 
 He kissed the banner's drooping fold that round him 
 
 fell in shade, 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 29 
 
 Undid his mantle's clasp of gold, and kneeling, thus he 
 prayed ! 
 
 " Cross of God ! that o'er us waves, bright emblem of 
 
 our faith ! 
 Thy shadow rest upon our graves, and fan our dying 
 
 breath ; 
 Thy symbol soothe the closing lid, and dry death's icy 
 
 tear, 
 Thy sacred fold enwrap the cold upon the warrior's bier ! 
 
 " Blest banner of my country, come ! the trump of 
 
 battle calls — 
 The heart of knighthood be thine home ! Thy shrine, 
 
 these sainted walls ; 
 Castilian bands enfold thee now, that Death alone can 
 
 sever — 
 Upon my soul there lies a vow, to die or guard thee 
 
 ever ! 
 
 " Alphonso's ear hath been betrayed by traitors false and 
 
 foul, 
 Their lying breath may stain my blade, but cannot touch 
 
 my soul ! 
 When knights and vassals thus are paid for the blood 
 
 that they have shed, 
 
30 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Who would worship glory's shade, or make her field his 
 bed? 
 
 " King ! thou hast heard the Syren sing — there's death 
 
 in every tone, 
 'Tis the sweep of the vulture's sable wing that echoes 
 
 Death's last groan ; 
 Thou'st banished me from country — home — from all I 
 
 love below — 
 No garlands e'er shall deck my tomb, nor laurel weave 
 
 my brow ! 
 
 " Now God forefend ! that luckless hours my country 
 
 should befall. 
 That a foeman's flag should man her towers — a foeman's 
 
 sword her wall ! 
 May conquest never cease to tread through Spain's 
 
 heroic land ; 
 May the casque be braced to every head, and the 
 
 sword on every hand ! 
 
 " I love thee, Spain ! Dear land, farewell ! I dare not 
 
 disobey — 
 To foes, for thee, my blood I'd sell ! For thee, myself 
 
 would slay ! 
 Before God's holy men I swear, whom kneeling round I 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 31 
 
 In battle, all I do or dare, dear Spain, shall be for 
 thee !" 
 
 Then pealed " Te Deiim " through the shrine — the monks 
 
 the beads they told. 
 The Abbot marked the holy sign upon the banner's fold. 
 The Cid then took the banner back with proad and 
 
 flashing eye. 
 And forth on Babieca rode — to conquer or to die ! 
 
 THE FORAY OF THE CID. 
 
 Five hundred knights of old Castille have followed 
 
 De Bivar 
 To brave with him, through woe and weal, the perils of 
 
 the war ; — 
 They halted in a spacious plain for meal and midday rest, 
 When the Cid, he checked his courser's rein, and thus 
 
 his host addressed — 
 
 " Brave knights and soldiers ! now's the day, and now 
 the hour hath come : 
 
32 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Anon ye'll see the Crescent play, and hear the Moorish 
 
 druDQ ! 
 Down from yon' mountains let them pour, as foams the 
 
 fierce cascade : 
 Fear not ! / am El Campeador ! Behold Tizona's blade ! 
 
 " Ye are Hidalgos ! Shall your blood be water for their 
 
 spears ? 
 Shall Moorish dogs rend ye for food as the kite his 
 
 carrion tears ? 
 Shall every brow that flusheth now with soldiers' honest 
 
 hate 
 Turn pale with fear, soon as ye hear* the Moor is at the 
 
 gate ? 
 
 " No, by my soul ! Hidalgos, no ! Pride flusheth every 
 
 cheek 
 f Deeply as sunset stains the snow upon the Alpine 
 
 peak ! 
 Remember, knights, we banished are from the dear land 
 
 of Spain, 
 But bear in mind that bold Bivar will soon wash out the 
 
 stain ! 
 
 * What, ho— Alonzc ! The Moor is at the gate \—The Rovcnge. 
 t The blush of earth embracing with her heaven.— JJ/an/rerf. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 33 
 
 " I wear a coi'slet, but the foe can pierce it through and 
 
 through ; 
 Will ye refuse, Hidalgos — no ! — to be my armor, too ? 
 With honor such as yours, and swords to shield Rodrigo's 
 
 heart, 
 I challenge Afric's fiery hordes — I spurn the Moorish 
 
 dart !" 
 
 He said, and sheathed his g-iant-blade — The marching 
 
 word was given — 
 The banners played — the trumpets brayed — their echoes 
 
 rose to Heaven — 
 On — on in gorgeous train they ride with armed breast 
 
 and heel ; 
 In iron phalanx side by side — The Champions of 
 
 Castille ! 
 
 Now far and wide through Moorish land, like a tempest 
 
 fierce, they broke. 
 The Moslem quailed before his brand, and bowed beneath 
 
 his yoke ! 
 The brightness of the Crescent wanes — broken the 
 
 scymitar ! 
 Who leads the Moorish king in chains ? — Rodrigo de 
 
 Bivar ! 
 
34 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 But Conquest piles her golden store within Valencia's 
 
 walls, 
 The banners of El Carapeador bedeck her lonely halls ! 
 Two hundred steeds ; an hundred Moors — the bravest in 
 
 the land, 
 Stand ranged before Rodrigo's doors, and wait the Cid's 
 
 command ! 
 
 King, slaves and steeds the Cid hath sent as tribute from 
 
 his sword 
 (For though he fought in banishment, Alphonse was still 
 
 his Lord) ; 
 Each slave, he bears an iron key — the barbs wear 
 
 jewelled reins, 
 And the glowing blood of Araby swells high within 
 
 theiir veins ! 
 
S P A N I f; FT R A I. L A D S , 35 
 
 BERMUDEZ' APPEAL TO THE SONS-IN-LAW 
 OF THE CID ON THE POINT OF FLIGHT. 
 
 " Draw, Hidalgos ! draw your swords ! On liigh the 
 
 red cross wave ! 
 Ere yield an inch to Afric's hordes, be the battle-field 
 
 your grave ! 
 Plunge deep the spear — Slack not the rein — ■* Let the 
 
 hand toil round the spear ! 
 And when Glory comes to count her slain, let her pile 
 
 her altar here ! 
 
 " What ! at the sight of a turban-fold will the hearts of 
 
 Christians quail ? 
 What are their purple, gems and gold, to the stout old 
 
 Spanish mail ? 
 A darker brand Us brow shall bear, than first was 
 
 stamped on Cain, 
 Whose craven cheek shall pale with fear, or recreant 
 
 prove to Spain. 
 
 " Hidalgo-blood in every vein, yet nerveless every brand ! 
 
 * This expression is borrowed from Homer 
 
86 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 BoAV, Slaves! Bow clown! The Moorisli chain is 
 
 forged for every hand ! 
 Fathers were heroes, once, to fame ; but now the sons yt 
 
 have 
 Would blush to own a father's name, or tread a father's 
 
 grave ! 
 
 *' Ye cravens, turn ! Wheel every steed ! Back to 
 
 Valencia ! back ! 
 Be the lightning-wing your courser's speed ; its fury be 
 
 their track : 
 If scymitar and turban fright Ilidalgo and Alcayde, 
 By heaven ! for every Spanish knight I'd choose a 
 
 Spanish maid ! 
 
 "The Cid his true and stalwart sword to both of ye 
 
 bequeathed ; 
 Full many a vein that blade must drain, ere well it can 
 
 be sheathed ; 
 Ye say ye are Hidalgos — Shame ! I swear by Pedro's 
 
 shrine 
 I'd blush to bear your father's name an ye were sons of 
 
 mine ! 
 
 " 'Mid dames and gentles well ye move, in tourney or in 
 dance ; 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 37 
 
 Better ye suit the bowers of love than harness, targe, or 
 
 lance : 
 Wipe out that deep and burning stain would dim your 
 
 warrior-crown ; 
 Forward ! and trample to the plain yon' dogs of false 
 
 Mahoun." 
 
 Should the God of battles lay me low in the field 
 
 whereto I'm bound, 
 Should I fall beneath the Moorish foe, and bite, in death, 
 
 the ground ; 
 Xiraena ! let thy husband's grave be in San Pedro's 
 
 shrine — 
 Above me let no banner wave, save Jesus' holy sign ! 
 
 " I charge thee let no woman's tear bewail thy husband 
 
 dead ; 
 Let warrior-hands, upon the bier, compose my pillowed 
 
 head ; 
 I would not have my soldiers weep upon their leader's 
 
 pall. 
 
:^« SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Nor grief her lightless vigil keep, where'er I chance to 
 fall! 
 
 " As knight of Christ, I charge thee yet, should sorrow 
 
 dim thy hd, 
 Let not the hordes of Mahomet see thee weeping for the 
 
 Cid; ' 
 I charge thee, further, by the sword Bivar in battle 
 
 wore, 
 Let it not own a second Lord, or fell another Moor ! 
 
 " It may be that my gallant steed, with loose and 
 
 dano;linoj rein 
 (True as e'er served a knight at need, or trod the soil of 
 
 Spain), 
 May stand without his master's gate, with low and 
 
 drooping head, 
 And the empty saddle where I sat, will tell thee — I am 
 
 dead ! 
 
 " Open the gate, as though I yet bestrode my courser 
 
 brave, 
 And pr'ythee let his bones be laid within his master's 
 
 grave ; 
 For they who've fought in bloody field should still be 
 
 one in death — 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 89 
 
 The spear should He upon the shield, and the sword 
 within its sheath. 
 
 " Soon as the parting soul is sped, and leaves to earth 
 
 her spoil, 
 Ximena, thou anoint my head with myrrh and holy 
 
 oil ; 
 Then buckle harness on my breast, and helmet on my 
 
 head. 
 And leave Bivar to take his rest among Spain's gallant 
 
 dead !" 
 
 Bivar and his three hundred knights, Hidalgos brave of 
 Spain, 
 
 Look down from Alcozero's heights, upon the battle- 
 plain ; 
 
 The turbaned Moslems press and throng around on 
 every side. 
 
 Like a river of steel that rolls along in the might of its 
 wintry tide. 
 
40 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 The steeds, they neigh, the banners play ! Flasheth the 
 
 polished steel ! 
 The scymitar is bared for war ! The gongs and trumpets 
 
 peal ! 
 The Moslem gazeth on the tower with a wild and fearful 
 
 glare ;— 
 The Christians dare not face that power, nor brave the 
 
 thousands there ! 
 
 'Twas then Minaya thus addressed th' Hidalgos, leal 
 
 and brave ; — 
 " Fear not ! Your banners have been blest, that o'er 
 
 your helmets wave ; 
 From Leon, many a weary mile, the Cid your host hath 
 
 led ;— 
 On yonder plain let Slaughter pile her heaps of Moslem 
 
 dead ! 
 
 " The caged lion turns and tears the foes that wound 
 
 him sore — 
 Fear ije to face the Moslem spears \A\ki the brave EI 
 
 Campeador ? 
 Burst from your prison, Leonese ! Rend ev'ry bolt and 
 
 bar ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 41 
 
 Let your broad pennon flout* tlie breeze ! Our leader 's 
 De Bivar !" 
 
 Then doffed the Cid his casque, and said, "Minaya, 
 
 brave thy word ! 
 Ere falleth even's russet-shade,f we'll scatter yonder 
 
 horde ! 
 Castille should never blush to have warriors brave as 
 
 thou ; — 
 Sons, who'd as gladly hail the grave, as laurels on their 
 
 brow ! 
 
 " Forth ! Show the Moslem on yon plains,^ whose 
 
 crescent brightly gleams, 
 The blood, that thro' Castilian veins, doth flow in 
 
 burning streams, — 
 Show them in battle's bright career, 'tis honor leads ye 
 
 on ; 
 That honor, still, shall deck your bier, your fathers 
 
 wooed and won ! 
 
 " Show them your fathers feared not death and their 
 
 sons are now as brave, 
 Show them that Triumph's holy breath yet flutters o'er 
 
 their grave ! 
 
 * Flout the skies. — Shakspearc. 
 
 t But see the morn, in russet niuntle clad, &lc.— Hamlet. 
 
42 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 'Tis not the part of Spanish knight, 'till Conquest come, 
 
 to die ; — 
 'Till with crimson-wing she fan the fight, like eagle from 
 
 on high !" 
 
 He said, and to the doughty knight, Bermudez, true and 
 
 bold, 
 He gave in charge his pennon bright ; the Lion marked 
 
 its fold ! 
 " Hidalgo ! clasp it to thine heart, whether thou fight 
 
 or flee. 
 Be it sooner rent by Moslem dart, than ever torn from 
 
 thee !" 
 
 "Brave Cid!" the mailed warrior said, "thy streamer 
 
 now is mine ! 
 In triumph o'er each Moor shall tread the Lion's 
 
 dauntless sign, — 
 This Lion, Cid ! by heaven ! I swear, as Pedro wears a 
 
 sword. 
 Shall make, this day, his bloody lair amid yon' turbaned 
 
 horde!" 
 
 He seized the flag ; and, like the light of morn o'er hill 
 
 and vale. 
 Headlong spurred the Spanish knight — The shafts, 
 
 they sped like hail, — 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 43 
 
 " Come on, Hidalgos, evVy one ! your Lion tramps the 
 
 breeze ! 
 We'll have, by heav'n ! ere set of sun, ten Moors for a 
 
 Leonese !" 
 
 B ABIE c A. 
 
 Forth from the seat of Gothic power, marches the bold 
 
 Bivar, 
 And halts beneath Valencia's tower, his own by right of 
 
 war; 
 Nine hundred cavaliers, who wait upon their gallant 
 
 lord. 
 Thunder at Valencia's gate with dagger, hilt and sword. 
 
 And 'mid the troop, with naked heads, two knights in 
 
 armor dight. 
 The war-steed, Babieca, led, with eye of flashing light ; — 
 " Open, good King, your palace-doors ; a soldier stands 
 
 without, 
 Whose stalwart arm hath crushed the Moors !" — 'Twas 
 
 thus Bivar spake out. 
 
44 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Bar and bolt asunder fly — tlie iron gate gives way ; 
 Move on the gallant companie, in ])lume and war-array. 
 Rodrigo sees a gallant throng surround their monarch's 
 
 throne, 
 And in the midst, his braves among, Alphonzo stands 
 
 alone. 
 
 " Alphonze ! behold a champion kneel who never knelt 
 
 before !" 
 Thus spake Rodrigo of Castille, the brave El Campeador ; — 
 " I come not here to challenge thee to tourney, joust 
 
 or fight ; 
 But 'fore thee prove my loyalty as true and honest 
 
 knight. 
 
 "I have a steed, a better never hath charged where 
 
 banners fly ; 
 His speed like arrow from the quiver, or meteor from 
 
 the sky. 
 I pray thee. King ! receive this boon as thine for battle's 
 
 tide ; 
 Fear not the crescent of Mahoun if thou my steed 
 
 bestride. 
 
 " Lest thou shouldst deem my speech a boast, my 
 praises false and vain, 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 45 
 
 King ! come with thy gallant host, and view him on the 
 
 plain ; 
 Thou'lt see him pliant to my hand as 'neath a silken 
 
 rein ; 
 Come, King, and gentles of the land, gallants, and 
 
 knights of Spain !" 
 
 Bivar now vaults upon his steed, armed from neck to heel ; 
 The trumpet sounds, the courser bounds, as he feels the 
 
 rowelled steel ; 
 With winged feet and waving mane, with poised and 
 
 shimmering spear, 
 Champion and steed, they skirr the plain, as though 
 
 they rode on air. 
 
 Lo ! ev'ry gallant's eye is bent on Babieca's speed, 
 Alphonzo stands in wonderment if he be sprite or steed ; — 
 But Silence severs soon her chain — bursts forth a cry of 
 
 fear — 
 For the furious steed hath rent the rein that checked his 
 
 mad career ! 
 
 The champion moves not as he .flings the broken rein 
 
 aside. 
 But with the dangling fragment tries the maddened 
 
 barb to guide ; — 
 
46 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Still, still they fly, as on lightning-wing, from a cloud of 
 
 darkness freed. 
 When suddenly, before the King, he checks his panting 
 
 steed. 
 
 " King, he is thine !" Rodrigo cried, as he lighted on the 
 
 plain ; 
 " A monarch's hand my steed should guide, a monarch 
 
 hold his rein !" 
 " Foul shame it were," Alphonse replied, " that man save 
 
 thee, Bivar, 
 Should spur so true a courser's side, when blows the 
 
 blast of war." 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 47 
 
 ALPHONZOS OATH. 
 
 Within an old and Gothic pile the lamps with faintness 
 
 beamed, 
 While round and down the vaulted aisle the Spanish 
 
 banner streamed, 
 And from the altar, rose the while, the incense' rich 
 
 perfume. 
 As though rehgion told her rites around a soldier's 
 
 tomb. 
 
 The altar round, on bended knee, throng many a casqued 
 
 head. 
 The monks they tell their beads full well, and many a 
 
 prayer is sped ; 
 A sword upon the altar lies, a cross-bow made of 
 
 wood, 
 While to hear Alphonzo's oath, the Cid in silence stood. 
 
 " Rodrigo, think not I am loath, in face of sword and 
 
 chain ; 
 Nay, before God to make my oath, the King I have not 
 
 slain ; 
 
48 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Anointed blood shall never smear a true Hidalgo's 
 
 sword, 
 Dishonor ne'er shall crown his spear, nor treachery his 
 
 word. 
 
 " Asturia's hardy mountaineer, with slow and stealthy 
 
 pace,"^ 
 His livid brow, bedewed with fear, as ghastly as his 
 
 face, 
 Tlie traitor's dagger might conceal beneath a courtier's 
 
 air; 
 But not a knight in all Castille so foul a deed would dare. 
 
 " Rail not on me — thy charge is vain — Rodrigo de 
 
 Bivar ! 
 'Tis true, my foemen have I slain, but in the ranks of 
 
 war; 
 By all the mailed forms I swear, that round the altar 
 
 kneel. 
 To prove this dastard charge, I dare the bravest in 
 
 Castille !" 
 
 Pale was his brow, but flashed with fire his dark and 
 kindling eye — 
 
 * With stealthy pace, and Tarquin's ravishing strides.— JtfiurJc^A. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 49 
 
 Trembled his livid lips with ire, as thunders shake the sky. 
 " I give thee pardon, knight," he said, " though thy speech 
 
 doth wound me sore," 
 And, as he spake, his hand he laid upon El Carapeador. 
 
 " Nay, offer not thy hand to me," exclaimed the Cid 
 
 aloud ; 
 " Once thou did'st claim my felilty, but my knee I never 
 
 bowed. 
 No King I know, no worship owe,* save my good sword 
 
 and war ; 
 Kings never made before them kneel Rodrigo de Bivar !" 
 
 Alphonso then with passion shook ; his brow and cheek 
 
 were pale ; 
 " Think'st thou such language I will brook from one in 
 
 casque and mail ? 
 Had another spoken thus, my spear had pierced him 
 
 where he stood. 
 Thee, Cid, I banish for a year — I covet not thy blood !" 
 
 "By Heaven! good King, it likes me well," replied 
 El Campeador ; 
 
 * The older writers transfer to " owe," the sense of-' own :"— 
 " You make me strange, 
 Even to the disposition that I ou}e.'''^Maebeth.'-Et passim. 
 
60 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " I bid your banners long farewell ; — your bidding 
 
 wounds me sore ; 
 A single year thou'st banislied me — the crime deserveth 
 
 more — 
 Bivar demands not liberty till years expire four !" 
 
 With that he turned upon his heel, and left the King 
 
 alone — 
 No champion now in all Castille so brave to guard its 
 
 throne. 
 Each brave Hidalgo followed him — the bravest in the 
 
 land ; 
 The sword was braced on every limb, and gauntleted 
 
 each hand ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 61 
 
 THE BURIAL OF THE CID. 
 
 [The body of the Cid was conducted, on horseback, to San Pedro, where 
 it remained (according to the Spanish Chronicles), in an upright position, 
 exposed to the public view for ten years.] 
 
 Slowly knights and warriors come with a sad and 
 
 measured tread ; 
 Not for battle rolls the drum, but the burial of the dead : 
 The soldier's battles all are o'er — His soul hath souo-ht 
 
 her home ; 
 And the doughty Cid, El Campeador, is passing to his 
 
 tomb! 
 
 Still, with a warrior's strength and pride, his hand it 
 grasps the rein. 
 
 While knights and gentles at his side fill the funeral- 
 train ; 
 
 No mortal could have deemed the Cid, as he rode on, 
 were dead, 
 
 Save for the eye and drooping lid, that told the soul was 
 sped. 
 
 Helm and shield and mail of knight, the livid champion 
 wore — 
 
52 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Tizona's blade upon his right the dead Rodrigo bore ; 
 Sad and solemn to behold, they march to Pedro's pile, 
 While moveless droops the banner-fold above that 
 warrior-file ! 
 
 The master's corse doth still bestride the true and gallant 
 
 steed 
 That erst through battle's crimson tide bore him with 
 
 breathless speed ; 
 Lightless the eye, and low the head ; nor blood doth 
 
 swell the vein. 
 As though he feels the hand is dead that loosely holds 
 
 the rein ! 
 
 Through the dark midnight, by dim torch-light, their 
 
 sorrowing way they trod ; 
 And many a prayer was muttered low that the soul 
 
 might pass to God ; 
 And the cold and dewy morning-star its russet twilight 
 
 shed. 
 As his comrades left the brave Bivar to slumber with the 
 
 dead ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 58 
 
 ADDRESS OF COUNT FERNAN GONZALEZ 
 PREVIOUS TO BATTLE WITH THE MOORS. 
 
 Within the walls of Burgos' town. Count Fernan hath 
 
 arrayed 
 The vassals of the Spanish crown with targe and lance 
 
 and blade ; 
 The Moorish host is marshalled too ; — Alraanzoi' leads 
 
 them on — 
 The cymbals clash, the sabres flash ; — high waves the 
 
 gonfalon ! 
 
 The atabal with deadly peal; the Crescent, streaming 
 
 bright — 
 The jar and clank of burnished steel herald the Moorish 
 
 might ; — 
 Now face to face the armies stand, upon their spears 
 
 they lean, 
 When a Spanish knight, with naked brand, his courser 
 
 spurs between. 
 
 And scarce his barb the knight had spurred, in the midst 
 between the foe. 
 
54 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 When a low and stifled wail was heard, as of mourners 
 
 in their woe ; — 
 For, on a sudden, awful doom ! with the brave CastilHan, 
 The earth, it op'd, like a yawning tomb, and swallowed 
 
 steed and man ! 
 
 It closed again upon its prey ; nor sign nor trace they see, 
 Rider and steed are swept away, as autumn strips the 
 
 tree ; 
 Fear falls on every mailed man — quivers each iron 
 
 hand ; — 
 The soldier's rugged face is wan, and powerless his 
 
 brand ! 
 
 Count Fernan grasped his charger's rein, and waved his 
 falchion bright, 
 
 His mettled courser sped amain, as speeds the morning- 
 light,— 
 
 " Hidalgos ! sons of Burgos ! why doth fear freeze every 
 vein ? 
 
 Where is the vaunted Chivalry — the valor of old Spain ?" 
 
 " Though heaven and earth in one combine with dream 
 
 and omen drear, 
 Beats there within yon' Spanish line a heart that quails 
 
 with fear ? 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 56 
 
 Shame on the Craven who would wheel and 'fore the 
 
 Crescent fly ! 
 The sturdy blood of old Castille, than yield, would 
 
 rather die ! 
 
 " False, recreant knights ! ye will not lay the honors that 
 
 ye've gained 
 In many a proudly foughten day, with falchions crimson 
 
 stained 
 In dust, for ever to remain ; — soiled by Oblivion's breath ! 
 Ye renegades to God and Spain ! your swords ye dare 
 
 not sheath ! 
 
 " Fear ye the Moorish for to count, because your 
 
 comrade 's gone ? 
 Castillians ! no ! — your coursers mount ! your host hath 
 
 lost but one ! — 
 Your banners raise ! The Moor displays his Crescent in 
 
 the van — 
 Forth every talchion ! Let it blaze, and stand ye, man 
 
 to man ! 
 
 " Say, they're a thousand, — we^ but ten ! What ! will 
 
 ye turn and flee ? 
 Can Spain invoke no nobler men, no truer knights than 
 
 ve ? 
 
56 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Give me one drop of Spanish blood from a true Castillian 
 
 lieart, 
 'Tis the noblest stream that ever flowed beneath a 
 
 Moorish dart ! 
 
 " Hidalgos ! knights ! your coursers spur ! Give every 
 
 barb the rein ! 
 The field let steed and rider skirr ! ' St Jago for old 
 
 Spain !' 
 Shame on the soul would falter now, when the Moslem is 
 
 before us, 
 What ! quail ye ! fore the turbaned brow, while the Holy 
 
 Cross flies o'er us !" 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 67 
 
 AT NIGHT, EMBARKING IN THE GALLEY 
 OF HER LOVER, DUARDOS. 
 
 'TwAs the blooming month of May, when the rose and 
 
 lily vie, 
 When the bird is singing on the spray, and summer 
 
 lights the sky ; 
 The stars, they shone, like happy isles, amid a sea of light, 
 Where tears should ever change to smiles and never day 
 
 know night ! 
 
 It was a nigbt as fresh and fair as ever dew-drop wept ; 
 Odors floated in the air from flowers as they slept, 
 When a lithe and lovely form strayed mid the flowers' 
 
 painted beds. 
 And tears fell from the Spanish Maid, as she raised their 
 
 drooping heads. 
 
 "Farewell — farewell, ye children gay! For autumn's 
 withered bowers 
 
 Ye hive the sweets of scented May ! nurslings of sunshine- 
 hours ! 
 
 3* 
 
58 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 No more the niglitingale's sad lay shall wake my 
 
 listless ear — 
 Flowers ! receive that holy dew — a maiden's parting tear. 
 
 " Fountains of crystal light, farewell ! whose silver 
 
 wavelets flow 
 Through the perfumed bower, where flowers dwell, and 
 
 their crimson beauties glow ! 
 The glories of the earth and sky have floated on your 
 
 breast. 
 Bright as the amber hues that dye the sunset of the 
 
 West. 
 
 " Flowers and fountains, may the sun still gild ye with 
 
 his ray. 
 Still flush your leaves when I am gone, with the tints of 
 
 rosy May ; — 
 And heaven ne'er its rain refuse, nor morn her tear of 
 
 dew. 
 And may your Autumn-withered hues the kiss of Spring 
 
 renew !" 
 
 " Weep not, my Love !" Duardos said ; 
 " There are other climes as bright. 
 
 Where the sun is cloudless all the day, 
 
 And the starry sky at night. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
SPANISH IJ A L L A D S . 59 
 
 " There are sun-reflecting- waters there, 
 And meads of emerald growing ; 
 And a spirit-miisic, for the air 
 Guides every wave that's flowing ! 
 
 " And the gardens bhish in flowery prime, 
 As thouo-h the mornino--skies 
 Still sang the hymn of the golden time. 
 When Creation slept in Paradise. 
 
 " I have palaces of silver 
 To greet my Spanish bride ; 
 And maids shall walk behind thy train, 
 And gallants by thy side. 
 
 "And painted chambers glitter there 
 With the gold of Turkey's mine ; 
 And the fates and chances of my life 
 On their blazoned pannels shine. 
 
 " There thou shalt read of the bitter tear 
 That dimmed thy lover's eye, 
 When I dared the brave Primalion's spear, 
 For thee to do or die. 
 
 " Then away with me, my Spanish bride ! 
 For Duardos' home is far — 
 
60 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 What eye would fear the midnight-tide, 
 When it guides by the Lovers' star ?" 
 
 And now the bark, to the midnight-blast, cuts through 
 
 the star-lit water, 
 Tears quickly fall, as heels the mast, from the dark-eyed 
 
 Spanish daughter, 
 But dreams arise of that lovely shore, that hes beyond 
 
 the deep. 
 And the liquid music of the oar the maiden lulls to 
 
 sleep. 
 
 KING SEBASTIAN DIES IN BATTLE. 
 
 Who is he, who rides so fast amid the dead and 
 
 dying ;— 
 His knightly pennon, to the blast, in shattered fragments 
 
 flying. 
 His armor beareth many a stain of foes now stark and 
 
 cold ; — 
 He reels upon his steed ; the rein, the hero scarce can 
 
 hold! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 61 
 
 Sebastian ! bravest 'mid the brave — a soldier, yet a 
 
 King! 
 Where Battle's floating banners wave on hisrh their 
 
 crimson wing ; — 
 Horseman and steed were ever found, unsheathed the 
 
 monarch's glaive, 
 Whose trenchant blade had made the ground full many 
 
 a hero's grave. 
 
 Lo ! from each quarter of the field rageth the battle- 
 cry— 
 
 " Fly, brothers, fly ! Down spear and shield ! the foe is 
 on us !— fly I" 
 
 The monarch checks his courser's rein ; — raiseth his 
 falchion bright, 
 
 And dasheth 'mid his knights amain to stem their 
 craven flight ! 
 
 The traitor's spear its work hath done — Don Sancho was 
 
 no more ! 
 " Your king, your king — Ho ! every one !" shouted 
 
 El Campeador. 
 With blooded spur and naked steel they speed their 
 
 breathless way — 
 Around their murdered lord they kneel — they threaten, 
 
 weep, and pray I 
 
62 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " Where is the traitor ?" cried the Cid, still kneeling by 
 
 his lord ; 
 " The deed be mine ! now God forbid it should not stain 
 
 my sword ! 
 Oh ! murdered king ! is there a soul in this brave 
 
 companie, 
 So craven, dastard, or so foul, as not to die for thee ?" 
 
 In solemn phalanx still they kneel, the bleeding corse 
 
 around : 
 Those stern, but weeping eyes reveal the soul's untented 
 
 w^ound.* 
 Courtiers, they flatter even in death, as though the soul 
 
 could come, 
 Charmed by their vain and empty breath, back from its 
 
 silent home.f 
 
 " Thou art my king ! thy vassal, I !" the old count Cabra 
 
 said: 
 " Brave knights ! you've seen your master die — behold 
 
 his crownless head ! 
 To weep the body back again to life — to light and air, 
 Our tears and hopes ahke are vain — the soul demands 
 
 our prayer." 
 
 * "The untented woundings of a father's ciirse 
 Pierce every sense about thee." — Lear. 
 t " Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death !" — Qray. 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 63 
 
 The king then raised his swimming eyes, death's seal 
 was on his brow — 
 
 " Soldiers and knights ! or ere he dies, list ye your king's 
 
 last vow — !" 
 Upon the warrior's mailed breast in weakness sank his 
 
 head ; 
 The soul had sought her sainted rest — the warrior-king 
 
 was dead ! 
 
 VELLIDO DOLFOS' TREASON. 
 
 Vellido, with the lightning's speed, Zamora leaves 
 
 behind ; 
 O'er hill and vale he spurs his steed — his course is as the 
 
 wind! 
 The sons of Arias Gonzalo he flies with hate and fear, 
 While claims he, from his deadly foe, both friendship's 
 
 hand and tear. 
 
 " Now, God protect the Spanish crown and throne !" the 
 
 traitor cries. 
 And bends the knee before the king, in meek and lowly 
 
64 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " My lord ! I am thy vassal, true as any in the land !" 
 And, as he spake, the traitor drew his keen and trenchant 
 brand. 
 
 " The old man, Gonzalo, hath sought to take thy vassal's 
 
 life; 
 Curst be the flag 'neath which I've fought in many a 
 
 bloody strife, 
 I ask but vengeance, now, my lord ! for a wronged and 
 
 injured man ; 
 And soon thou'lt hail, with spear and mail, Vellido in 
 
 thy van. 
 
 " Nor this alone — Zamora's town — its might, its 
 
 treasures — all — 
 Shall own the sway of Sancho's crown — thy banner 
 
 guard its wall ! 
 Vellido knows each secret gate — each guarded pass he 
 
 knows — 
 By heaven ! I'll rest not 'till my hate is wreaked upon 
 
 my foes !" 
 
 Then spake the king : " I trust thy faith — my shield is 
 
 now thy word ; 
 It cannot be that traitor's breath should stain Vellidu's 
 
 sword !" 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 65 
 
 The traitor smiled — in whispered tone, he said, " My 
 
 lord ! I wait — 
 But no one, save the king alone, shall know that secret 
 
 gate !" 
 
 The king waved back his kingly band, as, each his 
 
 courser spurred, 
 And calmly laid his mailed hand upon his jewelled 
 
 sword. 
 " Lead on. Sir Knight I" Don Sancho cried ; " now 
 
 vengeance on thy foe !" 
 " Vengeance on thee r the knight replied, and felled him 
 
 at a blow! 
 
 Who hath not seen the havoc made when storm sweej s 
 
 sea and land ? 
 Thus the ruthless foe did crouch below the sweep of his 
 
 naked brand ; 
 While yet upon his own he calls and deals his blows 
 
 around. 
 Reeling with wounds, the courser falls, 'neath his master 
 
 to the ground. 
 
 Scarce had he fallen, when a knight pricked forth his 
 
 gallant steed ; 
 Lo ! spur and rein the courser strain to aid the monarch's 
 
 need ; 
 
60 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Sore press upon the kniglit his foes ; his arms wear 
 
 many a stain, 
 But his foemen fall beneath his blows, as the sickle sheds 
 
 the grain. 
 
 " Mount, mount, good King ! my destrier," the gallant 
 
 champion cries ; 
 " We'll bravely cai-ry thee where'er the foeman's banner 
 
 flies ; 
 Look round thee, king ! for far and near thy harnessed 
 
 champions fall, 
 As though for aye were dimmed the star of gallant 
 
 Portugal ! 
 
 " Death and dismay beset thine host — their blood it 
 
 streams like water ! 
 Good master! mount; for all is lost in this sad day of 
 
 slaughter — 
 Fly, fly, good king ! your knights implore ! Here, 
 
 master, seize the rein, 
 I would not have thee see the gore that streams the 
 
 battle-plain ! ^ 
 
 " Woe worth the day !" Sebastian said ; " I marshalled 
 
 ye for fight ! 
 That I should see my champions dead, or worse, in 
 
 coward-flight ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 67 
 
 I take thy proffer, loyal knight ! as freely as 'tis given ; 
 Be thy truth to save me from the grave, thy best 
 reward in heaven !" 
 
 The champion flingeth down the rein. Dismount ! — he 
 
 can but try ; — 
 For freshly gusheth every vein, and Death doth glaze 
 
 his eye — 
 The reeling corse the king receives, the champion's 
 
 battle's o'er; — 
 The monarch weeps — the knight, he sleeps the sleep 
 
 that w^akes no more ! 
 
 The Moorish king doth ride alone, alone without his 
 
 host ; 
 And many a tear and bitter groan proclaim Alhama 
 
 lost ; — 
 He rideth from Elvira's gate forth through Granada's 
 
 town. 
 That town he swayed, as king of late, with sceptre and 
 
 with crown. 
 
68 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Woe betide the hapless hour when king Boabdil heard 
 That fallen was Alhama's tower beneath the Christian 
 
 sword, 
 Woe worth the messenger ! Woe worth the tidings 
 
 that he bore ! 
 He smote the trembling slave to earth, the hated tidings 
 
 tore. 
 
 Then vaulted on his steed, the rein he grasped with 
 
 trembling hand, 
 Fate darkly whispered — " Christian Spain would yet 
 
 sway Moorish land !" 
 Along the Zacatin he guides his mettled Arab roan, 
 And thousands eye him, as he rides, a king without a 
 
 throne ! 
 
 And scarce within Alhambra's wall, the king his entry 
 
 made. 
 When Zegris, to his aid he calls. Alfaqui and Alcayde ; — 
 " Let every trumpet peal ?" he cried, " within Elvira's 
 
 gate ;— 
 Spread our Prophet's jewelled banner wide ! Allah ! God 
 
 is great ! 
 
 " Peal every trumpet ! Let the drum thunder the note 
 of war ! 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 69 
 
 Alhama's lost ! The Christians come ! Blaze every 
 
 scymitar ! — 
 Peal every gong and atabal with a burst shall rend the 
 
 skies, 
 Be vengeance for Alhama's fall, the Moslem's 
 
 Paradise !" 
 
 The Moors upon the Vega, and the Moors within the gate, 
 Hear in the blast their King's command, as 'twere the 
 
 tongue of Fate ; 
 With breathless speed and sweating steed they press in 
 
 full career ; 
 With scymitar bare, they smite the air, and tilt the 
 
 burnished spear. 
 
 Obedient to that warlike blast they stand in glittering 
 
 ring. 
 When a hoary Moor spake out at last : — " Wherefore 
 
 that summons, king ?" 
 " Wherefore ?" the king replied, with brow now pale, 
 
 now red with fear ; 
 " Alhama is the Christian's now — read thou my summons 
 
 there /" 
 
 Then spake an old Alfaqui, hoar and weak with years he 
 stood ; 
 
70 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 " Remember, king ! thy palace-floor is stained with 
 
 Moslem blood ; 
 The Abencerrapjes' blood was shed within this very 
 
 room ; — 
 In Alhama's cold and spectral dead, king ! read thou 
 
 thy doom !" 
 
 There's weeping in Granada's town ; there's wailing 
 
 near and far ; — 
 Dim is the Zegri's emerald crown, and waned the Crescent 
 
 star ! 
 Alfaquis chaunt the Prophet's praise, as they move in 
 
 sadness on. 
 While monks their pious voices raise to the glory of the 
 
 Son. 
 
 Where the Crescent, late, its lustre shed, a milder glory 
 
 falls, 
 For the bannered cross is widely spread within Granada's 
 
 walls ; 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 7l 
 
 Within the mosque the Christian kneels, without are 
 
 Christian spears, 
 And as " Te Deum " loudly peals, the Moor drops 
 
 burning tears. 
 
 Wave high the banners of Castille above the Christian 
 
 band ; 
 Bursts forth in wild and joyous peal ; — " The Moor hath 
 
 left the land ;" 
 March on the Moslems through one gate, their pennons 
 
 drooping low ; 
 Through the other^ come with step elate, the proud, 
 
 exulting foe ! 
 
 His beard he tore; — the gems he wore, tramples the 
 
 king to earth ; 
 While his Spahis heard Boabdil pour these words of 
 
 sadness forth ; 
 " Fair city of my home and faith ! Granada, fare thee 
 
 well ! — 
 For love of thee, his latest breath thy king would dearly 
 
 sell! 
 
 " The Moor, full seven hundred years, within thy wall 
 
 held sway ; 
 Woe worth the Christian for the tears he makes us shed 
 
 to-day ; 
 
72 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 In thee I drew my earliest breath, but far from thee 
 
 shall die. 
 Mahoun! avenge Granada's faith! Thy sword smite 
 
 Christentie ? 
 
 " Mother of gentle Dames wer't thou, of high and 
 
 honored name ; 
 Thou'st wove for many a champion's brow the chaplet of 
 
 his fame ; — 
 For years of deadly hate we've striven 'gainst yon' 
 
 exulting Lord, 
 And hoped to find the Moslem heaven lay 'neath the 
 
 Christian's sword ! 
 
 " Thy children's hopes, alas ! were vain, though we 
 
 struggled, toiled and bled ; 
 Better than wear this galling chain, thy suffering sons 
 
 were dead ! 
 Granada ! look upon thy Chief ! Fair city look thv last ! — 
 Granade ! Alhambra ! Generalife ! — your day of glory's 
 
 "There's not a flower within thy walls that is not 
 
 doomed to die ; — 
 No fount again within thy halls shall glad the gazer's 
 
 eye — 
 
SPANISH BALLADS. 73 
 
 Crownless and sceptreless, I leave my cradle — ^kingdom — 
 
 home — 
 A pilgrim doomed — mayhap the wave may prove 
 
 Boabdil's tomb !•' 
 
 He said, and gave his barb the rein ; — his knights and 
 
 cavaliers 
 Begirt their monarch's mourning-train with their bright 
 
 and glistening spears ; 
 When lo ! a voice upon his ear like wind that lulls the 
 
 wave ; — 
 " Better, my son ! than thou be here, Granada were thy 
 
 grave ! 
 
 " People and kingdom, all are gone ! Son, wherefore 
 
 dost thou breathe ? 
 Down with yon' waving gonfalon ! your swords, ye 
 
 traitors, sheathe ! 
 Thou'st hung upon these breasts, but now this arm 
 
 could smite thee dead ; 
 For I spurn the brand in a craven's hand, as the crown 
 
 on a traitor's head !" 
 
LEGENDS AND SUPERSTITIONS 
 
 IRELAND. 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING; 
 
 A TALE OF FAERIE. 
 
 The sun is high ; and hound and horn 
 
 Breathe welcome echo to the morn, 
 
 As from the mountain-top it flings 
 
 Those treasured hues, that lay through night, 
 
 Deep-folded in her dusky wings, 
 
 To gild its path with gems of light — 
 
 A summer's morn ! The earth and air 
 
 Seem wrapt in holy dream, as 'twere 
 
 That glorious dawn, when first God sent 
 
 Light thro' the murky firmament. 
 
 Dispelling cloud and vapor far 
 
 As rose Creation's morning-star, 
 
 Fhnging her myriad hues, unfurled 
 
 Like banner bathed in rainbow-light, 
 
 Waking from Chaos' chains, a world 
 
 Had lain, 'till then, in dreams of Night — 
 
 And earth and air, — the very skies 
 
 (As one by one the stars of even 
 
 Close up their ever watchful eyes, 
 
78 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 And melt into the blue of heaven) 
 
 Seem rev'ling in that golden ray, 
 
 Baptizing the approach of Day — 
 
 For earth hath donned her mantle green, 
 
 The flower shakes off its midnight dew ; — 
 
 Twinkles the grass its emerald-sheen, 
 
 The harebell bares her breast of blue — 
 
 And Summer's bells are sweetly ringing 
 
 From leaves just op'ning to the day, 
 
 And birds, bright morning's minstrels, singing. 
 
 Like spirits, their sweet matin-lay ; — 
 
 All — all would seem, as Paradise 
 
 Again were in this world of our's. 
 
 Restoring the lost light that lies 
 
 Deep in the shade of Eden's bowers ! 
 
 The woods, they ring with many a note 
 
 Of shrill horn, answered from the throat 
 
 Of baying hound ; whose pointed ear 
 
 Pricks at the sound of huntsman's cheer. 
 
 Waking the timid, couching hare 
 
 From the deep covert of her lair — 
 
 And now sweeps on the panting steed. 
 
 With the breathless flight of arrowy speed ; — 
 
 The straining nostril swollen wide, 
 
 The rowel deep in his sweating side, 
 
 The full dark eye, like orb of light. 
 
-THE ENCHANTED RING. 79 
 
 The ear pricked up at hound's full bay, 
 
 As pants the war-steed at the sight 
 
 Of legions marshalled for the fray ! 
 
 Prince Corniac heads the gallant band, 
 
 No doughtiei" prince through Erin's land 
 
 To lead the host or follow hound, 
 
 Or lead the way where trumpet-sound 
 
 Points out the hero's crimson path 
 
 Through glory's shout or shriek of death — 
 
 The chase he heads, through vale and plain 
 
 With sweating steed and slackened rein. 
 
 Now cheers the hound, now swells the cry 
 
 Of merrie huntsman's revelry ; — 
 
 His snowy plume, like banner high 
 
 Waved in the van of chivalry. 
 
 Points to the jocund troop the way 
 
 Where cowers the expected prey — 
 
 But hark ! what means that distant cry ? 
 
 Checked are the steeds, and ev'ry eye. 
 
 As when the ambushed cannonade 
 
 In showers pours its fiery rain 
 
 From the thick forest's covert shade. 
 
 In slaughter on the battle-plain. 
 
 Is strained to catch the sounds that bring 
 
 Strange tidings upon Echo's wing — 
 
 " The prey is our's !" Prince Corraac cried ; 
 
80 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 And pricking his proud courser's side ; 
 As speeds the shaft by bowman shot, 
 The barb obeys the slackened rein, 
 And cheerily the bugle-note 
 Rings out its music once again — 
 On, on they dash, hke waves of river, 
 Darting away from its silver quiver ; — 
 On, on, where the baying hound doth lead. 
 Through tangled furze or grassy mead — 
 Through the wide open plain they skirr, 
 With foaming steed and blooded spur ; 
 Of aught unmindful save the yell 
 Of hound, each moment rising through 
 The echoing depths of yonder dell, 
 Now bursting on the huntsman's view. 
 The Prince alights ; and clamb'ring down 
 The rocky height, that, like a crown, 
 Begirts that sweet, sequestered dell 
 (Meet resting-place for fairy-spell). 
 Through withered branches broke his way, 
 Whence rose the pack's still ceaseless bay ; 
 When, quicker than the thought of dream, 
 Breaks on his ear a human scream, — 
 A scream of agony and fear. 
 As though the parting soul had giv'n 
 All anguish forth could load it here, 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 81 
 
 Ere 't took its last farewell to heav'n. 
 Nor passed a moment, ere he sprang 
 Amid the pack that stood at bay 
 With fiery eye and whetted fang, 
 For the last leap upon their prey — 
 An old and haggard form stood there, 
 With furrowed cheek and hoary hair, 
 And palsied form, and wrinkled brow, 
 A hundred winters might have strown 
 With thin and scattered hairs of snow, 
 For Youth's bright sunny locks of brown — 
 One long shrill blast, and ev'ry hound 
 
 Cowers full low upon the ground ; 
 
 And quoth the Prince ; " What would one here, 
 
 In place so lone, so old as thou ? 
 
 Giv'st thou the dead a prayer or tear ? 
 
 Or cam'st thou here for holy vow ?" 
 
 " It boots not now ; but one boon more 
 
 Awaits me from thee ere we part ; 
 
 And length of days, and golden store 
 
 (Such as might glad a Prince's heart) 
 
 Youth, shall be thine—." She paused a while, 
 
 And o'er her fleshless face a smile, 
 
 As sunlight o'er the desert strays 
 In Autumn's bleak and stormy days, 
 Half-mirthfuUy, half-sadly played, 
 4* 
 
82 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Like straggling rays through forest-shade ; 
 
 And from her eyes there shot a light, 
 
 All faint as that on summer's night, 
 
 That quivers one brief moment ere 
 
 'Tis quenched in the cold midnight air : 
 
 Nor more she said, but waved her hand ; 
 
 Aghast, the knight half-drew his brand — 
 
 Yet quickly thrust it back again, 
 
 As thouQ-h he felt the burning shame 
 
 That dyed his cheek with crimson stain, 
 
 Branded the craven on his name — 
 
 " Put up thy sword ! it hath no fear 
 
 For one whose sands so near are run ; — 
 
 Why pull the leaf that Autumn's sere 
 
 May wither ere the set of sun ? 
 
 Come, follow me, — but youth, beware ! 
 
 For human hope and human prayer 
 
 May offer up the heart's last sigh, 
 
 Ere, 'mid the mystic depths of sea, 
 
 Or treasures between earth and sky. 
 
 They find the wealth that's doomed for thee !" 
 ***** 
 
 Now on a lake's still shore they stand, 
 
 Whose waters in the moon-lit beam. 
 
 As lambently they kiss the sand. 
 
 Scarce seem to wake from that sweet dream 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING, 83 
 
 Of far-otf worlds, that heaven pours 
 At midnight, from its starry bowers — 
 Still are the waves, — as still, as Death 
 Had hushed them with his icy breath ; 
 And wind and wave were laid to sleep, 
 On the cold bosom of the deep. 
 Wrapt in that lonely spirit-shroud, 
 Half woven of moonbeam and of cloud — 
 Low breaks the music on the strand 
 Of ev'ry wave that bears from far 
 The silver tones of spirit-land. 
 Like echoes cauQ-ht from fallino- star ; 
 And ev'ry murmur as it dies. 
 Dissolves in seraph harmonies ! 
 " Lo ! ev'ry wave is sleeping now, 
 Fair youth !" she said, " and soft and low 
 Falls the sweet hymn that ev'ning sings 
 Ere Day folds up his golden wings — ' 
 But, 'neath that wave a treasure lies. 
 Such as for erring soul might win 
 Again the gates of Pai-adise, — 
 Unsay the doom of mortal sin — 
 A magic ring, long sought in vain. 
 Within those waves for years hath lain ; 
 Thine the venture now to seek 
 That long-lost ring, within the lake ; 
 
84 THE ENCHANTED KING. 
 
 Thine the hazard — thine the prize 
 
 To find this treasure of the wave ; 
 
 Givino' it back the Hfijht of skies 
 
 That gladdens ne'er the sea-shell's cave I" 
 
 " This, this be mine ?" the Prince replied — 
 
 His brow suflfused with flush of pride : 
 
 " Now by yon' stars that look adown 
 
 From skies with light they guard and crown, - 
 
 By yon' pale orb like diamond set 
 
 In midnight's sparkling coronet, — 
 
 By every hope and every fear 
 
 That wings its flight from human heart, 
 
 Up to that virgin crescent-sphere ; 
 
 From those who love, weep, meet or part ; — 
 
 No talisman I ask or crave 
 
 To guard me fi'om the treacherous wave ; 
 
 I seek no rite of fairy spell 
 
 But haste to do thy 'best ; — Farewell !" 
 
 He said ; and, like the flight of deer 
 
 When hound and horn proclaim aloud 
 
 The fury of the chase is near. 
 
 Plunged 'mid the water's snowy shroud ;— 
 
 Nor passed a moment ere he felt 
 
 The nature that within him lay, 
 
THE ENCHANTED KING. 85 
 
 Link after link, dissolve and melt 
 
 Like mist before the sun, away ; 
 
 He saw the waters gliding by 
 
 As silver clouds in a summer sky, 
 
 Bathed in the pearly light that shone 
 
 In snowy showers from Dian's zone ; 
 
 They touched him not, but on they went 
 
 Music and hght around them playing ; 
 
 Reflecting from the firmament 
 
 Eack meteor from its bright home straying ; — 
 
 Around seemed one bright holiday. 
 
 Wave with wave in seeming play. 
 
 Each sporting with the silver band 
 
 The moon had flung on every crest. 
 
 To seal, with touch of her bright wand. 
 
 Their laughing eyes to midnight-rest : 
 
 Yes — yes, 'twas music all around, 
 
 And echo sent back spirit-sound 
 
 Of naiad's song and lone mermaid. 
 
 As tranquilly she twines her braid 
 
 In the clear wave that mirrors back 
 
 Her beauties from its silver track — 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a world as new, he feels. 
 
 As that the dreamer's sphere reveals ; — 
 
 When the wrapt soul in visioned trance 
 
 From earth, on wing of thought upborne, 
 
86 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Fixes on heaven that upward glance 
 It feels is kindred with the morn, 
 And earth and heaven in one unite 
 To make that dream a sphere of light ! 
 But not the change around him cast 
 From what he saw on earth, when last 
 He looked on her green hills, and skies 
 Swathed in the garb of summer-dyes ; — 
 Not there the change alone ; he feels 
 A new-born spirit rise within — * 
 
 A touch — a breath, like that which seals 
 The soul just winged from earth and sin. 
 'Tis blood no longer warms his veins, 
 Tainted and foul with mortal stains ; 
 Instead thereof a current plays, 
 As pure and fresh as that which ran 
 Through human frame in elder days. 
 Quickened by spark Promethean — 
 His eye hath now an angel's ken 
 To see delights denied to man ; 
 For brighter worlds are round him now, 
 Than ever burst on mortal view ; 
 Wreathed in the silver and the snow. 
 They catch from each wave's passing hue, 
 And flinging as they pass, a ray 
 That makes that world, eternal day ! 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 87 
 
 Still, as he wings his watery track 
 A thousand mirrors give him back 
 An image, such as that might beam 
 On young Endyraion in his dream, 
 When Luna, seen from Latmos' height, 
 Borne onward in her car of light, 
 Heard the secret low and deep, 
 Breathed like incense o'er his sleep, 
 As perfume winding through the cell 
 Of flower where it loves to dwell ; 
 She heard ; and, on a snowy ray 
 Of moonbeam, earthward bent her way, 
 Touching the dreamer's lips with kiss 
 That thrilled his soul with love and bliss : 
 Oh ! such the image bright, that passed 
 The mortal on his watery flight, 
 And the rich loveliness it cast 
 Seemed native to a heaven of light : — 
 He feels — he sees the change ; his hair 
 Hangeth in wavy ringlets down, 
 Bright as the beams of morning, where 
 They cluster into daylight's crown ; 
 And there's a beauty in his face 
 The limner's art might vain essay 
 In fancy's heavenly forms to trace 
 With pencil dyed in sunbeam's ray, 
 
88 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 And model from an angel brought, 
 
 Creation of the poet's thought ; 
 
 His form ; — oh ! 'tis one waving hue 
 
 Of beaming beauty, all-divine ; 
 
 Half-made of rays that played and shone 
 
 In streams of radiance round God's throne, 
 
 So bright we can but veil our eyes 
 
 Like seraphim in Paradise ; 
 
 And half of air, like clouds we see 
 
 In the deep blue's immensity ; 
 
 So light, so fleeting that they melt 
 
 Ere half their beauty's seen or felt, 
 
 Fading away in summer-rack 
 
 To their bright home in heaven back ! 
 
 Yes, yes, he feels a change hath come 
 
 Like that which flings its spell around 
 
 The soul unprisoned from the tomb ; 
 
 Where death its wing so long hath bound ; 
 
 A change like that which Hope and Faith 
 
 Bring to the spirit after death ; 
 
 Immortal change Religion brings 
 
 To earth, down from her starry height. 
 
 Giving the dead a seraph's wings 
 
 To roam through spheres of endless light ! 
 
 Oh ! rapture thus to feel the play 
 
 Of wing immortal cleave the way — 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 89 
 
 The bright pathway to angels given, 
 
 That points their native home in heaven ; — 
 
 To feel the dull and senseless clod 
 
 At touch of spirit melt away, 
 
 Sealed by the impress of a God, 
 
 Ere it hath turned again to clay. 
 
 Still on he wends his journey bright, 
 
 Like arrow loosed from bow of light, 
 
 Flying onward, as the waves retreat 
 
 In silver masses on each side ; 
 
 Like the suspended winding-sheet 
 
 Of foam that shrouds the mountain-tide — 
 
 But hark ! he stays, for voices tell 
 
 The secrets of this mystic sphere. 
 
 In tones of sweetness such, that well 
 
 A spirit e'en might pause to hear — 
 
 They come in notes far sweeter than 
 
 Ever was waked by minstrel-hand, 
 
 'Mid strings of an ,^Eolian, 
 
 In wand'ring air from mountain-land ; — 
 
 And these the words that float along 
 
 Each sweUing wave that laughs with song. 
 " Down, down to our home in the deep ! Come away ! 
 It hath not the light of your earth-born day ; 
 But oh ! it hath radiance lovelier far. 
 For each gem-studded wave hath the light of a star ! ^ 
 And our halls with crystal and silver sliine, 
 
90 THE ENCHANTED KING. 
 
 Keflecting, like mirrors, the colors tliat twine 
 
 With their bright wreaths of pearl and sapphire, that vie 
 
 With the brightest we see in your own summer-sky — 
 
 Come down, then, come down ! for our banquet is spread 
 
 Of soft dews, oh ! far sweeter than rose ever shed ; 
 
 And our goblets of pearl with nectar are filled, 
 
 More delicious than honey-bee ever distilled. 
 
 And then for our song, sweet as ever was heard 
 
 At the first blush of spring from her favorite bird : 
 
 Not your lark's, nor your nightingale's notes, as they fall 
 
 Can rival it ; — no — oh ! 'tis sweeter than all ! 
 
 For our's is the gush of the musical wave. 
 
 As it dashes and ebbs from the coral-lit cave ; 
 
 And the echo from each liquid wave, as it swells, 
 
 Awakens the answer of murmuring shells — 
 
 And our's is the anthem of Freedom that flies, 
 
 Like meteor undying, from mountain to skies, — 
 
 A theme that finds echo wherever is heard 
 
 The boom of the wave or wild note of the bird — 
 
 And thine shall be Love, oh ! unchangeably bright 
 
 As the moon of your earth on a long summer-night ; 
 
 Living on — hving on 'mid unwithering hues, 
 
 And exhaling to heaven, like rose-born dews — 
 
 Tlien welcome, fair youth ! to our home in the deep. 
 
 For lulled is each wavelet to pillow thy sleep ; 
 
 And the lamp that we light to watch over thy dream 
 
 Shall be fed from the diamond of wave and moonbeam.'^ 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 91 
 
 As o'er the water stilly mute 
 
 Are hushed the dying tones of lute, 
 
 When sweetly stealing o'er the crest 
 
 Of wave its music breathes to rest, 
 
 So fades the Naiads' melody, 
 
 Like the soft ripple from the oar. 
 
 Or wave, whose echoes break and die. 
 
 At even on some distant shore — 
 
 And scarce the list'ning ear had dwelt 
 
 On the far echoes, as they melt 
 
 From wave to wave, in music playing, 
 
 Like summer-wind 'mid harp-strings straying, 
 
 Ere 'round the knight, with wings outspread 
 
 Stood spirits in bright retinue 
 
 With emerald crown upon the head. 
 
 And raiment of the ocean blue — 
 
 And 'round the stranger many a maze 
 
 Of circling light they sport and play ; 
 
 As insects wanton in the haze 
 
 Of sunshine brief on summer's day ; — 
 
 While from the conches that they bear 
 
 Such mystic sounds enchain the ear. 
 
 Half-speech, half-music ; notes that dwell 
 
 In richest union, lovers say. 
 
 When sings the love-lorn Philomel 
 
 From midnight to the dawn of day — 
 
92 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 All beautiful as Day they stand 
 
 Weaving its halo of the light 
 
 It wakens with its golden wand 
 
 From cradle, where the starry night 
 
 Had wrapt it in her mantle cold 
 
 Of many a dark and dusky fold — 
 
 A moment, and at signal given, 
 
 Like lightning darting down from heaven, 
 
 The troops of radiance part in twain. 
 
 While rings out sweet and airy strain 
 
 From wreathed shell, and as it dies 
 
 In eddies of rich harmonies, 
 
 A form, more glorious — brighter far 
 
 In stature — beauty than the rest ; 
 
 Radiant with beams, as Day's own star 
 
 Smiling in glory in the West, 
 
 There stands, surrounded by a zone, 
 
 Like rainbow, that around her shone, 
 
 Blending the galaxy of dyes 
 
 That decks the noontide in the skies, 
 
 With the rich hues that float and glide 
 
 In streams of light on summer-even 
 
 O'er ocean's calm impurpled tide. 
 
 Like pilgrims from their native heaven — 
 
 The spirits, each his emerald crown 
 
 Lays at her feet in homage down, 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 93 
 
 While their sweet voices accents raise 
 Of blended harmony and praise — 
 That scarcely e'en can rapture dwell 
 On those rich notes that gush and rise 
 In union sweet of voice and shell 
 Where ocean's mystic music lies ; 
 For Cormac sees the mao^ic rinoj 
 A flood of em'rald lustre fling 
 Upon the band ; so bright, intense, — 
 It almost dazzles mortal sense ! 
 But what the rapture mute that bound 
 His wond'ring soul, at the rich sound 
 Of Naiad-harmonies that pour 
 Their music on that magic shore, 
 When accents from the spirit's lip 
 On his tranced ear as lightly break. 
 As those ye hear in the feathery dip 
 Of swallow's wing in a sunny lake — 
 " Mortal ! this magic ring is thine ; — 
 Yes, thine alone the ghtt'ring prize. 
 Hath tempted thee to realm divine. 
 Unlocking all its mysteries ! 
 For thou hast seen the spirit's form 
 That rides in wrath upon the storm ; 
 Lashing the crested wave to foam, 
 And 'gulphing in its madd'ning play, 
 
94 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Souls to their last and dreary home, 
 
 That o'er its treacherous bosom stray — 
 
 And thou hast heard the gentle strains, 
 
 Soft as steal o'er your summer-plains, 
 
 When winds, like harps that angels sweep, 
 
 Give dreams to flowers as they sleep ; 
 
 The strains with which we spirits wake 
 
 At morn the waves upon the lake, 
 
 And lull them to their evening-rest, 
 
 When twilight curtains the bright West — 
 
 And thou hast seen the silver sheet 
 
 That bursts in revelry upon 
 
 The beach, where light and music meet, 
 
 Like children of the midday sun ; 
 
 Flinging around in diamond-showers. 
 
 Gems that fade not through Time's long hours ; 
 
 Speaking to earth those harmonies 
 
 That quicken the eternal ocean ; 
 
 When sound stole o'er it from the skies, 
 
 And gave its stagnant surface motion ! 
 
 Yes, all thou'st seen from the light spray 
 
 That wantons on a summer's day 
 
 To the swing of the sullen and hollow boom 
 
 Of the wave that closes for ever — in doom ! 
 
 Now, wing thy flight for earth ; — ^yet stay, 
 
 Or ere thou seek'st the light of Day — !" 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 96 
 
 The spirit paused, and fixed her gaze 
 Upon the ling, whose emerald blaze 
 Shot far and near through spray and foam, 
 Lighting them up hke pillared dome, 
 Spirits had piled from the bright waves 
 That clustering lay in jewelled heaps ; 
 Like diamonds in those murky caves 
 Where starlight in its calmness sleeps. 
 But scarcely had he ta'en the ring, 
 When, as on fancy's buoyant wing. 
 Through depths of earth, and sea, and air, 
 'Mid all most beautiful and fair, 
 E'en beyond ocean, where the day 
 Gilds the far shores of rich Cathay, 
 From the deep sea-cave, where the night 
 Couches on the soft billow's foam. 
 Up to the star-crowned mountain-height, 
 Where morning builds her golden home ; — 
 From the bright Paradise that erst 
 Held joys unfading as the flowers 
 Of its eternal spring, when first 
 Day woke the perfume of its bowers. 
 To that bright heaven where angels rove 
 Through an eternity of love. 
 And light, and joy, from star to star. 
 Bearing upon their wings afar 
 
96 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 That light from the Eternal's throne 
 That girds all heaven with its zone ; — 
 'Mid all the glories magic might 
 Summon from depths of day or night, 
 'Mid all the mysteries she can 
 Reveal to awe-struck gaze of man, 
 Leading him on in mystic track 
 Through the signs of her dark zodiac, 
 His tranced spirit wrapt and borne, 
 Like dreamer on the wing of morn. 
 Soars far away in angel-flight 
 To worlds unseen by mortal eye ; 
 Each hazy cloud a car of light, 
 That floats in dreamy beauty by ! 
 Fixed and motionless he stands, 
 Like statue from the sculptor's hands ;- 
 His eye, it sees not ;— yet a dream 
 Lies buried 'neath that half-closed lid ; 
 As oft we see the mid-day beam 
 Flash 'neath the billows where 'tis hid- 
 His wings repose in many a fold 
 Of blended emerald and gold. 
 And sense suspended hardly deems 
 If 't he, indeed, a Land of Dreams, 
 Wliile misty visions floating by 
 Scarce lend impression to the eye ; — 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 9*7 
 
 " Is 't life or death ?" he cries ; " or where 
 Dwells Cormac now, in earth or air ?" 
 But ere the words trom Cormac fell 
 In echo through the waves around, 
 He felt upon his soul a spell, 
 Heard in his ear-a sweeter sound 
 Than when the spirit's choral song 
 Had floated in rich tide along, — 
 It was the Naiad's self that spake 
 With voice as sweet, as when the breeze 
 Of summer floats upon a lake. 
 Or twines amid the drooping trees. 
 
 " By the silvery light 
 
 That the waves return 
 
 To the moon, when at night, 
 
 From her heaven-fed urn. 
 She sends down to mortals that beam from the skies 
 That lovers embalm for their own Paradise ! 
 
 By the blushes that rise 
 
 To the rapturous kiss 
 
 When the soul and the eyes 
 
 In their short-lived bhss, 
 Speak each to the other, those murmurings deep 
 That break from the lips of Young Love in his sleep ! 
 
 By the tear and the smile 
 5 
 
98 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Of a generous heart, 
 When it seeks to beguile 
 Our grief when we part ; 
 By that harrowing tear that at parting we shed, 
 And that saddest of all tears, we give for the dead ! 
 By ev'ry bright star 
 Pavilioned on high, 
 Whose fiery car 
 
 Wheels its track through the sk}'-, 
 Those shrines of the lover, those altars that bear 
 The heart's purest incense, its hope or despair ! 
 By the hope and the faith 
 Thou hast pledged to me now, 
 By the dark brand of death 
 Fve effaced from thy brow ; 
 By the undying life I have poured through each vein, 
 Thou art mine, thou art mine — Lo ! I've broken thy 
 chain !" 
 Is 't Music, thus, that woos his ear 
 With tidings from some angel-sphere. 
 Where night and day, the air that blows 
 O'er beds of bright, enamelled hue, 
 Scarce wakes the dreaming flower's repose. 
 Scarce from its bosom sweeps the dew; 
 But scatters, as it glides along- 
 Through its mystic path of Song, 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 99 
 
 From 'neath its outspread, rainbow-wing, 
 
 The harmony of endless Spring ! 
 
 Oh ! yes, 'twas Music's sweetest tone, 
 
 Such as we hear, when, one by one 
 
 The choristers of summer come 
 
 Forth from their sunny, scented home 
 
 In earth and air, with welcome sweet, 
 
 To sing the gladness of that hour, 
 
 When blushing Spring and Summer meet, 
 
 Eejoicing, in their nuptial bower — 
 
 A dream so lasting, so intense, 
 
 It seems to wrap — steep ev'ry sense 
 
 Of Coi'mac, as his fancy strays 
 
 In sleep, through dream-land's misty haze — 
 
 " Wilt thou be mine ? To live through years 
 
 Darkened by neither grief nor tears, 
 
 Unchilled by Friendship's altered brow, 
 
 Unchanged by Passion's perjured vow, 
 
 Thine heart unwrung by earth-born grief 
 
 When loved ones die, like th' Autumn-leaf, 
 
 Mingling the dust of Earth's decay 
 
 With the sweets that burden a summer's day, 
 
 The tear and the sigh with the sounds that rise 
 
 From Nature's untold harmonies ; 
 
 To change the clouds that throng the West 
 
 (When sinks the Sun on Ocean's breast) 
 
100 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 For one long, bright, undying Day, 
 
 That Night can never chase away ; 
 
 And those pale gleams by moonlight shed, 
 
 Like vigils by the midnight-dead, 
 
 To chancje them for the lio-ht that darts 
 
 Like meteor from its lightning-quiver, 
 
 When wave from wavelet as it parts, 
 
 Flashes forth silver light for ever !" 
 
 " Can this be mine ?" the prince replied ; 
 
 " A Spirit be a Mortal's bride ? 
 
 Canst thou the burning seal forget 
 
 That Immortality hath set 
 
 Upon thy brow, when Morning shone 
 
 First upon Earth, from God's bright throne ? 
 
 Oh ! rapture, with thee, thus, to dwell 
 
 Through ages in thy sea-wrought home, 
 
 List'ning the song of wave and shell 
 
 In echo to the wreathing foam ! 
 
 Will I be thine ? oh ! ask the flower. 
 
 Loves it not its own scented bower, 
 
 "Where Morning gilds its bed, and Night 
 
 Steeps its slumbers in Moonlight ? 
 
 The bird that wheels its golden track 
 
 In joyous circles through the sky, 
 
 Whether you e'er could woo it back 
 
 To earth, to droop its wing and die ? 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 101 
 
 The water to return the ray 
 
 It hives within its silver cells ; 
 
 Where, through the sunshine-hours of day, 
 
 With Music it for ever dwells ? 
 
 No more, no more — I'm thine !" he said ; 
 
 But while he spake, a livid hue, 
 
 Like that we see upon the dead, 
 
 Over his brow a shadow threw. 
 
 The Spirit marked it — " Dost thou weep," 
 
 She said, " for those in Death that sleep, 
 
 Or parted ties, that ne'er again 
 
 Can weave on earth their broken chain ? 
 
 Or weep'st thou aught — ?" The tear that brake 
 
 From Cormac, more than language spake 
 
 The unbidden thoughts at heart, that rise 
 
 When earth and all her memories, 
 
 Ties and affections, joy and pain, 
 
 Throng thickly through his heart and brain — 
 
 " Let me see the earth once more," he cried, 
 
 " In all the glow of her summer-pride ; 
 
 The flower bursting at early day. 
 
 The lark trilling her roundelay. 
 
 Her matin-praise in every note. 
 
 As it gushes in joy from her liquid throat : 
 
 Cloud upon cloud, still higher and higher. 
 
 Ascending the morn like column of fire ; 
 
102 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Let me look again on the painted bed, 
 
 With its varied hues of blue and red, 
 
 As though it were stained with ev'ry dye 
 
 That streams at night through the galaxy ; 
 
 Oh ! let me see the winter cold. 
 
 Like monarch upon his throne of snow, 
 
 With his sceptre of ice, and his crown of gold 
 
 From the sun, like a halo, descend on his brow ; 
 
 The Spring and the Summer, Hke sisters twain. 
 
 As, wending their way thro' sweet banks of flowers, 
 
 They hsten with rapture to each passing strain 
 
 That Nature from bird and stream lavishly pours : 
 
 And then the sad Autumn — his crown all of sere, 
 
 His mantle of withered leaves strown on the gale. 
 
 As he weeps his last tears o'er the corse of the year, 
 
 When in silence it lies in the leaf-buried vale ! 
 
 Oh ! let me see this once again, 
 
 Nor let the mortal's prayer be vain !" 
 
 " What pledge have I that thou wilt come 
 
 Back again to thy Spirit-home ?" 
 
 " My faith — my life, — oh, all on earth 
 
 I have, or deem that life is worth — " 
 
 " I ask not pledge of earth to prove," 
 
 Answered the Spirit, " mortal's love ; 
 
 For with you 'tis all weak and frail, 
 
 Like blossom trembling in the gale. 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 103 
 
 Or waving, like the downy spray, 
 
 Ere for ever in mist it passetli away ; 
 
 No — give me back that magic ring, 
 
 For certain pledge thou wilt return 
 
 Ere Night spreads out her sable wing 
 
 To cloud the glories of the morn :" 
 
 Kissing the circlet, bright of gold. 
 
 Whose burnished hues shone far and near, 
 
 Like the serpent's crest of ghstening fold. 
 
 Erect in the hour of death and fear. 
 
 He gave it back ; — " Now — now I fly 
 
 Back to the realms of earth and sky ; 
 
 The earth, like a paradise, stretched to receive 
 
 In her bosom all loveliness heaven can give ! 
 
 Joy — ^joy — now I wing for the earth and the air — " 
 
 The reply of the spirit was — " Mortal, Beware /" 
 
 And scarce had passed that ominous word, 
 
 "When, wending on his upward track, 
 
 This song, in accents Cormac heard. 
 
 So sweet they almost wooed him back : — 
 
 The Spirit-Bridal. 
 
 " Go — gather the diamonds that float through the waves. 
 All sparkling with light through the long summer's day ; 
 And let ocean give up from her hiddenmost caves 
 Every gem she holds purest and brightest of ray. 
 
104 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 To deck with their sheen 
 The fair brow of our queen 
 For the bridal of Spirit and Mortal — Away ! 
 
 " And twine with the garland the beam of the moon, 
 As she trembhngly kisses the water at even, 
 Impearling the new-born flowers of June 
 With her own light that flows hke a river, thro' heaven ; 
 
 And blend with the wreath 
 
 Honor, Passion, and Faith, 
 To mortal, the purest and holiest given. 
 
 " And with the beam mingle the hues that the bow 
 From its watery prism in harmony flings. 
 Emblazoned with colors as radiant as though 
 They had flashed from a wave of the Seraphim's wings ; 
 
 Let every ray be 
 
 As bright as ye see 
 The Sun, when at morn from the Ocean he springs. 
 
 " Then weave her a robe from a wi-eath of the foam 
 That the Storm-Spirit dashes in sport on the shore, 
 And braid it with pearls from the mermaid's green home 
 Ye'll find deep in the wave, 'neath its sapphire floor ; — 
 
 And the bridal-robe twine 
 
 With that rich golden line 
 That the summer-sun flings on the water, like ore. 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 105 
 
 " Take for her chariot the amber ye find 
 All fresh from the night-mourning sea-bird that weeps ; 
 And give her, for steeds, the fleet wings of the wind 
 As over the Ocean in winter he sweeps — 
 
 Haste, Spirits — away 
 
 From the regions of Day, 
 To depths, where the Dolphin in revelry leaps. 
 
 " And then for her chaimt, let the waves clap their hands, 
 And their anthem exiiltingly send to the skies. 
 As they laughingly break on the golden ribbed sands, 
 Each gushing its tribute of joy ere it dies — 
 
 Quick — for ere nightfall. 
 
 Shall echo this crystal hall 
 To spirit and wave as they blend their sweet harmonies !" 
 
 Now morning pours her golden light 
 In streams through vale, o'er mountain-height, 
 And Cormac, once on earth again, 
 Re-weaves Affection's shattered chain 
 And Memory's, that absence gave 
 In fragments to the silver wave — 
 The Spirit's gone, and all the man 
 Returns to kindle heart and vein ; 
 5* 
 
106 THE ENCHANTED RINO. 
 
 While earth's sweet mem'ries, one by one, 
 
 Teem in his throbbing soul again — 
 
 As weaiy bird from far-off clime 
 
 Returns, when Winter's reign is o'er, 
 
 To hail again sweet Summer's prime. 
 
 Basking upon its well-loved shore. 
 
 So wandered his enraptured eye, 
 
 From earth to wave — from wave to sky, 
 
 Draining that sweet, inspiring cup 
 
 That Memory's own hand held up. 
 
 Each drop, a link to bind that chain 
 
 The enchantress wove too fast again — 
 
 Yes, there was the Morning — in colors all dight 
 
 She had borrowed from flow'r-strewn vale and the height 
 
 Of tbe mountain ; where, throned upon many a fold 
 
 Of verdure, she sate in her vesture of gold ; 
 
 Her sceptre of light — her tiara of flowers 
 
 Resplendent with jewels from Night's dewy showers — 
 
 And the birds, too, were there, all exultingly springing 
 
 From their air-hanging nests through the clouds that 
 
 gave way. 
 As upward they soared, to their tumult of singing, 
 Sweet as echo e'er gave to the bowers of May — 
 And the flowery earth — the air, and the water 
 Were sending aloft to the throne of the skies. 
 That ocean of incense that Earth's fairest daughter, 
 
THE ENCHANTliD KING. 10*7 
 
 Sweet Morning had culled from her own Paradise ; — 
 
 For the dew, like a diadem, circled the flower, 
 
 And the merrie bird sang from his moss-covered bower, 
 
 Every new-born odor its censer was swinging. 
 
 And the lark, Nature's matin-bell, merrily ringing ! 
 
 Then slow, hke a vision, passed Morning away 
 
 Her tenderness merged in the glories of Day ; 
 
 And the light rays, that trembled, like hue on the feather, 
 
 When Morning commenced her bright garland to gather, 
 
 Now clustered in powder to form a crown 
 
 When the Sun from his golden tent looks sultrily down — 
 
 And over him radiantly hung the warm noon. 
 
 Her bright mantle wove by the fair hand of June, 
 
 Its texture was formed of the Summer's blue haze. 
 
 And inwrought with gold of the Sun's brightest rays — 
 
 While above spread the blue vault like palace some 
 
 hand 
 Had raised for its God, in a far sunny land. 
 Bright clouds piled the fabric with many a fold. 
 Its columns were air-himg — its portals of gold ; 
 And its base was the mountain etei-nal, that ne'er 
 Yet trembled to tempest in ocean or air ! 
 And the flower all languidly drooped on its stem, 
 And frolicked the bee 'round each beautiful gem 
 That Morn, in her flight, from her zone had untwined 
 To brighten the path of the sweet summer- Avind — 
 
J 08 T HE E N C 11 A N T ED MI N G . 
 
 Now faded the splendors of Noon, and the Day 
 Like a vision of glory, passed quickly away, — 
 A vision, oh ! such as might rapture the eyes 
 Of Seraphim, ev'n in their own starry skies. 
 Where day unto day, and night unto night 
 Giveth answer in language of undying light, 
 While they gaze on the blent hues of rainbow and sun, 
 For ever around the invisible One ! 
 Yes, the Noon passed away, and sweet Eve, like a maid, 
 That mourns her love in the sepulchre laid, 
 Put on her dusk veil, that over the flowers 
 Crept softly, like mists of in^nsible showers ; 
 For a shade was on all, and the earth seemed to weep 
 O'er the pall Evening spread on her children in sleep, 
 Closing their soft lids, as never again 
 To wake at the spell of air, sunshine or rain ; 
 And Eve, in her turn, gave way to the splendors 
 That Night to Creation in deep homage renders. 
 With the moon and the stars all like slaves in her train 
 Wa\ing like harvest of gold in the grain ! 
 There was silence above, and below, and around. 
 And the worshipper's ear vainly paused for a sound. 
 The wave of a leaflet, or even a breath 
 Might say. Earth was not the dark Valley of Death ! 
 Hark ! heard he not one ? Yes, the lone nightingale, 
 As her night-chaunt of plaintiveness sweeps through 
 the vale, 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. 109 
 
 Like spirit keeping watch with its mournful numbers, 
 While Night folds her wing in her dark, dreamless 
 slumbers. 
 
 Scarce had he heard the mournful lay 
 (Sad requiem of the by-gone Day), 
 When, like a torrent, broke on him 
 Remembrances all dark and dim, 
 Confused, as fragments of the sky 
 On stormy day in ocean lie — 
 The Enchanted ring — the water-sprite — 
 The solemn pledge to her he'd given, 
 That, ere the curtain of the Night 
 Had folded in the dreams of Heaven, 
 He would return ; — all — all come back. 
 Like lightning on its fiery track ; — 
 The heaving hope — the fear — the joy — 
 Swept through his soul, to blast — destroy ! 
 He looked to heaven ; the moonlight pale 
 Scarce bordered midnight's sable veil. 
 Tinting the mountain with that hue 
 That crystallized the sleeping dew — 
 As thouo'h an adder stunjr his vein. 
 Cormac starts, and breaks the chain 
 Of dreamy thoughts that fixed his eye 
 In rapture spell-bound on the sky — 
 
110 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 But hark ! what sounds are those that yonder 
 
 Break on the ear witli the might of thunder ; 
 
 Sounds so ominous and drear 
 
 They almost stun the hstening ear ? 
 
 Nearer and nearer on they come ; — 
 
 'Tis the clash of the wave in its terrible boom, 
 
 As it breaks in destruction and wrath on the shore, 
 
 Was all beauty and calmness a moment before ! 
 
 Was it the Spirit's vengeance gave 
 
 Such fury to the crested wave ? 
 
 His broken pledge that lent the might 
 
 Of tempest to the waking night ? 
 
 He stays — he asks not — with the speed 
 
 Of storm-wing o'er the bending reed. 
 
 He rushes to the spot, where first 
 
 He heard the promise ; — ^blest or curst, 
 
 He recks not which — he asks not why, 
 
 For he feels the hour is come — to die ! 
 
 And there — oh ! sight appaUing — there — 
 
 (Like Death-hound crouching in its lair) 
 
 The haggard form, with garment torn 
 
 And hair dishevelled to the blast. 
 
 As he had seen her on that morn, 
 
 His eyes on earth had looked their last 
 
 To do her bidding, met his eye ; — 
 
 The Enchanted Ring she held on high, 
 
THE ENCHANTED RING. Ill 
 
 The pledge of Cormac's broken faith ; — 
 
 " Now, by that furious water-wraith 
 
 Thou'st summoned from her darksome cave, 
 
 Mortal ! yon' water is thy grave !" 
 
 And now the high waves, tempest-tost, 
 
 Come trembling onward to the shore, 
 
 E'en like a wild, disordered host 
 
 That rallies 'mid the battle's roar 
 
 It's broken columns ; while the white 
 
 Spray, shivered hke a banner-sheet 
 
 That reels amid the maddening fight, 
 
 Where foes in deadly grapple meet. 
 
 Tosses, in shattered fragments high, 
 
 Its folds of foam 'twixt earth and sky ; — 
 
 With smile that played like flickering light 
 
 Of dying lamp at dead of night; — 
 
 " I am the Sprite," she said ; " Behold 
 
 The Sprite, whose beauty thou hast seen 
 
 Enshrined beneath those waves where gold 
 
 And emerald crowned the Naiad Queen ; 
 
 Oh ! vain amid this haggard form 
 
 Those lineaments of light to trace — 
 
 Vain as amid yon' bursting storm. 
 
 To catch one glimpse of heaven's bright face — 
 
 But thou hast disobeyed — forsworn 
 
 A Spirit's proffered love in scorn, 
 
112 THE ENCHANTED RING. 
 
 Disowned the feeling — rent the tie 
 
 That gave thee Immortality ; 
 
 And though the treasures of earth and sky 
 
 And water, in love were before thee laid, 
 
 Fool ! thou hast chosen thy doom — to die. 
 
 And clung to thine earth, where all things fade !" 
 
 Nor more he heard or saw ; for now 
 
 A heavy trance comes o'er his brow — 
 
 Heavy and dull as that we feel 
 
 When Death for ever sets his seal — 
 
 The waves in lashing fury come. 
 
 Like spectres, on in their shrouds of foam, 
 
 Wrapping him each in its snowy wreath. 
 
 Fit cerement for the halls of Death ! 
 
 And, as he sinks, lo ! this the sound 
 
 That spreads, like mystic dirge, around ; — 
 
 The Spirit-Dirge. 
 
 Fare-thee-well — Fare-thee-well ! 
 
 Like Music from shell 
 Thy spirit hath passed from Decay's dark cell ; 
 
 And down in the deep 
 
 Oh ! soft be thy sleep, 
 With the Moon to watch o'er thee, and Spirits to weep ! 
 
 Wail — wail for the Dead 
 
THE ENCHANTED KING. 113 
 
 On his watery bed, 
 Life's quiver is broken — its arrow is sped ! 
 
 As the hght of the Sun 
 
 Parts when Day is done, 
 So passeth Man's spirit when Life's goal is won — 
 
 Of the stars that at eve 
 
 Their gay bowers leave 
 For the Midnight a tissue of radiance to weave ; . 
 
 Ere the Night fall 
 
 In her cloudy pall, 
 Not a single star will ye see of them all — 
 
 E'en so, one by one, 
 
 All faded and wan, 
 Passeth away the brief morning of Man ; — 
 
 Like dew from the flower, 
 
 Sun-glance from the shower, 
 And Time herself from Eternity's hour ? 
 
 Like sound from the bell, 
 
 Like grief from the knell 
 We toll for the loved in their narrow-built-cell ; — 
 
 So the soul to the Giver, 
 
 As wave from the river 
 To Ocean, flight taketh — away — and — for ever ! 
 
114 
 
 EILEEN AROON;* 
 
 A LEGEND OF IRELAND. 
 
 [The beautiful Irish air, bearing the above title, is said to have 
 originated from the following incidents.] 
 
 Sunset's bright clouds are tinting with their dolphin- 
 hues the West ; 
 And peace is spread o'er heav'u and earth, sweet 
 
 foretaste of that rest 
 Awaits the blessed in the grave, when Life is past and 
 
 gone, 
 And draws its twilight-curtain 'round, like the set of a 
 
 summer-sun — 
 And groups of clouds are gathering to bid the sun 
 
 " Farewell !" 
 In his tent of gold and purple spread, where daylight's 
 
 glories dwell : 
 With their massive piles of light and hue, for their God 
 
 they weave a crown 
 That burns with spirit-glory on, 'till his last ray goes 
 
 down ; 
 
 * Sweet treasure of my heart. 
 
EILEEN ARO ON . 115 
 
 And strew his path with brightness such as ev'ning 
 
 scarce can dim, 
 All lustrous as the shadows of God's own bright 
 
 Seraphim — 
 How like the image of his God to man, that glorious 
 
 sun, 
 Though palled in storm and darkness, still the same 
 
 unchanging One ; 
 We dare not look upon his glory through the 
 
 summer's-day. 
 But, like the Cherub veiled, we turn our guilty eyes 
 
 away — 
 Fountain of hght and joy ! whose effluence is felt 
 
 where'er 
 The warm sky spreads its sea of blue, or breathes the 
 
 summer-air ; 
 Thou gladd'st alike the human heart, and the depths of 
 
 the scented flower. 
 Just waking from the dreams of Spring to revel its 
 
 balmy hour ; — 
 The mount, the vale, the sea, the stream, yea, heav'n 
 
 and earth proclaim 
 Thee, the great type of God himself, the glory of His 
 
 name ! 
 The summer-sun was sinking with a soft and mellow 
 
 power, 
 
116 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 The waves were hushed upon the stream, the leaves 
 
 upon the flower ; 
 With calm and drooping wing the bird hied to its moss- 
 built nest, 
 And sank to slumber, as it trilled its vesper to the 
 
 West- 
 There lay a holy peacefulness on ev'ry object 'round. 
 And Nature tuned her solemn hymn of ev'ry passing 
 
 sound ; 
 The bird's low note — the rustling leaf — the gushing of 
 
 the stream, — 
 All formed a melody might lull e'en an angel's dream. 
 And bring to earth again that holy Sabbath from the 
 
 skies 
 That fled our world for aye when Sin to Man lost 
 
 Paradise. 
 Alone within her garden-bower sate the fair Eileen^ 
 Fairer by far than any flow'r that clustered there, I 
 
 ween ; 
 For, pale as virgin-snow, the lily's hue was on her brow, 
 And vermeil dyed her cheek, as roses blush at the night- 
 bird's vow — 
 Yet, there were thought and sadness there, the early 
 
 trace we find 
 When Passion woes the virgin-heart and leaves its 
 scathe behind : 
 
EILEEN AROON. Il7 
 
 Like music on tV -^lian that the winds in passing fling, 
 And, dying, leave an echo sad still trembling on the 
 
 string ; 
 So sad, that though you heard the lay in joy and 
 
 rapture speak. 
 You'd think the strings that echoed it in utterance must 
 
 break — 
 Oh ! such the young heart's music is, and such its 
 
 earliest tone. 
 And scarce these bells have rung their first peal, ere 
 
 their mirth is gone ! 
 And Eileen gazed upon the sun, a tear bedimmed her 
 
 eye 
 As she watched him slowly sinking down the glowing 
 
 western sky ; 
 For parted friends and sundered hearts in heav'n and 
 
 earth behold 
 Types of dear ties long rent, and feelings long estranged 
 
 and cold ; 
 For a clouded star or moonbeam, and a faded flower or 
 
 leaf. 
 Revive long-buried dreams, — they may be dreams of joy 
 
 or grief — 
 And sad the words that fell from her, as, looking on the 
 
 sun. 
 The slowly gath'ring twilight told her day was well- 
 nigh gone ; 
 
118 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ! thy parting beams, as they faintly 
 
 gild the sky, 
 Fall sadly on the heart, like those that light the dying 
 
 eye; 
 And, with them, pass to an unknown land the memories 
 
 in this. 
 That have numbed the soul with sadness, or enraptured 
 
 it with bliss— 
 There's not a smile we've looked upon, and not a tear 
 
 we've shed. 
 Not a sweet word we've heard in Life, or muttered o'er 
 
 the Dead ; 
 Yes, all the holy thoughts within our lonely hearts that 
 
 dwell. 
 Are centred in thy parting light — read in thy last 
 
 farewell ; 
 Like those, who, in the graveyard, read the lines of 
 
 Love's own hand. 
 And wake again the living from that silent Spectre- 
 land—" 
 And scarcely had she spoken, when there stood within 
 
 the bower. 
 The one who lent a sadness deepest to that holy hour ; 
 "Nay, why so sad, my Eileen P'' said the youth, as 
 
 fondly pressed, 
 The maiden's brow he kissed, that lay reclined upon his 
 
 breast ; 
 
EILEEN ARO ON. 119 
 
 " 'Twas not with tears thou met'st me, when, in happier 
 
 days than now, 
 Thine eye reflected all the truth that spoke in Love's 
 
 young vow ; 
 No, no, thy smile was gladness then, and a sweet music 
 
 came 
 From ev'ry sound through day and night, that syllabled 
 
 thy name, 
 As the fragrant breath of Summer wafts to the lone 
 
 exile's strand, 
 The odors that remind him of his far-off native land — 
 Oh, Eileen ! while I cling to thee, I feel that thou'rt 
 
 mine own, 
 To one, who in this cold bleak world, without thee, were 
 
 alone ; 
 Through ev'ry change my guiding-star, my friend in 
 
 ev'ry fate, 
 To smile on all my joys, or weep when I am desolate — 
 To hear thee — see thee — call thee mine, is dearer far to 
 
 me, 
 Than even the lonely night-star to the mariner at sea !" 
 She answered not her lover ; but the burning tears, that 
 
 start 
 And fall upon his bosom, speak the language of the 
 
 heart ; 
 That deq), unuttered language, that the eye can speak 
 
 alone, 
 
120 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 Like spirit-music heard far off at night, from hands 
 
 unknown — 
 She raised her head, — her eyes on his were fixed with 
 
 that deep truth 
 Which glads in this cold world awhile, alone the heart 
 
 of youth ; 
 And the word, half-trembling on her lip, was broken with 
 
 a sigh. 
 Whose image spoke in the gushing tear that dimmed 
 
 her full, dark eye : — 
 " Thou deem'st me sad — To-night we part ; but not as 
 
 yonder sun 
 Parts from the mountain and the vale to-day he shone 
 
 upon ; — 
 The flower that shuts its leaves, or ere the parting ray 
 
 declines. 
 Shall bloom afresh to-morrow, when the dawn of 
 
 morning shines; 
 And the stream that sleeps as Twilight pours her 
 
 shadows on its breast. 
 Shall wreathe again its waves of gold when dayhght 
 
 streaks the East ! 
 But parted hearts — oh ! what are they whose only hope 
 
 is given 
 To break loved ties on earth, perhaps to meet again in 
 Heaven ? 
 
EILEEN A ROOK. 121 
 
 And what their lot ? — the faint — faint hope that Death 
 
 at last may come 
 To seal the faith by earth refused — yet treasured in the 
 
 tomb !" 
 " And wilt thou, Eileen, think of me when gone ?" the 
 
 youth replied ; 
 And wilt thou in mine absence, keep thy faith as 
 
 'troth6d bride ? 
 And wilt thou, like those flowers that close their perfume 
 
 from the night, 
 Reserve its truth and faith, my Eileen, for the return of 
 
 light ?" 
 " Ask all the deep-tried faith of woman — all her heart 
 
 can give ; 
 Her passion, hope, despair, triumph — whether she die or 
 
 live ; 
 And call upon the noblest name can bless the human 
 
 heart 
 In the joyous hour when lovers meet — the anguished 
 
 when they part, 
 Thou'lt find me true — Yes, Coulin ! true as though the 
 
 holy spell 
 Of Priest had called down blessings from the heaven 
 
 where they dwell ; 
 But 't is not mine to give my hand as bride, nor mine to 
 
 claim 
 
 6 
 
122 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 For husband, when my kindred frown in anger on his 
 
 name !" 
 The youth was silent: Thoughts that burned deep — 
 
 deep in his stung soul, 
 Rose to his lip, half husbed, half spoken, while the tear 
 
 that stole. 
 Had not the calm of grief that soothes the troubled soul 
 
 it speaks. 
 But the sultriness of summer-rain, as the cloud in 
 
 thunder breaks — 
 " Is this thy last farewell, Eileen ? and is it thus we part? 
 And must I live to see another clasped to that dear 
 
 heart ? 
 The exile's thought — the captive's chain, oh ! Eileen, I 
 
 could bear. 
 Though my daily meal were famine, and my cup the 
 
 burning tear ! 
 This — this — and more ! but say not that my lot on 
 
 earth should be 
 Like those who tread Life's waste, and live alone in 
 
 memory ; 
 As exiles pass from Paradise, and weep to think those 
 
 strains 
 That came from Angel-harps are hushed for ever o'er her 
 
 plains — ^" 
 She looked on him in sadness, while the shadows deep 
 
 that fell, 
 
EILEEN AROON. 123 
 
 (Dark images that vigil keep within the heart's lone cell) 
 Lent holiness to beauty, like ^he passing shadow shed 
 In Life's hist moment, o'er the brow and visage of the 
 
 Dead— 
 " Then let us part in sadness, Eileen ! as though we'd 
 
 never met ; 
 The Sun, whose noon is darkness, must in clouds and 
 
 anger set — 
 Yes, part as those to whom their hearts nor joy nor hope 
 
 hath given, 
 Whose long — long day hath never known a single ray 
 
 from heaven ; 
 Oh ! had we never loved — the fear — the danger this 
 
 hour brings — 
 The anguish of the last hope that, 'mid all that's wrecked, 
 
 still clings 
 To the last spar our fate hath flung upon Life's stormy 
 
 wave ; — 
 We'd not have known, but sunk content to the cold and 
 
 peaceful grave — 
 Then part we now ! I dare not hear thy parting-tone, 
 
 nor bear 
 The thoughts that each loved tone revives in madness 
 
 and despair ; 
 I love thee, Eileen ! may the God who gave us hearts to 
 
 love, 
 
124 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 Bless that last vow, where Truth and Faith alone reside 
 —above !" 
 
 Their meeting was in sorrow, and their parting was in 
 fear ; 
 
 Words answered not the maiden's vow, 'twas sealed by- 
 Passion's tear ; 
 
 Night brought back dreams to both, of joys for ever 
 flown. 
 
 And Morn waked to their hearts a world wherein they 
 
 were alone. 
 ^ % ^ ^ % ^ 
 
 The storm is not more cheerless to the drifting wild- 
 bird's wing, 
 Nor Autumn's breath more chilling to the flow'r that 
 
 felt the Spring, 
 Nor the sinking bark more hopeless, when the wave and 
 
 tempest rave, 
 Than parted hearts, who feel their only shelter is the 
 
 gi-ave — 
 And Eileen's now alone : the light of other days is past. 
 She feels upon Life's darkest hour, her eyes have looked 
 
 their last ; 
 The Present hath no joy — the Future like a dark waste 
 
 lies, 
 And the heart, like bark dismasted, stands alone 'neath 
 
 stormy skies ; 
 
EILEEN AROON. 125 
 
 Well, better thus to sink at once — to break ere ev'ry 
 
 string 
 Of joy and hope be snapped to which in this cold world 
 
 we cling. 
 Oh ! happy they, who've seen the worst — the darkest 
 
 Life can send, 
 The hopeless heart — the blighted joy — the false and 
 
 heartless friend, 
 AVhose sky can give no blacker hue than that they now 
 
 behold. 
 Whose hearts no winter darker than the Present, bleak 
 
 and cold ; 
 Who've gazed upon the stars of Life, and seen them one 
 
 by one 
 Blotted by gath'ring Night, until the last pale watcher's 
 
 gone ; 
 And turned from heav'n to earth, and found Life's 
 
 gath'ring gloom 
 Was darker far, than that which hope assigned the 
 
 cheerless tomb ! 
 Calmly they stand, resigned to fate ; like those, who, 
 
 'mid the shock 
 Of sky and wave, all silently survey the distant rock. 
 Where the tempest's madd'ning fury drives them 
 
 steerless, hopeless on, 
 'Till the last wild scream that strikes the heaven, tells 
 
 them all is o-one ! 
 
126 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 And Eileen's now alone ! yet no ! There's not a light 
 
 that breaks — 
 A passing sound, but Memory her mournful language 
 
 speaks ; 
 For broken hearts live in the Past, like weeping eyes 
 
 that trace 
 On the cold tomb-stone, the form they loved, the smile 
 
 that lit the face ; 
 And Coulin's image still was there, like the light that 
 
 falls from far 
 Deep on our hearts, from the holy urn of Ev'ning's 
 
 silver star ; 
 And it spoke to her in sorrow, and it knelt with her in 
 
 prayer. 
 And she felt there was a rapture, less in joy than in 
 
 despair — 
 But there's a deeper pang, perhaps, than the parting 
 
 moment bears — 
 A pang too oft atoned by life or the heart's own 
 
 burning tears, 
 A pang, that, once endured, for ever quenches hope and 
 
 calm. 
 Too strong for life, and scarce in death the martyr finds 
 
 a balm — 
 .'Tis when the name we love as life, and cherish as our 
 
 own. 
 
EILEEN AROON. 127 
 
 Within whose holy spell is centred all we've felt and 
 
 known 
 Of happiness, is slandered to the trusting heart and ear, 
 And falsehood taints the purity our soul believed in 
 
 here. 
 A year had passed — no tidings came, and not a word 
 
 was spoken 
 By those around her of that name — that loved tie they 
 
 had broken ; 
 By hps, save her's, that name unuttered — no eye, save 
 
 her's, to weep 
 O'er that lonely grave they'd made her heart, and that 
 
 dead one there asleep — 
 A long — long year had passed, and yet poor Eileen's 
 
 heart was true, 
 As the mountain-snow doth mirror back each passing 
 
 rainbow-hue, 
 Yet scarcely lingered there the hope that even the 
 
 dying eye 
 Feels, once again to see the parted ere the hour to die — 
 *The chain of silence now is shaken, and the spell that 
 
 dwelt so long 
 Around the maiden, is dissolved by Murmur's busy 
 
 tongue, 
 
 * An Irish proverb. 
 
128 EILEEN AKOON. 
 
 And they whispered in her ear a tale of malice' darkest 
 
 hue, 
 That hope would strive to think it false, though fear 
 
 believes it true. 
 They tell Eileen, that absence hath a charm to soothe to 
 
 sleep 
 For ever hearts and eyes that Love liatli too oft taught 
 
 to weep ; — 
 That change can give forgetfulness, and other eyes can 
 
 win 
 From the heart the faith and warmth that passion hides 
 
 so deep within, 
 That Love himself his changes hath, ev'n as the passing 
 
 air 
 Which fans the flower to-day, to-morrow leaves it dead 
 
 and bare, 
 And, like the bird of passage, seeking change of clime 
 
 and sky. 
 Love suns himself in every beam that lights a lovelier 
 
 eye! 
 And Eileen hears the tale that mounts, like madness to 
 
 her brain, 
 And strives to crusli out Coulin's image from her heart — 
 
 but vain ! 
 Vain for the heart to blot out that which Passion's hand 
 
 hath writ. 
 
EILEEN AROON. 129 
 
 Or break the bands that memory 'round the holy past 
 
 hath knit, 
 'Tis the writing on Belshazzar's wall, and man may well 
 
 despair 
 To blot the characters of light a God hath written there ! 
 False — false to her ! oh ! would that ere she'd given her 
 
 heart to him, — 
 Ere, as now, that trusting heart was broken — that bright 
 
 eye was dim, 
 She'd known that man was faithless, and that vows of 
 
 breath were made, 
 And Love himself, like star-light in the water, but — a 
 
 shade — 
 And Eileen's now deserted, and her hdart is broken — 
 
 lone, 
 And the reed she leant on, pierced it, and the ^^ice, 
 
 whose well-loved tone, 
 Like waters, heard by moonlight, came with tidings from 
 
 that far 
 Far flowery world Love hath built beneath his evening- 
 star. 
 Comes back on her, like those same waters, heaved and 
 
 tossing high, 
 Whose moaning bears the tale of death and shipwreck 
 
 to the sky — 
 
130 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 Yes, yes, she feels the tale is true — " Coulin ! I had 
 
 been blest 
 Had thine own hand closed Eileen's eyes to their long — 
 
 eternal rest. 
 Had thine own hand wrung the last drop that warms 
 
 this breaking heart, 
 Than live to find thee false as now — or met thee — thus 
 
 to part 1 
 Oh ! farewell, Truth, Religion's light — all that we hope 
 
 or fear. 
 The Faith would light the future and the joys that wait 
 
 us here ; — 
 Farewell to every vow — to every tie that Passion binds 
 'Round woman's heart they sport with as the ocean with 
 
 the winds ! 
 Fafewell — farewell ! 'twas but a dream, — but such, oh ! 
 
 ne'er was given. 
 Save only to those hearts whose joys had made this 
 
 earth their heaven, — 
 A dream of sunshine and of flowers would woo an angel's 
 
 eye 
 E'en from the God-made beauties that adorn his own 
 
 bright sky !" 
 The spell's dissolved — the vow is broken — broken in one 
 
 brief word ; — 
 
EILEEN AROON. 131 
 
 The vow that Love had breathed to her, and Faith 
 
 lierself had heard ; — 
 And Eileen lives — yes, thus, may live the heart still in 
 
 despair. 
 As the harp may hang, though music's spirit dwell no 
 
 longer there — 
 There is no joy for Eileen, now, — no light is in her eye, 
 The night to her is not more dark than noonday's azure 
 
 sky;— 
 Nature hath closed on her that page she loved to read 
 
 so well. 
 Where all that's fair in heaven and earth in holy beauty 
 
 dwell ; — 
 The stream hath lost its music, and the violet its hue, 
 And the stars no longer speak to her from heaven's 
 
 depths of blue. 
 The bird is silent, and there is no freshness in its wing, 
 And Eileen hath forgot to feel, like a dull and senseless 
 
 thing ! 
 Unheedingly she sits like one whose dreams are far 
 
 away 
 In other worlds, where Truth and Love can never know 
 
 decay ; 
 Her once bright eyes are full of tears, anon they are as 
 
 dry 
 As the parched earth of the desert 'neath a cloudless, 
 
 burning-sky, 
 
132 EILEEN ARGON. 
 
 And her lips are seen to move, but still they mutter, aye, 
 
 the same 
 Dear spell that conjures all the j^ast — 'tis false — false 
 
 Couliu's name 1 
 They've plucked the flower; — 'twere better far, than 
 
 thus to leave behind 
 Its dry and withered leaves a prey to every passing wind, 
 T' have rent it leaf by leaf from off the stem whereon it 
 
 grew, 
 Than leave it, thus, to hnger 'mid its fragrance and its 
 
 hue — 
 And Falsehood well hath phiyed his part, and plausible 
 
 the tale 
 Hath 'reft that heart of all its treasures — turned that 
 
 cheek so pale ; 
 For not contented with the wreck of happiness and heart, 
 Her fable's but the parent to a fouler — darker art ; 
 'Tis not alone estrangement from the heart was once her 
 
 own. 
 From a heart so true, it loved her of all here — the best — 
 
 alone — 
 They seek ; but give her to another ; — a heart so cold — 
 
 so dead ; — 
 As well they might have placed a corse at altar-step to 
 
 wed ! 
 In vain we listen for the nightingale's fond midnight- 
 lay. 
 
EILEEN AROON. 133 
 
 When the Gul's leaves are faded, and their beauty's 
 
 past away — 
 Can the harp-string yield an echo when touched by a 
 
 stranger's hand, 
 Can its soul pour forth its music from its own wild 
 
 spirit-land. 
 No — no, the melody that woke the soul with master-key 
 To deeds of olden time must die, like hushed wind o'er 
 
 the sea ! 
 But the world is dark and dreary, and Eileen's now 
 
 alone, 
 And the summer-air hath not a breath nor human voice 
 
 a tone 
 Can give her back those early dreams of life that once 
 
 she felt. 
 When her own heart held the idol at whose shrine she 
 
 daily knelt. 
 They tell the maiden she must wed — that she's forgotten 
 
 now, 
 And they mock her pallor with the rose they 'twine 
 
 around her brow, 
 And they tell her still she's beautiful as in Love's long 
 
 by-gone prime, 
 When the bells of her bright morning rang out with 
 
 their merry chime. 
 And her path was all of flowers, and her summer — one 
 
 l©ng day, 
 
134 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 And her own heart mirrored beauties that her eye saw 
 far away — 
 
 Oh ! vain to twine again the garland 'round youth's 
 sunny braid, 
 
 To weave past hours once more of leaves whose destiny's 
 to fade, 
 
 Revive the ray that kindled once so brightly in the eye, 
 
 And summon back the hues of morn to gild our sunset- 
 sky ; — 
 
 Vain, vain as they who look in silence on the clay-cold 
 face. 
 
 And think the soul and speech of Life here once again 
 to trace ! 
 
 And Eileen feels 'tis mockery to say she's lovely now, 
 
 That light, as erst is in her eye, or grace upon her brow ; 
 
 For she feels that both are faded now — yes, faded, oh ! 
 how soon ! 
 
 Like early jflowers that die or ere they taste the breath 
 of June — 
 
 They speak to her of love, and still they press on her the 
 theme, 
 
 And Eileen sits, unheedingly, as though it were a 
 dream ; — 
 
 The very word — the bridal-hour — the blithe and joyous 
 throng. 
 
 The merrie bells — the blooming wreath — the brides- 
 maids' welcome-song ; 
 
EILEEN AROON. 135 
 
 Yes, all is there before lier, even as Fancy's self can 
 
 limn, 
 But she strains her eye for one alone, and calls alone on 
 him ! 
 
 They hare decked her robe with flowers, and her hair 
 
 with many a gem, 
 But her eyes are cold and dull, they have no light, alas ! 
 
 hke them, 
 And friends are pressing 'round her now with greetings 
 
 kind and warm, 
 And knightly eyes are looking now with envy on that 
 
 form. 
 And they wish her long and happy daj-s, for Eileen's 
 
 now a bride ; — 
 But they see not the slow — unbidden tear she turns 
 
 away to hide — 
 Oh ! better have laid that trusting heart in the cold — cold 
 
 bed of Death, 
 Than in Life's last moment, thus, have wrung from its 
 
 core a perjured faith ; 
 They have made it swear a vow to God that it never 
 
 can fulfil. 
 While love reigns in that broken heart or Life's warm 
 
 pulses thrill — 
 Well, mirth and revelry are there, and the bridegroom 
 
 whispers low 
 
136 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 Vows that might well have called the blush to another's 
 
 cheek and brow, — 
 Yet Eileen answers not — no, no ! she sits, like a statue 
 
 there 
 All silent, as the night-winds pass o'er Autumn's 
 
 branches bare. 
 Now mirth and song wax high, and eyes flash light and 
 
 joy around. 
 And merrily the dancers gay with measure beat the 
 
 ground ; 
 When suddenly a pause is made to hear the strains that 
 
 rise 
 From a minstrel old, who stands aloof in meek and 
 
 lonely guise. 
 
 " And is it thus we part ? 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 Wilt thou, then, break this heart ? 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 'Mid hours of grief and fear, 
 If I but thought thee near 
 Sorrow forgot her tear, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Well, well, 'twas but a dream ; 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
EILEEN AROON. 137 
 
 Hearts, like the sunny stream, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 A moment in light may play. 
 
 But, ere the noon of Day, 
 
 In darkness they glide away ; 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Yet, would I dream again, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 Though Love and Hope were vain — 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 Though of the garland twined 
 Scarce one withered leaf we find, 
 Yet, Memory's left behind, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Would I had died for thee, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Ere I had lived to see 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Truth herself pledge her vow 
 
 With cold heart and shameless brow 
 
 Or meet one as false as thou, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ! 
 
 Thou hast broken Love's fetter, 
 
 Eileen x^roon ! 
 
138 EILEEN AROON. 
 
 But can one love better, 
 
 Eileen Aj-oon ! 
 Than he who remembers yet 
 That last lovely sunset 
 Where Eileen and Coulin met, 
 
 Eileen Aroon ?" 
 
 Hushed is the minstrel's harp ; — its tones are still as 
 
 though they ne'er 
 Had wakened Eileen's slumbering heart, long frozen 
 
 by despair ; — 
 Yes, hushed the harp ; — and many eyes in wonderment 
 
 survey 
 That old and trembling form that sings youth's saddest — 
 
 sweetest lay ; 
 But a wild scream dissolves the charm — 'Tis Eileen that 
 
 they hear, 
 As she clasps her hands, and gazes on that hoary form 
 
 with fear ; — 
 The minstrel's robe is doffed — before them Coulin 
 
 stands confest, 
 A moment — and he clasps Eileen to that fond and 
 
 faithful breast ! 
 One kiss — one burning kiss of Youth and Love, whose 
 
 rays 
 Re-kindle now that embered flame that burned in 
 
 by-gone days. 
 
EILEEN AROON. 139 
 
 Is madly pressed upon that clieek, paler and paler 
 
 growing, 
 As life's last drop, at every pulse, is ebbing fast and 
 
 flowing ; — 
 Still parts her hair from that fair brow — supports her 
 
 sinking head ; — 
 Upon her name he madly calls — Eileen Aroon is dead ! 
 
140 
 
 THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 AN IRISH LEGEND. 
 
 Clanawley's towers are ruined and lone, 
 
 Not a sound in her halls is heard, 
 Save the grass, as it waves o'er the mouldering stone, 
 Or the ivy that mournfully answers the moan 
 
 Of the ominous midnight-bird. 
 
 No longer the minstrels of old Innisfail * 
 
 Tune their harps at the festival board 
 To the fair light of beauty, and chivalry's tale. 
 When the Red Branch Knights | in harness and mail, 
 Drank a pledge to Clanawley's proud lord ; 
 
 For the curse of a Spirit hath been on those walls. 
 
 Like the tempest, to smite and to slay ; 
 And the shriek of the owl in her moss-covered halls, 
 And the echo that speaks from the stone as it falls. 
 Tells the tale of her long by-gone day — 
 
 * An ancient name of Ireland. 
 
 t An ancient order of chivalry in Ireland. 
 
THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 141 
 
 Oh ! happy that day ; the last fair one that shone 
 
 On those towers of statehest pride ; 
 For never saw morning a gladher sun, 
 Nor was bridegroom e'er gayer than he who had won 
 
 Clanawley's fair child for his bride. 
 
 For many a suitor had striven to gain 
 
 In wedlock the sweet Kathleen, 
 But their vows and their pledges alike were vain, 
 For O'Moore, of all that chivalrous train, 
 
 Was the gallantest knight I ween. 
 
 And now ring out with a merrie peal 
 
 The bells from the castle-wall ; 
 And troops of Clanawley's clansmen leal 
 Press on in their columns of flashing steel, 
 
 Through battlement, tower and hall : 
 
 And many a pledge they quaff full deep 
 
 Both to lord and to ladye bright ; 
 The minstrels, full many a chord they sweep ; 
 Some eyes they sparkle, while others they weep 
 
 At the tale of wandering Bjiight — 
 
 " Now pledge me, Clanawley," the bridegroom cries, 
 " A full, brimming goblet of wine ; 
 
142 THE SPIRIT -BRIDE GROOM. 
 
 May Time, in his noiseless course, as he flies. 
 Fling never a cloud to dim those bright eyes ! 
 Clanawley ! to thee and to thine !" 
 
 " And to me /" cried a voice ; " aye, to me and to mine 
 
 Now pledge me, Sir Knights, one and all ; 
 For tearful and dim are the eyes that now shine. 
 And the beautiful leaves of the garlands ye twine 
 Shall be withered ere midnight fall !" 
 
 Like so many spectres, the guests they stand ; — 
 
 Not a breath, not a whisper is heard ; 
 'Tis as some Spirit from faerie land 
 Had made, with a single wave of his wand, 
 A grave of that festal board. 
 
 Full many an eye with terror I ween 
 
 Is turned, the guest to see ; 
 A stalwart knight of warrior-mien 
 Is beheld, all dight in armor as green 
 
 As the Ocean itself can be — 
 
 And the plume in his helmet it waves snowy white 
 
 As the surf of the rock-beaten foam : 
 " Oh ! com'st thou to hallow or curse, Sir Knight ! 
 The bridal-knot with some mystic rite 
 
 Thou'st brought from thine azure home ?" 
 
THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 143 
 
 No answer he makes, the stranger so bold, 
 
 As he stalks to the banquet-board, 
 And silently raises the goblet of gold, 
 While the guests stand, like spectres, aghast to behold, 
 
 And wanders each hand to its sword. 
 
 " Nay, never your hands on your swords, I pray !" 
 
 Spake out the stranger, then ; 
 " The first that uplifts his blade, I'll lay 
 At my feet so low that the light of day 
 
 Shall ne'er visit his eyes again !" 
 
 "Sp' -it or Devil !" the bridegroom cried, 
 
 As his sword flashed forth from its sheath : 
 
 " Decline not the combat thy taunt hath defied ; — 
 
 Draw, false-hearted lord ! whatever betide 
 I reck not — no, though it be Death !" 
 
 " Thou hast spoken it well, fair Knight ! Be thy doom 
 
 The dark word that fell from thee now ; 
 'Twere a pity. Sir Knight ! so dreary a tomb 
 Should enfold thee now, when bright garlands bloom 
 To twine for the bridegroom's brow." 
 
 All blanched was the cheek of O'Moore, as there fell 
 Those words of fate on his ear ; 
 
144 THE S I' I R I T - B R I D E G R O M . 
 
 " Com'st thou to beard me from heaven or hell, 
 With the breath of sprite or enchanter's spell ? 
 False lord ! I defy thee here." 
 
 Not a word from the figure there passed in reply 
 
 To the threat of the young bridegroom ; 
 But on with proud mien it swept noiselessly by, 
 While trembled O'Moore at the light that his eye 
 Sent forth from beneath his white plume. 
 
 The bridegroom stood spell-bound and motionless : ne'er 
 
 Was manhood so palsied as now ; 
 While the figure swept onward he felt that the air 
 Was as cold, as though Death were himself standing 
 there : 
 
 And the breath of his lips fanned his brow ! 
 
 Now hushed was each harp that so late through the hall 
 
 Resounded with chivalry's tale ; 
 They mutter their prayers as they see on the wall 
 The dark shadow pass ; while Clanawley and all, 
 
 Like spectres, each moment wax pale ; 
 
 With wonderment mute they still see it glide, 
 
 Not a sound of its motion they hear ; 
 Still onward it moves till it stands by the bride, 
 
THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 145 
 
 And clasps her cold hand, and close at her side 
 Its dark secret it tells in her ear. 
 
 Her lips, how they tremble, how pale is her brow, 
 As she feels the cold fan of his breath ; 
 
 Is it a curse on her bridal-vow, 
 
 Or a summons that warns fair Kathleen, that now 
 Is the hour that dooms her to Death ? 
 
 Dispelled is the trance that had bound hke a chain 
 
 O'Moore, with its mystical ties ; 
 To Kathleen he rushes, his bride to regain ; 
 Cries the figure : — " Rash boy ! your attempt is but vain ; 
 
 'Tis a Sj^irit your falchion defies !" 
 
 With passion as reckless and fierce as the storm 
 
 O'Moore rushes full on the Knight ; — 
 His sword stays uplifted, and nerveless his arm. 
 And he feels that around there's a spell to disarm 
 Soul and falchion alike of their might. 
 
 " Blame not, rash youth, for I told thee thy fate, 
 
 Should'st thou dare thus my power to brave ; 
 Thine arm, like an infant's, now shrinks from the weight 
 Of thy sword, it was thine as warrior of late 
 O'er thy foemau in triumph to wave ; 
 1 
 
146 THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 " She is mine — she is mine ; — aye, ever mine own ! 
 
 The joys of thy bridal are past ; 
 Change, minstrels ! your song to the dirge and the moan 
 When in prayer ye kneel by the cold — cold stone, 
 
 That over the Dead ye have cast !" 
 
 All trembling and pale, the fair Kathleen, she lay 
 
 In the arms of the bridegroom-sprite ; 
 Unopposed, unresisted, he bears her away, 
 Like a beautiful flower the sunshine of day 
 Hath op'd but to wither at night. 
 
 Now, frenzied with passion, O'Moore hurries on, 
 
 Though he feels there's a seal on her dobm ; 
 And a cloud never-setting hath darkened their sun. 
 And his madness-flushed cheek is now grown as wan, 
 As the fugitive-warrior's plume — 
 
 " Mortal or Spirit ! whatever thou art ; 
 
 One word — but one word I implore ! 
 Let thy sword, like an ice-bolt, fall cold on my heart — 
 Let me clasp my lost bride, e'en though now, when we 
 part. 
 
 To meet we are doomed never more !" 
 
 Like the swimmer's last groan as the tempest sweeps by, 
 Like the Autumn-leaf whirled in the air ; 
 
THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 147 
 
 Like the lio-ht Summer-foam Ocean tosses on hiirli 
 When the Storm-Spirit blots out the stars in the sky, 
 Unheard falls the bridegroom's prayer — 
 
 All hushed and unheard doth it fall ; for a sound 
 
 Comes on, like the Ocean's far boom ; 
 And the air doth itself seem all vocal around, 
 And the strong echo shakes the tremulous ground 
 As they list to these words of Doom — 
 
 The Wave-Siyrites^ Sang. 
 
 " We have come — we have come, from the depth of the 
 
 water, 
 Clanawley ! to wed to a Spirit thy daughter ; 
 And to steal from her cheek those flowers that bloom 
 On your earth, but to deck for the lovely their tomb ! 
 Her brow shall be twined with the foam of the wave, 
 And the gems of the garland we weave for Kathleen, 
 Shall be ta'en from the depths of the bright coral-cave. 
 Where are clustered the pearl, and the emerald green — 
 Her couch shall be crystal, her bower be made 
 Of flowers that Autumn's chill breath cannot fade ; 
 And the moon and the stars of that world that rise, 
 Shall be fed with the wavelet's innumerous dyes ; 
 Shining on — shining on, like a summer-day's light, 
 
148 THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 Ere the Sun of your world yields bis sceptre to Night — 
 
 And harpings of Spirits shall soothe her soft sleep, 
 
 Far sweeter than ever on mortal ear fell — 
 
 And the voices of waves, from the cells of the deep, 
 
 Shall re-echo the murmur that lies in the shell. 
 
 Come then ! come down ! for thy bride-torch is 
 
 lighted 
 From the sheen of the waves, as they gambol and dance 
 With mirth, that thy faith to a Spirit is plighted, 
 And blest by the joy of thine own sunny glance — 
 Oh ! talk not of earth, nor its odors that fling 
 Balmy sweetness around, like the honey-bee's wing ; 
 For as quickly they fade as the sunlight, that cheers 
 Morning's bud, but to leave it to eve's dewy tears ; 
 They fade and they wither, the odor and flower, 
 Both blooming and dying in one little hour ! 
 But with lis there's a Spirit unchangeably bright. 
 That grief cannot wither, and death cannot blight, 
 As fresh as the Spirit of waves, when they break 
 On the flower-dyed shore of the silvery lake. 
 Meeting and parting, hke friends who rejoice 
 At the musical tones of a well-loved voice ! 
 A Spirit that lives still unchangeably on, 
 Un wrinkled by Time, by sorrow or tears — 
 Still bright when all else is foded and gone 
 Like the vanishing shadows of long-buried years — 
 
THE SPIRIT-BRIDEGROOM. 149 
 
 Come down then, come down — for thy bride-bed is 
 
 strown 
 With pearls the whitest beneath the green wave ; 
 And thy slumber we'll lull with the loveliest tone 
 That echo to Music on Earth ever gave !" 
 
 Now the rushing of waters is heard, and the boom 
 
 Of the storm, as with madness and might 
 It envelopes the castle in terror and gloom, 
 And threatens to make it one wide-yawning tomb 
 For the dead, on that fearful night ! 
 
 And the storm it rages — the waters they rave 
 
 In the tempest's dark pauses between ; 
 The Maid is betrothed to the Sprite of the wave, 
 And the Night-moaning Banshee weeps over the grave 
 Of the lost and the lovely Kathleen. 
 
160 
 
 THE DEATH-KISS. 
 
 AN IRISH SUPERSTITION". 
 
 There's feasting in the Chieftain's hall, the wassail-bowl 
 
 goes round, 
 And minstrelsy its song and tale sends forth with merrie 
 
 sound, 
 And the Chieftain's brow looks brighter than full many a 
 
 day before, 
 For Night will see his daughter bride to young Mac 
 
 Connal More. 
 And now at her mirror stands the fair, while many a 
 
 serving maid 
 Range the bright jewels o'er her brow, and twine the 
 
 sunny braid — 
 A sight, oh ! lovelier far, than e'er to mortal eye was 
 
 given. 
 Save when it rests in worship on a single star in heaven. 
 She gazes on the mirror as the young Narcissus, when 
 He looked upon the wave that gave his beauty back 
 
 again ; 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 161 
 
 And like tlie youth, you would have thought the image 
 
 that was there 
 Had all this earth could ever give of beautiful and fair : 
 That Fancy needed not to think an Angel-form had 
 
 strayed 
 From Heaven, and in that mirror's depth its resting-place 
 
 had made ! 
 Ah ! earth hath stars as heaven, and the mists that round 
 
 them play 
 Like the bluish haze that rests upon a lovely summer's 
 
 day — 
 Forewarn the young and beautiful their lot is grief and 
 
 pain ; 
 As that same haze that gilds the noon, ere eve may fall 
 
 in rain : 
 Fair girl ! as thou gazest on thy mirror's brightness, now, 
 A death-chill hovers near thine heart — a shadow o'er thy 
 
 brow ; 
 The gems thou wearest wax as pale and dim as though 
 
 they lay 
 Clasped in the mine's embrace, and shut out from the 
 
 light of day ; 
 And thine eye is growing glazed and cold, and the lustre 
 
 once it shed 
 Is waning like a taper in the chamber of the Dead ! 
 " Unbrace my girdle ! — 'Round my heart a weight is 
 
 pressing sore : 
 
152 THE DEATH -KISS. 
 
 Mine eyes grow dark — God ! is it Death ! Oh ! tell Mac 
 
 Counal More 
 My last — last word was breathed for him — for him I love 
 
 alone ; 
 
 Oh ! may he find another, true as I when I am gone !" 
 ****** 
 
 Now tolls the castle-bell, but sot as blithely as of late ; 
 And troops of mourners flock around the chieftain's castle- 
 gate ; 
 And the wild Caoine, ^ like leaves that murmur on the 
 
 wintry gale. 
 Sends far and near upon the wind its sad and stifled 
 
 wail — 
 A wail so sad, you would have thought the very winds 
 
 sent forth 
 Their requiem low and solemn for the beautiful of Earth ! 
 Oh ! 'tis a melancholy sight to see the cold clay o'er 
 The young so early dead who were all loveliness before. 
 The dawn of a bright sun in clouds and darkness gulphed 
 
 so soon. 
 Which, had it run its course, oh ! might have worn a 
 
 glorious noon ; 
 A flower pulled, or ere it knew a single passing ray 
 Of the light that warms and paints the leaf from the 
 
 tender hand of Day ; 
 
 * Irish crv. 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 153 
 
 A rainbow-liue just blotted out from the gentle summer- 
 sky, 
 
 So fleeting* that we see in it the doom of man — to die ! 
 
 And yet so bright we'd almost think that in its bright- 
 ness lay 
 
 All that the hand of God could show of Heaven's 
 eternal day. 
 
 A star just glittering on the edge of evening's russet train, 
 
 Sparkling in Heaven's loveliness ; but when we look 
 again 
 
 An envious cloud hath quickly passed, extinguishing for 
 aye, 
 
 The holy lamp that Xight had ht upon the tomb of Day! 
 
 Well, let them go ; 'tis better thus in purity to die, 
 
 Like clouds that melt in mist, or ere their journey thro' 
 the sky 
 
 Be half done ; better far to fall in young and guileless 
 years, 
 
 Than live a hfe of guilt to God — ourselves, of pain and 
 tears. 
 
 Who — who can weep the early dead ; — those angel-forms 
 but given 
 
 To hght the earth a moment with bright meteor-beams 
 from heaven ; 
 
 Sweet strains from angel-harpings, whose glad echo still 
 is heard 
 
 7* 
 
164 THE DEATH-KISS. 
 
 In the music of the summer wind — the matin of the bird, 
 And all the lovely sounds that earth affords ; oh ! what 
 
 are they 
 But the voices of the loved and dead, gone far — oh ! far 
 
 away? 
 And now with melancholy step the funeral array 
 Of Eveleen, to the lone churchyard doth slowly wend its 
 
 way; 
 And prayers are muttered — eyes are weeping — mourners' 
 
 hands are wrung, 
 And the burden of the wild Caoine in sadd'ning chorus 
 
 sung ; 
 The autumn winds wail lonely, and the withered autumn 
 
 leaf 
 Doth sadly rustle through the air in answer to their grief ; 
 And cypress-boughs are waving in the melancholy wind, 
 Leaving as they pass, the groan of sorrow deep behind. 
 Mac Connal More in silence walks by that dear maiden's 
 
 bier, 
 His arms are folded on his breast — his eyes without a tear : 
 And his lips they move so silently you could not tell that 
 
 there 
 Grief breathed her solemn accents or the humbler tones 
 
 of prayer ; 
 But there's a quiver on the lip, and a shrouding of the eye 
 That tells the struggle of the soul, oh ! more than the 
 
 bursting sigh ; 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 166 
 
 A cold and fearful shudder, that like thunder in the sky, 
 Forewarns the worn traveller, the tempest draweth nigh. 
 And they ftiU — they fall — the strong man weeps the 
 
 tears that children shed 
 When first they look affrighted on the pale face of the 
 
 dead. 
 The purest tributes Nature gives to childhood's frolic- 
 hour, 
 Pure as the dew that feeds the drops of April's golden 
 
 shower ! 
 Oh ! weep not, youth ! for every tear you shed in 
 
 sadness now • 
 
 An angel weaves a flower undying to bind that Sister's 
 
 brow. 
 And a smile is on her lips, and a glad beam in her eye 
 That tells the ransomed of the Saviour — it is sweet to 
 
 die! 
 Now halts the sad procession by the dark brink of the 
 
 tomb, 
 And mourners gather 'round the corse in their sable 
 
 weeds of gloom. 
 To hear the churchman's prayer ascend in tones so low 
 
 and deep, 
 For the soul of her, whose sorrows now in Abraham's 
 
 bosom sleep. 
 And the deep " Amen !" is faltered low from lips that 
 
 scnrco onn sponk, 
 
156 T H E D E A T H - K I S S . 
 
 While tlie burning tear flows silent down the warrior's 
 
 pallid cheek ! 
 " Ashes to ashes — dust to dust !" those solemn words 
 
 the while 
 Are uttered, and the clay upon the lonely dead they 
 
 pile. 
 The young and old kneel on the grave, and leave behind 
 
 the dew 
 Of tears that keep alive the bloom in flowers that they 
 
 strew ; 
 One long last look upon the grave — one prayer for her 
 
 that's gone, 
 And the tomb and tenant both are left in the drear 
 
 churchyard alone ! 
 Yet not alone — there is a Faith within the heart whose 
 
 ties 
 Live fresh and green as once they bloomed, though all 
 
 around them dies, 
 Green as the last bright leaf that clings to Autumn's 
 
 faded bowser, 
 And bringing back the buried dreams of its blooming 
 
 Spring-tide hour, 
 Decking her faded robe with hues of crimson and of 
 
 gold; 
 Spring's latest child still lasting through the Winter 
 
 drear and cold ! 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 157 
 
 Yes, there's a Faith that cannot die ; — that hves, though 
 
 ties be riven, 
 And hearts be sundered, hke the stars eternally in 
 
 heaven ; 
 Whose light, though quenched by passing cloud, it for 
 
 a moment dies, 
 Yet, like the God who made them, shine for ever in the 
 
 skies ! 
 A Faith we cannot quench, nor break, for Religion's holy 
 
 hand 
 Around it sheds a j^ower it brings from yonder Better 
 
 Land, 
 That gives the broken heart the hope, its scattered 
 
 feelings may 
 Be centred in the light undying of Eternal Day ; 
 As gleams of sunlight on the wave, when the storm 
 
 rages high. 
 Though broken by the waters, find their fountain in the 
 
 sky. 
 Such is Mac Connal's faith ; — he stirs not from that lone 
 
 and simple heap. 
 But sits him by the Dead, resolved a vigil sad to keep ; 
 And shed those tears that Sorrow loves to shed unseen — 
 
 alone, 
 Or in the chamber of the . Dead or by the cold tomb- 
 stone. 
 
158 THE DEATH-KISS. 
 
 Tears blest by God as are tlie prayers of those " in secret 
 
 heard" 
 By Him, who, through his Son, said, He would " openly 
 
 reward." 
 Now wanes the night fast, yet MacConnal clings to that 
 
 lonely spot ; 
 Unheeding all around him ; — forgetting and forgot ; — 
 He lists not to the night-wind, nor the echo that it 
 
 bears 
 To the darkened tale his bosom poui*s of agony and 
 
 tears ; 
 He scarcely knows he lives, but feels within a rankling 
 
 pang 
 That gnaws the Life-bloom from his heart like adder's 
 
 venomed fang. 
 " Oh, would to God that I were dead, dear Eveleen 1" 
 
 he cried, 
 " Would that, for thee, my bonny one, Mac Connal 
 
 More had died ! 
 For thou hast left a void within — around — where'er I see 
 The heaven or earth — nay, the bright flowers that tell 
 
 me. Sweet, of thee. 
 We look not for the sun when clouds sweep o'er the 
 
 stormy sky. 
 Nor look we for a sunny glance when tears obscure the 
 eye; 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 159 
 
 Nor, when the string is broken, dare we hope for one 
 
 sweet tone 
 Would give us back the memory of moments past and 
 
 gone ! 
 Vain — vain, dear Eveleen ! to hope thy form again to 
 
 see ; — 
 I shall pass to the cold grave, but thou'It ne'er return to 
 
 me !" 
 He flung himself upon the grave — raised up his voice 
 
 and wept, 
 And through the silent midnight deep a lonely watch he 
 
 kept ; 
 When lo ! a voice upon his ear — so heavenly sweet it 
 
 came. 
 The mourner almost thought he heard an angel in his 
 
 dream ! 
 
 " Dry — dry thy tears — there are others as fair 
 As mortal eye hath seen ; 
 With eyes as blue — as sunny hair 
 As buried Eveleen. 
 
 And their's the breath the flower breathes 
 
 Out from its odorous cell, 
 Their's the immortal hand that wreathes 
 
 The bower where spirits dwell ! 
 
1 GO THE D E A T H - K I S S . 
 
 Time lingers not with tliem, Ijiit flics 
 
 On wings of light and mirth ; 
 Refreshing with its touch the dyes 
 
 That wither on your earth ! 
 
 And day to day sweet music weaves 
 
 Her chain of spirit-sound ; 
 All-beautiful, as Summer-leaves 
 
 Fling harmony around. 
 
 Death is not there — we shed no tears 
 
 For the reaper's fellen grain ; 
 For spirits w^e are, whose wdngs, through years 
 
 Eternal, never knew stain ! 
 
 Then, away with me, my fair bridegroom ! 
 
 To my home in yonder sky ; 
 See — see, already I wing my plume 
 
 For my homeward flight on high !" 
 
 Is it a dream, or doth his ear drink in that spirit-sound, 
 From the grave where lies his dead bride ? Still it 
 
 pours its sweetness 'round. 
 And 'round in many a mazy wind its harmony it 
 
 flings, 
 As eveninoj lends her echo to the sweet JEohan's strino's. 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 161 
 
 It is — it is triitli — not a dream, — for as he turns liis 
 
 eyes 
 Upward, he sees a maiden, lovely tenant of the skies-! 
 Around her brow a halo hovers — bright celestial flame 
 Of beauty, such as decked the angels when to earth they 
 
 came, 
 Won by her beauteous sons and daughters from their 
 
 realms above, 
 To give, for one hour's earthly bliss. Eternity of love — 
 And a smile played 'round her vermeil hp, like that the 
 
 man of sin 
 Sees in his dreams, when angels welcome the repentant 
 
 in;— 
 While her eye, like morning-star, whose light by dew is 
 
 half-concealed, 
 Seemed as it could have wept a tear the eye-lid half- 
 revealed ; — 
 " And dost thou weep a buried faith, poor mortal that 
 
 thou art ? 
 And dost thou think the gnawing worm will spare the 
 
 buried heart ? 
 Canst thou re-lume the eye, whose light is quenched in 
 
 the dark grave ? 
 As well thou might'st go trace the Moon's bright kingdom 
 
 in the wave ?" 
 Oh ! they were tones of music, such as the wrapt spirit 
 
 hears 
 
162 THE DEATH-KISS. 
 
 In the lone midnight when holding commune with the 
 starry spheres, 
 
 When from star to star a language floats ; and, though 
 the holy sound 
 
 We hear not, yet we feel there is an angel-spell around — 
 
 Silent and wrapt Mac Connal stands in deepest wonder- 
 ment, 
 
 Whether he stood in presence of a spirit heaven-sent — 
 
 " Oh ! mock me not with visions bright of that blessed 
 Land afar. 
 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling and at rest the 
 weary are ; 
 
 And the blinded eye forgets its tear, and the broken 
 heart its load. 
 
 And the wretched turn from earth to seek their happiness 
 in God ! 
 
 Oh ! if it be to die, I pray now stretch thy hand and 
 smite. 
 
 And let my Eveleen and I together sleep to-night !" 
 
 The spirit smiled and said : " Fair Youth ! my mission's 
 not of Death ; 
 
 I would not see one die so young, whose early-plighted 
 foith, 
 
 Like flower unblown hath scarcely tasted the sweet dew 
 and light, 
 
 Ere every leaf hath felt the canker-sting and Autumn- 
 blight, 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 163 
 
 I would not see a faith so true as thine so early die, 
 
 A faith entwined by all that's pure and strong in human 
 
 tie ; 
 I would not see it perish thus, or given to her who now 
 Lies cold alike to Passion as she's deaf to its warm 
 
 vow." 
 " Yes — ^yes !" he cried, " I'd have it buried there beneath 
 
 the pall — 
 Yes, let it he there; — all I've felt — my faith — my 
 
 passion — all !" 
 She takes his hand — she breathes upon him — lo ! a 
 
 change appears, 
 A smile hghts up those eyes, but now suffused and dim 
 
 with tears, 
 As Morning's bursting sunshine its bright dawn of 
 
 freshness sheds 
 When flowers shake off the evening-dew and raise their 
 
 drooping heads ; 
 And, as her lips are pressed to his, a thrill darts through 
 
 his frame. 
 As Lava fills its fiery path with fierce volcanic flame. 
 And his mind is filled with dreams so beautiful they 
 
 seem of heaven. 
 While his heart is braced with that strong faith to none 
 
 but martyrs given ; — 
 Oh ! is this passion — is it madness thus transports his 
 
 brain, 
 
164 THE DEATH -KISS. 
 
 Or is't a new Life coursing subtly thus through every 
 
 vein, 
 That fixes eye and soul in love and terror thus on her 
 Who makes a lost and broken heart, like his, a 
 
 worshipper ? 
 Where is the faith but now he pledged to her who lies 
 
 so low t 
 Where are the tears — the promises — the unsealed bridal 
 
 vow ? 
 Forgotten /" " Pledge me, now," she said, " thy faith 
 
 upon my hand. 
 That, ere a month, thou'lt meet me here, Mac Connal, 
 
 where we stand ; 
 With a fiiith as pure and lasting, and a heart as strong 
 
 and bold 
 As thou swor'st to her whose ashes lie beneath us stark 
 
 and cold !" 
 " I swear — I swear !" the youth replied ; and, as he spake 
 
 the word. 
 An echo from the graves around, like music faint, was 
 
 heard. 
 And she was gone — -*¥:** 
 
 'Tis midnight deep in the chieftain's hall, and midnight's 
 
 deep repose 
 Broods silently, where late the cheer of bridal mirth 
 
 arose : 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 165 
 
 And warriors gather 'round to look their last upon the 
 
 chief ; — 
 Not as before, with eye of pride, but agony of grief ; 
 For that spirit-kiss hath dried his blood, like grass 
 
 beneath the sun, 
 And an early grave doth yawn for him whose sands are 
 
 nearly run ! 
 " Dry uj) your tears," the dying said, " I'm passing to 
 
 my doom ; 
 No more you'll see my falchion flash — no more your 
 
 Chieftain's plume 
 Shall cheer ye 'gainst your foemen, where the thickest 
 
 fight is seen ; — 
 Farewell, my warriors ! lay me by my buried Eveleen ! 
 In life I loved her — my last thought to her in life I 
 
 gave ;— 
 Let hearts, this world divided, be united in the grave !" 
 He said — the dying Chieftain bowed his head upon his 
 
 breast, 
 Nor more can say, for the parting soul is speeding to its 
 
 rest ; 
 The eye is glazed — the hps grow wan, — and the pulse is 
 
 ebbing slow. 
 And the pallor of that death-kiss overspreadeth cheek 
 
 and brow ; — 
 Now mournfully the Banshee wails the chieftain dead 
 
 and gone, 
 
166 THE DEATH-KISS. 
 
 All sadly as the withered tree returns the midnight- 
 moan ; 
 
 And the silence of the death-room giveth answer mute 
 and deep 
 
 To those solemn notes that 'round the grave lull Death's 
 eternal sleep, 
 
 Like mystic messengers that rise from the chambers of 
 the tomb, 
 
 With tales of the forgotten Dead who sleep within its 
 womb. 
 
 And now once more at the castle-gate standeth the 
 funeral-train ; 
 
 And the castle-bell once more peals forth its dead and 
 solemn strain ; — 
 
 A month since on that spot there stood the funeral- 
 cavalcade ; — 
 
 A month since in the cold — cold earth, sweet Eveleen 
 was laid ; 
 
 A little month hath passed since tolled that castle-bell 
 before, 
 
 And now is heard the same sad peal for dead Mac Con- 
 nal More ! 
 
 The grave is dug by Eveleen's — the spot wherein he 
 prayed 
 
 His ashes might repose with her's — ^his heart by her's be 
 ♦ laid; 
 
THE DEATH-KISS. 167 
 
 Meet resting-place for those whose stars in darkness have 
 
 gone down, 
 Whose harvests here on earth in tears and sorrow have 
 
 been sown ; — 
 Whose hearts, sustained alone through Life, by the 
 
 cheering light of Faith, 
 See their first sunrise in the hour that draws the veil of 
 
 Death ! 
 Now side by side they rest — the loved, the loving, and 
 
 the dead ; 
 The bridal, ^arth denied, fulfilled within that narrow 
 
 bed;— 
 And, as they throw the dust on both, a low and feai-ful 
 
 sound, 
 Half-tears — half-music rises from beneath the burial- 
 ground ; 
 " Thine oath is kept — I told thee that the gTeen sod 
 
 and the stone 
 Would be thy fate, Mac Connal ! ere a single month 
 
 had gone /" 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
171 
 
 BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 For seventy years had Israel worn the Chaldee's galling 
 
 chain, 
 And many an eye was wrung with grief, and heart was 
 
 bowed with pain ; 
 And tears of bitterness atoned the Temple's splendor 
 
 gone, 
 And Zion's hill, where God had placed the glories of his 
 
 throne — 
 Oh ! often by Euphrates' stream the mourning Hebrew 
 
 strayed, 
 Anon he woke the long-hushed harp — anon he wept and 
 
 prayed ; 
 But sullen echoes answered from Euphrates' gloomy 
 
 waters, 
 Echoes that mocked the heart-wrung grief of Jewry's sons 
 
 and daughters. 
 Sad echoes that recalled the days when Jehovah's mighty 
 
 Hand, 
 Guided them through the Red Sea waves all safe as on 
 
 dry land, 
 Reviving to the eye the darkened glories of Sinai, 
 
172 BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 Rocked to its base beneath tbe burning tread of Adonai ; 
 
 'Mid thunderings and lightnings gleaming on that God- 
 writ stone, 
 
 While the Prophet's face, as he descended, like a Glory- 
 shone ; 
 
 Echoes that brought back the land where milk and 
 honey flowed, 
 
 And Jordan's stream yet destined for the baptism of God, 
 
 The conquered Hivite — Jebuzite ; and Gideon's — Joshua's 
 sword. 
 
 Cities and heroes prostrate by the might of Israel's Lord ; 
 
 The bright Shechinah that once burned between the 
 Cherubim 
 
 For aye withdrawn by God ; its place once glorious, dark 
 and dim ! 
 
 Sad images were those that rose from echoes as they 
 strayed, 
 
 'Mong strings that lent the exile's harping Music's darkest 
 shade ; 
 
 Upon the willow hangs the harp, the minstrel can but weep 
 
 At the sad notes that through the strings in fitful pauses 
 sweep — 
 
 "Shall the conquered sing the song of Zion in a 
 stranger-land ? 
 
 How can we sing the Lord's song at a conqueror's 
 command ? 
 
BELSHAZZAR. 173 
 
 Oh ! Babel's daughter ! happy he who in vengeance for 
 
 our groans, 
 Shall dash thy godless children down, aye — even to the 
 
 stones !" 
 
 Bright were the lamps that burned within Belshazzar's 
 festal-hall, 
 
 And cup and garland twined their blush at that high 
 carnival ; 
 
 And feasting and rejoicing all held high and impious 
 sway. 
 
 As though no night of judgment were to close that 
 Godless day : 
 
 The gold and silver vessels that the Temple of the Lord 
 
 On Zion's hill adorned, decked now the heathen's festal- 
 board, 
 
 And feasting and Religion there had twined their fearful 
 spell 
 
 For they had given these holy vessels to their idol, Bel. 
 
 " Bring forth those golden vessels I" cries the king, full- 
 flushed with wine, 
 
 " That my father bore in triumph from the Hebrews' 
 gorgeous shrine ; 
 
 And let us in their oivn bright gold and silver goblets 
 drain 
 
 Honor and glory to the hand that wove the Hebrews' 
 chain !" 
 
174 BE LSH AZZ AR. 
 
 Forth brought they then the vessels, and they fill them 
 
 up with wine, 
 And joyous echoes rang, as drank king, peer, and 
 
 concubine. 
 Forgetting not to mingle with the madness of that hour. 
 Blasphemies on Jehovah's name, and insults to His 
 
 power ; 
 For they no longer deemed Him true in promise, act, or 
 
 word 
 Who gave his favored people to captivity and sword ! 
 "Fill high, fill high — let every cup brim with its 
 
 sparkling freight ! 
 'Tis not for kings to crouch, like men, at word of Death 
 
 or Fate — 
 Kings are immortal — " While thus spake a flattering 
 
 lord, behold ! 
 A dazzling light, like rainbow, fell around those cups of 
 
 gold; 
 And fear and trembhng fell on all, and the speaker stood 
 
 like one 
 God's long-staid hand in judgment smote to semblance 
 
 as of stone ; 
 For his jewelled fingers pointed, and his eyes they shone 
 
 hke glass. 
 When wizard-wand makes spectre-forms in silence o'er it 
 
BELSHAZZAR. l76 
 
 They looked, and lo ! upon the wall the finger of a man 
 Traced mystic lines that human eye that night might 
 
 never scan, 
 " Over against the candle-stick," upon the palace-wall, 
 Belshazzar saw the part that wrote, hut did not see it all ; 
 Then troubled were his thoughts, and lo ! how pale his 
 
 visage grew, 
 As on the marble monument ye see Death's pallid hue ; 
 Wailing and moaning rest upon that festive groupe, 
 
 where now 
 Joy thrilled on every lip, and pleasure lighted every 
 
 brow ; 
 The wine no longer sparkles, and the cups untasted 
 
 stand, 
 While fixed as marble's every eye upon that cloudy 
 
 hand; 
 Muffled in mantle every face — bowed every knee in 
 
 prayer, 
 Such prayer as doomed souls mutter — half in fear and 
 
 half despair, 
 While an icy chillness rests on all, as though they feel 
 
 the breath 
 Of one whose home, though now on earth, was in the 
 
 Land of Death ! 
 Then started from his trance the king, and gazed upon 
 
 the crowd, 
 
176 BELSHAZZAK. 
 
 That seemed not guests — but worshippers, for every 
 
 knee was bowed; 
 xVnd, as he saw the palsied hand, and the Hp spell-bound 
 
 with fear, 
 His stubborn knees, they almost bend, for lie felt that 
 
 God was near ; — 
 Then spake he : — " Call the Magi ! Let Chaldea's seers 
 
 declare 
 The mystery of good or ill a God hath written there ; 
 And he that shall the tidings of that writing dark 
 
 unfold. 
 With scarlet shall be clothed, and wear a chain of 
 
 massive gold !" 
 Lo ! entered then, the Magi ; while the anxious eyes of 
 
 all 
 Passed quickly from the Soothsayers to the writing on 
 
 the wall, 
 Both lip and cheek were bloodless, and chill terror held 
 
 the breath 
 Of each one, as he paused to hear a message as from 
 
 Death ! 
 Long space the Magi strove to disentwine the mystic 
 
 chain 
 That bound those words from human eye ; but all their 
 
 lore was vain — 
 Now heavier shadows fell upon Belshazzar's Hvid face, 
 
BELSHAZZAR. 177 
 
 Shadows of fear and pain that in the dying you may 
 
 trace ; 
 His Hps, they muttered half in prayer, with hands, like 
 
 iron, bound 
 In prayer's convulsive grasp, he looked in agony 
 
 around ; — 
 It was the wrung and anguished speech that silence 
 
 more than tells. 
 For in its muteness, as a shrine, the soul's deep suffering 
 
 dwells ! 
 As thus they stood, King, peer, and concubine, like those 
 
 within 
 The cities of the plain, awaiting the dread doom of sin, 
 The Queen, with voice like spirit blessed, the grave-like 
 
 silence brake ; 
 " Oh, King ! for ever hve and from tbis trance awake — 
 
 awake ! 
 Let not thy thoughts, thus, trouble thee, nor Sorrow 
 
 fling her veil 
 Athwart thy brow, like Mourning, o'er the dead one cold 
 
 and pale ; — 
 For lo ! there's one, my Son ! within thy kingdom who 
 
 can read 
 All mysteries that Bel and Nebo on Belshazzar have 
 
 decreed, 
 ne whom thy father master made of all Chaldea's seers, 
 8* 
 
178 BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 For in him the spirit of the gods, like Wisdom's self, 
 
 appears ! 
 Let Belteshazzar now be called, and he will straightway 
 
 show 
 What means this mystic messenger that makes thee 
 
 tremble now ?" 
 Then was Daniel brought before the King; and thus 
 
 Belshazzar said : — 
 " Speak ! art thou of those conquered tribes my father 
 
 captive led 
 In years by-gone, from Jewry ?" " Lo ! thy servant is thy 
 
 slave ; — 
 What can a captive give, oh King! his Conqueror 
 
 would have ?" 
 The King spake not : but raised his quivering finger 
 
 where the hand 
 Stood still and misty, hke a herald from a dim and 
 
 distant land ; — 
 E'en such a herald heaven might send, 'mid pestilence 
 
 and war. 
 To open long-closed phials from some dark, malignant 
 
 star, 
 When nations veil the heart — no longer clouds of incense 
 
 rise, 
 And the sun looks too weak and wan to light the 
 
 morning-skies ! 
 
BELSHAZZAR. l79 
 
 But Daniel gazed unblencbing, for his trust was in his 
 
 God, 
 Whether amid the furnace-flames, or hons' den he trod ; 
 For martyr-like baptized in flames was Daniel's holy 
 
 faith. 
 And purged with flames he stood, and wore the martyr's 
 
 holy wreath ! 
 " Oh King ! our God most High and Mighty, gave thy 
 
 father's crown 
 The choicest gifts of Heaven — glory, honor, and renown, 
 And with thy Sire, where'er he went, were majesty and 
 
 awe, 
 His very frown was conquest, and his iron will was law ! 
 All nations and all languages, they feared and trembled 
 
 too, 
 For whom he would, he spared alive, and whom he 
 
 would he slew ! 
 But when, in self-reliance, he forgat his trust in God, 
 And in very pride his head was raised above the earth 
 
 he trod, 
 When in self-glory of the flesh his pride was lifted up, 
 Then did God's long-staid hand first mingle tears within 
 
 his cup ; — 
 Yes, shame and sorrow were thy Sire's, when from the 
 
 haunts of men 
 Sent forth to seek a home, he found it in the wild beasts' 
 
 den, 
 
180 BELSHAZZAK. 
 
 And with the oxen, he ute grass — with clew he quenched 
 
 his thirst ; — 
 And thy Sire, oh King ! to herd with beasts, was for 
 
 his pride accurst! 
 Now mark what I areed thee, King ! thy father's crime 
 
 is thine, 
 Thy soul is lifted up against the Majesty Divine ; 
 Of old the angels forfeited their high estate for pride, 
 Look round thee, King ! and say hast thou not God 
 
 thyself defied ? 
 What see I here, amid these gold and silver vessels 
 
 piled, 
 But God himself insulted, and His Holy Shrine 
 
 despoiled ? 
 What see I here, amid these cups of silver and of gold, 
 But King and Victor both his proud and swelling heart 
 
 unfold ? 
 What see T, amid revelry, and song, and dance, and 
 
 wine, 
 Save blasphemy on those things God Himself hath made 
 
 Divine ? 
 And now, oh King ! prepare thee in this last and fearful 
 
 hour 
 To read a message in yon' hand from God's insulted 
 
 power !" 
 He said : but, ere the holy herald had his mission given 
 
BELSH AZZ AR. 181 
 
 Behold around a radiance, as though each world in 
 
 heaven 
 Had registered that moment with its own immortal light, 
 Ere Babylon for ever sank to ruin and to night ! 
 And, 'mid that glory radiant as from God's own beaming 
 
 throne, 
 Lo ! these the words that met the glassy eye of every 
 
 one : — 
 " Mene-Mene-Tekel-Upharsin " traced in living light, 
 As was, in Israel's wanderings, the pillared fire by night. 
 Now ev'ry eye on Daniel's turned, from Monarch to the 
 
 seer, 
 But ev'ry hp hangs questionless, so palsied 'tis with fear ; 
 And those cheeks, whose blush but now outvied the 
 
 wine within the gold ; — 
 God ! are they spectres now that stand — so wan they 
 
 look and cold ! 
 'Twas then that Daniel spake — "Beware! Chaldea's 
 
 hour is come ; 
 In yonder writing. King and people ! read Chaldea's 
 
 doom ; 
 Thyself and kingdom, guilty King ! are in the balance 
 
 weighed. 
 But wanting found, and given to the Persian and the 
 
 Mede !" 
 E'en while he spake, a trumpet-blast rang on the 
 
 midnight-air ; 
 
182 BELSIIAZZAR. 
 
 Oil ! then within those guilty walls were wailing and 
 
 despair, 
 And gnashing teeth— and smitten breasts — and curses — 
 
 prayers — and cries, 
 Such as from Hinnom's bloody vale, and Tophet's depths 
 
 arise, 
 When parents, with their own hands, give their strangled 
 
 babes to Bel, 
 That ev'n Religion's self hath made her shrine and vale 
 
 a mil/* 
 
 Another blast — another — is the right arm of the Lord 
 
 Uplifted thus, in wrath so soon to verify His Word ? 
 
 Fall in the dust, proud Babylon ! Call on the rocks to 
 hide 
 
 Thy lazar-house of guilt and sin — thy leprosy of pride ; 
 
 Where are the gods, Belshazzar ! now, that girded once 
 thy throne ? 
 
 Vain, vain to summon to thine aid those blocks of wood 
 and stone, 
 
 Bel croucheth — Nebo stoopeth, and their shrines are 
 broken down, 
 
 For hark ! the True God cometh now, with sceptre and 
 with crown, 
 
 Comes on the midnight-storm's dark wing with trumpet- 
 blast, and sword, — 
 
 * Gehenna, the Greek for Hinnom. 
 
BELSHAZZAR. 183 
 
 Bow down, thou kingly worm ! bow at the footstool of 
 
 thy Lord — 
 Comes to accomplish His dread wrath in ages past 
 
 decreed, 
 Give place, ye king and people, to the Persian and the 
 
 Mede ! 
 
 THE SEA 
 
 Oh glorious Sea — Thou fine old Sea, 
 Nurse of Death and Mystery ! 
 How many a legend solemn and old 
 Could thine azure page unfold, 
 From the dawn of the world, 
 
 When first the heave 
 
 Of the torpid wave 
 "Was to Life unfurled, 
 When the first storm from God came sweeping down 
 Dark mirror of its Master's frown. 
 
 Bursting the chain 
 
 That bound the main. 
 Flung there by Chaos' old and trembling hand, 
 To part thy wild dominion from the Land. 
 
184 THE SEA. 
 
 Mother of terrors dark and deep, 
 
 How many in thy pulseless bosom sleep ; 
 
 Sons and daughters, 
 
 Each earthly tie 
 
 Rocked by thy waters 
 For ever in Death's songless lullaby ! 
 Mother of terrors ! when arise thy waves 
 In yesty triumph o'er the swelling tide ; 
 Clapping their hands like liberated slaves, 
 Who've dashed but now their manacles aside, 
 
 In that dark hour 
 
 Of demon-power. 
 How they climb the strong bark, 
 Prow and stern and shroud. 
 Rising and sinking, like the Ark 
 Upon the mighty Flood ; 
 Still up the waves in deadly phalanx climb, 
 As armed hosts in battle-time 
 
 Besiege a town ; — 
 Rending — scattering mast and sail 
 
 'Mid shriek and wail, 
 The last prayer answered by the sky's dark frown. 
 
 And now thou liest in slumber mild, 
 Tranquilly as a little child. 
 
 Whose breathing's scarcely heard, 
 
THE SEA. 186 
 
 Like summer-wind that plays the trees among, 
 
 Their mazy bowers twined 
 
 With the bright wreaths of Angel-song ; 
 Oh ! strange 
 The change ; 
 Thy waves no longer now in masses piled, 
 Like ensigns after battle — torn — despoiled, 
 But now thy gentle ripples play 
 Into the sunshine far away. 
 And over thine azure floor they dance. 
 Meeting and parting in each sunny glance. 
 Like the sweet bridal of Music and Light 
 In the beam of the Moon on a calm Summer-night ; 
 
 Oh ! how subdued ; 
 
 No Summer could 
 Breathe deeper calmness over Tropic isles 
 Than thou, Old Ocean ! with thy countless smiles. 
 
 Rich are Earth's mines ; with thee no measure 
 Can count thy hoards of sunken treasure, 
 
 From the first hour Phoenicia broke 
 The strong tyrannic yoke 
 Of earth that fettered human hearts and minds ; 
 
 The hour when the first timid oar 
 Trembled amid the waters, fai* from shore, 
 Startling the Deep 
 From its centuried sleep ; 
 
186 THESEA. 
 
 Guiding the wanderers safe 'mid waves and winds — 
 Aye, from that hour thy womb hath been 
 
 The treasure-house of all the earth hath seen 
 
 Of rich and beautiful from India's shores, 
 Where far Cathay 
 Hives golden stores, 
 
 E'en to the regions of the closing Day, 
 
 Where Spanish Avarice sought her piles 
 Of gold 'mid India's balmy isles ; 
 
 Peruvian gold — the gems of Giamschid, 
 
 Yea, the wealth of worlds beneath thy miser-waves is hid ! 
 
 But what the wealth thou'st garnered, as thy spoil. 
 To the vast human pile 
 Have made their graves 
 In thine undug, yet ever-yawning tomb — thy waves ; 
 Thou hast them there — the Dead, 
 Each in his mould'ring bed ; 
 And thou canst well to Death reply, 
 As through the world his venomed arrows fly — 
 " I am the conqueror — behold my slaves ! " 
 What ! could not one suffice 
 In God's own image made, 
 For thy relentless sacrifice, 
 With groans and smothered supphcations paid ? 
 
THE SEA. 187 
 
 No — no — for countless cries, 
 'Mid death-wrung tears, 
 Have struck the skies 
 Eternal through the zodiac of thy years : 
 And world on world 
 Of beating hearts and weeping eyes 
 
 Thy tempests have hurled 
 Down — down from the light of the skies. 
 Oh ! when thou risest in thy mountain-might. 
 Pity within thy depths seeks endless Night ! 
 
 There is scarcely on earth a single spot 
 
 By the loving and living forgot, 
 A spot where weeping Friendship cannot find 
 Those memories dear the Dead have left behind, 
 The smile — the tear — the kind and gentle word 
 Kindling the soul-lit eye, or ere 'twas heard. 
 
 The music of the voice 
 
 Making the heart rejoice, 
 "Waking to happiness its hidden springs. 
 
 As when the Angel came 
 
 With heahng on his wings 
 To cheer the broken-hearted— rheal the blind and lame ; 
 Oh ! sweet the memories ; sweeter far the tears 
 When on her bosom the green mound appears. 
 
 Piled by Affection's hand, 
 
 To those of the Spirit-Land, 
 
188 THE SEA. 
 
 And decked with flowers that seem to love the Dead 
 Li the bright hues 
 That Spring renews, 
 And fragrance that they cluster 'round their bed ! 
 But where upon thy waters can we read 
 One single trace of the sepulchred Dead ; 
 A single hue 
 
 The heart might make its shrine — 
 The treasury of all on earth was dear, 
 The joy — the hope — the smile — affection — tear. 
 Oh ! thine is a dreary waste 
 Where human eye ne'er traced 
 One single mark of those for ever gone, 
 E'en as the ancient dead o'er stagnant Acheron ! 
 Where — where is their epitaph ? 
 Hear it in the rattling thunder's laugh. 
 
 As, with shock and boom 
 It bursts the chain of its caverned home. 
 
 Like the trump of Doom 
 Crumbling the glassy portals of thy tomb ! 
 Read it in the lightnings' glare 
 Over thy heaving bosom bare. 
 When from heaven they flash and fall, 
 Like flickering torches at the burial — 
 This — this the epitaph thou writ'st for all. 
 While Earth above her dead spreadeth her flowery pall 
 
THE SEA. 189 
 
 Year upon year thine azure floor 
 Was imwhitened by sail — unrippled by oar ; 
 And the tempests kept 
 Their wild dominion, 
 And the sea-bird swept 
 On his storm-beat pinion 
 Round and away far off from the shore 
 It had loved for its home and clung to before ; 
 These were the lords upon thy crystal throne : — 
 Till old Phcenice, 
 Like the Argonaut 
 Whose daring sought 
 The golden fleece, 
 Launched first upon thy waters, fearless and alone ! 
 Alone through unknown seas, 
 Even to the Cassiterides, 
 By night and by day 
 She pHed her venturous way, 
 Sweeping around 
 The ancient bound 
 Where Hercules' unwearied hand 
 Had piled his columns near Iberia's land ; 
 Nor yet her daring sail had furled 
 Until she saw old Baratanach's* Western world ! 
 
 * The ancient name of Britain, signifying "The land of tin." 
 
190 THE SEA. 
 
 Thou bor'st upon thy mother-breast 
 Columbus, when he sought the uncertain West, 
 And, as he marked the Mne of sinking day, 
 Deemed it was old Cathay, 
 The golden Chersonese, 
 That El Dorado of the Indian Seas ! 
 Oh ! strong the faith, thou mighty man ! that bore 
 Thee o'er the trackless waves to India's shore ; 
 And base the meed that kingly favor gave 
 Thy lofty soul, thou Gideon of the wave ! 
 What ! had the wealth and chivalry of Spain 
 No fitter gift for thee, than felon's chain ? 
 "Qnawed thine eye ranged o'er the waves, thy hand 
 Unlocked the long-barred portals of an unknown land ; 
 Thou, hke the ancient Patriarch who trod 
 The Red Sea waters, parted by his God, 
 Didst place thy trust, unwavering, in Him, 
 And saw'st by faith, the land, though dark and dim ; 
 Oh ! holy mother ! — reverence to thee, 
 For that, to distant shores 
 Where the broad Atlantic pours 
 Her myriad waters, fetterless and free, 
 Thou led'st the way. 
 Thyself the glorious path. 
 To that bright, halcyon-day, 
 Where tyranny and wrath 
 
THE SKA. 191 
 
 Of kings and despots should for ever pass away 
 
 Before the dawn of Liberty ! 
 Yes ! on the shores of thy far Western wave 
 Man hath disowned the shackles of the slave ; 
 And, as he sees thy giant-waters roll, 
 Feels Freedom's echo answer from his soul : — 
 " Look on those waters of Eternity I 
 
 No kingly chain 
 
 E'er bound the main, 
 
 Man 1 like it, be fi-ee T' 
 
 But scarce had Commerce spread her Virgin-sail 
 
 Ere thine azure brow grew pale ; 
 
 When war and proud ambition came 
 
 Like pestilential hurricane, 
 
 Kindling their desolating flame 
 That sent its charnel-hght athwart the startled main ; 
 And thy waves that rolled 
 Their crests of gold 
 Free as the storms that rose and died. 
 
 Were now to feel 
 
 And hear the echo of groan and steel 
 Wake from their dreams eterne the slumbers of thy tide. 
 
 Impurpled with blood 
 
 Thou hast been of the brave, 
 
 E'en like the mountain-flood 
 
 That bore on its wave 
 
192 THE SEA. 
 
 Adonis' life-drops oozing from the wound ; 
 While beneath and around 
 Thy caverned deeps dread echo gave 
 From the myriad-voiced wave, 
 As it leaped and roared 
 At the mighty word 
 That Battle gave its phalanxed horde ! 
 Oh ! fearful the cries thy tortured waves have sent 
 Age upon age to the firmament, 
 When first Ambition wove her chain 
 For the free unmastered main 
 That never yet knew lord save the great hurricane. 
 Yes, Greece' and Carthage's, Piome's — Persia's prow 
 Have broken the glassy stillness of thy brow, 
 And spear and falchion — tattered ensign — shield, 
 Have writ War's blazonry upon thine azure field, 
 While the eternal anthem of thy waves 
 Hath been the only knell of Nation's graves. 
 Bearing each brave, each good man's name on high 
 To win the soldier's immortality ! 
 
 There, where the waves Saronic kiss 
 That glorious old isle, Salamis, 
 
 At Mycale, by sweet Ionia's shore. 
 The Greek and Persian have 
 Polluted thy bright wave 
 With other streams than thine, even human gore — 
 
THE SEA. 193 
 
 Oh ! Ancient Mother, e'en for centuries past 
 Man over thee Ambition's curse hath cast, 
 And, 'sdaining earth, sought to subdue thy tiood 
 Where Freedom's tower hath for ages stood, 
 Aye, beaten by tempest, by the Hghtning riven, 
 But still her pinnacle erect to heaven. 
 
 Yet here proud man upon thy barren plain 
 From East to West hath spread his wide domain, 
 Passed with the sun ; nor doth Ambition rest 
 Until her weary wing be folded in the West ; — 
 There's not a wave of thine unstained by war 
 From Grecian Salamis to Trafalgar ! 
 
 'Tis morn — the sky is cloudless and serene, 
 And Nature's smile is radiant as her face. 
 While on thy liquid meadows of green 
 
 The waves they play 
 
 In the new-born ray. 
 Like nymphs unzoned in Ocean's wild embrace. 
 But see ! what glides along th' horizon's rim ? 
 
 Is it a cloud 
 
 Hanging its golden shroud 
 
 'Twixt sea and sky ? 
 No — no — it is a vessel — gallant — trim. 
 And 'round her the waves chaunt merrily, — 
 GUde on, thou creature of Life — oh ! ghde — 
 9 
 
194 THE SEA. 
 
 O'er thee tlie tempest and cloud have no power ; 
 Old Ocean claims thee for liis beautiful bride, 
 And scatters around thee his diamonds for dower ; 
 Oh ! many the eyes that wept, as thy form 
 Melted to nothingness far from the shore ; 
 And the hearts that consigned thee to cloud and to storm. 
 Were mingled with fears ye might meet never more ; 
 Ride on — thou beautiful vision ! ride ! 
 Hushed be the storm, and smooth be the tide 
 
 That beai-s thee along 
 
 To the choral song 
 Of wind and wave in musical throng — 
 
 A change hath come — for, lowering — black — 
 
 Hangs the Tv^ld heaven, 
 
 While floats the rack, 
 Like volumed wreaths of bursting leven, 
 When giants old in battailous array 
 Marshalled the combat fierce in upper day. 
 Oh ! what a change — the sky's ablaze, 
 
 As though the sun 
 Had poured on this the light of a thousand days 
 From the depths of his burning throne ; — 
 
 And the thunders roll. 
 
 And the ocean it reels 
 
 As though from pole to pole 
 God hurled his anger from the broken seals ! 
 
T HE W OD S . 195 
 
 Still gloriously she rides the mighty wave ; 
 The mistress — she, and it — the slave ! 
 
 No strength can 'bide the conflict ; — fragile — vain 
 
 As gossamer, she struggles with the main ; 
 
 There's not a blast that whistles through her shrouds, 
 
 There's not a flash that lights the fissured clouds. 
 
 And not a wave upon her shattered side 
 
 But leaves some fragment weltering on the tide ; — 
 
 The lightnings pour 
 Their red mantle 'round thee ; — oh ! never more 
 Shalt thou, returning, hail the friendly shore ; — 
 A moment more — her timbers part — she's gone — 
 And ocean closes over her with hollow moan ! 
 
 THE WOODS. 
 
 Hail, old woods ! — Primaeval woods ! 
 
 Nature's holy solitudes. 
 From age to age, Religion's everlasting pile ! 
 Deep in your midst she's raised her vast abode. 
 Her Temple roofed and arched by God, 
 And solemnly lighted like cathedral-aisle — 
 I never hear your clustered branches stirred 
 
196 THE WOODS. 
 
 By the hushed anthem of the suinmer-wirid, 
 
 But call to mind 
 The solemn hour Jehovah's voice was heard 
 
 Passing from tree to tree, 
 As glides the organ's grand solemnity, — 
 Summer's bright blush from earth took instant flight, 
 And Autumn threw around her yellow robe of blight ! 
 
 Altar and Temple, both in one — all hail ! 
 The sun on ye, like incense, pours his light. 
 And clouds, in passing, weave that holy veil, 
 That screens your inmost shi-ine from mortal sight ; 
 Ages have past ; — and human eyes 
 Have closed in their eternal sleep ; 
 Yet ne'er hath one beheld those mysteries. 
 Like sacred rites, locked in your bosom deep ; — 
 But, like the Ark of Cov'nant, that within 
 Preserved the Record dark of human sin, 
 
 The Law, the Manna, and the Rod, 
 The proofs and miracles of Israel's God, 
 Age upon age, ye've shut from mortal eye. 
 The phantom-secrets that within ye lie ! 
 
 Rend, Old Time ! the veil. 
 And let the hoary past recount her solemn tale — 
 
 Methinks I see the Druid move 
 Beneath the broad and Patriarchal oak ; 
 
THE WOODS. 197 
 
 His incantations mystic through the grove 
 Re-echoing Rome's tierce battle-cry, tliat broke 
 
 Through Britain's unknown isle ; 
 Aghast the Roman looked on the uncouth pile 
 
 That Superstition reared, 
 
 For nought to him appeared 
 
 Save stone in circle rude. 
 Far — far from that unholy Solitude, 
 
 Fancy, upon her gilded track. 
 
 Wandered to Rome from Britain back, 
 And viewed with lordly pride the hallowed shrine 
 Great Rome had reared to Jove Capitoline ! 
 
 Antiquity sits throned upon the Pyramid ! 
 
 Assyria, Egypt, Carthage, all are gone ; 
 
 Time, in his watchful flight, hath closed his lid 
 
 On nations, as they crumbled stone by stone, 
 
 And temples, with their gods, have perished too, 
 
 Their gods of wood and stone 
 
 Gone hke a drop of morning-dew 
 
 That lingers on a leaf — the last — alone ! 
 
 Nation and Temple — all a shadowy pile. 
 
 Like storied effigy in Cathedral-aisle, 
 
 Where we vainly seek to trace 
 
 The hneament of the buried face, 
 
 Or the obliterated line 
 
 Affection writes upon her mournful shrine ; — 
 
198 THE WOODS. 
 
 Aye, in History's old and calcined page 
 We read of the by-gone age, 
 Of the king, and the battle, and sword, 
 The Hero's death and the Patriot's word. 
 Of nations subdued, and nations freed. 
 While, mid the death-charge, heroes bleed. 
 And young Ambition builds her throne 
 Where Bondage utters her last groan ; 
 
 Earth's deeds are writ by human hand ; — 
 
 But luho hath penned the history 
 Of the countless ages that have swept your land ? 
 Go — read it in the buried heaps that lie 
 Of mouldered trunks, and leaves that fall. 
 The bridal-robe of Nature and her pall ! 
 Nature herself hath penned the classic page. 
 Each sapless leaf, a volume — Life's sad pilgrimage ! 
 
 The Muse of Greece hath wandered ye among. 
 Braiding your antique shrines with wreaths of song ; 
 And old Mythology hath waved her wand 
 Amid the silent depths of forest-land. 
 And called her children round her, Fancy's fays. 
 To sport their phantom-life through Summer's dreamy 
 days — 
 Dryads and Hamadryads both are yours, 
 Gods of your bright and fadeless bowers ; — 
 Gods, at whose shrine 
 
THE WOODS. 199 
 
 The Greek, while he knelt, 
 Knew that Spirit divine, 
 
 Whose effluence can subdue and melt 
 
 The heart, however hard and cold, 
 E'en to the soft impress of Nature's kindly mould ; 
 Till forth Religion poured her holy streams 
 Girding Creation as with sacred zone ; 
 On mountain — vale — where'r the Loxian's* beams 
 Fall — there her Spirit reared her golden throne ; 
 Nature from every stream gushed forth in song. 
 And echo sought her gladness to prolong ; 
 All earth became Religion's bright abode. 
 And mount and vale were vocal with their God ! 
 
 We ask not History to reveal 
 The ashy record of your buried prime, 
 Nor grim Antiquity to set her seal 
 Upon your glories spared to us by Time ; 
 Ye are your own Historians ; and ye tell 
 Where flashed the bolt that laid yon' giant low, 
 What time the reeling lightning fell. 
 Leaving its brand eternal on his hoary brow — 
 We pause before the trunk — shrivelled and bare 
 It lies, where it hath lain for ages past ; 
 Its fellows shroud it with their drooping hair, 
 
 * " Apollo — Squint-eyed,"— The Greek denoting the ambiguity of his 
 oracles. 
 
200 THE WOODS. 
 
 Like battle-torn banners in the blast ; — 
 The leaves — oh ! where are they ? 
 Ye tread the soil 
 Where old Decay 
 Hath piled his autumn-spoil — 
 In every trunk — in every leaf we trace 
 Nature's own History, — Time cannot all efface. 
 
 How softly rests the sun upon ye now ; 
 As thouo;h all Heaven were open to the view, 
 And its bright Hierarchy showered below 
 From 'neath their waving wings of golden hue 
 All hght, they borrowed from the Eternal throne, 
 
 When veiled before their God they stand, 
 
 Each casting down his burning zone, 
 The fadeless starlight of that Better Land ! 
 
 Lo ! silence everywhere 
 Pillowed on downy waves of sleeping air ; — 
 
 Silence, such as swayed 
 Creation, when God sent his Fiat forth 
 Commandino; Liarht to be, and Lio-ht was made, 
 While guilty Darkness fled the face of Earth ! 
 Hail, holy Summer ! Sabbath of the skies ! 
 Flowers weave thy robe and Beauty holds thy train, 
 Heaven tesselates thy path with fadeless dyes, 
 And weaves thy chaplet bright of golden grain — 
 
THE WOODS. 201 
 
 Thy locks are braided with the dew, 
 
 And clasped thy zone with flowers of brightest hue ! 
 
 AVhat spirit moves within your holy shrine ? 
 
 'Tis Spring — the year's young bride, that gladly pours 
 
 Above — around — an effluence Divine 
 
 Of light and life, falling in golden showers — 
 
 And with her come the sportive nymphs in dance 
 
 Like waves that gambol in the Summer's glance, 
 
 Untwining bowers from their Winter's sleep, 
 
 Unlocking rivers from their fountains deep. 
 
 Tinting the leaf with verdure, that had lain 
 
 Long-hid, like gold within the torpid grain, 
 
 Chaunting her choral song, as Nature's eyes 
 
 First greet the bridal of the earth and skies. 
 
 The Spring is past ; — and blushing Summer comes. 
 Music and sunshine throng her scented way ; 
 The birds send gladly from their bowered homes, 
 Their ptean at the birth of flowery May ! 
 From close to shut of Day ; yes, far and near 
 The spell of mystic music chains the ear ; 
 All Nature, from her bosom pouring forth 
 Sounds such as make a Temple of the earth, 
 Returns in one full stream of harmony 
 The angel-echoes that she hears on high — 
 10 
 
202 THE WOODS. 
 
 Beautiful Summer ! fling thy crown of flowers 
 O'er this dull earth through winter's weary hours ; 
 Let them not fade — oh ! let not sere and blight 
 Darken thy prism'd couch with shade of Night ; 
 Let not thy music ever break its spell, 
 Like heaven-bound pilgrim bidding earth " Farewell !" 
 Oh ! silence not thy music, — let thy flowers 
 Be earth's bright stars responding to the skies ; 
 Wreathing her graves with those immortal bowers 
 Thy rosy hand 'twined 'round the Dead in Paradise ! 
 
 Oh ! not a vision here but it must pass 
 Like our own image from Life's spectre-glass , 
 Summer is faded, and the Autumn sere 
 Gathers the fallen leaves upon her bier, 
 And, like the venomed breath of the Simoom 
 That turns Zahara's desert to a tomb, 
 Breathes on the buried Summer's shrined abode, 
 And leaves a spectre what she found — a God ! 
 'Tis thus, ye woods ! your melancholy tale 
 Hath more of Truth than rose and lily pale, 
 When the bright glories of the summer vie 
 To make the earth a mirror of the sky. 
 In Autumn's time-worn volume do we read 
 The sacred moral — All things earthly fade ; 
 And trace upon the page of every leaf 
 That first and latest human lesson — grief! 
 
THE WOODS. 203 
 
 But bark ! that dreary blast tbat rolls 
 Like beart-wrung wailings of unburied souls, 
 'Tis the winter's breath 
 That comes from the land of Death 
 Where the Arctic fetters the main ; 
 Like the lightning it darts 
 When its meteor parts 
 And dissolves, like the cloud in rain ; 
 And now pale Winter cometh frore 
 From the dark North's drear and lifeless shore ; 
 And round his form, trembling and old, 
 Hangs his snow-robe in drifting fold. 
 As that ye see on the mountain-height. 
 Like Death asleep in the calm moonlight — ■ 
 His diadem gleams with the icicle bright. 
 And his sceptre of ice to destroy and to smite ; 
 Like a monarch he sweeps from the mount to the vale, 
 In his chariot that glistens with hoar-frost and hail ; 
 His palace the iceberg adorned with spars. 
 Like a wandering heaven all fretted with stars. 
 
 Temples of eldest Nature, fare-ye-well ! 
 Cathedrals God-made ! ye whose incense streams, 
 
 Like Adoration's Soul 
 At sound of matin or of vesper-bell, 
 When choiring harmonies roll 
 
 'Mid the oro-an's swell, 
 
204 NAPOLEON. 
 
 And Heaven reveals itself to Worship's dreams — 
 Farewell ! ye Temples, pil'd and arch'd by Him 
 Whose praise for aye shall echo 'mid your tracery dim, 
 
 Not dark ; for while the Sun looks down, 
 
 Image of God's fadeless crown, 
 Or, while the holy Moon 
 Lights up her cresset for the midnight-noon. 
 Upon your shrines shall burn that holy ray. 
 Earth's foretaste of a distant — endless day ! 
 Holy of Holies ! bar'd to Man, adieu ! 
 When Nature consecrates the heart — that heart's with 
 You! 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 'Till rose thy star we did but deem 
 The ancient day a mythic story ; 
 Ambition's self an idle dream 
 Emblazoned by the hand of Glory ! 
 Vainly we trace the classic page, 
 Of Greece and Rome, to find but one 
 As gloriously that stamped his age. 
 As thou. Napoleon, didst thine own ; 
 And though thy reign be Vision now, 
 The laurels still are fadeless on thy brow ! 
 
 Thou taught'st mankind to break the chain 
 That bound the soul for ages long' ; 
 
NAPOLEON. 205 
 
 " Tlie Right Divine " of kings to reign, 
 And lash, hke beasts, the herclHke throng ; 
 Thy Right Divine was that of Mind, 
 The only Right that God e'er gave 
 To conquer nations, or to bind 
 With fetters down the willing slave ; 
 Thy sword thy sceptre ; Mind thy throne ; 
 Plebeian — Emperor — thou stand'st alone ! 
 
 We rank thee not with kings by hirth^ 
 Those craven wretches who have made 
 A wilderness of God's fair earth, 
 And lust and tyranny a trade ; 
 But with the mighty — men who build 
 Their thrones in human hearts and minds — 
 Thrones that, though shaken, never yield 
 To Time's dark, sweeping waves and winds ; 
 A cloud may drive across the plains, 
 The mountain disappear, — it still remains ! 
 
 Successor of proud Charlemagne, 
 Who wor'st the Lombard's iron crown, 
 Whose eagles over Europe's plain 
 Trampled her dotard monarchs down, 
 Down to thy footstool ; thou wert born 
 To harness nations to thy car. 
 Make gilded majesty a scorn 
 To one whose only Right was war — 
 
200 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Is it a dream, so quickly past, 
 And is the star thou trustedst, set at last ? 
 
 How oft doth History consecrate 
 The imbecile — the kingly shade, 
 With the vain — vaunting title — " Great ;" 
 Flattering where she should upbraid ! 
 But when she calls thee great, we know 
 She flatters not, for there we see 
 Graven upon thy kingly brow, 
 The characters of majesty — 
 Not crowns make kings, but God's own hand 
 Moulds mind and soul to conquer and command. 
 
 Bravely they fought at Marathon, 
 And proudly too Themistocles 
 Wore the bright trophies that he won 
 As master of the Grecian seas ; 
 But these were solitary stars, 
 That rose, and sank ere full in view, 
 And not the undying blaze thy wars, 
 From Areola to Waterloo, 
 Enkindled ; making earth a pile, 
 Monarchs thy captives, and a world thy spoil ! 
 
 Vainly we give the title — " Great " 
 To him of conquering Macedon ; 
 Birth gave him that thou didst create, 
 Inheriting what thon hast won — 
 
I 
 
 NArOLEON. 207 
 
 Kingdom and host thou calledst forth, 
 
 And, hke the fable tliat we read, 
 
 Thou stamp'dst thine iron foot to earth 
 
 And armies rose beneath thy tread — 
 
 Creator ! oh, couldst thou not save 
 
 One Httle fragment from thy kingdom's grave ? 
 
 What ! of an empire vast that knew 
 
 No bounds save those Ambition gave, 
 
 That spread w^here'er her eagles flew 
 
 From Spain even to Egypt's wave. 
 
 Is there not one, but one of all 
 
 Wrought by thy monumental mind. 
 
 That, like the sun, or ere he fall. 
 
 Might leave some trace of light behind ? 
 
 Oh ! mockery, to think of Fame, 
 
 When only mould'ring Memory holds thy name ? 
 
 It was thy pride t'have raised amid 
 
 The Desert of the World, a throne 
 
 Might have outhved the Pyramid, 
 
 And laughed to scorn proud Babylon ; — 
 
 But these remain, and where art thou ? 
 
 Aye there, upon that rocky isle, 
 
 A crown of dust upon thy brow, 
 
 And Nations for thy funeral-pile ! 
 
 Sun of Battle — Conqueror — King ! 
 
 Shall Matter last, and Mind for aye take wing ? 
 
208 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Where'er thy banners were unfurled, 
 "Wherever charged thy battled might, 
 Thine eagles seemed to grasp a world 
 And image, in their meteor-flight, 
 The mighty mind whose soarings lent 
 Them wings to shadow earth and heaven, 
 What time the darkened firmament 
 Reeled to the shock of battle's leven. 
 Shrouding in gloom, all stars, save one, 
 Thy Star of Destiny — Napoleon ! 
 
 Old History, as she looks adown 
 
 The crumbling heights of human Glory, 
 
 Chaunting o'er sceptre and o'er crown 
 
 Her Requiem sad — " Memento Mori !" 
 
 Writing in characters of Dust 
 
 The Chief of many a battle-field, 
 
 Letting his sword inglorious rust. 
 
 The sceptre, falchion, and the shield. 
 
 Hangs thine within her armory 
 
 Bright emblems of a namp can never die ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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